“Thomas was at your house. He says it looks like you have extra rooms. I’ve studied it out. Bitsy could learn to help you with the deliveries and on the farm. She’d work for room and board. No salary. My daughter is thrifty and smart. She’d be company for you out there in the sticks. You’d like her.”
I can’t believe this conversation is happening. Sometimes it would be nice to have another person around. Mrs. Kelly and I lived quite comfortably together in our little white house before she had her heart attack, but Bitsy and I together, a black and a white? I don’t really care what people think, but I can’t afford to bring attention to myself. I’ve just met Bitsy, and I’ve never known a white woman to live with a colored before, unless she was a servant.
“She has one week to move out of here.”
“You know, Mary, I don’t have electricity or gas or a telephone or a car. It would be a tougher life than Bitsy is used to. Has she ever lived in the country?”
“Sure. We stayed with my pa near Fancy Gap in the mountains of North Carolina when she was a girl. That was before we moved to West Virginia so my husband could work in the mines. Mr. Proudfoot, Bitsy’s pa, was killed in the Switchback Mine explosion along with sixty other men. By that time my daddy had passed on and lost his farm, and there was no place for us in Fancy Gap. The children and I moved north with the MacIntosh family when they opened their new mines in Union County.” She says all this without a trace of self-pity.
“Bitsy knows how to kill and dress deer. She can fish. She could clean and do laundry for you so that you’d have more time. My daughter graduated from the colored high school in Delmont. She can read, even big books, and she’s as hard as cowhide if she needs to be.” The cook is as relentless as a Fuller brush salesman.
“Is that the baby crying?” I grab my satchel and make a hasty escape up the back stairs. At the landing, I slow and give the prospect some thought. Bitsy’s moving in with me could be a gift or could mean the demise of my peaceful hermitage. I picture the two of us curled at the opposite ends of the sofa, reading in the evenings, as Mrs. Kelly and I once did. Would Bitsy squirm? Would she talk too much or sing under her breath? Does she snore or click her teeth when she eats? Would I have enough food? Those are the little things that concern me.
I let out my air, wondering how the community would feel about us. I couldn’t call her my servant, and I couldn’t stand someone waiting on me. It riles me even to think of it!
Crescent Moon
“Katherine? It’s Patience,” I call softly from the upstairs hall. “I came to check on you and the baby.” The bedroom door is half open, and I see the woman pull her shift over her breast and stand up. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get back,” I apologize. “Mary says you’re both doing fine.” I note that the baby is asleep in his cradle, nursing his little tongue.
“Oh, Patience. I’ve missed you.” Katherine plunks down on the edge of the bed, and by her action, I see that her bottom doesn’t hurt anymore, but things are not as hunky-dory as Mary implied.
“Are you okay?”
Dried milk is caked on the woman’s lavender chemise, her hair is uncombed, and her pale face, without makeup, looks lined and tired.
“Yes . . . oh, I guess so . . . no, not really. I just feel so rotten about Bitsy.”
That takes me aback. “I thought you didn’t know about that—about her having to leave and Mr. MacIntosh’s financial problems.”
“I know more than he thinks! William treats me like a child. I can hear the news on the radio, for heaven’s sake. I can put two and two together.
“The day the baby came I was so distraught I didn’t realize what they meant by Black Tuesday, but since then there’s been a string of men in and out of the house, bankers, creditors, investors, people like that. I hear their raised voices. I hear their fear.
“Then Martha Stenger came over to see the baby, the pharmacist’s wife, with her six wild children. I thought they’d never leave. The kids were squirming all over, and the two littlest boys got in a fight!” She rolls her eyes.
Here I see a sly smile, and I remember why I like Katherine. Despite her sweet face and gentle feminine demeanor, there’s a little piss in her vinegar.
“I know what you mean. They’re a rowdy brood, bright but so noisy.”
“Martha Stenger told me that Mary Proudfoot has been asking everyone in town if they’ll hire Bitsy. I was so angry when I found out William fired her! I would have confronted him if it wouldn’t have meant a big fight. He has so many other worries. Has to make payroll for his miners this week. I just feel so bad. I don’t have any money for you either, after all you did.”
I’d felt this might happen, yet still I’m disappointed. The MacIntosh family could at least offer something. I try to let Katherine off easy. “That’s okay. I know you’ll get to it when your finances are better.” (She should know about my finances! A flimsy two-dollar bill is all that stands between the poorhouse and me.)
I change the subject. “Mary told me about Bitsy just now in the kitchen. She asked if I would take her in, maybe train her to be my birth assistant, but I don’t have any extra money and don’t really need help.”
“Oh, would you, Patience? Could you? I’d feel so much better if she was with you.” Katherine stands, rocks the cradle with her foot, then floats to the window.
Why are some women so graceful? Is it learned from their mother or something they’re born with? I compare myself to my patient. Today I wore my second-best dress, the dark blue one with the little white dots with a white apron over it. One strand of my long hair has caught on my glasses, and I smooth it back.
Even in the wrinkled, breast-milk-stained gown, Katherine looks like a queen, moves like a dancer. She holds the heavy curtain to one side and stares out the window to where the tops of the trees whip in the wind.
“Did you see the snowball bushes? Mr. MacIntosh planted them last year. The roses too.” (She calls her husband “Mr.,” as many of the older women do.) “He started the roses when we first moved here.”
“They’re beautiful,” I confirm. Then she turns to face me.
“Look, Patience . . . times are going to get worse. You need to be realistic. A girl to work on the farm would be helpful. We’ll all have to put in vegetable gardens and do things we aren’t used to.”