Obits and Orbits

115 Elder Cove had been empty Friday night when Walker Homes went to bed. Nobody, not even the Deacons, caught a glimpse of the new arrivals. Irregardless. Walker Homes discovered fresh neighbors when they exited their own homes to retrieve morning newspapers or test the weather. Willie Ruth Grace was the first to formally greet the new people in 115 Elder Cove. After three separate phone calls about her new neighbors, Willie Ruth decided to check it out for herself. Armed with a batch of the best buttermilk biscuits in Walker Homes (and a jar of homemade peach preserves for good measure), she headed over to 115. She stopped at the end of the driveway and waited for the woman on the porch to look up.

“Well, there goes the neighborhood,” Willie Ruth said. The new neighbor kept sweeping.

“Mmph. Looks like it musta already went if you live here.”

Both women burst into a wide, deep laughter.

“Whatcha got in that basket, girl?” asked Celestine, leaning on her broom.

“Biscuits. Scratch, too. If I’d known it was you I woulda left it at Hungry Jacks and been done with it.”

“Willie, you know I always did love your biscuits. Girl, come on round to the back.”

Walker Homes was shocked. Not their Willie Ruth who was to some just mean for no good reason. Not their Willie Ruth who was quick to anger and slow to smile. Willie Ruth who was quick to tell you if your grass was getting a bit too tall, inform on mischievous children and wayward husbands. Quick to get all up in your business and equally quick to tell you to stay out of hers. But after the Kings appeared several times a week the women got together after Willie got off work at the school and had coffee and listened to records on the hi-fi. Sometimes even sneaked a Kool on the back porch if nosey Opal Drake wasn’t outside seeing what she could pinch from the Gap.

Years earlier Celestine King (then Celestine Purdy) had shown up at White Rose Laundry looking for a job. Willie Ruth ran operations back of house: the team of colored women who sorted laundry, toiled over the boiling vats of clothes, and bleached and steamed and pressed for the finest private homes and hotels all over Memphis. Willie Ruth prided herself on always being the first to arrive. She had proven to be so punctual and trustworthy that the owner, Morris Beltz, had entrusted her with a key. One morning Willie Ruth turned her key in the lock and found Celestine already talking to Beltz.

“Britton? Why yes. Of course. He told me you’d be stopping by.”

Willie Ruth didn’t like the look of Celestine right off. She looked like a haint with those spooky grey eyes and thin skunk stripe of white at her hairline. Britton was the colored man who did Mr. Beltz’s private hauling. He and his wife rented rooms in their elegant South Memphis home to many of the White Rose girls. There was something about the way Mr. Belz was handling this woman that was off. Despite those spooky eyes, he looked right at her when she talked. She was so soft-spoken that Willie was having trouble eavesdropping. Instead of telling her to speak up, he leaned in until his forehead almost touched hers. It was then that Willie Ruth understood. He was talking to the girl like he would one of the white girls who applied to check in clothes or handle customers (and money) in the front office.

By then some of the other girls had arrived and one of them brought an antique lace blouse with a wine stain as large as a fist across the front for Willie Ruth to examine. She was the best they had on stains since the departure of the first best to another laundry. Willie Ruth took the blouse and pulled her reading glasses on from where they hung on a chain around her neck.

“Well, they might as well cut that one up and make...