Glory over Everything: Beyond The Kitchen House(39)

ROBERT MET ME at the front door. He spoke low into my ear as he took my coat. “Mr. Burton is badly injured. The doctor is here.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“We don’t know. Ed took a corner too sharp, or maybe it was the ice, but the runner caught and the carriage tipped. When Mr. Burton tried to get out, the horses panicked and dragged him until—”

“Where was Ed? Why didn’t he get hold of the horses?”

“He was thrown from the carriage. He isn’t—”

An agonized voice called out in pain from upstairs.

“Dear God!” I said. “Is that . . .” I didn’t finish and ran to take the stairs two at a time.

“Jamie! Jamie!” Mrs. Burton cried out from her husband’s bedside.

“I just found out!” I said as she grasped hold of my jacket and began to weep. “Shh. Shh,” I soothed. At the sound of my voice, Mr. Burton’s eyes opened. When I reached for his hand, I tried not to react to the sight of his swollen and bruised face. “Don’t worry. I’m here,” I said, and gripping my hand, he closed his eyes.

The doctor motioned me to the door when Robert came in with a newly arrived nurse. “I’ve just medicated him,” the doctor explained, “but his left hip is broken, and I don’t know how much relief he will get. He has other injuries as well, but at this time they are difficult to assess.”

“Will he survive?” was all I could think to ask.

“I don’t know,” came the reply. “Your driver downstairs won’t.”

“Ed?” I asked.

Robert nodded.

“What are his injuries?” I asked.

“It’s his head. He’s unresponsive,” the doctor said, but I did not have time to discuss it further, as Mrs. Burton called out for me again.


TOGETHER SHE AND I remained in constant vigil. Laudanum gave Mr. Burton little relief, and his heart-wrenching cries could often be heard throughout the house. After two long days and nights, I persuaded Mrs. Burton to consider her own health; exhausted, she relented and left me to oversee his care.

It was almost two weeks before his condition improved enough that I was able to leave the house and go to the business, where I found Nicholas struggling to fill all of the orders.

I had been lent our neighbor’s buggy, and during the ride home that afternoon I made the decision to purchase another buggy for the Burtons. On my arrival, I went to find Robert for his help with another driver and I was aghast to find him in the kitchen with his shirtsleeves rolled up, peeling potatoes.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Delia needs help,” he said, nodding toward Ed’s room.

“Then we must get someone in—someone to care for Ed.”

“She won’t have it. She refuses to have anyone else,” Robert said.

“What is the latest from the doctor?”

“It is as before. Ed weakens daily. He will not live.”

“Then we must find another cook! You cannot be expected to carry Delia’s load. After . . . this is all over . . . it is time for her to go.” Finally, I had found a way to get rid of the woman. What a relief to say those words! How I hated her and the threat she was to me. Before the accident, I thought daily of confronting her about the theft, but there was always the fear of what she might do in retaliation, so I kept my silence as my anger mounted.

The bell rang from upstairs, summoning Robert, who wiped dry his hands and hurried to answer the call. I was about to follow just as Delia appeared. She approached swiftly, grabbed the knife next to the pot of potatoes, and stabbed it into the table. “You think you get rid a me!” she hissed. “I hear what you say! We see what Mrs. Burton say! She my boss. Nobody else gon’ tell me when I’s done here.”

“I’m afraid that you are mistaken,” I said. “I am in charge now, and I say that a new cook will be hired.”

“And what I gon’ do then?”

“You will continue to care for your brother.”

“And if he pass?” she asked. “What then?”

There was no turning back. “You will be given a stipend, and I will find you a room away from here.”

“A room! You gon’ find me a room! You think you gon’ send me off, that you gon’ send me away from here?” She glared at me and I glared back.

“Yes! You will leave!” I shouted, fighting to control my fury. “And before you go, you will give me back my letter!”

She flinched, but only for a second. “If I has a letter and you send me away, I tell you now that letter gon’ find its way back. Matter of fact, you brings in another cook and I still here, maybe that letter show up!” She stared at me defiantly. We both knew that with those words, she had taken back the power. “And don’ come looking for nothin’, ’cause if there be a letter, Delia don’ have it in her room,” she said, her voice quiet but lethal.

I moved toward her, my teeth clenched. “If I leave here, you will leave with me!” I hissed before she turned and hurried away.

Any further dilemma I might have had with hiring another cook was resolved when, a day later, Ed passed away and Delia once again took her place in the kitchen.

Though I was ever alert to the threat of Delia, in the next months I was so taken up with my responsibilities to the Burtons that, of necessity, I set her aside as a leading concern.