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Raven froze, drew in a calming breath, and turned.

Mrs. Stipe was dressed in her nightgown and staring her way. “What are you doing here?”

Lying for a living came in handy. “I wanted you to know we’re almost out of butter, so there won’t be enough for both biscuits and your grits. When I got here and realized you were in the washroom, I didn’t want to disturb you, so I was on my way back to the kitchen.”

“Okay. Thank you for letting me know, but purchase more next time,” she scolded.

“Yes, ma’am.” Raven hazarded a quick glance at the wig on the nightstand. It was moving. She looked away. “I’ll be back with your breakfast directly.”

“Fine.”

Raven left the room. She was halfway down the staircase when the screaming began.

Running back, she threw open the door. “What’s wrong?!”

Mrs. Stipe was on her feet on the bed. “Mice!” she screamed, her skinny legs pumping up and down. “In my wig! Get them! Get them!”

Raven visually searched the room and saw the wig lying on the floor. “Where’d they go?”

“I don’t know!” Mrs. Stipe wailed. “Oh my God! Get them!”

Raven spied one as it skittered across the floor.

“There!” Mrs. Stipe cried. She began running back and forth as if the mice were on the bed with her.

“I need the broom!”

“Do something! Hurry!”

Braxton ran in. “What’s the matter?”

“Mice!” Mrs. Stipe screamed.

“Bring the broom!” Raven implored.

He took off at a run.

“There’s another one!” Mrs. Stipe cried pointing and jumping.

Raven watched it escape through the open door. “How many are there?”

“I don’t know! Just get them!”

Her frantic dance made the bed jump up and down. A second later the slats beneath the mattress gave way. The bed crashed and Helen was bounced off the mattress and onto the floor. A mouse ran across her legs. She squealed, kicking and twisting, and fainted dead away.

Brax returned with the broom. He took in Helen. “What happened to her?”

“Fainted.”

They shared a look.

He said, “We should probably make sure she isn’t hurt.”

“I suppose. Let me get a washcloth.”

When she returned with a water-cooled cloth, he was helping Helen sit up. Raven wiped the sweaty, reddened face.

“Are they gone?” she asked, eyes frantically scanning the room.


Tags: Beverly Jenkins Women Who Dare Historical