“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Kerns.”
“Virginia,” she corrected in a muted whisper. Her hand squeezed mine a little tighter before letting go.
“And you have met Elmore Kerns.” Mrs. Hawthorn continued as the stiff man nodded once in my direction. “Elmore is our butler and he’s married to Virginia. They have a suite at the end of your hallway.”
My gaze shifted to the upstairs banister as I tried to imagine which of these hallways was considered mine. This grand house still seemed unreal. The amount of space. The beautiful decor. It left a person overwhelmed by the opulence.
“We also have two housekeepers who come during the weekdays,” Mrs. Hawthorn continued. “They’re supervised by Mrs. Kerns. The ladies take care of the heavy cleaning and laundry. There’s a bag in your room. It will be collected on Mondays and Thursdays.”
I nodded politely. My fingers gripped the sides of my dress as I stifled a squeal. I would have a laundry service like a hotel. Mrs. Hawthorn came to stand in front of me. Her eyes narrowed for a moment. I willed myself to stay poised and not reveal the true depth of my excitement.
“Well, Ms. Atwood. I will leave you to getting settled. Elmore can show you to your room. Dinner is served at six each evening. You will be joining me.”
Laundry and now dinner.
“Yes, ma’am.” I struggled to keep my smile subdued yet again. Mrs. Hawthorn gave a terse nod before leaving the room. Her perfume remained behind in a fading cloud. Something expensive yet not exactly pleasant.
My excitement returned as I thought of the elegant dinners each evening prepared by a live-in cook. But then I noted the odd, underlying implication of her last words. I wasn’t any more special than the rest of the staff, yet she expected me to have dinner with her each evening instead of with them.
I’d assumed Mrs. Hawthorn dined with family at some long table while people flitted around her. But Javier probably spent most evenings at the office. And I guess her son Ted might come for dinner occasionally, but the other two children were not even in this state, let alone in the city.
The reality of her situation made me feel a little sad for Mrs. Hawthorn. She might have this grand house, but it didn’t make the days any less lonely. The true nature of this job suddenly became clearer. Maybe she sought a companion rather than just an assistant.
“Come along, Ms. Atwood,” Elmore said, garnering my attention. I followed in silence as he led me through the house and to a back hallway. Brenda came up behind us and intervened.
“I can take it from here,” she said to Elmore.
I bit back a laugh, seeing the agitated creases above his eyebrows. This man didn’t like anyone else to interfere with his duties. The butler let out a huff. “Very well.”
“Come on.” She motioned for me to follow along. “We all live in this wing of the house. It’s downstairs, but she keeps all these rooms just as nice as the rest. There’s a door at the end that leads out to the back patio. It’s hidden by those big hydrangeas this time of year.”
We passed two doors before Brenda stopped at the third one; a dark mahogany rising to the ceiling with an antique bronze handle that contained a hole for something that might resemble a skeleton key. “All right. This is your room.”
“Thank you.”
“And mine’s right next door if you need something. Elmore and Virgina’s got the one by the patio. You don’t have to worry about being quiet, though. They’d sleep through a bomb, I think.” She smiled, cocking a hand on her hip. Her plentiful curves were slightly masked by a starched apron. “You know it’s been years since we had anyone new move in the house. Have to say, it’s exciting to have you here, darlin’.”
“I’m excited to be here. I’ve wanted to work in a place like this . . .” I glanced down the lavish hallway again. “Well, for a very long time.”
“Have you ever lived and worked in a house before?”
“No. This will be a first.” A first of many for me, but I didn’t think I should elaborate right now with Brenda. Maybe another time.
“Well, I hope you got yourself some tough skin. I pray every night for that woman. But so far, the Lord ain’t made her any less difficult. And I’ve been prayin’ for eleven years.” She laughed, her eyes sparkling with almost an air of mischief.
“So you’ve worked here for eleven years?”
“I’ve lived here that long. But I’ve worked for the Hawthorns going on sixteen years now. I didn’t move in at first. Had my own family. Then my son got his own. And it was just me in my little house. I moved in right after we lost Mr. Hawthorn. I’d like to say that his death is what made her difficult, but I’d be lying. She was this way even when he was alive.”
“So she’s that bad every day?”
“She’ll try every piece of patience you got. And then trample all the reserves.” Brenda shook her head. “But you seem like a strong girl. I think she picked good. I saw some of those others, waltzing in here for the interviews. She would have slayed them into a puddle of tears on the first day.”
“Well, she almost slayed me. I won’t lie. It was a tough interview.”
“I can only imagine. It’s been a good chunk of years since I sat across from Mrs. Hawthorn, but I can still remember that feeling. Oooh . . .” She shivered while another laugh escaped her lips. “I wouldn’t want to be there again. Well, I better git. We can catch up more later. But if you need anything right now, I’ll be down in the kitchen gettin’ dinner ready.”
“Thank you.”
Brenda took a few steps, her hips swaying as she walked. But then she turned back for a moment. “I shouldn’t be sayin’ that terrible stuff on your first day. Mrs. Hawthorn ain’t all bad. I wouldn’t have stayed this long if she was. I hope you get to see the other side of her too. She can be a real generous woman when she wants to be.”
I smiled at her attempt to shed some positivity. “Don’t worry. I know what you mean.”
“Well, I’ll see you at six, darlin’. You get to sit at the fancy table.” Brenda winked and turned to leave again. Her voiced picked up with the light hum of a song as she sauntered back down the hallway.
I opened the door to my new room and gasped out loud. “Holy shit.”
The bed had to be at least a queen, if not a king, with tall bedposts at the head of the frame. The bedspread floated like a cloud over the dark wood. I couldn’t wait to feel the crisp, cool, high-end cotton against my skin.
The walls were covered in some type of gold and deep-green paper while several large windows lighted the room. I circled the perimeter, taking in the furniture and artwork. Next to a door, I noticed a six-inch copper box embedded in the wall, the buttons old with what appeared to be a speaker in the middle. The house must have an intercom system. Interesting. I wonder if it still works.
I moved on to the closet. Opening the solid door, a sound escaped my lips once again. I didn’t currently own enough clothes to even make it appear used. But not for long. I had dreams. Big dreams of what could fill this closet. Moving on to the bathroom, I entered the vast space full of intricate tile and woodwork. My fingers trailed over the edge of the giant tub with bronze claw feet and then I opened the shower door. I would need to get up an hour early every day just to adequately enjoy the steamy water. And then stay up every night soaking in a bubble bath.
Going back into the bedroom, I fell against that magnificent comforter, feeling it cradle my body like a newborn baby. I smiled up at the ceiling, antique four-inch crown molding highlighting the edges. This was my room. I didn’t care if fire breathed from that woman’s lips. Nothing would ever make me quit this job.
Summer
THE NEXT COUPLE OF WEEKS went by rather quickly. I escorted Mrs. Hawthorn to numerous events around the city and into people’s homes. The Hawthorns by far had the nicest place. Not that the others were shabby. Just not as big. Especially when it came to the acreage of the estate.
My employer no longer drove so it was my responsibility
to take her places in the silver Mercedes. She always sat in the back. She always told me when to use my turn signal. And she always corrected my speed by insisting I drive exactly five miles under the limit. “We are not on the Autobahn, Ms. Atwood.”
We usually spent the morning hours going over schedules and making appointments. I was getting accustomed to her dictating sarcasm. She was just a lonely old lady. Maybe having a daily companion would help and she would ease up on the rigid attitude. But I wasn’t worried. I could handle anything from Mrs. Hawthorn. And it wasn’t too hard. The first time my laundry arrived clean and starched, I forgot every harsh word she’d spoken that day. Clean laundry. Clean slate.
I had lunch with the mayor in my second week—well, I sat at the end of a sixteen-person table and saw the mayor. But we ate the same food, on the same plates. And I listened to every word he spoke just like I was sitting next to him.
And then yesterday, I attended a garden party at the museum where Mrs. Hawthorn introduced me to the board members of the hospital auxiliary. They would be the ladies involved in the fundraiser taking place in the estate ballroom.
“Ms. Atwood.”
I looked up from the cream-colored paper. “Yes?”
“You are not paying attention. You spelled cordially incorrectly.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll start over.” My fingers gripped the blue pen tightly as I picked up another invitation. My hand ached. We’d been going at this for hours, scripting forty-two handwritten invitations, or rather letters that Mrs. Hawthorn wanted to send as invites for her own luncheon.
When I’d suggested something elegant and preprinted, I ended up with a lengthy reprimand. “You act like this is some sort of picnic with a bucket of chicken, Ms. Atwood. Society has evolved to tacky practices of convenience. People need to be contacted personally if you expect someone to give any of their own personal time.”
So I did as she requested.
While she slowly dictated each word, I hand scripted each personal invite with a blue pen, which matched the flowers on the front of the envelope. I guess she had a point—although I’m not sure my hand agreed. Flexing my fingers again, I started on the next invitation as her prompt voice filled the office while she paced behind my chair.
I wish she would just go sit back down so I could get this done. Only one more to go. My stomach growled for the hundredth time. I needed food before I passed out on her precious letters and crinkled the paper. I’d missed dinner. About two hours ago, she’d ordered a tray to be brought to her desk while Brenda kept mine in the kitchen. Mrs. Hawthorn wouldn’t allow any food or drinks next to the invitations.
“Very good, Ms. Atwood.” I heard the compliment and froze with the last envelope in my hand. She took it from my fingers and placed it in the basket. “I will see you at six thirty in the morning. I want to make sure we’re on time at the post office.”
I’d come to realize my employer possessed many misconceptions about how life worked in the outside world. And I’d also learned it was a waste of breath and energy to attempt in correcting any of these strange beliefs.
Like tomorrow. She insisted that we must be the first to arrive at the post office, otherwise anything past 8:00 a.m. would not be addressed until the next day, according to the all-knowing Delsey Hawthorn. Therefore, we needed to be at the doors by seven in the morning, waiting in a nonexistent line for the building to open at seven thirty.
“Good night, Mrs. Hawthorn.” I wanted to leave and make a hasty beeline to the kitchen. That plate of leftovers had my name written all over it.
“Oh, and Ms. Atwood. Make sure you dress appropriately tomorrow. Remember, we are having lunch at the Hunter Club with Linda Rosemont.”
I smiled. “I didn’t forget. And I’ll wear a skirt.”
This lunch had been ingrained deeply in my mental datebook since the moment she’d ordered me to schedule it. The Hunter Club was on the thirty-second floor of the Hunter Building. You had to be a member to eat there.
“Very good. You’re dismissed now.”
I nodded, glancing up at the grandfather clock, which read 8:15 in the evening. Way past my dinner time. Walking into the kitchen, I found a plate on the counter with a towel over it. I lifted up the edge, seeing lasagna and toasted bread. And it was still warm. I might just love this woman. I grabbed a glass and opened the freezer to get some ice.
“Let me help you, darlin’.” I heard the sugary voice of Brenda. She appeared in the doorway still wearing her white uniform and starched white apron, which bore a few red spots of marinara.
“Thank you.” I smiled, picking up my plate. I took a seat at the little prep table in the corner of the room. Handing over the glass of sweet iced tea, she sat down across from me. I took one long drink. “That’s like liquid gold. You could bottle it. Sell it to the world. I bet you’d be rich and famous. I bet Ellen would even have you on her show. She likes those kinds of stories.”
“You’re funny.” She smiled, shaking her head. “I thought y’all would never get done.”
“There wasn’t much y’all to it. I did all the writing and she did all the pacing.” I stretched my fingers before holding my fork. “What are you doing in here so late?”
“Well, Mrs. Hawthorn requested a cheese and spinach soufflé. Said she ate it once in Paris for breakfast. And she wants it before y’all head out in the morning.”
“Of course she would.” I snorted. “You should give her a granola bar and tell her to eat it in the car as we wait for the post office to open.”
She laughed, making the wrinkles around her eyes deep. “I’m just thankful she’ll let me bring in more staff for the bigger dinners. When I first started, the woman thought I had ten hands and twenty feet and could serve up a four-course meal for fifty. By my damn self. I thought I was having a full-on heart attack at that first one. I was sweating and my heart was racing. She came into the kitchen and told me to stop panting all over the food. I was scarin’ her guests. They thought I had that pig flu. It was all over the news at the time. But I just looked at her and said, ‘I ain’t got no pig flu. And I ain’t got no ten hands, either.’”
I giggled, picturing Mrs. Hawthorn’s face. “I can’t believe she didn’t fire you.”
“Honestly, I think she likes it when we fight back.”
I burst out laughing, almost choking on a bite of bread. “I-I don’t know about that.”
“Well, maybe some of the time. I did win that battle. She let me bring in Scarlett and Josie to help out after that night.”
I smiled. “I’ll meet them in a few weeks? For the patio luncheon, right?”
“Yeah, they’re working the garden party, but you could meet ’em sooner if you’d come to our church service on Sunday.” Brenda went every week and sang in the choir with her best friend Helen who was also Scarlett and Josie’s mom.
I reached over and patted her hand. “I’ll go sometime with you. Just not this week. I’ve got a family thing.”
“All right, family is important too. Maybe another time.” She never came across pushy. She had a kind soul. It sparkled out from her eyes with the brilliance of a star.
I ate the last bite of lasagna and took my plate to the dishwasher. “I’ll let you get to work. I’m going to step outside by the pool for a minute before I crawl in bed.”
The cook’s tongue clucked in disapproval. “Better not let her see you steppin’ out by the pool.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m working on it.”
“Well, you have a good evening, Sarina. See ya at breakfast. Lord willing I don’t kill the soufflé and then she kills me next.”
I laughed. “I don’t think you could ever make something bad. Your food is like little bites of heaven.”
“Oh, hush. Stop buttering me up.”
As I walked away, her voice kicked into a low hum. The notes came smooth and sweet before shifting to the full words. I recognized the hymn. The charisma and joy in her notes made me smile. I’ll Fly Away followed
me down the hall until her voice faded into the darkness.
Back in my room, I changed into the clothes I planned to wear to bed—a light-pink tank top held up with spaghetti straps and a matching pair of satin sleep shorts. Opening my top dresser drawer, I reached into the back and pulled out my hidden pack of Marlboros and a lighter. It was late enough now. I could get in a secret hit of nicotine to kill the stress from today and lull me to sleep.
I carefully closed the patio door to keep it from echoing with a click. My bare feet balanced on three stone steps before reaching the stained concrete patio. I walked silently to the other side where a wall of lilac bushes blocked the windows facing the pool. I stopped just on the cement edge and watched the lights as they illuminated the blue water.
A small breeze moved through the patio. It felt good in the muggy darkness. Pulling a cigarette from the pack, I held it up to my nose and took a deep breath, smelling the familiar scent of tobacco. I held it there without using the lighter, wishing that feeling alone would be enough for me. But the scent only managed to tease the growing ache.
I needed more. And without the fix, I was a wreck—my body burning in a deep-rooted need, twisting up inside, driving me into a circle of madness until the moment the tobacco filled my lungs. All I needed to do was light the end. All I needed to do was inhale.
And all of this would stop.
I’d tried to quit several times, but I’d been smoking since I was thirteen. Something ingrained that deep under the skin was difficult to forget. Yet, I was down to one a day now after months of hard-fought self-control. A victory of sorts and my little refuge right before I climbed under the covers.
“Are you going to light that cigarette, or does it need to take you to dinner before touching your lips?”
My breath caught, hearing the deep voice behind me. The initial surprise faded and I bit back a smile. This night just got more interesting. Turning around, I searched for Javier in the darkness until I found him in a lounge chair, hiding in the shadows cast by the draping limbs of the bushes. He must have been staring at my backside for quite some time as I wrestled with my dilemma.
The Hawks_A Novel Page 4