One morning, shortly after arriving at Glidewell, Maizie took a seat next to two young domestics who worked the backside living quarters.
“So, Maizie, how do you like working with Mrs. Glidewell in that big ol’ house?” asked Josie.
“I like it, mostly. I’m learning about keeping an office tidy and filing papers. I copied a letter for Mrs. Glidewell. It was going all the way to New York.”
“Seems you got an easy job there, Maizie. Sittin’ down all day.”
“I’m trying to do my best, but I’ve a lot to learn.” Maizie went back to eating.
“Some of us wonder, ain’t you colored?” Josie took another bite of egg and smirked while she waited for the answer. Maizie hesitated, took a bite of her toast. Everyone at the table was quiet, waiting for her answer.
“Yep, I am.”
“Thought so. But where’d you get those eyes? Strange to see a colored with such blue eyes.”
“My mama had blue eyes. She was white. She the one who raised me.”
“Guess that is how you got them privileges. Right, Maizie? You mostly white with blue eyes, but still a bit colored, ain’t you?”
Maizie pushed her chair back from the table and stood. “I don’t recall blue eyes ever gettin’ me something special. Excuse me.” Her hands shaking, Maizie picked up her plate, placed it near the dishwashing sink, and began her walk up to the ranch house to Mrs. Glidewell’s office.
The moment Maizie was gone, the other workers at the table turned to Josie, shaking their heads. “That kind of talk could get you fired, Josie,” Claire, one of the other maids said. “If you want this job, you better not start fights. People could take sides and tattle on you to Mrs. Glidewell.”
“You gonna tell about me?” asked Josie. “ ’Cause I know stuff on you.”
“Josie, if I were you, I wouldn’t be talking bad about me. I heard what you do, sneakin’ around at night.”
Josie squirmed in her seat but went back to eating quietly.
The beautiful ranch house where the Glidewells lived was a good hike from the backside’s mess hall, kitchen, bunkhouses, and cottages. The main house had another kitchen staffed with a chef and waiter who both had worked with Mary Glidewell at the Colonial Hotel in Springfield. The chef, Philippe, and his assistant, Leon, were French—trained in Paris—and had come to the Colonial shortly after arriving in the United States. Mary, who had been the head manager of the hotel, brought the two men over to the ranch when the main house was finished in 1929. Working at the ranch was a good offer and a chance for a new experience. Besides, Philippe and Leon were partners in many ways, and living their lives together, away from judgmental eyes, was an opportunity they couldn’t pass up. Needless to say, dinners in the Glidewell’s dining room were very different from the grub that was served in the mess hall. On this particular morning, James and Mary Glidewell were enjoying a cheese soufflé when Maizie hurried past them on her way to Mary’s office.
“Come here, Maizie. Try a bite of croissant. Philippe made them this morning.”
Maizie hesitated. “I better get to my work. There’s a lot to do.”
“Oh Maizie, come, sit. We can talk,” said James.
Maizie raised her head. “Please, I need to get to my work. I don’t want special privileges. I want to be like everyone else.”
Mary noticed that Maizie’s blue eyes were moist with tears.
“Come and join us for a bite,” said James. Maizie did as she was told and sat in an empty chair next to James. Mary handed her a croissant on a plate. “Thank you. May I take this to the office? I’m not hungry right now, and I have a lot of work to do.”
“Yes, but just be forewarned, they are flakey. It’s the butter that makes them that way,” explained Mary. “I wouldn’t want buttery fingerprints all over our correspondence, Maizie.”
“Thank you. I’ll be careful.” Maizie stood, picked up her plate, and was about to leave when she stopped and looked at Mrs. Glidewell. “Do the others, the workers, get to eat these buttery things?”
“I’m afraid such a pastry is not in Thelma’s area of expertise. But Thelma does make delicious pies and cookies.”
“That’s true,” agreed Maizie and turned to go to her work. James and Mary remained quiet until Maizie had made her way out of the dining room.
“James, I’ve been wanting to talk with you about Maizie. Did you know she is only sixteen?”
James looked up from his plate and said, “I didn’t. She looks older. Beautiful girl.” Immediately James took another bite of food from his plate.
Mary waited, appearing a bit miffed, and continued: “She lied to me about her age at first, but eventually admitted her real age. I don’t like that she sleeps in the women’s bunkhouse. They are all so much older. And the men down there are older too. I would feel more comfortable if she was here in the ranch house.”
“Really? You want her living with us?” James looked surprised if not incredulous.
“Why are you so shocked?”
“Haven’t we agreed that we need to treat all staff the same?” asked James, picking up his newspaper.
“She’s so young. She should be treated differently. I was thinking of putting her in that small room in the hallway off my office. Right now I use it for storage, but I’m thinking of making it into a bedroom for her.”
“You sure have taken a liking to her, haven’t you?”
“I have. She’s a child in her thinking, but so bright and eager to learn. She does just what I ask her to do and catches on so fast.”
“That is why you hired her, isn’t it? You hired her to train her and give her a place to live, didn’t you?” James said.
“I did,” admitted Mary.
“I don’t think it wise to get too close. Better to keep the help at a distance.”
“I did hire her to help her. But I don’t see why you would mind.”
“I don’t. It’s just that you can get too involved, Mary.”
“Too involved, oh James. Really, that’s absurd,” she said loudly and threw her napkin on her plate. James put down his paper and looked at Mary.
“That’s how I see it. And perhaps so do some of the other help.”
“I’ll talk with the others. Get them to understand.”
“Oh Mary, please. That will make things worse. You are too involved already.”
“I still don’t see how caring for a child is getting too involved. There is something about her. I just couldn’t turn her away. There are few places in this world for someone like her to get a step up in life.”
“I see. You do have a big heart. This is against my better judgment but, yes, fix up the storage room. Just don’t… ”
“Don’t what?”
“Get too close.”
Chapter 6
Maizie’s Diary
May 5, 1931
Josie asked if I was colored today. I know she said it to put me in my place. She said it in a mean way, but I didn’t let her rile me up. I don’t want no problems with her. My mama always said my skin was beautiful. Sun kissed, she said. She told me my daddy was a bit darker than me. “Prettiest man I ever saw,” she would say, and I believed her because there was love in her eyes.
But some white folks act like I’m not worth much and that makes it hard for me to fit in. Mama being white and me, well, not quite white, made finding a place to bed down tough. But my mama was a good camper. She’d been doing it most of her life, I guess. She never once talked about having a real home.
There were years when Mama was working in someone’s house or cleaning hotel rooms, or other things. Those times we would try to rent a room, usually in the colored section of town. But when mama was between jobs, we camped. We spent the night in just about everything—the back of a parked wagon or truck, a dry cave, an abandoned mine, or an outbuilding. We
carried our bedrolls with us, and a few things to eat, and Mama’s bag. You get used to living like that. It was just the way it was. Sometimes, if we could find a church with an empty basement, some nice preacher would let us sleep there if it was wet or just plain cold outside. Some folks had hearts.
The shelter in Springfield never turned us away. I became a shelter kid when I was eight and went to the colored school. That was good. I liked school and the teachers and kids treated me fine. They’d ask about my eyes and I’d just say my mama was white. They’d never say another word. I was smart in class, I guess. All the reading and arithmetic came easy for me and I loved to write. Mama said that learning was something I had to do for myself. She couldn’t read or write much, but she was sure proud of me.
We never stayed long at the shelter. When the weather changed, we would start camping again or sometimes get a job. We weren’t the only ones. There were others—times were hard. But my mama always made sure we were near a colored school. Near enough so I could go and learn.
Some here at Glidewell Ranch don’t like me. My job has them thinking I’m special. Never felt special in my life unless it was my mama telling me about my daddy—then I felt real good. But sometimes I remember falling asleep in my mother’s arms, hungry. That was a bad feeling, being hungry.
I’m learning about being an office assistant. Mrs. Glidewell told me my handwriting was just like I said, real pretty. Made me feel better today when she said I was doing good with my filing. I did make a mistake in my new ledger book, only one, but I felt bad. But Mrs. Glidewell said, “There is no shame making a mistake when you are learning something new.” I sure felt better. Never thought I could be so busy doing important things. Mrs. Glidewell said today she’d get me a typewriter and teach me to type. Now that’s something, if you ask me.
I’m not going to worry about Josie. I’m just going to keep learning. I sure don’t want no trouble.
Good night.
Chapter 7
Monday Nights
Every Monday night the Wembleys dined with the Glidewells. James enjoyed the opportunity to relax with Wilson, his manager, and Wilson’s son Capp. Wil, as he was known, ran the stables, made breeding selections, and oversaw the trainers, groomers, and stable hands. He was a quiet type of man, never wasted a word or thought that wasn’t important. His eye contact was long and deep and told everyone he was listening and thinking. Capp was twenty years old, a great rider and lover of horses and, like his dad, he had a penchant and an aptitude for “knowing” horses. They were a handsome duo, this father and son, from Kentucky: the same height, the same body build, broad shouldered and strong.
It was late afternoon when Mary began to put away the paperwork at her desk. “I have been talking with Philippe,” she said to Maizie. “He and Leon need help preparing and serving dinners when we have guests.” Maizie looked up from the letter she was rewriting for Mary in her delicate penmanship.
“It needs to be a person who is eager to learn. And I know just the right person. It’s someone I have come to depend on.”
“Who?” asked Maizie.
“You.”
Maizie lifted her head and turned her gaze to Mary with raised eyebrows. “Me? You want me to help in the kitchen?”
“Only if you want. Philippe and Leon are eager to have you join them on occasion.”
“Mrs. Glidewell, I can’t cook. That’s the truth.”
“I have the utmost confidence in you. Look at all you’ve learned about being my assistant. You can learn to cook too. At least give it a go.”
So it was decided that Maizie would help prepare and serve dinner for the Glidewells and Wembleys.
Down at the backside the dinner bell sounded, and Wil and Capp began their hike up to the ranch house. Showered and dressed in clean Levi’s, laundered shirts and their best cowboy hats, they rang the bells on the front porch.
“Hello Wembleys,” said James as he opened the door. Wil and Capp nodded, tipped their hats, and stepped into the foyer. They reached simultaneously to shake James’s hand and then hung their hats on the hooks provided. “Always look forward to our dinner,” James said.
Wil Wembley had nothing to add. He only nodded. Capp, on the other hand, was quite the talker. “Why Mr. Glidewell, it’s going to be an exciting few weeks comin’ up. We got our foaling mares about to give birth. We should get some fine stock. Dad here says he expects them all to be good performers and he has an idea on how to get horse folks talkin’ about Glidewell Ranch,” said Capp. “Just seems a natural with the economy and all. Things are changing, but Dad here has it all figured out.”
“I’ll be happy to learn all about it. Come in and sit down.” James led them into the reception room, or grand hall, as it was called. “I’ll get you both some whiskey, and we can get to the business of horse talk.”
In one corner of the room, there were four leather and cowhide chairs that Mary had ordered from a craftsman in Kansas City. They were beautifully made, but it had taken two years for the stockyard smell to dissipate from the cured hides. To Mary’s delight, the chairs were now comfortable and welcoming and free of odors. James poured three whiskeys and Will and Capp settled in. James raised his shot glass and said, “I was just thinking today about how far we have come since I bought this land in the county auction. In less than a decade we have ourselves great potential here.”
“I know that to be a fact, James. I think ol’ man Del Henny would be pleased you’re the one who bought his property,” said Wil. James and Capp nodded in agreement.
“If I was a religious man, I might add Del Henny is smiling down on us,” said James.
“Ernesto says sometimes, after a few shots of tequila, he’s seen the old man’s ghost working on the fence,” added Will.
The three laughed at the comment as Maizie walked in with a tray of sliced cheeses, dried fruit and hardtack. Distracted by the laughter, her foot caught under a throw rug and she fell head long, knocking the wind clear out of her. Her tray flew through the air and landed with a thump, hardtack, cheese, and dry fruit landing on the floor. The three men jumped to their feet, drinks in hand. Capp, wishing to help, put down his whiskey and moved to help her. “You hurt, miss?” he said, kneeling on one knee and offering his hand to assist her.
Maizie didn’t answer. She raised up on her elbows and pulled her knees under her. With his help, she eventually stood. Embarrassed, she busied herself brushing food from the front of her dress. Capp smiled and removed a few bits from her hair. “That was some fall. Not too many young ladies could jump right up after a fall like that.” Maizie kept her head down and said nothing.
By now James and Wil had taken the few steps to the scene of Maizie’s fall and Philippe and Leon had run in from the kitchen. “Mon Dieu!” shouted Philippe. “Maizeee, mon amie, es tu blessé?” cried Leon. The two took Maizie by her elbows and supported her, her feet barely touching the ground as they walked her back to the kitchen.
Capp knelt and picked up the scattered debris, placing it on the fallen tray. When he was finished, he carried the tray into the kitchen.
“Merci,” Philippe said. Maizie, her hands shaking and her cheeks flushed, had already begun to fill another tray.
“I’d be happy to exchange this tray for that one,” Capp said, looking directly at Maizie.
“Thank you, probably best you do it,” Maizie said. “Don’t think I’m cut out for waitin’ on fancy folks.”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Maizie.”
“I’m Capp and I sure ain’t fancy folk,” he said, laughing.
Maizie said nothing while Leon finished the tray. Capp returned to the parlor with the tray in hand and found Wil and James working on their second whiskey.
“This is good whiskey, James. Where’d you get it?”
“Found a new distiller back in the hills. He delivers off and on.
This Prohibition makes it tough to get good stuff.”
“Well, ain’t nothing wrong with this,” said Wil as he took a big swallow. Wanting to get the business portion of the evening started, he added, “James, our breeding stock is producing fine quarter horses. I think we are missing an opportunity here.”
“That so?” said James.
“There’s a couple of things. We are training some of our faster horses on the track. They are sprinters. Love to fight for the lead. But we need to do more.”
Capp caught the end of Wil’s remarks. “Yes sir, Dad’s been talkin’ about this since winter. Mighty fine idea. Fun too.” Capp set down the tray, took his seat and reached for a piece of cheese.
“Well, I’m eager to hear it, Capp.” James, like a man of his class, sipped on his whiskey.
“We need to get our horses, the ones we’ve trained, to have match races. Invite neighbors to come watch, have them bring their fast cow ponies, and challenge a Glidewell horse. Nothin’ as excitin’ as match races. Nothin’ too serious, just fun.”
“Can’t do it. Gambling isn’t allowed.” James put his whiskey glass down. “I could get in a lot of trouble.”
“Not talkin’ about gambling, talkin’ about racing. Get more use out of the track,” said Wil.
“People won’t come if there’s no gambling. Been to horse races. Exciting for sure, but people come for the betting,” said James.
“Look, I’ve been around horses and cowpokes all my life. There ain’t been one time a match race wasn’t bet on. Men can’t help it. You don’t need to set it up. It’ll just happen. Can’t be illegal if you don’t know about it, James,” said Wil. “Betting between gentlemen.”
Capp, in his excitement, stomped his boot on the hardwood floor and pointed in James’s direction. “That’s right! We got ourselves five two-year-olds in the barn right now that no cow pony could beat. Running Wild is one of them. We think people will be wanting quarter horses from our stock when they see them run. Some folks still in the money. We got some fine riders too, stable hands, little guys, who are itchin’ to run these horses. Good for Glidewell Ranch, good for the horses, the riders, fun for all.”
Through Tender Thorns Page 3