Miss Hazel and the Rosa Parks League. Jonathan Odell

spooning the crushed pineapple around the chunks of ham. “They’s just in time,” she said, looking up at Hazel. When she saw the blood drain from Hazel’s face, she comforted her, “Don’t you fret none, Miss Hazel. Everything going to come off jest fine.” She headed for the door.

      Hazel checked herself for a final time in the hall mirror, once more wishing Floyd were there to tell her how pretty she looked. The bourbon didn’t seem to be working. She breathed deeply and tried to act the way she imagined the happy woman in the Lincoln advertisement would if she had to get out of her car and entertain. Straightening her shoulders, she prepared her smile and followed Sweet Pea airily to the door to meet the women.

      Sweet Pea flung open the door to see that three women had arrived at once, looking like a posse. “How y’all doin’ today?” Sweet Pea bawled happily. “Come on in out the heat!”

      The women stepped into the entryway and Hazel said the words she had practiced. “How good of y’all to visit me today.” Her voice was shaky yet the words clearly enunciated.

      Miss Pearl, the Senator’s sister, smiled warmly and brought her handkerchiefed hand up to her delicately wattled neck. In a rush of breath she said, “Hazel, you are so kind to have us over. When Hayes told me about your new home, I felt terrible that I hadn’t stopped by before and properly welcomed you to the neighborhood. And me living across the lane from y’all. Will you forgive me, dear?”

      With all those kind words having been spent on Hazel, and with so much feeling backing them up, Hazel felt her stomach settling a bit. “That’s mighty gracious of you to say. I’m just proud y’all could come today’s all.”

      “Well, better late than never. Isn’t that what the sage professed, Hazel?” she smiled sweetly again.

      Pearl Alcorn was an older woman with kind, misty blue eyes and an understanding smile. Her silver-blue hair looked like it was still warm from the beauty parlor. Hazel thought she was quite lovely, even if she did have a crippled hand. It was said that when Miss Pearl was a little girl living at the Columns, she was out riding and her horse stumbled, threw her off, and then rolled over on her hand, crushing the bones. From that time on, she was never seen without a lace handkerchief carefully arranged among the fingers to make the hand look useful. It gave her an air of tragic elegance Hazel couldn’t help but admire.

      Miss Pearl waved her handkerchief at an unpleasant, horsy-looking woman at her side. “Hazel, I want you to meet my nieces. Hertha.” The frightful woman she pointed out emitted a little snort. “She’s your next-door neighbor. You’ve undoubted met her husband, the sheriff.”

      “How do you do?” Hazel said, slow and careful. Hazel knew she shouldn’t take comfort in another woman’s ugliness, yet it did boost her confidence a bit. Couldn’t even get a man on her own, Floyd said. The rumor was that the Senator had agreed to make Billy Dean sheriff if he took the eldest daughter off his hands. At least Hazel had fought fair and square to get Floyd.

      “And my other niece, Delia.”

      Delia was another story entirely. She was a beautiful younger woman with lustrous blond curls and blue eyes that seemed to be laughing at something, Hazel could only wonder what. She had heard the stories from Floyd. Delia married twice before she turned twenty and had boyfriends flung as far as St. Louis.

      “So you two is sisters?” Hazel blurted. “I swan, you don’t look nothing like each—”

      Pearl coughed once and said, “Isn’t this nice, Hazel? I hope you will consider us your new best friends.”

      Realizing she had been saved from something terrible, Hazel nodded. “Best friends. Oh, yes, ma’am. I would love that more than I can say.”

      The sisters met the suggestion of friendship with blank expressions, but Pearl seemed sincere. Hazel found herself surprised she hadn’t noticed this kindness when they had occasionally passed on the street. That was back when they lived in the slave cabin, before she had officially moved up the hill into Delphi proper. Maybe now things would be different after all.

      Hazel sucked in a deep breath. It was time to show them her new room. Gesturing with a wide sweep of her arm, she said, “Will y’all please come into my company room?”

      Miss Pearl led the way and the other two followed dutifully behind, but upon entering the parlor the trio stopped cold, apparently stunned simultaneously. The women put Sweet Pea in mind of a herd of fainting goats her uncle used to have. When startled, their joints locked up and they toppled over, rigid as boards. Sweet Pea smiled, picturing all three white ladies dressed in voile and crinoline, lying about Miss Hazel’s new rubberized floor, stiff as a load of lumber.

      As for Hazel, at first she smiled proudly, judging their reaction to be positive, yet as the seconds ticked by without a word, her stomach began to grow queasy again. She didn’t know what to say. She would have fled through the door had she not been in her own home.

      “Y’all sit yourselves down,” Sweet Pea said, taking charge. “Miss Hazel done got some fine eating planned.”

      “Yes, yes,” Hazel stammered. “Y’all sit down. Anywhere.”

      Still standing in a bunch, the women swiveled their heads around the room as if determined to find a place to roost as a group. Finally, Miss Pearl and Miss Hertha chose the Stratoloungers and Delia settled on the vinyl couch. When her guests were seated Hazel eased herself into a plastic shell chair. There was a period of uncomfortable silence when Sweet Pea disappeared into the kitchen.

      Hazel’s mind raced furiously, trying to think of something to say. When she looked over at Miss Pearl the woman smiled pleasantly, dismissing any awkwardness from the room. Pearl leaned in toward Hazel. “I’m so sorry. We can’t possibly stay but a few minutes. Our little club meeting went longer than we planned, and the rest of the ladies are at this very moment finishing up without us.”

      “What kind of club y’all got?” Hazel blurted, excited that she had thought of something to say.

      “Why, we call it the Trois Arts League.”

      “It’s French,” Delia explained, her eyes still laughing. “For ‘three arts.’ ”

      “I swan.”

      “Exactly,” said Miss Pearl. “Every month we consider the life of a painter, a composer, and an author.”

      “Ain’t that nice! Sounds so smart of y’all.”

      “Why, thank you, Hazel,” Pearl said. “And of course we do our part for the community. Our busiest time is coming up, and we have a host of events to plan for.” Pearl touched her handkerchief to her heart and whispered, “Charity season, you know,” as if the poor people might be listening. “So we can only stay for a chat. I hope you don’t mind.”

      “Don’t think nothing of it,” Hazel said to Pearl. “I’m just glad y’all could show.” Hazel knew she should be disappointed, but she wasn’t. These three ladies had only been there under five minutes and they had already overloaded her wagon.

      Of course Pearl wasn’t being bad at all. It was Hertha who sent shivers through Hazel. The sheriff’s wife was sitting straight-backed and wooden in her lounger. Hazel couldn’t help noticing that her front teeth bucked worse than a rodeo horse and her brow hung like a fireplace mantel over eyes the color of cold ashes. She may well have been the most disagreeable-looking person Hazel had ever seen. It was she who spoke next. “Well, you certainly have a unique decorating style, Hazel.” There was something about the way the word “unique” splintered in Hertha’s throat that made Hazel judge the observation not at all complimentary. “What do you call it?” she asked. Even though Hertha was asking Hazel, she was looking sidelong at Delia. There was a slight curl to Hertha’s lip.

      Thinking of how to answer a question she didn’t understand, Hazel noticed how warm it had become. She heard something that resembled the tinkling bells on a faraway hill. Or maybe, she thought, like laughter right before it breaks out into sound.

      She looked