The 'Cousins'

Part Twenty Eight: Carpenter's Secrets

Timeline: Evening, Thursday 19th April 2007 at Whitewater.

Ali agreed to do the electrical fitting for Greg and Jess once they sell the aircon unit, but might need a carpenter. So they leave the Ali's to go next door to fix one and come across more than a woodworker,

Greg felt more at ease about the whole enterprise  and quickly followed Ali and Jess out of the front door into the glare of the setting sun only to have to sidestep suddenly to avoid running into one of the oldest and tiniest women he had ever seen.

‘Oops sorry,’ Greg exclaimed as he twisted away from the woman who held a saucepan in her hand beneath a red and white checked tea cloth. He was further discomfited when she tapped the cold saucepan against his midriff several times and then attacked him verbally. 

‘You’m the bailiff, be you? We don’t want no bailiff’s here. Don’t need ‘em. These be all good folks.’ 

There was no mistaking the passion in her words, delivered in a thin, high-pitched gummy cackle through sunken lips that moved even when she was not speaking. Greg was taken aback by the near miss, but more so with her verbal attack after mistaking  him for a bailiff. His mind raced on to ask himself,  ‘Why is she expecting bailiffs?’

Ali enjoyed the spectacle and chortled heartily before stepping in between them. ‘Hi Ebonie, relax, this is not a bailiff, this is Mr. Mitchell, from England.’ 

He made the introductions. ‘Mr. Mitchell this is Mrs Ebonie Marrs, our neighbour from the other end of the building.’ Ali poked a finger away from the direction in which they were heading.  

‘Hi Mrs. Marrs,’ Greg chirped, trying to sound casual, while taking care to avoid looking down on her as he stood nearly eighteen inches taller than the pasty faced old lady with her severely swept back hair, not grey, but faded black. She regarded him with steady pale green eyes as if the sun had bleached them over the years. Greg could see the alert intelligence active behind them and all the time her lips moved without speaking and seemed to be sinking ever further into her face as if  unrestrained by teeth.

She spoke to Ali, but her gaze remained fixed on Greg.

‘Y’all ate a’ready. I got me stew if you’re done eatin’ and I can put it on the hob..’

Martha appeared in the doorway and took charge of Ebonie.

‘Oh Hi Ebonie, we ain’t ate yet, but no trouble come on inside, there’s room on the range for yours’.

Martha put her arm across the shoulder of the old lady and ushered her inside. Ali watched her go with a look of proprietorial pride on his face that puzzled Greg. Ali noticed Greg watching him and explained.

‘She’s a real peach is Ebonie. Nobody knows how old she is, but she did important war work in Washington before she went to College. Now look at her having to beg space on a neighbour’s range to heat up her supper.’ Ali shook his head in disbelief and Greg felt a jolt of guilt pass through him. He pointed at the front door, which was now closed.

‘Are you telling me that lady has no way of cooking her food for herself.’

Ali chuckled again.

‘Welcome to Whitewater Mr. Mitchell. We all help each other here in this condo. Ebonie makes a pot of stewed vegetables every three days. She puts floaters in it she makes from a Bisquick packet. She makes it fresh herself and for the next two days uses our fire to heat it up. Saves her lighting a fire. She’s good with the kids and helps out with ‘em at times. But we best be getting along to see Tomas afore it’s too late’