by D L Lane
“This is the one, I think.” She tugged a beautiful peachy colored garment with fluttering short sleeves and a silky bow on the bottom of the V-neck free, placing it on the end of the bed, then started gathering ladies unmentionables, and some silk-seamed stockings.
Getting up, my sleeping gown swished around my calves as I reached to touch what she’d laid out, staring at the floral pattern in the dress.
I hadn’t seen such lovely clothing, ever. They were fancier than what you’d find in the Sears and Roebuck catalog, that’s for sure.
“You want me to wear this?” I asked.
“Well, yes.”
My gaze went back to the wardrobe. “Where did the clothes come from?”
“They belong to Mr. King’s sister, Estella. This is her room when she comes to visit.”
“She may not be too happy ’bout some stranger wearing her stuff,” I said, eyes going wide at the cute shoes with the rounded toes and short heels she held in her hand.
“She very rarely comes here anymore, but regardless”—side-by-side, she placed the shoes on the floor—“she wouldn’t mind sharing.”
I blurted out the next thing that came to mind. “Where do y’all come from? You don’t talk like the folks ’round here.”
“Originally? California. But when Mr. King took over part of his father’s company, several of the staff came this way with him.”
“How many staff?”
“Hm...well, me, of course.”
I nodded.
“Then there would be Charles,” she said.
“His driver,” I added.
“Yes.” Ms. Bauman ran a straightening hand along the edge of her hair. “I heard you met him before the unfortunate event took place at your home.”
Unfortunate event.
I almost snorted at her polite way of putting it, though I wasn’t sure if she referred to my fall or the reason I’d took off running in the first place. I would have called the whole thing a disgraceful disaster.
Still busily working, she placed the delicate stockings alongside the dress. “Then, there is Cook. Her real name is Inga Polanski, but Mr. King’s mother always called her ‘Cook,’ and it stuck, I guess.” Ms. Bauman did a little shrug. “He also employs a groundskeeper.”
“You mean a gardener?” I asked.
“That’s right.” Her eyes sparkled. “But he didn’t come with us; he was already here. And we had two maids, Ms. Bonny, and Mrs. Irving, but she retired last month, returning to Glendale, so... I suppose that makes five of us now, four of us coming with Mr. King.”
“Glendale?” Even the pinching of my eyebrows sent a tingling pain along my jaw.
“Oh, that’s in California.”
“What type of company?”
She blinked over at me. “What was that?”
“You said Mr. King took over part of his father’s company. What type of company?”
“You sure are a curious little bunny.”
I glanced down. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
When I lifted my head and looked at her, she grinned. “In answer to your question, King Aviation. Then they branched out into energy, shipping, and dabble a bit in broadcasting.”
“Aviation?” I rubbed the itch away from the end of my nose. “What’s that?”
“The design and manufacturing of aircraft.”
“Planes? Like Amelia Earhart?”
I’d heard about her flight on the radio at Fawna-Leigh’s.
She nodded. “They make them.”
“Goodness gracious,” I uttered, thoughts bouncing after catching a glimpse of myself in the vanity mirror. “My hair is a mess! And my face...” I touched the spiky stitches dangling under my chin. “I’m a shade of yellow/green.”
“Your bruises are healing up. Soon, they will fade completely.”
I messed with a tangled curl and let out a defeated breath. It was going to take forever to put myself to rights.
“I’ll help you with your hair after a bath,” she said, coming to me.
Staring at her, I asked, “A real, soak-in-a-tub bath?”
I couldn’t even remember when I last had one of those. Haulin’ and heating water on the wood-burning stove to pour into the old metal tub we owned took a lot of work, and finding any peace to take a bath never happened. Besides, every time I went through all the trouble, my fresh, hot water in the tub didn’t go to me. My option was the dirty, last soak or nothing—Daddy and my brothers gettin’ first dibs—so I always chose a wipe down with clean, cold water.
“Yes, Ms. Singleton”—the corners of her rosy lips lifted—“a ‘real, soak in a tub bath.’ But you’ll need to be mindful of the stitching above your hip.’” Taking my hand, Ms. Bauman tugged. “Come on.”
“Call me, Mississippi,” I said in a soft tone as we headed for the door.
***
Squeaky clean and shining like a new penny, I’d dressed in all the best in lady's finery that was nowhere as big as the hand-me-downs from Fawna-Leigh, and smiled so wide my face hurt. But I didn’t care. Not only had Ms. Bauman detangled my shampooed hair, but she’d put a bit of rouge on my cheeks and lips, a dab of eyelid color, and a sweet-smelling perfume behind my ears and on my wrists.
I spun, arms outstretched, still inside the huge indoor bathroom with plumbing, happier than I’d been in...I don’t know how long. Although I appeared different, deep down, I was still the same Mississippi. Only, if I were honest, I had an overpowering feeling of a new beginning.
“I thought we’d take a picnic lunch down by the lake,” a giggling Ms. Bauman said. “It’s a beautiful day, conducive to talking and taking a leisurely walk around the water as well.”
Conducive. I didn’t know what that meant, but as much as I wanted to, I didn’t ask. I figured I’d already been askin’ a lot of questions, so I filed the word away for later study.
“That sounds nice,” I said, putting an end to the girlish twirl.
“We need to make a stop in the kitchen. I’m sure Cook has our basket ready.”
Following her, I gazed at the delightful shoes I wore, captivated by each step on the light blue carpet beneath them as we made our way to a grand curving staircase.
“Mind the steps,” Ms. Bauman said.
With extra care, I made my way to the bottom, feeling a slight sting above my hip, but the horrible burn I’d experienced a few days earlier had thankfully decided to leave.
“This way,” Ms. Bauman called over her shoulder.
“Are we close?”
“The kitchen isn’t much further.”
How big is this house? I wondered, taking yet another hallway, passing door after door, but when we started past an open doorway, I paused to peek inside, curiosity gettin’ the best of me again—my female companion leaving me behind.
I should have kept up with her, it would have been the mannered thing to do, but there, in front of a window, with his hands clasped behind his back, Mr. King demanded my attention.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I stayed put, spying on the man as he went from one corner of the room to the other, appearing deep in thought—his pacing creating moving shadows on the showy red rug.
Why am I fascinated by him?
I didn’t know the answer. I hadn’t been interested in any man. Well, maybe Bobby-Ray, but a silly childhood crush didn’t count. No, this was different. Perhaps my notice was due to the fact he’d been good to me, although I still wasn’t sure there weren’t other motives hidden behind the kindness, lying in wait to jump out and make their nasty appearance when I least expected it. And I supposed, on some level, I wanted to prepare myself for such a thing to happen. After all, I’d been disappointed by people many times before. Sure I’d be let down again.
When Mr. King stopped, I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice me, and he didn’t. He dropped his chin—his eyes closing as he sighed heavily, everything else so quiet you could hear a pin dr
op.
“Mississippi?”
Ms. Bauman’s voice broke the spell, making me jump, my elbow smacking the doorframe with a thump.
I sucked in a breath at the short, sharp sting as Thayer Drayton King flicked his head up, his gaze shootin’ over to me, guilty of looking into a room I should have passed on by.
“There you are,” she said, coming to my side. “I lost you.”
I glanced at her, unable to speak ’cause the cat had my tongue.
A frown marred the pretty features of her face. “What are you doing?”
My lips parted, but nothing came out.
Scooting next to me, she stuck her head into the room. “Oh...hello, Mr. King.”
He didn’t move, not even a twitch.
“I’m sorry if we disturbed you from your work.”
“You didn’t,” he replied, his eyes fixed on mine.
“Good. I’m glad, sir.”
“You’re up,” he said to me.
I had become a statue.
Not releasing me from his powerful gaze, he asked, “Where are you two headed, Ms. Bauman?”
“I thought we’d go down by the lake. Have a picnic.”
A smile stretched across his handsome, clean-shaven face. He’d removed his mustache. “I’ll join you.”
“You will?” both of us asked in surprising harmony.
“Yes.” He strode toward us. “I need to take a breather anyway.”
Ms. Bauman grinned. “I’m sure Cook made more than enough to go around.”
“I’d bet your right. Inga acts like she’s feeding an army,” he said.
“She does. But food aside, we are pleased to have you with us.” Mr. King’s housekeeper nudged my shoulder with hers. “Isn’t that right, Mississippi?”
Nodding, I garbled, “Uh-huh.”
“Great!” He clapped just once. “Lead the way, ladies.”
***
Not too far from the left side of the home, described to me as an estate, sat a peaceful lake. A place, I decided, that would become my favorite spot.
“I think this is one of the best views,” Mr. King said, slowing our progress.
“I agree.” Ms. Bauman nodded. “We’ll picnic here.”
As she and Mr. King spread out a blanket, and a red and white checkered cloth on the grass, I glanced across the water, most of it shaded by towering trees, but there were some sunny parts—the ripples glistening like diamonds. Squinting, I took in sections of the banks dotted in purple/blue wildflowers, with fuzzy cattails tussled by the gentle wind.
“Mississippi?” Ms. Bauman called, pulling my attention away from the lone rowboat bobbing by the dock.
“Yeah?”
She held out her arm as if showing off her handiwork. “Take a seat.”
Not only had she spread a blanket out, and a tablecloth without a table, but she’d opened the basket, put down some plates, and placed the food in their bowls and wrappings as pretty as a picture.
“Here,” Mr. King said, giving me a hand, helping me to my knees.
Twinges of pain shot down my side, and I grimaced.
His brows pulled together. “Are you all right? Is the ground too hard for you?”
I waved a hand, shifting to my other hip. “I’m fine.”
When Ms. Bauman and Mr. King joined me, he asked, “What do you think?”
I looked at him. “’Bout what?”
“The lake?”
“Oh...” I fiddled with the hem of the dress, caressing my stocking-covered ankles. “It is charmin’ here.”
A smile lit up his face. “I concur.” He gazed out at the water. “This is one of the reason’s I purchased this place.”
“Concur?” I asked, the heat of not knowing yet another word, rising in my chest.
With a tilt to his head, Mr. King said, “I agree.”
I nodded, eyes shifting to my legs.
“Mississippi,” he called, drawing my gaze back to him. “Chin up, remember?”
“Yeah.”
“Fruit?” Ms. Bauman asked, a bowl of red grapes in her hands.
“Sure.” I plucked a few free and put them on my plate.
“Cheese?” came her next question once Mr. King had taken some for himself, too.
After the fruit, cubes of cheese, and crackers, she offered up sweet tea, fried chicken, and fluffy mounds of potato salad.
“This is so-o-o good,” I said between chompin’ bites of tangy-sweet salad.
“You’ve got something.” Ms. Bauman took her napkin and dabbed at the corner of her mouth, delicately.
“Huh?”
“You’ve got a bit of a smudge,” Mr. King said, taking his napkin and wiping the edge of my mouth as if I were as fragile as glass.
If I wasn’t tomato red before, I’m sure I was then, since I’d only focused on the food, eating like a heathen.
“No looking down,” he said.
“I’m nothin’ but an embarrassment.”
“You most assuredly are not an embarrassment!” The ruby ring on his pinky-finger sparkled for an instant before he started for my chin; I guessed thinking better of lifting it due to my stitches, the man pulling away.
“But, I was enjoying my food a little too much,” I whispered, glancing up at the man—his lips pressed into a thin line.
“That’s perfectly understandable,” Ms. Bauman said, drawing my gaze. “Cook’s food is delicious.”
I managed a smile which she returned. “Lip-smackin’ good, my Mama would have said.”
One minute Mr. King looked as if he’d spit nails; the next, he broke into a hearty laugh. “Quite right, Mississippi. Quite right.”
Chapter Seven
The library
“There’s no reason for this, Sippi,” I complained to no one but myself and the crickets, unable to fall asleep, which didn’t make a lick of sense. I’d slept without a single problem on dirty, hardwood floors, in the barn of the hayloft, and on my too-thin mattress with a lumpy pillow, so I should be lost in my dreams. Especially since I was in a wonderful room with a clean, comfortable bed, wearing a new sleeping gown that Ms. Bauman and Ms. Bonny had brought up, saying Mr. King ordered a ‘few things,’ and they’d arrived.
“For me?” I asked, unable to hold back the girlish glee as I stared at what they’d carried in. “All of this?”
“Everything is yours,” Ms. Bauman said.
“They belong to me now?”
“They do.” She confirmed with a nod.
As happy as a pig in mud, I opened box after box, better than any Christmas day, finding every type of clothing item you could think of. Shoes, stockings, blouses, skirts, ladies’ undergarments, dresses, gloves, hats, and... “An umbrella?”
One corner of Ms. Bauman’s mouth curled. “It’s called a parasol. It helps shade you from the sun.”
“Oh.”
She picked up a dark blue dress with small white polka dots. “Try this on. I think I got the sizes right, but I want to make sure.”
The fashion show had begun. Not one thing sagged.
My afternoon had filled me with joy, but after looking at the darkened ceiling for quite a bit longer, I puffed up my cheeks and blew out the air. I might as well face the truth; I wasn’t going to drift off to sleep, so I rolled out of bed, tiptoeing to one of the windows.
Halfway there, I remembered I didn't have a reason to creep around. I wasn’t living in Daddy Bruce’s home anymore.
Pulling the curtain aside, I glanced out at the rose garden. During the day, the flowers were all shades of yellow, red, and pinks, but they were a bit muted from what I could see; however, the starry night sky reflected off the water in the fountain like a mirror.
For a brief instant, I thought about going outside, sitting on the ledge, and strumming my fingers through the water, watching the stars blur, then smooth into glass. Twirling a curl around my finger, I pictured it.
I started to take a step, ready to go, but there was a library downstairs on th
e main floor, toward the back of the house, calling to me.
“No one will pay you no nevermind at this hour,” I told myself.
I figured, with Ms. Bonny on the third floor and everyone else asleep on the second floor where I was, except for Charles who lived in an apartment overtop the garage, and the gardener named Rene with a thick Cajun accent, who made the cottage house past the lake his home, I’d have all those books to myself—not disturbing a single soul.
“I bet I can find a Webster’s dictionary.” Butterfly wings of excitement fluttered in my tummy. After all, I’d been listening to Ms. Bauman and Mr. King for the better part of a week, giving me a running tally of words I’d be searching for.
***
Stepping through the double doors and into the darkened library, I took in a deep breath—the scent of old books and lemon furniture polish surrounded me. Something about the aroma gave me a sense of satisfaction, so I sucked in another gulp of air.
My middle of the night trip had been the best idea ever I determined as I quietly closed myself into the room.
***
I’d plopped on the glossy hardwood floor, a stack of books scattered around me, flippin’ through the pages of the first dictionary I’d come across on the shelves. Earlier, I’d found an old lantern on one of the round side tables and some matches in one of the desk drawers. It would have been more comfortable to have a seat on one of the leather chairs, and much easier to see if I’d used the electricity, but I’d been too eager once I had my arms full of things like a few encyclopedias, and a book on plants. Anyhow, I figured the light I had with me wouldn’t shine out the windows or peek under the doors, catching anyone’s attention if they happened to be suffering from the same ain't gettin’ any shuteye problem as me and came wandering around.
***
On the second night of my secret library visit, I’d cracked open the dictionary again and was able to cross a few more words off my list.
Discern. To perceive or recognize. To distinguish (someone or something) with difficulty by sight or with the other senses.
Disclose. To reveal, make known, divulge, tell, show. To make a secret or new information known.
Discrimination. Oh, that was a good one. The unjust or prejudicial treatment of different categories of people or things, especially on the grounds of race, age, or sex. Prejudice. Bigotry. Bias.