“Trying and doing are two different things,” she said through the screen. “You’re not starting out very well, for sure. I’ll meet you around back. You will use the kitchen door to enter and exit this house from now on. You’re just a hired hand around here. The front door is reserved for friends and guests. I will give you a pass today because it’s your first day and Zelma’s not home. If you come in the front door tomorrow, you can turn around and go back home.” With that she shut the tall, heavy door, a little harder than was necessary.
Ethan was a little angered and embarrassed and was ready to turn around and go back home without waiting for tomorrow. He could see already that this job wasn’t going to work out. He swallowed his pride, though, thinking of the shoes he wanted, and walked around to the back of the house. “Sorry,” he said as Clara let him in the kitchen door. “It’s my first job; I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay this time, about what I expected out of you, anyway.”
“Sorry, Ma’am,” Ethan repeated, his head down.
“To move on,” said Clara sternly. “I want to get some rules straight while Zelma is gone. One thing you will soon learn is that things aren’t always normal around here. Zelma, always Miss Green to you, may at times do things that seem odd or eccentric. You are not to have a reaction to this. I won’t have people coming into this house and making fun of her or telling people in town about how crazy she is.” She put her hand on Ethan shoulder and looked in his eyes, becoming even more serious in tone, and said, “There’s one rule around here, especially, that must never be broken.” She led Ethan out the kitchen door and into the back hallway. Stopping in front of a closed door almost directly across from the kitchen doorway, she asked in a hushed tone, “See this door?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“This is the door to the cellar. This door stays locked under every circumstance. If there is ever anything that Zelma ask you to retrieve from down there, you will find me first, and I will accompany you, assuming I can’t carry it up myself. Also, if anything needs attention or servicing down there, you will make sure I’m notified when the person arrives so that I can stay with them until they are finished. I don’t want you or anyone else nosing around places where you have no business. To do so would call for your immediate dismissal. I want to make this clear from day one.”
“Why’s that?” asked Ethan, immediately realizing his mistake and wanting to crawl under one of the hall rugs.
Clara Satterfield looked faint for a moment, almost as though she was about to pass out. Composing herself, she said. “I should fire you right now. I can’t believe the rudeness that has been wrought upon this home. You are not to ask questions as to why the rules exist; you just follow the rules and do as you are told. I can see now this relationship is going to be very short-lived. First you try to come waltzing in the front door like you’re the President of the United States, then you come in here questioning my rules. What a lowbred child.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Satterfield,” said Ethan, almost wanting to cry but remembering he was too old to do that. Being called lowbred hurt him in some strange way; it felt personal and true. He hated this job. It was going to be even worse than he thought.
“Now that we got that straight,” she continued, as though she hadn’t heard his apology, “We’ll go back to the kitchen.”
It was an old fashioned kitchen that hadn’t been updated in years, if ever. The light green built-in cabinets were tall enough to require a ladder to reach the top shelves, and the white cast-iron sink basin was nearly big enough to take a bath in. To the right as you came in from the hallway stood a small rectangle-shaped metal table with a white enamel top trimmed in red around the continuous edge. Two curved metal chairs, with shiny red upholstered seats and backs, accompanied the table, one chair on each side. An old refrigerator with a large chrome latch on the door was situated between two windows on the wall opposite the hallway, and a large Hoosier cabinet sat against the far wall to the right. There was a small pantry, china cabinets covering its two walls from floor to ceiling, between the kitchen and the large dining room.
Ethan entered the pantry and peeked into a dining room that to him looked like it belonged in a castle. He hadn’t seen this room from the hallway, as the pocket doors were closed. He counted ten chairs placed around the long dark mahogany dining table. On the wall opposite the pantry, there was a large mahogany cabinet adorned with animal head carvings. The walls of the room were covered in textured wallpaper in various shades of brown and gold. The windows were dressed with heavy dark-brown curtains that were held open with gold tasseled ropes. An oval-shaped shadowbox that hung between the two windows caught Ethan’s eye, as he had never seen anything like it before. Beneath beveled glass, the shadowbox contained a stuffed grouse, a squirrel, and a white least weasel, all posed in front of a painted forest and pond scene. Looking up, he stared for a moment at an elaborate bronze chandelier with eight etched-glass globes.
“Now,” Clara continued, almost startling Ethan, so mesmerized as he was by all the fascinating things in the dining room, “your first job around here is to mow the yard. I hope you know how to use a riding lawn mower.”
“We used to have one when we lived in eastern Kentucky,” said Ethan, “I’m good at doing yard work.”
Ethan was glad to mow the yard, thrilled, in fact. He was also glad Miss Green wasn’t home, having imagined being cooped up in the house with her all day. Mowing would actually be fun, anything to get away from Miss Satterfield. He could see that she was going to be a problem, and that Miss Green was probably going to be even worse. He figured one of them would find a reason to fire him before the week was out. He would try to stay out of their paths as much as possible.
The mower didn’t start right away, but Ethan was good with motors, and he soon got it running. He thought about the cellar the whole time he was mowing, and he thought about it as he rode his bike home later that day. He wouldn’t have paid the least bit of attention to that door if Miss Satterfield hadn’t of brought it up. But now wondering why she had made such a big deal out of it would worry him to death. There was definitely something the two women were hiding, something they were afraid he’d snoop around and find if he went down there unsupervised. Maybe they were serial killers. He chuckled at the thought, but only half so.
When he got home the house was like an oven. He turned on the little window air-condition in his bedroom and sat back in his beanbag chair, thinking about his first day at work. It actually hadn’t been all that bad. He just wished the yard needed to be mowed every day. Maybe he could find enough yard work to do to keep out of the house most of the time. The bushes and the trees needed trimming for sure. He could be the yard boy, outside, away from Miss Green and that battle-axe housekeeper of hers. But even if he did have to work inside most of the time, the ten dollars a day would make it worth it. He could put up with a lot for that kind of money.
The next morning it was raining, actually pouring. Unable to find his rain jacket that was probably still packed away in the bottom of a cardboard box full of random clothes, he was soaking wet by the time he reached Miss Green’s.
“You look like a drowned rat,” said Clara Satterfield, holding the screen door open as Ethan walked inside and wiped his shoes on a doormat. “Stay here in the kitchen until you dry off. You’ll ruin the expensive rugs in the hallway dripping all over them. Don’t you own a raincoat?”
“I couldn’t find it this morning, Ma’am.”
“You need to find it before it rains next time. Coming to work soaking wet is not at all professional.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Zelma’s busy right now, anyway. She’s in the parlor giving a reading. Someone’s expecting and they want to know if it’s a boy or girl. It’s kind of ridiculous, if you ask me. The doctor can tell you that much these days. I figure they’re just testing her to see if she really knows what’s she’s talking about, kind of a game to them.”
“How would she know something like that?”
“Zelma is psychic. I’m not sure I believe in such nonsense as that, but if there ever was a psychic, it’s Zelma, well Zelma and Edgar Cayce.”
“Who’s Edgar Cayce?”
“I’m surprised you’ve never heard of him. Edgar Cayce was a world famous psychic and reader. By reader I mean he could go into a trance and read what ailed a person. He would then prescribe a cure. He lived over in Hopkinsville before he moved off to Alabama. Poor Zelma took her son to him once, many years ago, but it seems it didn’t do any good. In my opinion, it was an act of desperation.”
“That sounds pretty amazing,” said Ethan, sitting down at the kitchen table.
“Zelma’s specialty seems to be witching warts (healing them, in other words), finding things lost, and naming the sex of babies. She’s not as renowned as Edgar Cayce was, but she’s pretty well known around here. She has always said she was born with a veil over her face. It’s an old superstition that being born with a veil over your face means you will have the ability to see spirits. I still remain a skeptic of it all, but I’ve seen her do some amazing things over the years, making me doubt my own skepticism.”
Though Ethan felt a little spooked by what Miss Satterfield was telling him, her talkativeness made her seem more human than she had the previous day. Feeling a little more relaxed and confident, he walked over to the refrigerator and opened it.
“Just what are you looking for?” asked Clara, sharply.
Startled, Ethan quickly closed the door and said, “Oh, sorry, I was just looking to see if there was any orange juice.”
“If you didn’t bring any, then there’s isn’t any,” said Clara. “No one gave you permission to take what you want.”
“He can have anything in that refrigerator he wants, Clara,” said Zelma Green, entering the kitchen from the hallway. “Don’t be so hard on him.”
“Oh, and I suppose it’ll be okay when he starts pilfering through your jewelry boxes, too,” said Clara. She huffed and walked heavily out of the kitchen.
“Try not to let her sternness bother you,” said Zelma. “She was born with a green persimmon in her mouth.”
“It’s okay,” said Ethan. “I should have asked first.”
“Well, you’ve got my permission. You can have anything you want out of that refrigerator, or pantry too, for that matter.”
“Appreciate it, Ma’am.” Reluctantly, he retrieved a pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator and poured it into a glass he found in the cabinet. He drank it quickly, nervous that Miss Satterfield would walk back into the room. He’d be sure not to mistake her for human again.
“I want you to know you did a wonderful job mowing the yard yesterday,” said Zelma, just as Ethan finished the glass of orange juice. It looks better than it has in years.”
“Thank you, Ma’am. I’ve always enjoyed mowing.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Zelma. “Most kids your age hate doing yard work, or any other kind of work, for that matter.
“Today I need you to wash the car. Looks like the Sun’s coming out, so you should have enough time to get it washed and back in the garage before it rains again. That car doesn’t get driven much anymore, but I still like to keep it clean and take it out for a spin every so often to keep it tuned. They say it’s hard on a car to leave it sitting for too long. That cars getting old, but you won’t find a car today as well made as that one, wouldn’t trade two new ones for it.”
Hearing this, Ethan perked up, another project away from the house. Besides, he loved old cars.
“You’ll find the car in the garage out back, not the side where the lawn mower is, of course, but the side on the left behind the locked door. Here’s the key to the padlock on that door, and here’s the keys to the car. You’ll find a water hose on the side of the garage. I’ll have to go with you and back it out for you.”
“No, that’s okay,” said Ethan. “If you don’t mind, I can back it out myself. I know enough about driving to do that. My dad used to let me drive a little on some of the back roads in eastern Kentucky. I was almost too short to see over the dashboard, had to sit on a pillow, but I’m a little older and taller now.”
“You just be careful. I wouldn’t want my beautiful car to receive a scratch.”
“I’ll be extremely careful with it.”
Ethan removed the padlock and pushed the garage door open. He gasped when he saw the car: a black and grey four-door 1958 Lincoln Continental. It looked brand new, like it had never been driven. He loved the big old cars. Although this car wasn’t quite twenty years old yet, it was plenty old and classic to Ethan. Miss Green’s right, he thought, they don’t make cars like this anymore. This car could open its hood and swallow his mom’s Volkswagen.
He carefully opened the door and sat on the driver’s seat, admiring the perfectly preserved interior. This thing’s loaded, he thought. Closing his eyes, he imagined how cool he’d look driving around town in such a work of art. Finally, he slipped the key in the ignition and turned it over. It roared to life like it had a jet engine. Very cautiously he backed it out of the garage.
After carefully washing and waxing the car, he went inside the house and found a vacuum cleaner with an extension cord and cleaned the vehicles floors to perfection. He wiped down the interior and then opened the hood and checked the oil. He observed that the car only had a little over 18,000 miles on it, incredible for a car this old. His mom’s Volkswagen had passed 80,000 miles a few years ago, and it wasn’t nearly as old as this car. He would sure love to trade the Volkswagen for this marvel.
Miss Green stepped out the back door of the house. Using the horsehead cane to steady her gait, she walked slowly around the car and looked inside. “My, you’ve got this car looking better than it has in years, not a speck of dust to be seen. Seems we’ve got ourselves a regular handyman around here, first the yard and now this.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
“You’ve done enough work for today. And don’t worry, you get paid the same on the days you go home early—just as long as you show up on time and stay until you’re dismissed or your five hours are up. Tomorrow’s going to be a fun day. We’re having a birthday party, so wear some nice clothes.”
Ethan rode his bike to town after leaving Miss Green’s house. He was starting to feel pretty good about his new job. Miss Green wasn’t turning out to be too bad after all, even if she was a little weird, being some kind of psychic and all. He just wished he had some money to buy new clothes. There was sure to be a lot of rich people at the birthday party tomorrow, and he hated the thought of having to look like Oliver Twist.
When he reached the square, he saw the two boys sitting by the fountain again, sorting through their comic books. Ethan circled around the square a few times trying to think of just the right way to approach them and of the perfect thing to say to start up a conversation. Not wanting a repeat of what happened the last time, he knew he’d need to speak up while he had the chance.
He parked his bike, approached the two boys, and said, “Looks like you two got some great comic books. I’ve got a little collection myself.”
“Wow, that’s thrilling,” said one of the boys. “Maybe you should be given a Nobel Prize.”
“Quit talking to that dork and come on!” said an older boy walking up behind Ethan. “Mom’s got the car started waiting for us.”
The boys gathered up their comic books and left Ethan standing there. Too depressed to do much else, he sat down on a park bench and stared at a statue of a woman, her dress flowing, towering above the tall fountain. Starting over and making new friends was a tough thing to do.
The next morning he put together the best outfit he could find: a fairly new pair of bellbottom jeans, platform dress shoes that didn’t look too bad, and a white button-up shirt with a huge collar. He spent a little extra time combing his hair. He wished he’d of thought to have his mom trim it a little. It was getting a little too long
in back for working around someone so sophisticated as Miss Green. He wet his comb and tried to tame a tuff of hair that wanted to stick up around the crown.
He saw balloons on the front porch of the green Italianate house as he rode his bike up the driveway; it was surely going to be a big party. He rode around back, parking his bike next to the garage, and went into the kitchen. He found Miss Green icing a cake and Miss Satterfield decorating the dining room. Miss Green told him to wait in the parlor until she called for him.
He sat in the parlor bored, hoping that the party would start soon. He expected people to start showing up at any moment, and that was going to be awkward. To pacify the time he looked around the imposing parlor. A giant moose’s head stared down at him from above the fireplace mantle. The curtain rods above the two windows looked like crossed spears. The furniture was dark mahogany and appeared to be from another century. He jumped when a mantle clock, a spelter roman soldier sitting on top of it, struck the hour. He felt a little nervous waiting for the guests to arrive; surely they would all look down on him, pitying him for his cheap clothes. He was going to spend his first few paychecks buying something decent to wear.
At about eleven o’clock Zelma Green nearly sprinted into the parlor. “Everything’s ready,” she said, clasping her hands together, nearly losing her balance due to lifting her cane off the floor so abruptly. “Benjamin’s going to be so excited to have another boy about his own age at his party this year. Now come on and join us in the dining room.”
Feeling a little confused, Ethan followed Zelma into the dining room. Where were all the other guests? And why hadn’t he seen this Benjamin before now?
The pocket doors to the dining room were now open, allowing access from the hallway. The room was decorated with colorful streamers hanging from the chandelier. On the table there was a decorated white cake and a bowl of orange sherbet punch. At the far end of the table sat a large framed sepia-toned photograph that appeared to be from around the turn-of-the-century—it was a photograph of a boy who appeared to be around ten years old. To Ethan the boy in the photograph, who was wearing an old-fashioned child’s sailor suit, looked thoughtful, if not sad, with eyes that stared disconcertingly. A slight grin suggested that the boy hadn’t been entirely depressed when the photograph had been taken.
A Million Doorways Page 2