Apron Strings (5 page)

Ethel
1927

I
was fourteen-years-old when I come to work for yo’ granddaddy’s family, Miss Sallee. It was just a few days a week when I didn’ have nothin’ to do at the boardin’ house; helpin’ my mother in the kitchen, mostly. Folks say I was tied to mamma’s apron strings, but I never did much mind what folks say. Turned out to be one of them little decisions that don’t seem like much at the time, but ends up changing yo’ life.

First day they puts me to work pluckin’ and dressin’ the chickens for that evenin’s dinner. It was summertime and the kitchen was pipin’ hot, what with bread bakin’ in the ovens all morning long. I had sweat rollin’ off me; but it was the kind of work I’s used to. I hadn’ been there two hours when in breezes a blonde headed white girl, all smilin’ and flushed. And she ask’ me, well, she tol’ me—like I’d been there all her life—to cut up some carrots for her pony. Didn’ ask me my name (white people never did), just said, “Little pieces; he likes little pieces.” I said, “Yes’m, I’ll bring ‘em to the stable for ya,” and she was out the door ‘fore I’d even finished my sentence.

And that was the first time I ever laid eyes on Miz Ginny. Now, she was the prettiest girl, white or colored, you ever would see: so slim and graceful, with hair that didn’ seem to fall out of place no matter how fast she rode that pony; and always smilin’, or so I thought. Even though she acted all high and mighty about them carrots, I liked her right off. Course, I was gonna learn she could be a difficult lady to please.
“Particular,” my mother called her. Reckon she come by that trait honest; both her folks had mighty particular ways.

Her daddy, Gordon Ulysses (musta been a Yankee in that woodpile, some ways) Stuart, was one of the
cussedest
men ever drew breath—least that’s what my Mama said. I don’t know. He never had much to say to me. He sho did love yo mama. But my own Mama said that big boned, red-faced, beast of a man could turn sweet milk sour with a look. Mista Gus waited ‘til he was neigh in ta forty-five afore he married. His wife, Mary Bess Stuart, was good as two saints. She had to be to put up with his ornery self—least that’s how Mama seen it. My way of seein’ Miz Bess was that she liked to look like she was good. Lord knows she stood by her man, but come time for judgment day she’s gonna have to pay for leavin’ her children out to dry. Mama said it’s a shame a good woman like Miz Bess would be saddled with the likes of Mista Gus, bein’ that she was a lady through and through. I kept my thoughts to myself on that score. She didn’ drink a drop of alcohol and was kinder than three pews full of church ladies, so everybody thought. Mama would walk barefooted on broken glass for Miz Bess; but if there was a way she could avoid Mista Gus, she would take it even if she had to walk a mile outta her way. Mama could
not
abide that man.

Mista Gus filled up a room with his voice, his laugh, even his silence, and when he was crossed, he had a face on him would stop water freezin’ in January. Miz Bess, on the other hand, was a little bird-like woman. She spoke soft and sweet, and hardly took up space atall ‘cept when a thing didn’t suit her. Then she could give even Mista Gus a run for his money. Mama said he burnt down the house he and Miz Bess was livin’ in before so after his parents done died they could move into in the big house where he growed up. Miz Bess didn’ want to live in the big house, but after he burnt the other house down, she didn’ have much of a choice, folks said.

Appin was in Mista Gus’s family since his great-granddaddy’s time, and most folks that worked there was born on the place. The big house didn’t look as big as it was. There was a porch wrappin’ min’near ‘round the whole house, covered in jasmine, climbin’ roses, and honeysuckle
vines. I ‘spect it was the way you come on the porch that made the house look smaller than most the houses around. There weren’t no big columns. It sat up on a slope with a brick walk lined with box bushes. Behind them was lilacs and crape myrtles. With all the vines and bushes you couldn’t really see the house. Made it real cool in the summertime, and smelled sweeter than I ‘spect even heaven in the spring.

Miz Bess liked to sit out on the screened in part of the porch in a rocking chair and read while Mista Gus played patience at a card table he made Cy set up right outside the floor-to-ceiling parlor window. Mista Gus could pretty much see all the goings on in the house without being seen his own self.

Sometimes Miz Bess had to take Mista Gus up to the Annex if he’d been drinkin’ too much. The Annex was a house on the farm out near the dairy. Nobody much went near it ‘cept Wilson and Cy, and then only when they was milkin’. Had its own drive, and unless you knowed different, you mighta not thought it was even part of the Stuart’s place. Miz Bess’d stay up there with him and nurse ‘im ‘til he sobered up. Ever’body in the house had to pretend to Miz Ginny and her brothers that Mista Gus was off on a business trip and Miz Bess done gone along with him. But they couldn’t keep that lie up forever, not with Miz Ginny askin’ questions the way she did.

I don’ rightly know what Mista Gus done to make a livin’. Miz Bess sho didn’ let him outta her sight for long. Some men folk come up to the house on occasion and I heard tell Mista Gus had himself a business partner, but I didn’ know what sorta business they was up to.

As far as Miz Ginny was concerned, I wasn’t the only one thought she was pretty neither. That boy, called hisself CL—delivered the groceries from Sikes’s Store—piled excuse on excuse to stay in the kitchen, hopin’ to get a glimpse of her. It was right comical how he’d nod and wink at Miz Ginny when their paths crossed. She didn’ pay him no mind. Annoyin’ didn’ go half way to describin’ that boy. He was always givin’ his opinion, no matter who was talkin’ or what about. Mama shooed him away every chance she got and I can tell you he didn’ take to that, no way. He finally struck up a friendship with Mista Dennis. Them two was trouble looking for a reason to be mean. I, for one, was glad when
Mista Dennis went off ta school and CL didn’ have as much reason to hang around. His head still spun like a whirligig ever’ time he step foot in the kitchen, thinkin’, I suppose, he might catch a peek at Miz Ginny.

All dem Stuart boys was a handful. I know that the two oldest ones was sent off to school and summer camp. Mista Dennis, he stayed at home, along with Miz Ginny. That is, ‘til he gots himself into a heap of trouble with that no count delivery boy CL. I know’d Mista Gus told Mista Dennis any number of times to stay way from that devil CL, but Mista Dennis didn’ listen none. Every chance he’d get, if CL wasn’ mooning around after Miz Ginny, Mista Dennis would hightail it off to the store and wait ‘til CL was done with his chores. Then the two of them would get up to the most awful mischief. I heard tell once they’d built theyselves a big fire and tossed in gunnysacks filled with kittens and stray cats, laughin’ like fools. That did it for Miz Bess. She had enough, and was ready to send Mista Dennis off. Roberta say she heard tell that CL and Mista Dennis didn’t just burn cats. She say them two did some terrible, terrible things to a boy that lived over near Mama’s and then tried to burn him up so nobody know, but I ain’t never heard from anyone else ‘bout such a thing. One thing I do know shortly after Roberta told me her tale Mista Gus done sent Mista Dennis off to some kinda school for special children. Shoulda been
reform
school, you ask me. And Mista Gus say CL ain’t never to step foot on his place again. CL didn’t pay it much mind. He still did the deliverin’ for the store. I ‘spect he did his share of keepin’ outta Mista Gus’ way, even so.

Miz Ginny was alone most of the time. Her daddy doted on that child and you could even say he watched her like a hawk. I heard him say more than once he never, ever goin’ to send his little girl away. Miz Bess, I heard tell, thought Miz Ginny ought to be sent to school up north, but Mista Gus wouldn’ hear none of it. I ‘spect Miz Bess wasn’ all that crazy about sharing Mista Gus with nobody; including his own chil’ren.

As ornery as he was, Mista Gus was good enough to the peoples who worked for him, if you didn’ mind the show he was always putting on. He paid pretty good, and was regular about it. Mama got a whole day off ever’ other week, besides a half day weekly.

We’d line up, at least the household help did, every Friday and Mista Gus handed each one of us our pay. We’d stretch out a hand and he’d put our money in it and we’d smile and say, “Thank ya, Mista Gus.”

And he’d say, “Thank
you.”
Then he’d call each of us by our name. He did that ever’ single Friday except when he’d been drinking. Miz Bess would give the money to ol’ Black Sam those times and Black Sam’d do the same.

Black Sam and Mista Gus was about the same age, though I reckon Black Sam musta been just a hair older. Black Sam’s mama nursed Mista Gus when he was a baby, and she took care of him until the day she died. Black Sam didn’ do much. He’d got the bad arthritis, and mostly he just filled in when Mista Gus had been drinkin’. Black Sam’s son, Wilson, and his grandson, Cy, did most of the work on the farm. Don’ make much sense to me why they call him Black Sam. He weren’t much darker than me, and his grandson, Cy, could pass for white easy wit’ no questions asked. But the old folks had some ways that no amount of thinking could make sense of, so most times I didn’ even try. But it did cause a body to wonder.

Miz Pansy, she used to be Miz Ginny’s nursemaid. After Miz Ginny was grown, Miz Pansy helped wit’ the cleanin’ and laundry. I used to hear Mama and her talk ‘bout how if Miz Ginny was one of them’s daughters she wouldn’ feel like sittin’ down for a week after sassin’ back to her mother the way she did. Miz Bess didn’ seem to have no notion about how to raise a child. It’s a shame, too, ‘cause Miz Ginny had a real sweet side to her if somebody woulda just made her mind. The shame is there weren’ nobody to do it: Miz Bess couldn’ and Mista Gus wouldn’.

I’d been working in the kitchen with Mama off and on ‘bout two years. One morning Mama hollered, “Ethel, get on out an’ look for Cy. Tell ‘im I wants ‘im in he’ah now!” She was wavin’ a spoon, lookin’ to beat the band like she was goin’ to make somebody pay. I knew better than to ask her any questions. “I’d ‘spect he be in de pony barn mucking out, but he might be out with Wilson. I needs him right away. So you go’on an’ get ta lookin’.”

“Yes’m, I’m goin’ right now.” I wasn’ payin’ attention and let the screen door bang shut behind me.

“Ethel, how many times does I’s haft tells ya?” I shuddered as I turned to look. She was standin’ in the door lookin’ like she was gonna throw that spoon and wasn’ plannin’ on missin’ neither. “You bet’ not be doin’ dat agin!” she said.

“Yes’m.” I took off toward the barn in a dead run, wonderin’ what had gotten her so riled up. I was just glad I was the one doin’ the lookin’ and Cy was who she wanted.

It being summer time, I was barefooted. I don’t ‘spect I made a sound when I ran down the aisle of the horse barn and out into the small log barn in the back where Miz Ginny’s ponies was. It was more like a shed than a barn, but then Mista Gus, he liked ta give a thing a name. So it was called the pony barn by all and sundry.

As I ran in, I saw two folks at the other end of the barn, but I couldn’t tell who they was. Sunlight was streamin’ in so bright, I stood inside the door catchin’ my breath and givin’ my eyes a chance to adjust. I couldn’ see much, but I could tell them two folks was kissin’. One of ‘em sure looked like Cy. I’d learned a long time before interruptin’ somebody kissin’ could get you in a heap of trouble. I slipped back outside the door and hollered, “Cy, where is you? Mama wants ya in da kitchen
right now
. Cy, ya in he’ah?”

Then I pretended to come in the door and ran right smack into Cy. He jockeyed with me to keep me from comin’ into the shed. I seen Miz Ginny was leadin’ her pony out the far door.

“Mornin’, Miz Ginny,” I said. She didn’t pay me no mind atall. She climbed on that pony and trotted off toward the far field. I commenced to deliver Mama’s message to Cy. He took off to the big house at a good trot hisself. I stood and watched Miz Ginny ridin’. Always so perfect—and there she sat on that pony with straw danglin’ in her hair. I bet she wonderin’ to beat the devil what I’s goin’ to do or say ‘bout it. This here couldn’ stand. Cy was too good a boy, too much like a brother to me for me to let him get hisself killed over no white girl. I shoulda knowed right then this day was all topsy-turvy. Nothing happenin’ as it oughta; everything outta kilter.

What with my uneasy feelings about Cy, and Mama’s mad bear mood, I took my own sweet time gettin’ back to the house. I kicked at dried mud clods in the road and daydreamed ‘bout what it would be like to be in love. I lay down in the shade of a hibiscus clump with my hands behind my head and stared up at the white summer sky. I couldn’ help tremblin’ when I thought of what’d happen to Cy if he got found out. The pitchur of him beat up and bleedin’ kept creepin’ into my mind. I couldn’ shake it. I got up and went on to the house. I had to step out of the way ‘fore that devil CL run me over comin’ down the path with a toothpick hangin’ out his mouth and sneer on his ugly puss, he looked me dead in the eye and didn’t give up no ground atal. God amighty, I hated to think what woulda happened if he seen what I’d just seen.

Mama looked up from her cookin’ when I walked in, but she didn’ say a thing ‘bout me takin’ so long to get back. I pitched in, tryin’ my best not to think ‘bout what I seen. It musta been two hundred degrees in that kitchen. I stood over the cook stove boiling eggs. The afternoon was hummin’ along ‘bout as usual.

Then Wilson come runnin’ in the house. “Miz Bess, Miz Bess! Bertha, where Miz Bess?”

“What de matter wit’ you, fool, hollerin’ like that?” Mama snapped.

“Where Miz Bess? Des been an accident down by the river. Mista Gus’s car…Call a doctah.”

Mama looked at me, “Go’n git Miz Bess. She on the porch I think. Tell her I needs ‘er. Then you take Miz Ginny upstairs and you stay wit’ her. We sho’ don’t need her getting’ all worked up. Oh, an’ tell Pansy to get on down he’ah. Imma need all the help I can get.” She wiped her hands on her apron.