just a lot of fancy talk. You should have seen him moping around here the last couple weeks just like a little boy, waiting for his sister to come home where she belong."
Irena smiled at her.
"Don't you worry, child, you and me gonna get along just fine. Won't neither of us take any foolishness from this preacher-man brother of yours."
Femolly made a point of turning a disapproving frown on Paul, but Irena could not miss the deep affection the woman felt for her brother.
"I'm sure we'll do just fine," Irena said.
The tall woman beamed at her.
"Femolly," Irena tried the name experimentally. "I've never heard the name before. Where does it come from?"
"It comes from the state of Louisiana, I guess. See, when I was born my momma died, and there wasn't no daddy around to claim me, so on the birth certificate they just put down Child, Female. Now, the woman who brought me up, rest her soul, she couldn't read English that good, so she thought you said it to rhyme with tamale. So that's who I been ever since. Female ... Femolly."
"I think it's a beautiful name," Irena said.
"Thank you, child, it's done all right for me. You run along now and wash up. We gonna have us a real New Orleans dinner."
"See what I told you about her getting bossy?" Paul said.
"I don't mind a bit," Irena said. She followed the tall dark woman to the downstairs bathroom.
Femolly served dinner to Paul and Irena, who sat across from each other at one end of the long table in the dining room. Irena wondered idly if the other end of the table were ever used.
The aroma of the food soon chased idle speculations out of her mind. From a heavy china tureen Femolly ladled out steaming plates of thick gumbo with big chunks of white crabmeat and tender oysters in it. For dessert there was a sinfully rich pecan pie with a pot of hot chicory-flavored coffee to wash it all down.
Irena pushed back from the table with a long, contented sigh. "How on earth do you stay so slim with this kind of food?"
"Exercise," Paul said. "I try to run every day. And I ride a bicycle."
"Do you swim?"
Paul's face clouded. "No. I don't like going in the water."
Irena was surprised by his change of mood. "I've never been a swimmer either," she said. "I suppose we'll find a lot of things we have in common."
Paul's good spirits returned. "I wouldn't be surprised. Anyway, we'll have lots of time to learn about each other now. What are your plans?"
"I want to start looking for a job."
"There's no hurry about that, is there?"
"I just feel that after you put me through art school, it's time I started paying my way."
"Don't worry about it," Paul said. "It was something I wanted to do. I wanted to bring you home sooner but, well, there were complications here that prevented me from even coming to see you."
Irena was touched by his sincerity. She reached across the table and pressed his hand. "Never mind, brother, we're together now."
"Yes," he said, "and we've got a lot of catching up to do." He cocked his head and looked at her. "Apparently we both survived the years in foster homes without any serious damage."
"It was never a lot of fun," Irena said, "but we could have had it a lot worse. I'm just sorry we had to be separated all these years."
"It won't happen again," Paul told her. He looked over at the six-foot grandfather clock tick-tocking sedately in a corner of the room. "I suppose you're tired after the plane ride."
"I am, a little, but I'm much too excited to go to sleep yet."
"There's no rush. We keep pretty liberal hours around here. Come on upstairs and I'll show you your room."
While Femolly cleared away the dinner dishes, Irena followed Paul up the broad stairway to the second floor. Irena slowed to look at the paintings that were hung along the staircase wall. They were strange primeval landscapes of jungles and desert, with misty mountains in the distant background. The paintings were heavy with shadows in which living things seemed to lurk just out of
Irena smiled at her.
"Don't you worry, child, you and me gonna get along just fine. Won't neither of us take any foolishness from this preacher-man brother of yours."
Femolly made a point of turning a disapproving frown on Paul, but Irena could not miss the deep affection the woman felt for her brother.
"I'm sure we'll do just fine," Irena said.
The tall woman beamed at her.
"Femolly," Irena tried the name experimentally. "I've never heard the name before. Where does it come from?"
"It comes from the state of Louisiana, I guess. See, when I was born my momma died, and there wasn't no daddy around to claim me, so on the birth certificate they just put down Child, Female. Now, the woman who brought me up, rest her soul, she couldn't read English that good, so she thought you said it to rhyme with tamale. So that's who I been ever since. Female ... Femolly."
"I think it's a beautiful name," Irena said.
"Thank you, child, it's done all right for me. You run along now and wash up. We gonna have us a real New Orleans dinner."
"See what I told you about her getting bossy?" Paul said.
"I don't mind a bit," Irena said. She followed the tall dark woman to the downstairs bathroom.
Femolly served dinner to Paul and Irena, who sat across from each other at one end of the long table in the dining room. Irena wondered idly if the other end of the table were ever used.
The aroma of the food soon chased idle speculations out of her mind. From a heavy china tureen Femolly ladled out steaming plates of thick gumbo with big chunks of white crabmeat and tender oysters in it. For dessert there was a sinfully rich pecan pie with a pot of hot chicory-flavored coffee to wash it all down.
Irena pushed back from the table with a long, contented sigh. "How on earth do you stay so slim with this kind of food?"
"Exercise," Paul said. "I try to run every day. And I ride a bicycle."
"Do you swim?"
Paul's face clouded. "No. I don't like going in the water."
Irena was surprised by his change of mood. "I've never been a swimmer either," she said. "I suppose we'll find a lot of things we have in common."
Paul's good spirits returned. "I wouldn't be surprised. Anyway, we'll have lots of time to learn about each other now. What are your plans?"
"I want to start looking for a job."
"There's no hurry about that, is there?"
"I just feel that after you put me through art school, it's time I started paying my way."
"Don't worry about it," Paul said. "It was something I wanted to do. I wanted to bring you home sooner but, well, there were complications here that prevented me from even coming to see you."
Irena was touched by his sincerity. She reached across the table and pressed his hand. "Never mind, brother, we're together now."
"Yes," he said, "and we've got a lot of catching up to do." He cocked his head and looked at her. "Apparently we both survived the years in foster homes without any serious damage."
"It was never a lot of fun," Irena said, "but we could have had it a lot worse. I'm just sorry we had to be separated all these years."
"It won't happen again," Paul told her. He looked over at the six-foot grandfather clock tick-tocking sedately in a corner of the room. "I suppose you're tired after the plane ride."
"I am, a little, but I'm much too excited to go to sleep yet."
"There's no rush. We keep pretty liberal hours around here. Come on upstairs and I'll show you your room."
While Femolly cleared away the dinner dishes, Irena followed Paul up the broad stairway to the second floor. Irena slowed to look at the paintings that were hung along the staircase wall. They were strange primeval landscapes of jungles and desert, with misty mountains in the distant background. The paintings were heavy with shadows in which living things seemed to lurk just out of
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