The Kitchen House (13 page)

“Mr. Rankin, can I get you something?” Belle asked.

“Where’d a little nigra like you learn to speak so nice?” he said. “You almost sound like a white woman. Hell, you almost look like a white woman. I can see why the captain wants to keep you for himself.”

Belle looked him over as she might a bug. When she walked past him toward the door, he caught her arm. “Now, I didn’t mean to scare you off none,” he said.

Belle stared down at his hand on her arm until he released it. “There’s plenty of work to be doing,” she said.

“I was hoping you’d have a little drink with me tonight. Maybe after the dance?” He winked at her.

She walked out.

“Well now,” he said, “that’s one high-thinkin’ nigra. I’m guessing I just might have to bring her down a notch or two. Don’t you think so?” He slammed his fist on the table and shouted again, “Don’t you think so?” We jumped, and he laughed. “Now, that’s the way I like my women. They need to know who’s boss.”

When Mama Mae walked in, she looked surprised to see him, though all along I had seen her shadow outside the door.

“Why, Mr. Rankin,” Mama said, “it good to see you here in the kitchen.”

“I’m looking for that boy of yours. Where’s Ben? I ain’t seen hide nor hair of him for some time now,” he said.

“Mr. Rankin, I sure not surprised you don’t find the peoples that you wants. You so busy, I don’t know how you do everythin’ you do. It a mighty long day for you.”

“It’s a busy day, all right,” he acknowledged.

“You a mighty good overseer,” said Mama. “That cap’n sure do the right thing when he brings you to this place. George sayin’ all the time, ‘Cap’n, that Mr. Rankin sure get the work done.’”

“Well now, I’m happy to hear that, Mae.”

Mama went to the brandy jugs that Uncle had brought earlier for the evening’s feast. She uncorked one, poured some of the amber liquid in a cup, and handed it to Rankin. “You workin’ so hard, I thinkin’ you might like to get started on some of this,” she said.

He smiled as he accepted the drink, tossed it down, and held the cup out for more. “Now, you, Mae, you know how to make a man happy,” he said. After he finished the second drink, he straightened himself and sighed. “Well, I’ve got to get back out there,” he said. “You know those nigras. Leave ’em alone for a minute, and they’ll do nothing but sit.”

“Mr. Rankin, you sure right ’bout that,” said Mama. She waited until she was sure he had gone, then posted Fanny at the door, found a bench, and sat down with purpose. “I don’t have time for this,” she said to no one in particular, “but I gonna sit for everybody out there. I sure do hope the good Lawd don’t do to me what I thinkin’ that I wanna do to that ugly lil rooster.”

L
ATE IN THE AFTERNOON,
B
ELLE
brought us a treat. It was a small bowl of cracklin’, crunchy bits of pork fat she had scooped out of the rendering lard. We ate them with zeal. There would be more, she said, with tonight’s meal, when she would make cracklin’ bread for all the people from the quarters.

“Cracklin’ bread?” I liked the sound.

“It the best,” said Beattie.

“She mix the cracklin’ in the corn bread,” Fanny finished for Beattie.

“Mmmmm,” they said in unison.

I
N THE EARLY EVENING, AS
darkness fell and the outdoor work was finishing up, Beattie and I were sent up to the big house to help Dory. Fresh pork had been roasting over an open pit through much of the late afternoon. Sweet potatoes baked in the pit coals, and Belle, with Ida’s help, was making huge amounts of the cracklin’ bread in the large kitchen fireplace.

Mama came to us before we left. “Uncle Jacob stayin’ with Masta Marshall. Ben keepin’ hisself around the house in case Dory or Uncle be needin’ him. After I get done here, I comes to stay with the babies and Miss Martha, then you girls come back with Dory for your supper and the dancin’.” So Beattie and I left, hand in hand, happy to know that we would be back soon.

The big house stood in shadow against the darkening light, and when we entered, the downstairs was eerily silent. Uncle Jacob had lit one of the lamps in the long hallway, but it flickered and cast dark shadows; we hesitated, our hands still tightly clasped. “Let’s run,” I whispered.

“Mama say no runnin’ in the big house,” Beattie whispered back, so we set out together at a walk, though we quickly picked up speed as we passed the dark cavernous rooms that stood open to the stairway. We were on the first landing when we heard Uncle Jacob’s firm voice. “I say I stayin’ here with the boy,” he said.

We continued up, though more slowly.

“He is my charge, and you will leave him to me!” It was Mr. Waters. At the sound of his fury, I would have turned back in fear, but Beattie pulled me on. We arrived at the top landing just as the tutor tried to push past Uncle, but with that, Ben stepped out of Marshall’s room and placed himself squarely in the doorway. “Just like Jacob say, we stayin’ here with Masta Marshall till the cap’n get home.”

“Nigras running the house? Have you all gone mad?” the tutor said, backing away.

Ben didn’t answer, but even in the dim light, I could see his eyes flash.

“You just don’t learn your lesson, do you?” Mr. Waters spat out. “I wonder what Mr. Rankin will have to say about this.”

He swung around, and no sooner had he hurried down the stairway than Ben directed us in a loud whisper, “Get Dory! Tell her to go get Mama!”

When we opened the door to the blue room, it felt as though we were in another world. The room was quiet, but not silent, like the rest of the house. Though lamps were lit here, too, their light was steady and soft. The blue and ivory colors shimmered in the glow from the fireplace, and the room smelled of babies and lavender. The infants both slept, Campbell in his crib and Sukey on a floor pallet. Faint music seeped in from the outdoor celebration, and through the large closed window, I saw a bonfire blazing like a beacon from the kitchen yard.

“She finally sleepin’,” Dory whispered to us as she came from Miss Martha’s room. “This a bad day for her. She hear those pigs squealin’ all day and—”

“Dory, Dory.” Beattie ran to her.

“Shh! You wake her. What you wantin’?” Before Beattie finished her explanation, Dory was at the door. “I come right back,” she said. “Pick up the babies if they cry.” She slipped out just as Campbell began to fuss. Beattie and I both hurried over to the crib, and when I felt his damp bottom, I knew he needed changing. I confidently undid his bed gown and proudly showed off my newly acquired skills as I untied the first layer of wool cloth, then untied and removed the underlying clout. I hoisted his bottom up by grabbing hold of his ankles with one hand, then slid the fresh fabric under him with the other. Although the room was cool, he seemed to enjoy the freedom and churned his little legs in the fresh air. Beattie and I laughed as we watched and studied together the obvious difference between boys and girls.

“I wouldn’t want that thing,” Beattie said solemnly.

“Me, either,” I said, making a face.

“It sure funny-looking,” she said, and I agreed.

We peered closely.

As though waiting for this moment, his male difference straightened and shot a fountainlike stream into the air, spraying our faces. We gasped and jumped back. When we caught each other’s eyes, we began to snort and then tried desperately to contain the peals of laughter that followed. Each time we gained control, one of us would gesture a reenactment that started another round of helpless laughter. We were brought back to good sense when we heard Miss Martha’s alarmed call.

“You go in there,” Beattie said. “I put the clout on Campbell.”

“Isabelle!” Miss Martha greeted me as she sat up in bed. “Listen,” she said, cupping her ear toward the window, “someone is calling.”

I parroted Mama’s usual words. “Everything is all right,” I said, “there’s a party in the kitchen yard.”

“Oh,” she said, then directed me to pour a tall glass of sherry from the decanter that stood on her dressing table. She drank the glass empty, then began to sip on another. “Listen!” she said again. “Don’t you hear that? Someone is calling.”

My heart thumped when I, too, heard the call of distress. Immediately, I guessed it was Dory. I didn’t explain myself as I ran from the room, past Beattie holding Campbell, and out across the hall to rap loudly on Marshall’s door.

“Ben! Ben!” I called out, and at once the door flew open. “Dory is outside, and she’s calling for you.”

Ben did not hesitate but grabbed a small sledgehammer before he rushed toward the stairs. “Go back to the babies,” he ordered, “and stay in that room.”

W
HEN
I
RETURNED TO
M
ISS
Martha’s bedroom, she was calling for Mama Mae. “Where has she gone?” she asked irritably. Hoping fervently that it was true, I assured her that Mama was on her
way. Miss Martha set down her empty sherry tumbler, then threw back the bedcovers and announced that she had to relieve herself. I pulled the chamber pot from under the bed, helped her up, then turned my back while she made use of it. After she finished, I covered the pot and slid it back under the bed, wondering who had retrieved it from the orchard, where I had left it that morning. Miss Martha was unsteady on her feet as I helped her into bed. She settled back against her pillows and gazed about the room. “Would you have Jacob put another log on the fire?”

“I can do that,” I said quickly, and went to the fireplace.

“Thank you, Isabelle. Come sit here,” she invited, patting the bed beside her. “Are the children all right?” She was beginning to sound tired.

“Yes.”

“Is James home yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Don’t leave me,” she murmured. Her eyes closed as her words ran together.

I stayed until I was certain she had fallen asleep, then I went out to the blue room again. I surprised Beattie, who was gently bouncing up and down in the blue silk chair. She looked at me guiltily. “It so soft,” she said, smoothing it with her hand.

I didn’t have a chance to respond before Dory burst into the room. Her eyes were wild, and she was gasping for breath. Blood dripped from her nose, staining the front of the torn shirt she held closed over her chest. “Go get Mama,” she said in a high urgent whisper. “Go get Papa. Go! Go!”

We ran down the stairs and through the house. In the dark, we almost fell over Ben sitting on the steps of the back porch. Seeing him I thought for a moment all was well, but from the quiet way he urged us to find Papa, I knew there was trouble.

P
EOPLE WERE STILL EATING, BUT
the musicians had already begun to play, and some of the children, including Fanny, were dancing. Papa was at the end of a long food table, pouring drinks from the
brandy jugs. We headed for him until we saw Rankin seated on a bench next to him. We changed course and ran to the kitchen, where we found Mama Mae, Belle, and Ida preparing to carry out gingerbread cakes.

Beattie stumbled over her words, but Mama understood enough to act immediately. “You two stay here,” she directed us, then went to the corner under the stairs where all the tools from the day’s slaughter were stored. As she grabbed a pointed knife and slipped it under her apron, Ida spoke up. “Mae! You best send George!”

Mama shook her head. “Rankin out there with him.” Then she left, moving at a casual stroll through the kitchen yard. Belle instructed us to stay in the kitchen house, then she and Ida quickly set out the cakes.

Belle was back in the kitchen with Beattie and me when Mama Mae returned. Mama’s breathing was labored, but she took swift action. First she sent Beattie over to the door and told her to start singing loud if anyone came. Then Mama waved Belle into the corner to whisper in her ear. Belle gasped and pulled back to look Mama in the face, but Mama didn’t waste time with further explanations. Instead, she pulled a bottle of the captain’s house whiskey from under her apron and set it on the side table, then reached into her deep skirt pocket and withdrew Miss Martha’s brown bottle.

Belle’s eyes grew wide as Mama uncorked the bottle and poured a generous dose of the laudanum into the liquor. Mama corked the bottle, shook it, and handed it to Belle. “You got to get this into him. Enough to keep him sleepin’ through the night. Soon as he down, send Papa up to the big house.” She went again to the pile of tools. Quickly sorting through them, she pulled out a small meat saw and hitched it up under her skirts.

Suddenly, Beattie began to sing. She clapped and stomped while singing about a river at the top of her lungs. Mama headed toward the door, and Belle went to the fireplace and busied herself.

“Stop that screeching,” Rankin said to Beattie as he passed her in the doorway. When he saw Mama, he looked at her
disapprovingly. “Mae,” he said, “I thought you’d be out helping with the food.”

“Mr. Rankin, I sure sorry I can’t stay, but I got to get up to the big house. Miss Martha not doin’ so good,” Mama said, again moving toward the door.

Rankin stopped her. “Say, where is your boy? I haven’t seen much of him all day.”

“You just miss him again.” Mama’s voice was at an odd pitch. “He down at the barns doin’ the chores.”

When Rankin looked hard at Mama, Belle came forward from the fireplace. Her face was flushed from the heat, and she had never looked more beautiful. “Mama,” she said, “I’m sure it’d be all right with Mr. Rankin if you go ahead. He know Miss Martha’s waiting on you. Mr. Rankin,” she asked, coming closer to him, “did you have a piece of my gingerbread cake?”

“Why, yes,” he said, looking at her with surprise, “and I sure did enjoy it. Right now I’m having to do some business with Mr. Waters, but later, I was wondering if you would have a dance with me? I hear you sure can dance.”

Mama slipped out the door.

“Mr. Rankin,” Belle replied, “it’d be my pleasure.” She went to the side table and picked up the whiskey bottle. “Before you go, I was wondering if you might want some of this. The cap’n brings this for me special from his boat.”

“Why, thank you,” he said, holding up a mug, “but I have a drink right here.” He eyed the whiskey bottle. “I will have a drink of that later, though, if the offer is still good.”