that Doreen and Karen were in cahoots with Rita or had turned on Mimi, he’d do the same to their husbands as he did to Don in a New York minute. Why, I heard—”
“Hey, you two.” Another woman approached the two gossips, and they both plastered fake smiles on their faces. “I think our twenty minutes are up,” she said. “Everyone is heading back to the parlor.”
To Charlotte’s relief, the two gossips followed the other woman, and within moments, the rest of the women in the dining room wandered back to the parlor.
In the kitchen, Charlotte stood at the sink and stared at the dirty wine glasses stacked on top of the cabinet. Had what she’d just overheard been vicious gossip, or was it true? If it were true, then what she’d heard had been a far different picture of Gordon Adams than the one that June had painted in her conversation with Mimi on Monday. According to June, Mimi’s husband was the salt of the earth—generous, loving, and protective. But if the gossip were true, then Gordon Adams was a ruthless, vindictive man, a man who shouldn’t be crossed.
And what about Mimi? Was Mimi just an innocent victim, a woman who was the object of another woman’s unfounded jealousy, a woman in need of the protection of her powerful husband?
Charlotte thought back to the first day she’d met Mimi…the dead trees…the stinky flowers she’d been planting to get back at her neighbor…Charlotte shook her head. Hard to imagine that the woman she’d met that day needed anybody to protect her. So which was the real Mimi, and which was the real Gordon?
Who knows and who cares. Just mind your own business, do your job, and for Pete’s sake, stop wasting time.
“Okay, okay, enough already,” Charlotte muttered in response to the voice of reason in her head.
A minute later, the now familiar rapping sound of Mimi’s gavel echoed from the parlor. Evidently, she had finally rejoined the group and was calling the meeting back to order.
“Thank goodness,” Charlotte whispered. She glanced at her watch and wondered how much longer the rest of the meeting would take. As far as she was concerned, the sooner it was over, the better. She rubbed her lower back and grimaced. For one thing, she was tired, and being on her feet for the past hour without a break had made the dull ache in her back grow more painful. Visions of a nice long soak in a hot tub of water danced through her head.
“So get busy,” she told herself. If she could get the dining room and kitchen cleaned up now, once the meeting was over, straightening the parlor should only take a few minutes. Then she could finally go home.
The water in the sink had grown cold, so Charlotte drained the sink, refilled it with hot sudsy water, and placed the dirty wine glasses in to soak. Then, she headed for the dining room to collect the remaining dishes.
Since she’d already cleared out most of the plates and platters, all that were left were a few coffee cups and saucers. Clearing off the buffet was her first priority, and as she stacked the cups and saucers that hadn’t been used back into the china cabinet, she heard Mimi announce that the group needed to decide on which charity would be the recipient of the proceeds from the upcoming fall plant sale.
“I think that new women’s shelter in the warehouse district would be a good place to sponsor,” one woman said. “It’s a worthy cause and would gain HHS a lot of respect in the community, not to mention a lot of publicity.”
“I agree with Doreen,” another voice chimed in. “It’s only been open for a couple of weeks, and I heard that it’s almost full already.”
“That’s certainly a worthy project, Karen,” Mimi said, “but I had another project in mind. The renovations on the old Hebert plantation upriver near Luling are just about finished, and since our group’s function is the preservation of heritage plants, I was hoping that the money we raise could be used to help with the landscaping. We could also donate some of the plants that are needed.” Mimi paused, then continued, “If there aren’t any other projects you all want to consider, then I’ll open up the discussion for the two that have been proposed.”
Charlotte only caught bits and pieces of the discussion that followed as she moved between the kitchen and the dining room, but what she did hear was heated and fraught with tension. If nothing else, the women were passionate about their convictions. And they were divided right down the middle, with one faction supporting Mimi’s plantation project, and one supporting Doreen and Karen’s women’s shelter.
Charlotte was polishing the buffet in the dining room when Mimi called for a vote. “We’ll vote by a show of hands,” she told the group.
In the dining room, Charlotte nodded her approval as she removed the crocheted tablecloth. Live and learn. No secret ballots this time.
“Okay, then,” she heard Mimi say, “it’s agreed that the Hebert plantation will be the beneficiary of our annual fall sale.”
“Ah, excuse me, Mimi.” Charlotte recognized the voice as that of the woman who had suggested the women’s shelter. If she remembered right, the woman’s name was Doreen.
“Karen and I have an appointment and are going to have to leave.”
“But, Doreen, we still have a lot of planning left,” Mimi argued.
“That may be, but I’m sure that you all can finish planning everything just fine without us.”
“But—”
“Are you coming, Karen?” Doreen asked pointedly.
“You betcha,” Karen answered. “I’ve had just about as much of this as I can stand for one day.”
Either play the game my way, or I’ll just take my ball and go home. In the dining room, Charlotte shook her head as she recapped the lemon oil and placed it back into her supply carrier. These women are unreal, she thought. Just like a bunch of children.
The moment the front door closed, the bees in the parlor began buzzing with a vengeance. Then the rapping of Mimi’s gavel started.
“Ladies,” Mimi cried. “Ladies, please come to order.”
With another shake of her head, Charlotte headed for the kitchen to wash and dry the last of the wine glasses. Once that was done and she had put them away, the only chores left were washing the coffee urn and cleaning the parlor.
Once again she noted that the silver urn needed polishing, but that would be a job for another day, she decided. For today, a good washing would have to suffice.
She glanced toward the direction of the parlor. Maybe she could go ahead and get started on the parlor even though the women were still meeting. If nothing else, she could pick up any cups and saucers and wine glasses that might be in there.
Should she or shouldn’t she? she wondered, but as she reached for the coffee urn, a sudden, unexpected wave of weakness came over her, and she gripped the edge of the sink instead.
Low blood sugar. She grimaced. It wasn’t the first time she’d experienced the feeling, and she immediately recognized it for what it was. Being a borderline diabetic wasn’t a problem most of the time as long as she took her little pill each day and stuck to her diet. But sometimes, like now, for whatever reason, her glucose level would plummet, leaving her shaky and weak.
Charlotte sighed.
