I stood quietly in the corner of the room by the table we had set up for the young white girls to get their food. We decided to have them eat here rather than go into the dining room.
“I’m not trying to make more work for you and Birdie,” Miss Peggy said. “Putting everything in the sewing room makes sense. That also keeps them from traipsing all over my house.”
“If that’s what you want, Miss Peggy,” Granny said. “Me and Opal got this down pat, so we can put things however you want it. You and Jimmy Earl will even have some leftovers to eat on tonight.”
I was happy that Miss Peggy didn’t change her mind. I wanted to get out early as possible, so maybe I could see Cedric on my walk home and share the lemon squares I had made.
The girls started arriving around one o’clock. It was seven of them and they were loud and chatty. A few of them spoke to me and Granny, but the others just walked around us without a mumbling word. We might as well have been part of the furniture. I was used to that with white folks. Excusing Miss Peggy and a smattering few others, white folks thought all we was good for was to cook and clean up after them. One thing I did know was, even though I loved cooking and cleaning and could see myself doing it for the rest of my life, I had no intentions of working with people like these girls. People who thought they were better than me and therefore didn’t have to show respect. No, if I couldn’t keep working for Miss Peggy or some white family like hers, I wouldn’t keep doing it.
I didn’t like how it made me feel on days like this. I thought about Uncle Myron. He would be saying, “I told you. I told you they don’t see you. They just see their cold glass of water or their cleanup woman to empty their slop jars.” Unfortunately, in this moment, I would be hard-pressed to argue against him.
Once the girls all got settled, I stood by the food table just in case Miss Peggy or one of her guests needed me to go fetch something or help with their quilting. Miss Peggy had rested most of the morning before her company came, but she still seemed tired to me. Her walking was a little slow, so if I could save her a step or two by going over and showing a girl how to do a stitch properly, well, that was what I planned on doing.
Granny said she would stay in the kitchen and straighten up. I didn’t know what she was straightening up. I had cleaned the kitchen before any of the girls got here. I figured she was in there listening to the radio. Granny loved listening to WSB. They was always playing the Carter Family, and Granny loved their song “Keep on the Sunny Side.” Sometimes, if she couldn’t find it on the radio, she would get Miss Corinne to sing it for her.
I didn’t mind if she was resting. All I wanted to do was make sure Granny, Miss Peggy, and Miss Corinne were taken care of to the best of my ability. Sometimes, though, I wondered what it would be like to put myself first. What would it be like to be these carefree white girls who could come calling in the middle of the day and sew and laugh and talk and daydream about their future?
I looked at the other side of the room. Miss Corinne was working hard on her piecework. She was good. She would drop a stitch every now and then, but most times she caught it and I would see her squinch up her face as she worked through making her stitches perfect. The quilting also seemed to relax her. Sometimes, when her singing wouldn’t calm her down, I would hand her some embroidery work or some quilt squares to piece together. It was nice that today Miss Corinne seemed to be herself. No demons messing with her mind.
“Miss Peggy. Miss Peggy, did I do this stitch right?” one of the girls asked. I watched as Miss Peggy walked over to the girl and then grimaced slightly. I put my hand over my mouth to hide my smile. I knew what that look meant. When she was first teaching me to sew, I would get that look on a regular basis. One thing Miss Peggy could not abide was someone making a mistake after she had just showed them how to do it the right way.
“Well, honey. Your stitching is . . . well . . . getting better. Yes, your stitching is much improved,” she said as she smiled that sideways smile of hers that never reached her eyes. “Now remind me of your name again, honey.”
“Lori Beth. Lori Beth Parsons,” the girl said, smiling, showing a mouthful of pretty white teeth. She had red hair that she had tied up in a ponytail, and skin so smooth and rich looking you’d never think the light of day had ever touched her face. She reached and touched Miss Peggy’s hand. I could tell Miss Peggy wanted to yank her hand back, but she didn’t. “I just want to say thank you for offering these lessons, Miss Peggy. Today is just my second time attending your quilting circle. I’ve been away at boarding school, and I just finished my semester two weeks ago. I’m very eager to learn how to properly make a quilt. I find this all so fascinating.”
I frowned, irritated on behalf of Miss Peggy. A Parsons learning how to quilt. Really? What in the world was she doing here pretending to want to learn how to sew scraps of fabric together? Miss Peggy was trying to teach these young white girls of the community how to actually make quilts that their families would use. Parsons could just buy their quilts from stores or get their Colored Help to make them for them. Most of these girls came from poor families, Miss Peggy had said to Granny and me when she first started the quilting circle.
“These girls’ mamas and daddies don’t have two nickels to rub together. That Depression wiped most of them out except for their land, and some of them lost that,” she said. “Thank God Cecil was smart enough to manage our money, elseways we would be in the same shape.”
I looked over at that Miss Lori Beth Parsons again. Her family had enough money to purchase every quilt made in Henry County and beyond. Somehow that fact made me resent her presence even more. Here I was, not even eighteen, and I had to work for everything I got. Granny would never take anything from the family to help with my upkeep, so from an early age I learned that nothing in life was free. Leastways not for me. If I wanted something, I had to work for it. But this white girl . . . she had everything handed to her, and in spite of myself, it made me angry. Maybe even a tad bit jealous. I knew Granny would tell me to repent right then, but I didn’t. I wasn’t ready to let go of what I was feeling, not even to please Granny or God.
“Girls, why don’t you take a moment to rest and partake in these nice refreshments Birdie and Opal have prepared for us. And please, tell them thank you,” Miss Peggy said as she made her way to her chair, moving like she had bricks in her shoes, weighing her down.
All of the girls said thank you in unison, with Lori Beth Parsons the loudest of them all. I don’t know why, but even her politeness grated at me some kind of a way.
Miss Peggy motioned for me to come over to where she sat.
“I need some medicine, Opal. Go tell Birdie. She knows where it is,” Miss Peggy whispered. I turned on my heels and went to the kitchen where Granny was dozing by the radio.
“Granny,” I said, shaking her as easy as I could. Granny opened her eyes and smiled. “I’m sorry, honey. Didn’t mean to go to sleep on you. That Carter Family lulled me right off. Is the quilting circle over?”
“No ma’am,” I said. “Miss Peggy said she’s hurting and she needs her medicine. Granny, what’s wrong?”
Granny jumped up and hurried out of the room without saying a word. I went behind her. I was determined somebody was going to tell me something. I followed Granny into Miss Peggy’s bedroom. Granny was on her knees, reaching underneath Miss Peggy’s bed. She pulled out one of Mr. Cecil’s old cigar boxes.
“Granny, what’s going on?” I asked.
Granny got up from the floor with a weariness I had not seen in a long while. Tears were streaming down her face. “Miss Peggy is dying,” she said, trying to choke back the tears. “Her heart is bad, and every day it gets a little bit worse. Poor Doc Henry is doing all he knows to do, but her heart just ain’t responding. Most times I have to make her take her medicine. If she’s asking for it, then I ain’t gone have my friend much longer.”
I went over and tried to put my arms around Granny, but she shook her head.
“I gotta go give this to Miss Peggy,” she said. I could tell by looking at her that she didn’t need to go out as upset as she was. I took the medicine from her hands.
“I’ll do it,” I said. Normally, I would be the one crying, but I knew this time wasn’t about me. Granny needed me to be strong, and I meant to do that for her. I looked at the two bottles she handed me. One was a big word I didn’t know how to pronounce. Nitroglycerin. The other was just as hard. Laudanum.
“Give her both?”
“She’ll not want the laudanum,” Granny said, wiping her tears. Granny reached in her pocket and handed me another bottle. “Here’s some aspirin. See if she’ll take a couple of those if she won’t take the laudanum.”
I walked back to the kitchen and got some water, and then walked back into the sewing room where the girls were eating and talking and laughing. They didn’t notice that Miss Peggy was sitting quietly to herself on the other side of the room. I went over to where she sat.
“Granny gave me the medicine to give you, Miss Peggy,” I said in a low voice.
Miss Peggy looked up at me, and I saw so much in her eyes. Questions about how much I knew. Concern about why Granny wasn’t bringing her medicine. But mostly . . . mostly I saw sadness in her eyes.
“It’s okay, Miss Peggy,” I said, handing her the nitroglycerin. When I tried to hand her the laudanum, she shook her head no. I gave her the bottle of aspirin, and she took two. “Should I send the girls home?”
“I’ll be okay. Is Birdie all right?”
“Yes ma’am,” I answered. I didn’t want to say anything else. I didn’t want her to know how upset Granny was.
“Would you get the girls started at the quilting frame?” Miss Peggy asked. “I’ll just sit here for a few more minutes and then I’ll be over.”
“I’ve got it, Miss Peggy. You just rest up,” I said.
I looked around the room at the girls. All of them, except for Miss Lori Beth Parsons and another girl, were busy filling their faces with the sandwiches and my lemon squares. Judging by how quickly the sandwiches were disappearing from the platters, I guessed this was probably the first meal some of them had eaten all day. I found myself feeling sorry for them. Although they all probably thought they were better than me, at least I had a roof over my head and food in my belly every single day. Times were hard, but I was blessed.
“All right, ladies,” I finally said. “Miss Peggy wants you to go and work some on the quilting frame. I’ll help you with anything you don’t remember.”
Before I could walk away, Miss Peggy reached for my hand and squeezed it.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” I said, following a few of the girls who were starting to move toward the quilting frame. I imagined a few of them would have liked to eat more.
Miss Peggy didn’t sit for long. Before I knew it, she came over to inspect the girls’ handiwork. “You’ve got just a little more quilting to do, girls, and we’ll be ready to wrap up this quilt and give it to Cindy Lou and Dale for their upcoming nuptials. I must say, I love how it is looking. You have all done very nice work using a very complicated pattern. What do you think, Cindy Lou?”
Cindy Lou’s face was a bright red as the tears began to fall. “This is the most beautiful quilt I have ever seen. And knowing it was made with such love and care from all of you . . . well . . . I just don’t know what else to say.”
One of the girls standing beside her gave her a hug. Since Miss Peggy seemed to be back to herself, I decided to go over and start cleaning up. Before I could get to the table, Granny came out in her apron and started picking up plates and cups. She looked like herself again. No tears, just her usual stern face, which hid all the heartbreak she was feeling.
“I can do this, Granny.”
“I know, baby,” she said. “Granny’s okay. Thank you for taking care of things out here. I see Miss Peggy barely let the medicine get into her belly before hopping up. Well, if it makes her happy . . .” Granny trailed off.
“It does,” I said in a quiet voice. “This is what she wants to do.” I tried not to let myself think about Granny’s earlier words about Miss Peggy. Miss Peggy was strong. The only stronger person I knew was my granny. I wasn’t going to count Miss Peggy out, and even though I wasn’t as strong of a Christian as Granny, I said a silent prayer that God would give Miss Peggy a little more time. I thought about Jimmy Earl. First his grandpa and now . . . I wouldn’t let my mind go any further.
“Excuse me,” I heard a loud voice say. I almost groaned. It was that Miss Lori Beth Parsons girl. I didn’t want to talk to her now. Not when my emotions were every which-a-way.
“Yes ma’am?” I said, barely looking up.
“Oh, you don’t have to call me ma’am. I’m probably your age or younger,” she said, smiling like she wanted every tooth to show. “Just call me Lori Beth.”
I wasn’t about to fall for that. White folks liked to set Colored folks up with their fake friendship. One minute they were your friend, and the next they was accusing you of something. “Can I help you, ma’am?” I asked.
“Do you want more to eat, ma’am?” Granny asked, with both her hands on her hips, looking Miss Lori Beth Parsons up and down. I could tell Granny didn’t trust her either.
“No. I was hoping to speak with Opal for a minute,” she said, holding tight to a notebook and pen that she had just been scribbling in.
“What’s that you’re writing?” Granny asked. Come to think of it, she had been scribbling in that notebook ever since she’d gotten here. Miss Peggy would say something and she would “scribble scribble.” Even when Miss Peggy was just showing the girls things, she was doing the same thing: “scribble scribble.”
She kept smiling as she talked. “Well, my father is going to let me do some writing for the Parsons Gazette this summer, and I thought I’d write about the quilting circle,” she said.
“Did you clear that with Miss Peggy?” Granny asked. “I don’t know if she would like to have her business strewed all out there for folks to read.”
“Clear what with me?” Miss Peggy asked. I jumped. I didn’t even hear her walk up.
Miss Lori Beth Parsons had the good graces to look flustered, but only for a moment. “Well, Miss Peggy, I was able to convince my daddy that he could get more readers—women readers—if he printed more stories that women would like, besides just the occasional sewing or quilting pattern. He’s giving me a chance to prove my words by allowing me to write the occasional story, starting with my write-up about the quilting circle you’ve been hosting. Just look around you, Miss Peggy. So many young women in this community know how to quilt because you taught them. Now that’s a story worth telling.”
“It would have been nice if you had asked first,” Miss Peggy said in a dry voice.
Miss Lori Beth hung her head. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I can go.”
“Well, for you to be a newspaper girl, you aren’t very persistent. You gonna give up that easy?” Miss Peggy asked.
“No ma’am,” Miss Lori Beth Parsons said, unhunching her shoulders.
Miss Peggy’s face softened. “I guess it’s all right for you to do a story. A short story. I don’t want a whole lot of brouhaha over what we’re doing. Just a small write-up will suffice.”
Miss Lori Beth Parsons smiled, nodding her head in agreement. “Yes ma’am. I’ll keep it short and to the point.”
Miss Peggy nodded her head. “You’re mighty young to be taking on something like this. Is this for school?”
Miss Lori Beth chewed on the end of her pencil, as if trying to pull together just the right answer. “No ma’am. I can’t take journalism classes at boarding school until I’m a junior, and I’m just a sophomore. I’m just trying to show my father that I truly have what it takes to take over the newspaper someday. When I’m done with high school, I hope to study journalism in college. I want to be more than just a pretty little face. I want to be a journalist like Dorothy Thompson.”
“Who?” I asked.
Granny and Miss Peggy looked at me quickly, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to know more about what Miss Lori Beth was saying. Finally, she had me interested.
“Dorothy Thompson,” Miss Lori Beth said. “She interviewed Adolf Hitler in Harpers Monthly a couple of years ago. ‘Good-by to Germany’ was the name of the article she wrote. Her writing was positively brilliant and I want to be just like her.”
“Well,” Miss Peggy said, starting to look weary again. “I suppose writing little articles every now and then can’t hurt. But eventually, you’re going to have to give all that up.”
“Why is that, Miss Peggy?” Miss Lori Beth asked.
“Mothers and wives don’t have time for extra foolishness,” Miss Peggy said. “You can’t write stories and run a household at the same time. But I guess it’s okay for you to play at it for now.”
I watched Miss Lori Beth as she winced at Miss Peggy’s words, but all she said was, “Yes ma’am.” I could tell by the look on her face she didn’t agree with Miss Peggy, and maybe she had something else in mind for her future . . . something besides getting married and birthing babies.
I had never met a girl quite like her. Every girl I knew, Colored or white, was waiting for the day she could become a wife or a mother. That was all we knew. That was all we had ever seen. Even my girl cousins who went off to college were still determined to get married someday. I couldn’t imagine living Miss Lori Beth Parsons’s life, but it was sure interesting and so different from mine.
“Why don’t you come sit by me and ask your questions. No need worrying Birdie and Opal anymore,” Miss Peggy said.
A part of me wanted to hear the rest of that conversation. A part of me wanted to hear someone talk about a life that wasn’t like my own. But I knew better than to march myself over to Miss Lori Beth and Miss Peggy. Granny and I kept cleaning up, and by the time we were done, the girls had packed up all of the materials and had said their goodbyes. All except Miss Lori Beth. She and Miss Peggy were deep in conversation with each other. I wondered if she planned on staying for dinner. Even though Jimmy Earl was practicing baseball for the Founder’s Day game between the white Methodists and the white Baptists, I knew he should be getting home any minute. The cucumber soup was ready and chilling in the refrigerator along with the leftover sandwiches. I had wrapped up the lemon squares and put them on the counter. I had already packed up two of them for Cedric and put them into my bag. Normally, Miss Peggy and Miss Corinne would straighten up after their evening meal so Granny and me wouldn’t have to stay so late.
“Granny, I think I’ll walk on home,” I said, taking off my apron and hanging it on the hook by the back door.
“Chile, it is hotter than a hornet’s nest outside. Why don’t you wait here for your Uncle Myron,” Granny said. “He’ll be here in a little bit. And to be honest, I don’t want you out there by yourself after last night.”
“I know, Granny,” I said. “I just like walking, especially after being cooped up inside all day. And I promise, I won’t take any back roads.”
“I just worry about you out there by yourself,” she repeated, her eyebrows knitting together.
“I’ll stay on the main road,” I promised again.
“All right then,” she said. I was just about to leave out when Miss Peggy walked into the kitchen.
“Opal, I know it’s about time for you to leave, but I wondered if you could wait until Jimmy Earl gets home so you could ride with him to take Lori Beth to her house. I don’t want her out this late in the day by herself on some bicycle. And it ain’t fitting for her to be riding alone with Jimmy Earl,” Miss Peggy said.
Before I could respond, Granny spoke up for me. “Of course she’ll wait. Isn’t that right, Opal?”
I nodded my head and said, “Yes ma’am. I’ll wait.”
Somehow, I knew I wouldn’t be giving those lemon squares to Cedric.