Place Called Estherville

by Erskine Caldwell

  “But Miss Madgie,” Kathyanne said desperately, “I’ve just got to get at least part of my pay now. Our rent hasn’t been paid for the past month, and it’s due every week. Aunt Hazel needs medicine, too. My brother’s not working, and—”

  “Well, why isn’t he working?” she interrupted in a piercing high voice. “If there weren’t so many trifling colored people in the world, there wouldn’t be all this annoyance. Make your lazy good-for-nothing brother get out and go to work. The idea of a strong, able-bodied man not earning a living! There’s no excuse for anybody in this country not working. Why must you colored people be forever coming around with pitiful-sounding tales like this? I’ve heard them all my life, and I’m getting sick and tired of it. I have no sympathy whatsoever for such people. Don’t you have any self-respect?”

  Kathyanne did not attempt to answer her. She had worked for the Pughs long enough to have learned that questions were rarely meant to be answered, but were, characteristically, Madgie’s way of expressing herself, and that Madgie could become very upset and angry if she presumed to interpret them literally. Madgie had once hurled a wastebasket at her when she attempted to explain why it had not been emptied. The children were nervous and uneasy in their mother’s presence, and often they went off to school in the morning with Madgie’s screams ringing in their ears. Carter always tried to finish his breakfast and get out of the house before Madgie was up.

  Madgie had gone as far as the door; but there she stopped, looked around at Kathyanne in a peculiar manner as though having remembered something of importance to her, and then came back to the table and sat down again. She was noticeably calm and subdued. There was no tapping of the knife and fork on the table; there was no nervous twisting of the water glass; her hands lay motionlessly on the white tablecloth. Kathyanne, never having seen her in such a tranquil mood before, hoped that she had had a change of heart and was going to pay her at last. She went to the vacant chair across the table from Madgie and stood there expectantly.

  “By the way, Kathyanne,” she said sweetly, speaking for the first time that morning without a trace of irritation or impatience, “there’s something I’ve been intending to ask you about. I’m glad I happened to remember it. It’s been on my mind for a long time now.”

  “Yes, Miss Madgie?” she said hopefully.

  “You didn’t bring me a reference when you came to work several weeks ago, did you? Why is that?” She smiled confidently. “Didn’t Mrs. Swayne give you a reference?”

  Kathyanne felt weak with disappointment. She gripped the back of the chair with both hands. Madgie was smiling with a superior arching of her eyebrows.

  “I didn’t ask for one, Miss Madgie.”

  “You didn’t?” she remarked with increased interest. “And why not, Kathyanne?”

  “I didn’t ask for one at the time, and I just never went back for it.”

  “Are you sure that’s the reason, Kathyanne?” She picked up a knife and began playing with it. “Are you sure she would have given you one?”

  “I suppose, if I’d asked for it.”

  Madgie smiled mistrustfully. “But why didn’t you ask for it when you left?”

  “It was late and Miss Norma had just come home from Savannah and I didn’t like to bother her about it.” She paused and looked directly at Madgie. “You didn’t ask me for a reference when I came to work for you, Miss Madgie.”

  Madgie poured some coffee into her cup. She stirred the coffee thoughtfully while watching Kathyanne. “Well, never mind about that, Kathyanne. I suppose I did let it slip my mind at the time.”

  “I’ll be glad to ask Miss Norma for a reference, Miss Madgie, if you want me to.”

  “I said, never mind!” she spoke out with an agitated motion of her hands. “I don’t want to be bothered with it now.” The momentary irritation passed. Presently she was looking up again at Kathyanne and smiling ingratiatingly. “Tell me, Kathyanne,” she said, “what kind of meals does Mrs. Swayne serve? Do they have just ordinary plain cooking when there’s no company, or do they generally have expensive cuts of meat and vegetables out of season—just what do they eat?”

  Kathyanne knew, by the tone of her voice and by her ingratiating manner, that she was curious about the living standard of the Swaynes and hoped to find out, at last, something she had wanted to know for a long time. Kathyanne wanted to evade the questioning, because she knew any comment she might make, no matter how carefully she worded it, would more than likely furnish the basis for gossip among the women in town for weeks to come. She could see Madgie watching her, with unconcealed anticipation, while she tried to think what she could say. She felt loyal to Norma, because she had never before worked for anyone who treated her so considerately, and she wished she could have stayed to work for her. But she must say something, for she could see the impatient look on Madgie’s face. She was determined that, no matter how insistent Madgie became, she was not going to say anything that might be used against her.

  “Miss Norma’s meals are just about like the ones you serve, Miss Madgie,” she replied at last.

  Madgie was disappointed, but not discouraged. She had waited for this opportunity ever since Kathyanne came to work for her, and she intended to take full advantage of it.

  “Now, Kathyanne,” she said with a condescending smile, “you know you can trust me. I wouldn’t dream of repeating one single word you told me in confidence. Norma Swayne is one of my dearest friends, anyway. I wouldn’t dream of repeating anything that would hurt her feelings. I’m just not that kind. Everybody knows that.”

  “Her meals are just about the same as yours, Miss Madgie,” she steadfastly maintained. “They often have fried chicken and rice and cow peas, just like we’ve had lots of times since I came to work for you.”

  “Mr. Pugh happens to like fried chicken and rice and cow peas,” she said rather stiffly, with a defensive toss of her head. “I always try to give Mr. Pugh what he likes. I think every wife should.” With a sigh she gazed thoughtfully at the water glass she was twisting with her fingers. Several moments passed before she spoke again. “Well,” she said as though talking to herself alone, “with all the money everybody says she has in her own right, I should think they’d eat much better than that. But, there are wealthy people who just hate to part with a dollar or two for the better things of life. I always did think Norma counted pennies too closely. A little more money spent wisely on her clothes would improve her appearance, too. There are times when she looks downright dowdy.” She drank some of the coffee and pushed the cup aside. “What’s her bed linen like, Kathyanne? Does she have nice percale sheets, or are they just ordinary muslin? Are her blankets all-wool, or are they rayon and cotton?”

  Kathyanne said carefully, “I never noticed, Miss Madgie.”

  “Then what silver does she use when she doesn’t have company? Is it plated or is it just common tinware? I’ve often wondered about that. Norma’s fastidious in some respects, but in others—”

  “Her silverware is just like yours, Miss Madgie.”

  Madgie was growing increasingly irritated by Kathyanne’s evasive replies, but she was trying her best to conceal it. “Well,” she said, making one more attempt, “I’ve heard it said that Norma makes her husband wear his shirts two or three days at a time so they won’t have to be laundered so often. And he’s vice president of the bank, too, even if she did pick him up in some grocery store, where he was a common clerk, and put him where he is today. Of course, I don’t know if it’s just talk about her saving money that way on laundry. But it does sound a lot like Norma Swayne. Is it true, Kathyanne?”

  “I don’t know, Miss Madgie.”

  Madgie was provoked. Her lips hardened into a narrow taut line across her face. She looked at Kathyanne with a harsh, angry expression.

  “Now, tell me the truth, Kathyanne,” she said in a demanding tone. “Did you leave Mrs. Swayne of your own free will, or did she discharge you? What was the real reason?”


  “I left because I wanted to.”

  “You are very aggravating, Kathyanne. I’m sure there must have been some other reason. I don’t believe you. You told me you worked for her for only six or seven months, and in the past her maids have always stayed with her two or three years or longer. Now, tell me the truth!”

  “It was just as I said, Miss Madgie. I wanted to leave.”

  “I could call her on the phone, you know, and I’m sure she’d tell me. We’ve always been very close friends.”

  “I don’t mind if you call her, Miss Madgie.”

  “But why did you want to leave, Kathyanne?” she asked persistently.

  “I decided it would be better if I worked somewhere else.”

  “So that’s it!” she said with a triumphant smile. “It was a personal reason, wasn’t it? It had nothing to do with your work, or with Norma’s treatment of you, did it? It might have happened in any household in town—isn’t that what you mean, Kathyanne?”

  “I suppose so,” she admitted.

  Madgie smiled engagingly as though to give the impression that she knew exactly what had happened, and that it would be useless for Kathyanne to try to hide anything from her after that.

  “I can readily see that under certain circumstances trouble could easily develop in a household where you worked.” She looked Kathyanne up and down with an appraising glance. “A girl your age, who’s gifted with a certain type of female charm, and with your coloring and figure, would no doubt appeal to some men—those who aren’t particular enough about such things as racial equality. The country is probably full of men with so little character—there are such men in the world, aren’t there, Kathyanne—white men I mean? Of course, you’d know all about it, wouldn’t you, Kathyanne?”

  Kathyanne made no reply, but Madgie took it for granted that Kathyanne would admit it.

  “You’ve had such experiences, of course—right here in town, haven’t you, Kathyanne?”

  Kathyanne remained silent. She was wondering, however, if Norma had suspected the reason for her leaving and had said something about it to Madgie. She was almost certain that she knew what Madgie was leading up to now, as well as what she would eventually ask. She told herself that this was one time when she wanted to be able to answer convincingly and conclusively.

  “Kathyanne,” Madgie began, leaning over the table toward her confidentially and lowering her voice to an intimate level, “Kathyanne, has my husband—has Mr. Pugh—has he ever shown any indication—has he ever said anything that made you think he is interested in you—in any way—well, you know what I mean, don’t you? Men always give themselves away, don’t they? They’re so awkward and bungling about such things. They can be downright childish. You can nearly always read their minds a mile away. Now, I want you to be perfectly honest and frank. Mr. Pugh will never know you told me. You know you can trust me. Now, has he ever approached you with a suggestion—anything like that—I mean, has he ever actually—well, has he Kathyanne?”

  “No, Miss Madgie,” she replied in a firm voice, looking directly at her.

  “Are you sure—is that the truth, Kathyanne?” she asked through trembling lips. Her hands were clasped tightly together and resting on her lap. “I must know the truth, Kathyanne! I’ve got to know the truth!”

  “It is the truth, Miss Madgie.”

  Madgie drew herself up with a doubtful, uncertain sigh. After that she leaned back in the chair, her shoulders drooping wearily. She suddenly looked older and the lines in her face were more noticeable.

  “I don’t know whether to believe you or not. Women are such dreadful liars about such things. All women are. Even girls your age. I don’t know.” She was frowning and shaking her head, and she made no effort to hide her tears. “It’s awful not to know—not to be absolutely certain. Maybe it’s wisest always to suspect the very worst. Then you are never in doubt. Men can’t be trusted—no man can be—not even Mr. Pugh. I know colored girls are a great temptation to white men—even the blackest can be, but especially mulattoes and quadroons. My father—sometimes I wonder if Mr. Pugh—but there’s no way on earth of knowing absolutely.

  But if I thought for one minute—” She was crying brokenly. “If I only had your—your charm. Yes, that’s what it is—your charm. I’d give my very soul for it now—because then I know I’d never have to worry about Mr. Pugh. I could hold him. I know I could!”

  Madgie wiped the tears from her face with the napkin, and they looked at each other, both wondering what thoughts were in the other’s mind. It was growing late and none of the housework had been done that morning. Kathyanne tried to think of some way to ask Madgie for her wages again without upsetting her and making her angry. Madgie kept gazing at her suspiciously.

  “Kathyanne, if I ever have reason to believe—” Madgie said hesitatingly, “—I’d stop at nothing. You know that, don’t you? I’d have no mercy for you. I wouldn’t think twice. I’d kill you. Yes, I really would. You’d better remember that, Kathyanne. I mean every word of it. I’d kill you.”

  “Yes, Miss Madgie,” she said, frightened.

  Madgie got up the second time to leave. She was almost out of the room before Kathyanne could bring herself to speak. She ran to the doorway.

  “Miss Madgie!” she called tensely.

  Madgie stopped and looked back at her.

  “Miss Madgie, please, ma’m, it’s about my pay.”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed as though relieved to hear what Kathyanne had said. “Oh, yes.” She smiled agreeably, turning and going toward the front of the house. “I’ll be right back, Kathyanne.”

  As soon as the table had been cleared and the tablecloth and napkins folded and put away in the sideboard drawer, Kathyanne went to the kitchen and began washing dishes. Madgie’s manner had been so unexpectedly pleasant when she mentioned her wages that she wondered what could be the reason for such a sudden change in attitude. Every few minutes she stopped and listened for the sound of Madgie coming through the dining room, but she did not return and soon a quarter-hour had passed. While she was putting the dishes in the cupboard, she began to worry again, this time thinking that Madgie had deliberately lied and had no intention of coming back. She did not know what to do. Clyde Picquet, the rent collector, had agreed to wait until that evening when, she told him, she expected to have money to give him; besides that, she had to buy food as well as medicine for Aunt Hazel. She hurriedly swept the floor, hung the tea towels up to dry, and then went as far as the dining-room door. Presently she heard Madgie coming down the hall, and she hurried back into the kitchen and stood beside the table. It had been a relief to hear footsteps, and she was sorry she had suspected Madgie of planning to leave the house without paying her. She tried to be calm as she heard the footsteps come closer.

  Madgie walked in carrying an armful of clothes. She dumped the clothing in a pile on the kitchen table, and then stood back beaming with satisfaction. There were several out-of-season woolen dresses that had been hanging on a nail in the hall closet for a number of years, a knotted ball of unmatched stockings with runs in them, and a pair of scuffed and soiled pink bedroom slippers. Madgie searched under the pile until she drew out a dusty, crushed felt halt with feather trimming. The doubt that had come to Kathyanne’s mind when she first saw Madgie dump the clothing on the table and smile engagingly was now strong and forboding. She moved away from the table.

  “There!” Madgie said, tossing the feathered hat to the top of the heap with a confident gesture. “I’d almost forgotten all about these nice things. It’s been so long since I’ve looked at them. I’m being very generous, Kathyanne. I hope you fully appreciate it. These are very expensive dresses, and that hat was by no means cheap when I bought it in Atlanta. I hate to part with all these nice things, but I know you’ll appreciate them. You’ll probably have to alter the dresses a little.” She glanced self-consciously at Kathyanne’s slender figure. “Well?” she said a moment later with an impatient toss of her head. “Don�
�t just stand there! Aren’t you going to so much as thank me for all this, Kathyanne? Don’t you realize how generous I’m being? Say something, Kathyanne!”

  She tried not to let her feelings show how disappointed and unhappy she was, because she still hoped to get at least part of her wages in money. She waited, biting her lip tensely, until she was sure she had control of herself. She knew that if she was not careful she would say something that would antagonize Madgie. All at once she could feel the sting of tears that refused to be held back any longer.

  “What’s the matter with you, Kathyanne?” she heard Madgie say in a nervous high-pitched voice. “You’re acting very strange. You haven’t said a word, Kathyanne.”

  She knew before she spoke that she was on the verge of making Madgie angry, but she could not help herself. “I can’t take those things for my pay, Miss Madgie,” she said, no longer making a pretense of her feelings. “I need the money. Your old clothes won’t do.”

  “Well!” Madgie remarked sarcastically. “I suppose you think you’re too good to wear my clothes.”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “Then what is the matter with you?”

  This time Kathyanne forced herself not to say anything.

  “You’re being very ungrateful—and very foolish, too,” Madgie told her crossly. “I never saw such a person before. When you came here to work for me, I thought at last I’d found good colored help. I can see now how wrong I was. You’re just like all the rest of them. You have no sense of appreciation whatsoever. There’s nothing in all the world more provoking than an ungrateful servant.”