The Calamity Club by Kathryn Stockett - 20

I never could keep awake in a moving car.

I sit up and get my wits back straight and take in my surroundings. The tall man in the gold-wire glasses is driving this car, and his redheaded wife is asleep on the door. Music is playing soft from somewhere, though that could just be in my head. A big day will do that to a person.

The man glances up at me in a little mirror, then back to the road. I got to say, he does look surprised. Went to pick up a baby and ended up with a eleven-year-old girl in back of his car. I’d like to tell him, you and me both, mister.

He drives us past fields thick with bright white cotton and some just growing the good color green. I can tell we been driving for some time by the way the sun is pulling low and orange in the sky, and by the fact that I will need to use the water closet soon.

To keep my mind off it, I try and concentrate on what these people might want with me. They look well-off enough to have a kitchen maid already, but maybe they got a crop to pick or kids to look after. I would think even rich people like free help, maybe more than regular. That is what keeps them rich.

When I spot the first real house coming up in a while, I sit forward and ask, Excuse me, sir, is that where you live?

The man checks I did not wake his sleeping wife and says, No, it’s not that one.

I sit back in my seat. Soon as I do, I see another white house coming, this one with a proper porch and swing … What about that—

No, I’m afraid that’s not ours either. Before I can lean up a third time, he looks at his wife and says, I’ll let you know when we’re getting close. Would that be alright?

Yes sir, that will be fine. I watch the road slipping by and tell myself to fasten my lip. Do not go wearing these folks out on the very first day. Just do your work like you are told. Or you will get sent right back to who you got away from. Lord knows I have seen it happen.

A short while later, the man says, Alright, we’re almost there. His wife by the door stirs and he turns the wheel onto a different road. We go down a straight, dusty lane. The way the trees shade both sides, it feels like we are in a tunnel. I don’t see nary a crop to pick, but I do see a house, and a lot of it, coming at us. He stops in front and turns off the engine. First he opens the lady’s door, then the back. My rear end stays fastened to the seat. That house is too big to think of as mine.

It is not wide like some of the big houses in Oxford, but it is taller and narrower, with a lot of different pointy-style roofs. It is painted a attractive redbrick color with white trim hanging off it that reminds me of the fancy lace cookies you buy at the better food stores. But the part I find most interesting is the round tower that runs up the side. It looks straight out of a fairy tale book.

When I get out, I hold my paper bag tight. All I got in here are my clothes and those portraits I moved out of my underpants, but least they are things I know my way around.

I ask, Are y’all store owners or government officials of some kind?

The strawberry-haired lady laughs low, and her shoes tap up the front steps. We’re the Heidelbergs, sugar, and if you think this is something, you ain’t seen nothing yet.

When she opens the front door, it sounds like click-shaah . These folks do not lock it up like a penitentiary. We enter a little blue room first that is separate, so you can answer the door while keeping the riffraff out. But soon as we turn a corner and he flicks on a light, bingo, the Heidelbergs are home.

Let me get the fan going , the man says, and he mashes another button and here comes a breeze. I stand near to the wall with my paper bag, afraid to touch a thing. There is a long green sofa, shiny as a vegetable. Little tables lined with dishes and whatnot. Two brown leather chairs perched around each other like one is listening to some gossip the other has to share. A upright piano sits on the far wall. On the floor is a rug so blue it is like the lady is walking on water.

She sits herself on the sofa and props her feet up, shoes and all, on the coffee table. Can somebody please fix me a glass of something before I die of sobriety , she says.

The man frowns at her, then me, like he did not want me to hear that. I have to go so bad now I have forgot their damn names. I do what I have done for near two years. I raise my hand and ask, May I please have my turn to go?

The lady just looks at me, then— Oh. It’s right behind you, sugar. She points to a little door by the stairs. And lookathere, they got a shiny white toilet stool built right in the house! When I finish my business, I pull the chain and away it goes, this is the life . Afterward, I wash my hands with a soap that smells like real roses on a vine.

When I ease out of there, I see the lady is gone. The man has his suit coat off and is standing in his shirtsleeves and tie. I forgot how tall he is, not skin and bones like she is, but lean. His brown hair has a soft wave a lot of ladies pay a price for. He adjusts his glasses and looks nervous to where I do not think this man has spent much time around children. Nor do I see any picture books or children’s toys laying around.

Can you just come right out and ask somebody— I know I am your daughter now, but what is it exactly you want from me again?

You’re probably tired from that long drive , he says. Lord, I slept most the ride here.

Or are you hungry? You must be hungry. Would you like something to eat?

It is all I can do not to grab this man by his ironed shirt collar and tell him, You got no idea, mister. But I mind my manners. I believe I could eat a little something, thank you, sir.

I follow him into the next room with a dining room table. Then through a swinging door that he props open, into a cheery yellow kitchen. There is a double sink up under a window and across from that a plug-in icebox named a Frigidaire, a little eating table, and a black-and-white floor that resembles a checkerboard. If Ava was here, we could play a game on that. But more important is that very delicious smell coming from the countertop. Dishes are lined up, covered with glass lids.

We’re going to go ahead and start on supper, darling , the man hollers. It is not a rude holler, more like a house holler.

The woman calls back, What’d she bring us? And don’t tell me it’s fried chicken again.

See now, those words do not even make sense to me. I have not had food fit for a human person since Birdie’s biscuits. I ask, Are we allowed to wash our hands in that sink, or would you rather I use the pump outside?

He says we can do it right here. I stretch on tippy-toes to reach and he hands me a green bar soap, and we get it done quick. We wipe our hands on a tea towel, and he starts lifting lids. From where I’m standing, I can’t see what’s inside, but I can sure smell it.

Looks like smoked ham tonight, darling … and she heated up the leftover roast beef. Meg, what do you — oh, I didn’t see you right there.

Yes sir.

He takes down three plates from the cupboard. Which would you prefer?

I draw a deep breath in and make this difficult decision. Alright. I pick the ham.

No roast beef? he asks. It was pretty good yesterday.

I do like the looks of that gravy it is soaking in. Alright, I will have roast beef instead.

He smiles at me funny, holding the plates. I am shaking a little. You know you don’t really have to choose , he says.

Lord, he means BOTH. He points to what each thing is.

Do you like rice and gravy?

Yes sir.

How about sweet potato casserole?

Yes sir.

Butter beans with ham hock?

Yes sir.

Fried okra?

Yes sir.

Creamed corn?

Yes sir.

Rolls with butter?

Yes sir.

How about the Peabody Hotel?

Yes sir.

He grins and hands me a clean plate. Why don’t you just help yourself so you can take what you want.

So that is what I do. I help myself and try not to take more than my share, a little scoop of this and a little of that, do not be rude to these proper people, but it is all I can do not to lick the server spoons. He pulls out a tin of rolls already warming in the oven—Lord, that is a good smell, how many can I have? I take two.

The woman glides in here, so I move back since I have served all that would fit on a plate anyway without the items touching one another. He kisses her cheek and tells her she looks beautiful. She more or less ignores him.

She has changed into a snug-fitting dress that is slippery looking and the color of silverware. She is tall and mostly bones and has the smallest waist I believe I have ever seen. Her hair is parted to the one side with a big red curl fixed at one ear. I would describe her look as what you call dramatic .

Well, looks like Margot’s hungry tonight , she says, breezing by me. I do not know if I am supposed to answer that or not. She does not make much eye contract with me.

She pours a bottle of something into a glass of ice while he fixes their plates. He gives her another look while she is doing it. Mostly, though, I focus on my food, wondering would I get a pinch if I snuck a little lick of these sweet potatoes. But then we all go into the dining room.

Sit anywhere you’d like, Meg , the man says.

It takes me a second, but I sit in the chair across from them. When every seat in recent memory has been assigned to you, you forget how these little things work. I bow my head to get ready for the blessing, but the man just goes right straight to eating. Well hallelujah, I have been saying this for years : Eat first, thank after, otherwise you are just praying for the blessing to be over.

I cut myself a big triangle of smoked ham and taste it and Mother Mary and Jesus , that is heaven on a fork! Next I try some cream corn, oh it is buttery! And sweet! And then I am on to the butter beans, then those sweet potatoes, I made sure and got myself one of those crunchy white things on top. I try the roll with butter and while I am still chewing, I go to the top of my plate and I am back to the ham.

I eat and eat without taking a break to where I am surely being rude. Those two don’t seem to mind, though. They talk quiet between themselves. Soon he has finished his supper, but she is just taking long sips of her drink and moving some meat here to there.

Well, least she has decent table manners , I hear her say. But I’ll need to find her some appropriate clothes.

That is some music to my ears. This View Day dress is itching me to death. I listen while I work on the butter beans. Here I thought I didn’t even like a vegetable.

I want to do it sooner rather than later, though , the woman says. They’ll be home before we know it.

We will, Lucille , the man says. Alright, so her name is Lucille. But let her settle in before we get into all that.

We need to make sure she can do this, Tom. And his name is Tom.

Can we discuss this later. Please, darling.

I figure they are wondering can I do whatever this job is they got for me. All I can guess at this point is regular housework. So just as soon as I finish these butter beans and ham and biscuit, I will get to work in that kitchen. I might also let them know if they need a wall painted or a mean portrait drawed of somebody they do not like, well, they are in luck.

When I see this Lucille is smiling at me, I stop chewing. A girl from your more typical background would smile right back. But where I’m from, that means you’re about to get taught a lesson.

Margot—Meg , she says. Are you enjoying your supper?

Yes ma’am, this food is wonderful. I sure do appreciate it. If I could, I would give it a grade of straight A perfect.

When she tilts her head, that red curl falls pretty to the side. Good, I’m glad you like it , she says, still smiling. Now Meg, I hate to bring this up on your first night here, but we want to make sure we’re right for you and you’re right for us. Don’t we, darling?

She smiles over at Tom. He moves around like his chair has grown uncomfortable.

She says, What we want to make sure is that we can trust you, Meg.

Oh I am very trustworthy, ma’am. You better believe it. My stomach has started to hurt a little though. I have ate too fast.

Good. So if we ask you to do something in the future, you’ll be a good girl and do a good job for us?

I got no idea what she is talking about but I tell her, Yes ma’am.

I wait for her to tell me what that is, but she takes another long sip of her drink. I figure I better play it safe, get the ball rolling. I say, Please excuse me , and I get up and go around the table. I collect her plate first. Serve from the right, clear from the left , I say, though I am not even sure where that came from.

Meg, you don’t need to do that— Tom says and stands up. He takes her plate out of my hand.

It’s alright, sir. Miss Garnett doesn’t mind if you work us.

We can get our own plates , he says and picks his up too. You don’t have to do that.

You can trust me to make myself useful , I tell them, but he won’t let me take her plate.

If the girl wants to clean up, Tom, let her clean up , Lucille says. God knows you won’t let the maid do it.

That is when a sound jumps up my throat, and all that supper comes up and onto the shiny wood floor. I squat down quick and cover it up with a napkin so they cannot see! I am scared they will be upset and return me for a better one—

Don’t worry, Meg , Tom says, bending down to help. It’s alright, it happens to everybody.

I get it all cleaned up fast as I can. When I come back in from the kitchen, I may be crying a little. Lucille just pats my head and says not to fret. You’re gonna fit right in here, sugar.