Louisiana Lament

then got a better car—hardly ever drove it. Too ashamed.”
    Actually, he exaggerated. It had a hundred thousand miles on it and was owned by a perfectly nice-seeming man who said he was a manager for the Burlington Coat Factory, but who knew? Maybe he dealt rock in a back room of his house. He did have a nice new Lincoln Navigator, destined to be vandalized soon, Talba thought, considering the neighborhood.
    “Uh-uh,” Darryl said later. “They’re all afraid of him.”
    She had no idea if he was joking or not. But she did like the car. For one thing, she liked riding up high. For another, it was neither new enough nor shabby enough for anyone to take much notice of. And it was cheap, which was the deciding factor.
    She wrote the nice man who might be a gangster a modest check and followed Darryl to his house, where she christened her new car by ceremoniously transferring to it her maps, tape recorder, two cameras, binoculars, and Tee-ball bat. Then the two of them returned the rental car and went shopping for groceries. “Tonight I’m cooking,” she’d announced earlier. He cooked for her so much she felt guilty. “Miz Clara’s famous fried chicken, coming right up.”
    “Awww. Can’t we just have quiche or something?”
    His little joke. She could fry chicken nearly as well as her mother, who was famous for it at Baptist church potlucks. When he had eaten plenty of it, and some rice and gravy she made as well, he talked a little about his daughter, and his worsening problems with her. While Darryl-the-pedagogue argued for therapy, Kim, his ex, had a different plan for solving the problem—she wanted Raisa to see less of Darryl. “Kimmie says I upset her,” he explained. “Being away from home ‘disturbs her schedule.’ ”
    Much as Raisa terrified her, Talba was enraged. “What is that woman thinking? I’d say ‘that bitch,’ but I know she’s your daughter’s mother…”
    “Oh, Talba, come on. Anger never solved anything.”
    “The hell it didn’t! Swear to God I could kill her for treating you like that.”
    He was getting upset. “Let’s change the subject, shall we?”
    “You always change the subject when I get upset.”
    “Well, who wants all that energy coming at them? Calm down, will you?”
    “You sound like Miz Clara.”
    “You should listen to your mama.” His voice was teasing; he was getting over it. “So listen, let’s talk about
your
problem. The question of the unknown sister.”
    “Not only do you change the subject you throw it back on me.”
    “This is what schoolteachers do.”
    “Okay, then, since you’re so interested in my problem, maybe you’d like to go to church with me tomorrow.”
    “We’re going to pray for resolution?”
    She considered. “It’s a thought. But not my first one. Lura was a Methodist, but no one knows anything else about her. So I’m going to see if anyone remembers her at her old church.”
    In the end, Darryl pleaded that the shock of seeing Talba in church might cause him to have a heart attack, and not only that he had Raisa. So Talba went to church alone. She was pretty sure she knew the church Lura Blanchard meant when she said “that one by Claiborne.” She had a perfect mental picture of it, but no memory of ever having been inside. When she saw the sanctuary, however, it was as familiar to her as Miz Clara’s church. She had undoubtedly been taken there, probably more than once, by her father and his woman.
    What she needed was someone as old as Miz Clara, someone who’d been there then. Shouldn’t be hard, she thought, looking around. The place was full of fossils. And so, after the service, she simply asked around.
    “Hello, I’m Talba Wallis. I’m wondering if you remember a woman who used to be a member of this congregation? Lura, her name was. She had a baby daughter, but I don’t know her last name.” She might have added, “And a man friend named Denman LaRose Wallis,” but she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
    Some of them thought they remembered Lura, but they really couldn’t put a face to the name; most looked blank. And, finally, an old man in suspenders said, “You need to talk to Sister Eula. She know everybody ever set foot in this church.”
    All the bystanders said that was sure right, and the hunt for Sister Eula began, though she wasn’t in the least hard to find. Sister Eula loomed large not only in their hearts but also in other ways—and so did her hat. It was the size and