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She relayed the price. He counted out the amount and passed the paper-wrapped bar to Raven, who stared at the soap and then up at him in a mix of wonder and confusion.
“Another one of my husbandly duties,” he explained.
“But—”
“What else is on Mrs. Stipe’s list?”
“Well—” She stopped. Across the way, she spotted her mother seated at a stall selling eggs and hens. Beside her was Maisie, a Moreau cousin. “I need some eggs.”
“You go ahead. I see some lamp oil I want to purchase.”
Her mother’s green eyes were hidden behind spectacles with blue-colored lenses. Her hair was beneath a gray wig and a white headscarf. The oversize black dress she wore was reminiscent of the dresses worn by most of the city’s servant class, and a thin rubber mask overlaid with stage paint altered the shape and age of her face. She looked nothing like herself. “How much are your eggs, ma’am?”
A price was quoted in a voice that wasn’t Hazel’s. Raven took a casual look around the market to see if they were being observed, andthere stood Welch a few tables away studying some baskets that were for sale. “I see the cat’s here,” she said only loud enough for her mother to hear, and nodded a greeting to Maisie.
“Been here most of the morning,” her mother replied in an equally low tone.
Raven paid her for the eggs. Keeping an eye on Welch, she said, “I need some mice.”
Hazel raised an eyebrow. “How many? Dead or alive?”
“Either. Two, maybe three.” In a more conversational tone, Raven asked, “How fresh are these hens?”
“Killed this morning.”
“I’ll take two.”
Cousin Maisie stood, and as she wrapped the hens and put the eggs in a small basket, she said, “It may take a day or two for the mice.”
“As soon as you are able will be fine. I’ll try and catch some on my own in the meantime.” Raising her voice, she said, “Thank you very much for the hens.”
“You’re welcome,” both women replied.
Raven walked over to Steele. “Do you need anything else?”
“No. Do you?”
She shook her head.
“Then let’s go back to the carriage. Mrs. Stipe is probably melting in this heat.” On the way, he asked, “Did you see Welch?”
“I did. Did you see Mama?”
He stopped. “No.”
“The egg lady.”
That he had enough discipline not to turn and look back in shock pleased her. “We’ll discuss it later.”
And with that, he assisted her up to the carriage’s bench, then drove them home.
That evening, after all the chores were done, they sat on the cottage’s porch and discussed the day, beginning with the husband’s bedroom and the Lost Cause Ball their employer planned to have.
“Monuments?” Brax asked after she explained the ball’s purpose.
She nodded. “As part of a campaign to build similar ones all over the South, she told me.”
“Why can’t they acknowledge losing the war and allow the country to move on instead of clinging to hopes of reinstituting the past?”
