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“Yes, that’s exactly what I am saying.”
“They ain’t no way that gonna happen.”
“Why not? Are you too good for us, or are we too good for you?”
Her face bunched up into a mass of wrinkles, and her eyes drew together into tight little slits. “Yo’ family will never allow it.”
“Oh, I think what my family will allow would surprise you. You see how Iris is falling all over herself at the sight of you.”
“Jilo in her yard, she ain’t under her roof. They’s a big difference in those two things.”
“I don’t know about that. She just dragged your grandson inside, droopy pants and all. Listen, do you really want to go back out . . . out there while you think something has it in for you?”
She sat there, honestly weighing whether the danger she might face would merit sacrificing her pride. “I don’ know. Jilo, she has history with the Taylor—”
“And history is all it is. You tell me, which of the still-living Taylors does the great Mother Jilo Wills have a score to settle with?”
“She gonna have one to settle with you if you keep talking at her with that tone.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed, and then she began chuckling too. “Come on,” I said to her. “Come on inside.” I stood up and went over to the kitchen door, holding it open for her so that she could go in before me.
“No,” she said after a few moments. “Jilo ain’t going in through the back way.” She pushed her chair back and leaned into the table to prop herself up. “You raised in a very different world than Jilo. When Jilo young, that back door was the only way she could go into a fancy white house.” She struggled around the table until she got a firm footing. “When Jilo a girl, she done made herself a promise, and by God, she gonna keep it.”
“What promise was that?” I asked, letting the door close.
“Jilo done promise herself that if she ever step foot in the Taylor house, she was going to go in through the front door. You hear me?”
“Yeah. I think I understand.” I took her arm, and then led her through the gate and around the side of the house to the front entrance. We went up the steps until we were standing before the door. “Well, go on, then,” I said nodding at the bell.
She reached forward. The way her hand quivered touched me, her index finger shaking as if she expected the bell to shock it. She gave it a quick poke, and then a more forceful one. Jilo pulled her hand back, and stretched as tall as she could make herself. She held her head up as high as her neck would allow when my smiling, but slightly confused, aunt answered the door. Iris looked at me for explanation. I would have shrugged, but somehow this moment struck me as solemn. “Jilo always promised herself that if she ever entered our house, she would go in by the front door.”
A look of understanding registered in Iris’s eyes, causing them to appear a little sad in spite of her smile. “Well, of course,” she said. “Do come in, Jilo,” she said and stepped back.
“Before she do, Jilo has to make something clear,” she said and shot me a look that told me I’d better hold my tongue.
“Yes?” Iris asked, the smile fading.
“Before she come in, it only fair you know. Jilo, her sins, they comin’ home to roost. You offer Jilo sanctuary, and you might find yo’self caught up in her mess.”
“Sanctuary?” Iris looked at me, trying to glean information from my expression. She must have accepted whatever she saw there. “The Taylors can take whatever the world tosses at them. Come in, Mother.”
“Thank you,” the old woman said, gingerly lifting her foot over the threshold.
TWENTY-ONE
A fine morning followed a mercifully uneventful night. Iris served us the Southern breakfast Connor had always demanded, fried everything with a pat of butter on the side. Martell tore into his plate, and after a few thank-yous and compliments, Jilo tucked pretty well into hers as well. My stomach was having none of it, so I made myself a bowl of plain oatmeal with brown sugar. Pleased that our guests were happy, Iris kissed the top of my head and excused herself to head out and tend to the flowerbeds.
“It was mighty gracious the way yo’ aunt allowed us to spend the night, oh, and that uncle of yo’s too.” She truly meant what she’d said about Iris, but her comment about Oliver had come more grudgingly, I noticed. Last night he had returned home and come to the library to pour himself a drink, only to find Jilo, Iris, and myself discussing the events of the day, Jilo clad in one of Iris’s robes. “All right, then” was all he said, pouring himself a double and exiting the room without another word.
“Trust me,” I said. “As far as you and my uncle are concerned, that counted as a brass band welcome.” If Ellen had come home the previous night, she had done so long after the rest of us had retired, so I hadn’t had a chance to gauge her reaction.
I was anxious to get back to the discussion Jilo and I had been having before the world literally began to collapse in on us. I did not, however, feel comfortable picking up where we’d left off in the family kitchen, especially with Martell listening in. I would have to be patient. I stood and went to the sink to rinse out my bowl before putting it in the dishwasher. When I looked out the window, I saw that Adam Cook was talking to Iris. He was wearing his serious face; Birdy’s remains must have been found.
“It’s Detective Cook,” I told Jilo and crossed the room to open the door for Iris and the policeman. “Adam,” I acknowledged him. “Two days in a row.”
“Indeed,” he concurred. “I’m pleased to see you’ve caught up with Mother.” He addressed Jilo. “I have been worried about you.”
>Jilo wouldn’t look me in the eye. Her eyebrows were lowered, and her right hand quivered and reached up to touch her hair. “That Wren, he ain’t the only demon Jilo had truck with over the years. She honored most of the deals she made, but she might’ve cut corners on a few of ’em.” She cleared throat. “Ever since yo’ uncle and his tree, Jilo ain’t had the heart to take the steps she need to keep the angry ones in line.”
