by Deeanne Gist
Carefully, she lowered herself to the edge of the cot and pulled Homer’s feet to one side. “Listen to me. Ora Lou will stay here with you and show you where you need to go. I imagine it will be suppertime soon and you’ll want to wash up like a good boy, so you make a nice impression on Mr. and Mrs. Sloop.”
Once more, she scanned the room, wondering how he would wash up without pitcher and basin. “Mr. Danver will be back on Sunday.” She looked up to double-check with Mack.
He nodded.
“Perhaps when he comes you can accompany Ora Lou during her visit.” Again she checked with Mack.
Again, he gave her an affirmative.
“For now, though, I need you to let go.”
“Will you come back?” It was the first words he’d uttered since his refusal to go with Mrs. Sloop.
“Absolutely. If not this Sunday, then the next one I have off.”
“You promise?”
She smoothed his hair. “I promise. Now, come. Be a good boy and let Ora Lou show you what you need to do.”
He slowly loosened his grip, then paused and kissed her right on the lips, their noses bumping, before sliding off her lap.
Tears clogged her throat. She’d barely whispered good-bye when Mack drew her up by the hand, whisked her down the hall, down the stairs, and then out the back door.
Tillie sat on her parents’ porch sewing an infant slip. Though it was her day off, the maternity baskets could not be delivered until the slips were completed. So instead of going to the orphanage with Mack, she had to stay behind to stitch. She told him to tell Homer she’d come next time. She hoped the boy wouldn’t be too disappointed.
Finishing off a seam, she scanned the yard dotted with trees of light and dark green. Tucked into the corner, an impatient ash clothed in reddish violet leaves offered a premature peek at fall colors.
Her mother rocked beside her, helping to sew yet another slip. “There’s been some talk about you and the useful man.”
Tillie looked at her sharply. “What are they saying?”
“That you’re romantically involved.”
She tightened her shawl, warding off a bite in the afternoon breeze. “Says who?”
“Does it matter?”
“I suppose not. I was just curious, is all.”
“A woman’s reputation is not in her own keeping, Tillie, but at the mercy of others. The only control you have is to be completely aboveboard.” Her mother looked over the wire glasses propped on her nose. “Something’s going on. What is it?”
Tillie plucked a collar facing from her sack, then matched it against the slip’s neckline. “Nothing is going on.”
Mama’s needle stilled. “Are you attracted to him?”
She felt a blush creep up her neck. “Mama, please.”
After a moment, her mother once again set the chair to rocking and took up her sewing. “Oh, he’s a handsome one, I’ll give you that. And he appears to have more character than his brother. I can see how he’d turn a girl’s head.”
Tillie offered no reply.
“But with all that’s at stake, you can’t afford so much as a whisper of gossip.”
“I know.” She tugged on the thread, tightening her stitch.
“Lucy Lewers’s mistress gave her a solid gold thimble as a token of her appreciation.”
Tillie sucked in her breath.
“Did Miss DePriest leave you anything?”
She stared at her mother, until the two locked gazes.
“You know she didn’t.”
Mama nodded. “Then I suggest you end whatever it is between you and Mack Danver, or before you blink you’ll have handed over the opportunity of a lifetime to Lucy.”
Tillie studied her mother’s face. The face which had seen thirty-seven years of life. Twenty-one years of marriage. The birth of ten babies. The death of one.
Subtle creases fanned the corners of her eyes and lined her lips like a button stitch. A touch of gray threaded through her hair.
“If I’m awarded the lady’s maid position, I’ll be the age you are now when they ask me to step down and allow some younger, prettier girl to replace me.”
“And think of all you’ll have seen and experienced. Think of the money you’ll have earned and saved. Think of all the good you will have done for your family and those in need.”
What about the loneliness? What about all the childbearing years I’ll have lost? What about Mack?
Gathering her courage, Tillie swallowed. “I think I love him, Mama.”
She braced for an explosion, but instead her mother simply lowered the slip to her lap, secured the needle to its side, then removed her glasses. “How far has it gone?”
“He’s asked me to marry him more times than I count.”
“And you said?”
“Absolutely not.”
Mama’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Good. Remember, Tillie, this is your chance. To spread your wings. To see the world beyond these mountains. Why would you give it up to marry? To be a wife and mother and work your fingers to the bone with nothing to show for it? Don’t throw away your best chance at happiness before you’ve grasped it. Have you forgotten how hard you’ve worked toward becoming a lady’s maid? Why, you’ve spent your entire life preparing for it.”
She had, but for the first time she wondered at whose behest. Throughout the years her mother had spent many an hour telling Tillie stories of the Englishwomen who had visited her hometown of Charleston. She told of their glorious gowns and beautiful ladies’ maids. Of the travel and privilege those women experienced. She’d wanted to be a lady’s maid herself but had neither the know-how nor the opportunity. When she married Pa and moved to Asheville, all hope was dashed.
Still, she began reading books, magazines, and training manuals describing the duties of house servants. As soon as Tillie was old enough, her mother started grooming her for the position of lady’s maid, thinking to send her to Newport or some exotic location for employment. When the wealthy set began to make Asheville their home, Mama was ecstatic. But when George Vanderbilt built a veritable castle not six miles away, Mama was sure it had been predestined.
Mrs. Vanderbilt’s French maid had been a setback. But now that the woman was leaving, Mama had no doubt God was opening doors for Tillie. And all she had to do was walk through them.
“Have you let him kiss you?” Mama asked.
The temptation to lie was great. Instead, Tillie slowly nodded.
“Anything else?”
Her breath caught. “No, Mama. Only kisses.”
She reached over and gripped Tillie’s arm. “You must put him out of your mind. And not just because it could rob you of this opportunity. But because he’s a hillbilly, for heaven’s sake. A man from the back settlements of the Unakas who believes a woman is less important than his hunting dog. Why, those men walk into their homes and hang their hat on the floor. Do you understand what I’m saying? It’d be nothing but drudgery. Seven days a week. Twenty-four hours a day. No evenings off. No second Sundays off. Why would you do that when you could have a life of privilege and ease as Mrs. Vanderbilt’s maid?”
“Mack’s not like that. He’s educated. And he cares about women. That’s the whole reason he’s at Biltmore. To make enough money to put his sister up and support her.”
For the first time, a hint of alarm touched Mama’s eyes. “And then what? Back to his home somewhere on Hazel Creek? You’d be in the middle of nowhere with illiterate neighbors, no church, and no gas in the house. Why, you’d not even have a house, but a hovel.”
Tillie had never been to the Southern Unakas, but her mother’s sister had married a highlander. Mama had gone to visit her many times. And she knew of what she spoke.
Mama scooted to the edge of her rocker. “Those Hazel Creek men think nothing of taking off on some journey without laying wood in the stove or hearth. They fully expect their wives and children to drag the hillsides for whatever dead timber they can find and t
hen chop it themselves with a dull ax.”
Tillie shook her head. “Mack would never do that. I’m sure of it.”
Mama paled. “Oh, honey. It’s not the same up there as it is here. Southern highlanders don’t tip their hats, they don’t open your doors, they don’t take your elbow. Why, at supper, the woman isn’t even afforded a seat. She’s expected to stand and serve the man. And many, many of the men think nothing of raising a hand to a woman in violence.”
Tillie pictured all the times Mack had used his fists – and at other times threatened to. But it was always in defense of someone helpless. He would never be violent toward her. Yet he could be domineering at times.
She thought of how he’d dragged her across the barn by the hand, rather than guiding her by her elbow. Of how dictatorial he’d been about her acceptance of his proposal. As if she had no say in the decision at all. She thought of his grandfather scolding him for wasting his time at Biltmore on account of his sister, a mere female.
She looked at her mother, tears springing to her eyes. “I just get so confused when I’m with him. He’s, I . . . he takes my breath away, Mama.”
She patted Tillie’s hand. “He’s a very attractive man, dear, but you must stay focused on the prize. And at all costs, avoid being alone with him. Even if it means no more barn gatherings. These rumors about the two of you must cease immediately.”
Tillie nodded. “Yes, Mama. I’ll stay clear of him. I promise.”
CHAPTER
Twenty-one
From a fourth-floor window of the “Virgins’ Wing,” Tillie watched Earl pull the carriage away. Inside it were Mrs. Vanderbilt, Lucy, and the maternity baskets. Baskets filled with items Tillie had shopped for, had cut and folded and sewn for. She had lovingly assembled each basket, picturing the women her mother had described.
She had looked forward to seeing those women for herself. The conditions of their homes. The attitude of their men. The remoteness of their locations. Maybe even meeting her aunt for the first time.
But she hadn’t been invited to accompany Mrs. Vanderbilt. Lucy had.
Tillie swallowed. After all that work, to be robbed of performing the actual good deed rocked her newfound resolve.
What if Mack was right? What if this “good work” she was doing really was a benevolent act on Mrs. Vanderbilt’s part and nothing more than menial labor on her part?
She returned to her room, lit a lantern, and sat on her bed. A decorative pillow made from dishcloths flopped over. It had been a gift from her mother when Tillie was twelve and had left home for the first time to work as a step-girl in a wealthy Asheville household. Picking it up, she ran a finger over the verse her mother had stitched onto it.
“Whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the reward of the inheritance, for you serve the Lord Christ.”Col. 3:23–24
Tears stacked up in her throat. She had worked heartily on the baskets, and had done it with a special thrill, knowing she’d be helping the less fortunate.
Lying down on the bed, shoes and all, she hugged the pillow to her. It wasn’t that she was unappreciative of whatever reward the Lord had in mind for the afterlife. It was just that she wanted to take the task to completion here on earth.
But it wasn’t her task to complete. It was Mrs. Vanderbilt’s. So at the end of the day, when she stood before Christ and He asked what she’d done to further His kingdom, who would get to claim the maternity baskets? She or Mrs. Vanderbilt?
She closed her eyes and listened, but no answer was forthcoming.
Tillie stood uncertainly at the edge of the orphanage’s property. As soon as church in Biltmore Village had released, she’d accepted a wagon ride with the Hatch family, who were bound for Asheville to visit relatives. She was determined to make good on her promise to Homer. Not only that, but she’d decided even if she didn’t have the funds to contribute to the cause, she could at least give of her time. After seeing the squalor of the place, she knew she had a set of skills which could be put to good use.
Yet now that she’d arrived, she didn’t quite know how to proceed. Did she simply knock on the door and say, “I’m here to see Homer and to clean up that disgusting mess in the back”?
Before she could decide, the front door opened. Ora Lou stepped out, a comforting arm around a shorter girl. Both were crying. Behind them, a harassed Mack.
“Don’t go, Ora Lou,” the slight girl sobbed. “Don’t leave me alone with them. Please.”
Ora Lou shot a look of anger at Mack. “I don’t see why she can’t come, too.”
“I told you, it’s a boardinghouse. You pay per person.”
“We could sneak her in.”
“Not without lying to the landlord.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do? I can’t just leave her here.”
Tillie could see Mack’s temper rising. They hadn’t seen her yet and she purposefully didn’t interfere, if for no other reason than to prove that no matter what Mama said, Mack was not a violent man.
“Well, we can’t take her, either.” He looked askance at the other girl. “I’m sorry, Irene. I just don’t have the money for both of you.”
Pulling in a choppy breath, Irene swiped her eyes. “I un . . . un . . . derstand.”
Ora Lou grabbed both the girl’s hands. “Listen, Mack says he found me a scullery job at a café uptown. Maybe they need more than one girl. I’ll find out, and if they do, I’ll come get you myself.”
Mack threw up his hands in a gesture of frustration. “Ora Lou, she can’t just leave without a place to stay.”
His sister stomped her foot. “Would you quit butting in? I’m not even talking to you.”
“But you’re giving her false hope.”
“It’s better than no hope.”
They glared at each other. Mack locked his jaw. Ora Lou thrust her chin forward.
Irene pulled her hands from Ora Lou’s and took a step back. “Don’t worry, I’ll make do. And your brother’s right. I ain’t never leaving this place. But that don’t mean you can’t.”
Huge tears began to gather in Ora Lou’s eyes. “I can’t leave her, Mack.”
His eyes bugged out. “It’s all set. Money’s exchanged hands. Promises have been made. The New York Café is expecting you in the morning.”
“No. If she stays, I stay.”
Red filled his face. “Ora Lou Danver, you are not staying in this place one more minute.”
She crossed her arms. A tremor ran through him. Tillie held her breath. Seconds ticked by.
Finally, Irene tucked her chin. “You go on, Ora Lou. I’d never forgive myself if ya didn’t and then somethin’ were to happen.”
Tillie frowned. If something were to happen? Like what?
With a cry of anguish, Ora Lou pitched forward, clasping the girl to her in a fierce hug. Then she whirled around, raced across the yard, passed Tillie, and continued on down the hill.
“Ora Lou!” Face stricken, Mack gave Irene’s shoulder a squeeze. “If things get bad, you send word, you hear?”
Lips quivering, she nodded.
He raced after Ora Lou, glancing at Tillie with a baffled look, as if he couldn’t quite figure out what she was doing there.
She watched him eat up the distance between himself and his sister. Poor Mack. This wasn’t the happy departure he’d expected or hoped for, she was certain.
He spoke rapidly, gesturing, but Ora Lou did no more than continue stomping down the walkway. Then they rounded the bend and were out of sight.
She turned to ask Irene what he’d meant by “if things get bad,” but the yard was empty. Making her way across it, she knocked. No answer.
She knocked again. Just as she was about to go around back, Mrs. Sloop answered. “Oh, hello, Miss Reese.” She looked over Tillie’s shoulder as if expecting to see the Vanderbilts within the vicinity.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Sloop. I was wondering if I could visit with
Homer and Irene, please?”
The woman hesitated. “Irene is indisposed and Homer is napping.”
“I see. Well . . .” She moistened her lips. “Perhaps I could, um, wait?”
“I’m afraid it will be quite some time yet.”
“I don’t mind.” She cleared her throat. “As a matter of fact, I thought perhaps you might have some work you’d like me to do? Like, um, I could clean the back corridor? Or the stairwell? Or maybe wash some linens?”
Mrs. Sloop’s eyes narrowed. “We rest on the Sabbath.”
“Oh. I see.” She swallowed. “Well, when do you think Homer will be awake and Irene will be able to take callers?”
“Come back in four hours.”
Four hours? She couldn’t wait that long. Not if she was going to catch a ride back to Biltmore with the Hatch family. “I’m afraid that will be too late for me. Do you think you could wake up Homer? I promised him I’d come.”
“I’m sorry, but I’ll be sure to tell him you came by. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
The large, solid door closed. Tillie stood for a moment, confused, disappointed, hurt. And worried about Homer. When Mrs. Sloop gave him the message, the boy wouldn’t even know who Miss Reese was.
And if she wouldn’t be allowed to volunteer her services on Sundays, then she’d never be able to, for they were her only full days off. And why was Ora Lou so worried about leaving her friend behind?
With a heavy heart, Tillie pulled her cloak more tightly about her shoulders, then headed back toward town to wait for the Hatches.
Tillie carried bucket and brush to the first landing of the grand staircase. Crouching onto her knees, she began to scrub the limestone steps which protruded from the wall in a vast spiral that started on the main floor and continued clear up to the top floor.
Smartly polished boots stopped next to her. “What’s going on between you and Mack?”
She didn’t have to look up to recognize her brother’s voice. Fortunately, no one else was around to hear the question. The hour was still early and the other maids had made their way to rooms well out of hearing.
“Nothing is happening,” she said. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”