The Calamity Club by Kathryn Stockett - 21

W hen I wake up, I think I must be dead. I have died of a flu and shot up to heaven. Where else would have such soft-quality sheets?

I look around the room and cannot believe it’s mine. Last night after I cleaned up my awful mess, Lucille told me to follow her upstairs. When we got to the top, she opened the first door on the right and showed me to a white room with a bed big enough to sleep double people in it, with half a roof hanging over it that had silky pink tassels dangling down.

You and Tom must be very comfortable in here , I told her.

No, sugar, this room’s for you.

For me ?

There was a rocking chair in the corner with a little pink footstool and up under a window was a built-in bench so you could sit and gaze out at a pretty green tree. Beside the bed was a pink-and-white rug I could tell just by looking at it would be butter to the toes.

Well? Does it meet your standards? Lucille asked.

Oh it definitely meets my standards.

There was also a dressing table with a looking glass hooked up to it like in our old house. I jumped when I saw a skin-and-bones girl with all that white hair. Was that really me? Was this her room? Lucille said again that she would be getting me some better clothes, that I couldn’t be running around the Heidelbergs dressed like a sack of flour. Then she walked me across the hall where she showed me my very own indoor bathroom with a set of fluffy white towels for the wonderful bath I planned to take soon.

There was also a toothbrush in a stand. Is anybody going to be using that thing but me? I asked.

God no , she said. You can sleep in your petticoat tonight until I can get you a proper nightgown tomorrow. Put your dress in that hamper so the maid can tend to it. Then, like she was just thinking about it, she said, And if you see the maid in the morning, I don’t want you to say an-ee-thing about where you came from, alright? Nothing about Oxford or the orphanage. Understood?

Yes ma’am … but why not?

I saw a little rise in her eyebrow. Because I asked you not to. Can we trust you on that, sugar?

Yes ma’am, you can trust me. I was just happy I could finally do something she asked me to.

Good, she said.

Before she left, I asked, ’ Scuse me, but did you or your husband have anything in mind you would like me to call you by? It would feel strange to call this lady Mama since I called the other one that, but I could probably call the man Daddy. Lord knows I hadn’t worn that one out yet.

Just call us Tom and Lucille for now , she said and gave me a jerky pat on the arm and went back downstairs. While my tub was running, I took my own peek around.

Next to my room was another one with two narrow beds covered in blue, like for boys. At the end of the hall was Tom and Lucille’s bedroom. I could tell from all her clothes laying around everywhere. Their color decor was a dark green paired with red, and the room was bigger than mine, but it was not better. I find Christmas colors odd out of season. There was one last room next to theirs that had a white crib already made up with pink blankets, a silver baby rattle, and one a those rotate-things over it. Well, when I saw that, I told myself I would just have to work extra hard to show them I was better than any damn baby. Surely I was quieter and while I might’ve thrown up once, I rarely wet the bed and I hardly ever shit my pants. That is bound to be a plus in any type household.

Now, in my pretty pink-and-white room, the morning sun comes in. I decide I will stay in here and not make a peep. I do all right at this until the smell of food drifts in. See now that is definitely bacon I am smelling. I take my regular day dress out of the paper sack I brought with me. It still smells like the Orphan. I did not realize I smelled like that, soggy and sweet. I feel a thing press hot in my throat, but now is not the time when there is bacon frying in the house.

When I get down to the kitchen, sure enough, a colored lady in a white uniform has got a skillet sizzling. She is a lot skinnier and younger than old Ophelia, but she is I guess what you call in the middle ages , and she is searching all the drawers, the cabinets, opening and shutting, squatting to see behind a printed curtain up under the sink. When she spots me, she does not stop moving and says, Whose little girl a you? You one a Miz Rowena’s cousin?

I remember what Lucille said, so I tell her, No ma’am. I am just Meg.

She starts to wiping a counter. Meg. Meg who?

Nobody has told me this part, though. Am I still Meg Lefleur, or am I Meg Heidelberg now? Because I am not sure I know how to even spell that yet. So I tell her, I am just Meg. I’m staying here to help Tom and Lucille out. And I slice the air to show I prefer to leave it at that.

She finally stops moving. Help out? Her eyes go wider. You mean, with the baby? You look kinda young. Is the baby here now?

No ma’am, there is no baby here now. But if she has decided that is what I am here to do, well, that is her business. And even though I would like to ask her some questions myself about this whole place, Lucille told me to be trustworthy. Which I am pretty sure means keep my mouth shut.

She goes back to wiping and asks do I want me some breakfast.

Lord, yes. My supper last night was gone ten minutes after I ate it. And don’t worry, I will be sure and clean up good after.

She cracks a egg and fries it while I stand and watch. What I get out of her is her name is Willy May and she works at the big house for Mr. Tom’s mama , but that she comes over here mornings to look after things and to go on and siddown, baby, she got things to do.

I sit at the little table under a window. When Willy May sets a plate of food in front of me, I remind myself not to act like a damn wild animal this time. Lord, it is griddle cakes with syrup, a fried egg, last night’s ham cooked with coffee gravy, plus a real live orange cut in perfect-sized slices! I would say good things like that do not grow on trees except in this case I know they do. I shiver when I eat it. It is like tasting a slice of the sun.

I am finished and taking my plate to the sink when Tom walks in. Good morning, Willy May. His whole self, shirt, pants, even his brown hair, looks ironed today. Then he sees me and gets uncomfortable, his eyes moving from the maid to me, wondering, I guess, how I explained myself.

Good morning, Meg.

Good morning, sir.

Thank you, Willy May, you can go on back to the big house now , he says.

She looks around like there is more she wants to do, but she says, Yessuh. I be back tomorrow.

Lucille comes in, but she is not looking near as tidy as he is. She’s wearing a flowery bathrobe, and that big red curl is sticking out funny to the side now. The black stuff she had drawed on is smeared up under her eyes. She tells me good morning, but it looks like a chore.

Her eyes follow Willy May going through the yard. Could you at least wait for her to pour me a cup of coffee before you shoo her off, Tom?

I’ll serve your coffee, darling , Tom says. It’s right here on the stove.

But I don’t want you to serve my coffee , she says, sitting at the table. I want her to serve my coffee. It tastes better when the maid pours it.

He serves her the coffee.

And dammit, Willy May has finished all the damn dishes. These people are going to think I am useless around here.

Well. What should we do today? Tom asks.

I need to run to the store and pick up a few things. And try and find Meg some decent clothes , Lucille says.

I’ll drive you , Tom says. Well you better believe I watch them close. I know what can happen when a person runs to the store.

Thank you but I don’t need a chaperone, dear , she says and gets up and walks out with her coffee cup.

Tom opens the back door and looks out at the yard. I would like to explore back there myself. That magnolia tree looks worth climbing. He whistles through his teeth as a good breeze comes in. You feel that, Meg?

Yes sir. The air is nice and cool. That is unusual for August.

What do you say we pick out a book for you and we go enjoy this fine weather?

I say yes to that.

Look down on that shelf , Tom says. There should be something suitable for you.

I thought having my own indoor toilet was something, but these folks got themselves a real live library in their own house. The walls are the color of a dark stormy night, and there is a red velvety settee and a large painting of a sad old man that Tom says was his maternal grandfather. The old man does not look like his maternal mother was very nice to him. And books? They got them built to sit right in the wall. Running side to side and up and down are books about history, books about birds, books about Mississippi, even books about books.

Tom steers me by the shoulders to the bottom shelf where they keep the storybooks, which is the exact kind of book I like to read. Even though I would not say no to a picture now and then, I do not need them to understand the story. I treat my selection serious since I’m not sure how many you are allowed to take out here. They got a Anne of Green Gables and a Story of Doctor Dolittle that tempt me, but I settle on Adventures of Huckleberry Finn . The other mama used to read me one of his. That Mark Twain is reliable. Plus all the raft business they wrote about on the back cover reminds me of old Ophelia and her piano.

When Tom sees what I have chose, he nods and says, I prefer that one over Tom Sawyer , myself.

And of all the books, what else do I see on their shelf? The last book I burned at the cotton-field house, that Ulysses . I say, Well I don’t prefer that one. Part I read, that man picks his nose.

Tom raises his eyebrows like he wonders how I know that. But now that I have brought it up, it makes me tired to think about it.

I follow him into the backyard and across a warm brick floor set right into the ground. Tom settles himself on a long green wicker thing and he calls this weather spectacular .

I bet there’s not a person in Mississippi talking about anything else , I say. Me, I lay myself right in the grass. Run my arms back and forth like I am making a snow angel.

He asks didn’t we have grass at the home.

We had dirt. Pretty soon I am up on a lounging chair like him, though. Those red bugs will eat you up in summer.

It is a big quiet yard with tall trees around it for shade. But behind the yard is a line of dark woods I do not much like the looks of. With us sitting so near to the ground, the house looks even taller. All its different roof shapes, things flat and curved.

What do you call a house like that, Tom? I ask.

A Victorian , he says.

What about that thing on the top? With the fence around it?

That’s a widow’s walk , he says. They say widows used them to watch for their sailor husbands lost at sea. But we keep bags of sand up there in case the chimney catches fire.

The first thing he said makes me think of a black widow spider, the other the house burning down. If you did not know better, you might think the house looked a little scary.

When we hear Lucille’s motorcar drive off, we both begin reading. Huck Finn is starting his robber gang in the cave and oh they are up to all sorts of shenanigans. Tom hardly looks up for a long time, but me, I need breaks when I read. So I walk around the big tidy yard. Admire how all the leaves and straw have already been swept aside. These folks don’t even have pawpaws for me to pick up here. There are some pretty rocks and pebbles around a little birdbath area. I look close at some ants and wonder what it would feel like to look up and think, what is that big white-haired thing looking down at me?

When I come sit back down, Tom hears my stomach growling. You stay hungry, don’t you?

I tell him, Yes. I do, Tom.

Let’s see what’s for lunch. We go inside and when he opens the icebox, he does not even look surprised to find a plate of sandwiches already made up in there, bacon and tomato with a green leaf and some mayonnaise. I got to smile when I see it. There even is a toothpick stuck in there like you see in the ladies’ magazines. We carry them outside and do the same thing all over again but with food! It is just spectacular . That is a word I have never used in my life until right now. A word that sounds just like it means.

Except for when I feel my heart beat too fast, afraid I will wake up again drooling in that office, I lay my head back and enjoy the moment. I close my eyes and wonder what the other girls are doing right now. Starving to death is my guess because Dorella stole all the cornbread. I bet the Big Phony is pacing the hall, looking into the empty office, wondering what kind of good life I am living now …

You were a mistake

Dirty filthy

I shoot up in the lounging chair and look around.

Meg? Did you have a bad dream?

I settle back down. It is nothing. Just something that happens, Tom.

When I get situated with how happy I feel, I come up with some questions to ask. I decide to start with some basic facts.

Do you do a pay job of some kind, Tom? I read once in the Good Housekeeping that men enjoy being asked about their jobs and that the woman should listen when they talk and not interrupt.

By the way his shoulders droop, I wonder have I asked the wrong question.

Not exactly. I’m trying to write a novel , he says.

I nod and say, Tell me more, Tom. I am listening.

He smiles, then frowns. Starts but stops. I get the feeling he has not been asked this question much. He looks at the book he is reading and says, It’s about a fellow suffering from disillusionment and heartbreak in a postwar America.

I remind him I am eleven and could he explain it simpler. But don’t worry , I say. I am in the Exceptional Learner Group.

He sits up and, after adjusting his glasses, tries again. It’s about a man who, after he fought in the Great War, went to all the big parties and drank champagne with women and the gluttons he thought were his lifelong friends. That is, until they burned through all his money and he was left with nothing.

Did they? Burn it like firewood? I ask. Because I know something about that.

What that means is, they were wasteful with it, greedy and too privileged and more concerned with shaking their behinds in New York City than what was happening to the rest of the world. Lucille doesn’t like when I talk about it, so I don’t bring it up much.

Does Lucille not like books?

Oh she likes books, it’s writers she has trouble with. She’d rather I was in banking or real estate, like our friends up in New York City.

YOU HAVE BEEN THERE?

He nods. That’s where Lucille and I met. She moved to New York even before I did.

Did you meet at one of those parties where you shake your behind? I imagine all the behinds shaking so furious around the Statue of the Liberty.

He chuckles. Well, no. He looks off like he can see it right in the yard. Lord, I wish I could see it in the yard. We met when she was a secretary for an old buddy of mine, at Charles Scribner’s. They’re a big book-publishing company up there. I went to see him one day and Lucille was wearing this green dress with a big green bow tied up to her chin. He spreads his fingers wide, going either side of his neck. I told her she looked like my third-grade schoolteacher. He laughs again. She didn’t like that. But it got her attention.

I personally would love it if somebody said I looked like a third-grade schoolteacher. But Lucille could not look like Miss Pettybone if she tried. Even with a bow stuck on her.

We got married at city hall six months later. It’ll be two years this October.

Why did you move back to Mississippi? Did your friends burn up all the money? Doesn’t look it to me, with a crate of oranges in the kitchen and a set of encyclopedias with no letters missing. If that’s not rich, I don’t know what is.

My family … He sighs. They thought it’d be best if we came home awhile. I miss the city, though. All the good writers live there at some time or another. Once, I even saw him. He holds up the book he has chose.

This Side of Paradise , I read aloud. Fitzgerald. That is the name on the spine. Is he your most favorite writer of books?

He’s a lot of people’s most favorite , he says.

He tells me the story of how he went to a hotel in New York called the St. Moritz. And there he was. Sitting at the bar, listening to a jazz band. He didn’t look like he had a worry in the world, but if you read his books, you’d know that’s not true. By the way Tom tells it, I know this is his extra very special story.

I hate it here , he says.

To be clear, I say, I love it here.

He says, I find this place grossly over-appointed.

Try being a orphan. It is grossly under-appointed.

His eyes crinkle behind his glasses. When Tom laughs, it is the kind that is all on the inside. His body shakes and he keeps his lips shut, but he is still laughing. I wonder did somebody tell him he should not do that out loud.

When he is done, he looks serious again. He tells me how all this land his family lives on was from what he calls repression and subjugation . I listen very close and though I don’t understand all of it, I think what it all comes down to is this: Tom does not want colored Negroes cleaning up his kitchen or picking his fields or toting his groceries inside the house. He wants them to work right alongside white folks, in the same sort of jobs they do, or else the world is no better off than it was before the Civil War.

His family down the road does not share his opinions.

Are there any girls about my age in the family?

Oh yes, there’ll be plenty of cousins for you to meet. It’s a big family.

Each time he says that word, family , I grab holt of it. Hold it there in my head quiet, waiting on him to say it again. He says that a lot of them have gone off to Europe for the summer to buy more junk, but that they’ll be coming home in due time.

After that, he goes back to reading, so I lean back and look up at the blue sky. It is easy to count your blessings here, young lady, but I get to some of those I might’ve missed. Such as that electric plug-in icebox in there with a sandwich just waiting on you, that very interesting naked man statue over there, and enough fried chicken nights to where you get tired of it. Also books and books to read and a family down the road that will be home in due time .

I think I’ll go inside and do a little writing, Tom says. Think you can entertain yourself for a while?

I tell him, I sure can, Tom. Lord knows I am pretty good at that.

While Tom is in his office, I bring a pad of paper and a pencil from the kitchen out to the yard and organize all these questions I got in my head. When I get most of them down, I divide them into two basic groups. They are the Need to Know Now s and the Need to Know Later s, since I figure there is no sense harassing somebody now for what you can just as well harass them for later.

The ones under the Need to Know Now column that I plan to ask tonight are what am I doing here, when is the next fried chicken night, how old exactly are those cousins down the road, and in your opinion are they fun to play with.

A few on my Need to Know Later list are where will I go to school in the fall, do I write Meg and your last name on my paper or do I write Lefleur , could I try and drive that car out there sometime, and when does this school start exactly.

At the last minute I decide to add what I call a Bonus Question column. My only bonus question so far is, if a baby comes available, will you be returning me. I will only ask this if the time is right since I do not want to give these folks any ideas they had not thought of already.

Willy May sure seemed to think I was here to look after a baby.

But then I decide to erase that bonus baby question. I have been told I tend to overthink things. Well I have known enough people to underthink things and could stand to put a little more thought in their decisions. I erase it so hard I get a hole in my paper.

When I get tired of sitting, I go in the library and find a book called Maps of America . I lay on the floor and try to find where in the hell I am. Tom said we are in the north part of Mississippi, outside a town called Byhalia. I made him spell it. Once I find Byhalia with my finger, I use a little meter at the bottom to measure how many miles between me and Miss Garnett. Fifty is all I come up with. Well I’d like to tell the mapmakers to go on and add some more, you cannot lay enough road between me and that woman.

Next, I look at some of the funny names they got for towns here. Hot Coffee, Chunky, Alligator, Money, a river called the Yockanookany. After while, my face starts to feel warm from where the sun got me.

I am still in there when Tom comes out of his office. It is across the hall and located in the round part he calls a turret . A room that looks straight out of a fairy tale is bound to be a good place to make up stories.

He smiles and says, The writing went pretty well today. You just might be my good luck charm, Meg.

Long as I am good for something around here.

He says that Lucille is still running errands and won’t be home until later. He winks. But don’t worry, we can have supper without her. Let’s eat out on the front porch since it’s still cool.

We can do that?

Why not?

It feels like we just ate and here I am starving again. After we help ourselves, we carry our plates out to the front porch rocking chairs. There is a window ledge for the water glasses, but we use our knees for our table. And it is some good-looking food tonight. Actually it is the same food as last night, but it all tastes different since Tom heated it up this time. And I like this eating outside idea. When a biscuit crumb drops, I leave it for some other hungry thing to enjoy and when the mosquitoes find us, Tom just pushes a button behind him. These Heidelbergs do not pop and slap, they turn on a electric ceiling fan and wallah . Problem solved.

While we eat, we talk about Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer. I ask him how Mark Twain got away with spelling the word sivilized when that is not the correct spelling. He says that is what you call poetic license .

Well if they required a license to misspell here, I expect half the state of Mississippi would be in jail.

Tom laughs at my joke where his body shakes but he makes no sound. Then he tells me, You’re looking a little pink in the cheeks, Meg. We better put a hat on you tomorrow.

We are allowed to do this all over again tomorrow? I let that soak in and feel a good, deep tired from those hours in the sun.

What’s this? He picks up my list of Need to Know s that must have fell off my chair.

It’s just some questions I wrote out, I say and feel embarrassed by it. But you do not have to answer them now. I am scared he will laugh at it.

He unfolds it and while he reads them, he doesn’t laugh, he looks serious. Well, I can tell you that fried chicken nights are about once a week, so it’ll be coming up soon. You’ll be going to grammar school with the other cousins, my brother Nick’s daughter is about your age and there are some others … He wrinkles his forehead. I don’t see why you shouldn’t use the name Heidelberg … unless you don’t want to?

I think it over and decide that would be all right. If he will tell me how do you spell it.

He spells it out slow for me and I repeat it back. I want to know more answers, but I start yawning. My eyes are so heavy, my plate almost slips off my lap. Laying too long in the sun will do that.

Why don’t we talk about the rest of these later with Lucille. I think we might need to get you to bed, Meg.

He takes both our plates to the kitchen even though I know I ought to do it. I lean back in my rocking chair to rest my eyes a minute, and when I open them next, I am being carried up to my room. Tom puts me in my bed and pulls the cool sheet up on me but not the blanket. Like he knows I would get hot later with all that blanket on top of me. He squeezes my foot and says, Sleep well, Meg. I’ll see you tomorrow.

And oh it is all so spectacular.

Sometime in the night I shoot up and look around for Dorella or Miss Mildred telling me I have woke up the whole damn house again with my screaming. But it is those two down the hall making a racket. My door is shut but theirs must be open because I hear it loud and clear.

We’ll tell her whatever we damn well please and she won’t know the difference! Lucille says.

We’re still giving the rest of the money back, Lucille, it’s the right thing to do. We’ll tell them it didn’t cost as much as we thought. Now where’d you put it—

Don’t you tell me the RIGHT thing to do! Lucille screams so loud, my heart double thumps. Her voice drops so all I can hear next is bits and parts. After you lost— something, and If she hadn’t —something, and then I hear my name, MEG . I curl up in a ball, scared to death. Lord, what have I done now? Did I talk to the maid too much, or did Lucille see all my Need to Know s and decide she has had it up to here with me?

That’s it. I’m leaving , Lucille hollers. And I hear something in the way of boxes slamming around.

Lucille, just listen to me a minute, please , Tom begs. Put that away—

No, I have had it with you, and I have had it with HER—

Stop it … that’s not fair. Put that down, please. I’m sorry. I am shaking under the blanket, hoping this is not about me.

Then it gets quiet again. Too quiet to hear anything, and I am so scared and tired. Until he says, Come here, darling. And I hear her say in a different voice, Shut the door, Tom.