Page 12 of Junie

Chapter Twelve

Junie weaves through the main house and bursts into the Emerald Room. The room looks like the aftermath of a twister, with loose crinolines, chemises, and corsets strewn over every surface. She shoves aside a gown draped over Miss Taylor’s trunk to open it, digging until she finds a parasol with a white handle and puts it aside. With that done, she places her hands on the handle of the bottom left drawer and yanks it open.

The drawer is still empty.

She shakes the drawer back and forth and hears the mysterious thump again. She shoves her arm into the drawer up to her elbow but finds nothing. She shakes again, hearing the elusive sound. She runs her hand on the bottom, balls it into a fist, and knocks. The echo reverberates.

It’s hollow.

Anticipation and dread spread like smoke in Junie’s lungs.

She jerks the drawer from its track and flips it upside down. The false bottom tumbles to the ground and, with it, a small rectangular wooden box, carved with a pattern of roses.

Junie runs her fingers over the engravings. She’d never seen Minnie with this box; where did it come from?

She tries to open it, but it resists. On the front, Junie finds an inlay of a circular sun and moon, joined at a keyhole. She rummages through the upturned drawer for a key but finds nothing.

Of course, it’s locked. Minnie never made things simple.

She shoves a hairpin from the vanity into the lock, but it won’t pop. She grunts in frustration. Junie looks over her shoulder, lifting the box to her chest.

Open.

Open please.

Open please spirits.

The box stays locked. She wishes she had a rock to slam against it, mostly out of resentment.

Footsteps approach the door. In a frenzy, she stuffs the box into her apron, puts the drawer back together, and shoves it into its spot. She rushes toward the parasol on the bed as the door opens.

“Junie?” Bess says, peering into the room.

“Mhmm!” Junie says, arranging her arms in front of the bulging box in her pocket.

“You still up here?”

“Getting the parasol.”

“I thought I heard a commotion.”

“Oh well, Miss Taylor left this drawer loose. I was trying to fix it. This room sure is a mess, ain’t it? Seen cleaner from the pigs.”

“Mhmm,” Bess says, nodding apprehensively.

Junie starts down the hallway with Miss Taylor’s parasol. The box corners dig into her thighs. There’s no way she can hide this for long from the white folks.

“Bess, I’ll just get a parasol for Violet, too, while I’m up here.”

“Mhmm,” Bess replies, collecting sheets from the linen closet for the mistress’s room.

Junie slips into Violet’s room; in comparison to what she’s just seen, this chaos looks fit for royalty. She draws the box from her apron pocket, feeling the smooth, pale wood with her fingertips. It’s oddly light and hardly makes a sound when she shakes it.

She hadn’t seen a key anywhere in the Emerald Room. She sighs, her heart sinking. Another mystery to solve.

She tucks the box underneath Violet’s bed, where her winter clothes are kept, between two of Violet’s wool coats. After straightening the blue bed skirt, she grabs another parasol, and hurries back downstairs.

—

As she opens the back garden gate, Junie worries she’ll find one, if not both, women with a sharpened hairpin embedded in the jugular. What she finds instead is Miss Taylor and Violet underneath a crepe myrtle, giggling like toddlers.

“Miss Taylor?” Junie calls apprehensively. “I got you a parasol. And, Miss McQueen, I have one for you, as well.”

Her gut tells her she’s walking into something she’s not meant to be a part of.

“Aw, thanks, Junebug! Miss Taylor, have you met my Junebug?”

“Yes, we met yesterday in my room, while she was tidying,” Miss Taylor says.

“Then you must know that she’s my oldest and dearest friend, my playmate since we were knee-high to grasshoppers.”

“Oh! Well, that explains it, then,” Miss Taylor murmurs.

“Explains what?” Violet asks.

Miss Taylor blushes. “Oh! Nothing, it’s just…Junie, you know, she doesn’t look quite like a…I mean, she’s beautiful—you’re very handsome, Junie—just not what one usually sees in a maid.”

Junie swallows, picking at her hands. “Thank you, ma’am,” she murmurs.

“So, Junie, tell me. What do you and Miss McQueen do for fun around here in Alabama?” Miss Taylor says, flashing a coy smile. “Because as far as I’ve seen in Selma, there isn’t much to do other than fan yourself and complain about the weather.”

Miss Taylor’s eyes are kinder now, yet impatient. Junie tucks her hands behind her back, trying to catch Violet’s eye.

“Sure, it’s nothing exciting compared to life in New Orleans.”

“Miss Taylor’s been telling me all about New Orleans, Junie. You wouldn’t believe all the concert halls, museums, even restaurants they’ve got there.” Violet beams.

“It’s nothing compared to France, but certainly don’t go spreading that around. Folks around here would think me une belle déloyale . Mère is from Paris, and we used to spend lots of time there.”

“She’s been all over Europe, too, Junie, not just France. London, Berlin, even Rome!”

“That sounds lovely,” Junie responds. Violet has been playing the restrained Southern belle all day only to transform into her giddy self after a few minutes alone with Miss Taylor.

“Mère would always make sure to have us take a girl or two along to the opera, just to help them become cultured. She’s always taught us to believe that we’re only as good as we treat our help. Caleb can even play the piano. He’s quite good, too.”

Miss Taylor pauses, her eyes dropping to the spot where Mr. Taylor beat Caleb. She rolls her lips inward before forcing a smile. “Have you met Caleb yet?”

A spark of anxiety runs through Junie’s belly. She bites her lip, nodding.

“He’s my brother’s valet and coachman. Not much of one with the horses if you ask me. I think he hit every bump between here and Selma. But he’s nice enough, and I do love his piano playing.”

“Oh goodness, I suppose it is getting late,” Violet says. “Junie, why don’t you go and see after your auntie, and I’ll fix myself for dinner. I’m sure my mother will want a hand in it, anyway.”

“Yes, what was it that you called that dress she made you wear yesterday, like ‘if a mint julep and a cotton ball had a baby’?” Miss Taylor giggles to Violet.

Junie’s muscles tighten. She had said that, not Violet.

“You sure, Vi…I mean, Miss McQueen?”

“Yes, I’m positive, au revoir, ma chérie !” Violet calls, waving her handkerchief in the air. Miss Taylor laughs, burying her face in Violet’s shoulder.

Junie leaves the garden more confused than ever. Miss Taylor spent most of the afternoon poking fun at Violet. How could they be friends now?

And what does this mean for her?