Glory over Everything: Beyond The Kitchen House(8)

“Why you got to cut my hair?” I ask Robert.

“Because you’ve got hair that makes you look like a wild dog,” he says.

“I do?” I say. “What kind a wild dog?” But he don’t say nothin’ and just keeps cuttin’. When he’s done, I tell him my ears feels cold, but I don’t know that he hears me, ’cause he’s busy pourin’ the hot water from the stove into a big washtub and then tells me to get in.

“You tellin’ me to step in there?” I ask, watchin’ the steam lift up.

“Remove your clothes,” he says, so I take off my shirt real slow, not liking this one bit. “Now your pants,” he say, and I look over at Molly. It don’t seem like she’s looking my way, so I get out of my pants and jump in the water, quick, but it’s too hot to sit.

“Sit down,” Robert says.

“I’m gonna cook,” I say, tryin’ not to yell out when he pushes me down.

“What you doin’ to me?” I ask when right away he starts soapin’ me and scrubbin’ away, like Mama do with the pig’s feet before she cook ’em.

“Stay still,” he says, pouring water over me, but when my eyes start burnin’ from the soap, I grab at him and pull myself up.

“I can’t see nothin’, I can’t see nothin’,” I say, forgettin’ not to be loud.

He cleans the soap from my eyes, then gives me a big rag to dry myself off before he hands me my new clothes.

“Where’d you get these clothes?” I ask. “How’d you get ’em to fit me?” The white shirt and the brown pants, even though they’s too long, look almost good as his. He don’t say nothin’ but leans down and rolls up the pants, and while I still got ’em on, he stitches ’em up. Then he stands back lookin’ at me before he gives me some black shoes to put on. I never have shoes before, just a old pair of boots that Mama and me both use when we go out in winter. The shoes feel funny.

“They’s too small,” I say. “They squeezin’ me in.”

“They are fine,” he say, “and I don’t want to see you without them.”


ROBERT TAKES ME upstairs to show me how to clean out the fireplaces and to set a fire. There’s five rooms we go to, and I stick close to him, wonderin’ how we ever gon’ find our way back, but he do. Back in the kitchen he sets me up in a small room where he shows me how to clean boots. First you got to take off all the dirt with a brush, then you stir up what’s called the blacking, and then you use another brush to put it on the boots.

“What’s in that stuff?” I ask, not sure if I like the smell.

“Some sweet oil, some beer, some molasses . . .”

“I already taste molasses,” I say.

“Well, don’t go tasting this,” he says, then shows me how to finish up with the last brush that he calls the polisher. After he goes, I get to work and keep workin’, even though my arms is ’bout to drop off, until Molly comes and tells me it’s time to eat.

“We gon’ eat again?” I say, ’cause it’s the middle of the day!

“Come on,” she says, and sets me down at the table with another plate of food. This time it’s fried potatoes and a whole pork sausage. She sits down across from me and starts eatin’ at her own plate, but I jus’ can’ take in all that food. I keep lookin’ at it till I start snifflin’.

“You cryin’, chil’,” she asks. “What? You don’ like Molly’s cookin’?”

“I like your cookin’!”

“Well, then, what’s troublin’ you?”

“I’m thinkin’ ’bout my mama. I jus’ wish she was here to be tastin’ some of this.”

“Nothin’ would make your mama happier than if you’d start eatin’ so’s you could get yourself back to work,” Molly says.

“How ’bout I save it till later?” I ask. “I’m goin’ to be hungry then.”

“That be fine,” she said, “but you sit here awhile, maybe you change your mind.”

I don’t know what to do, so I just sit there watchin’ her eat and lookin’ at the small green flowers on the red rag that she got tied up ’round her head. Molly’s got a big head, but then she’s a lot bigger all ’round, and I’m guessin’ it’s all the food she gets to eat.

“Mmm,” she says, “I sure do like this sausage.” She got big brown eyes and I like the way they look at me. “Potatoes good, too,” she says. “The onions and the butter make ’em taste real good. You sure you don’ want some?”

“No,” I say, “I keep mine for later.”

“Jus’ so you know, long as you here, you get all the food you want,” she says.

When she finishes her food, she sits back and drinks some coffee from a blue and white china cup. “You want some milk?” she asks, but I say, “No, my stomach is still big from eatin’ them two eggs.”

She tips up her cup and finishes her drink, then pushes back from the table and stands up. “Well, you go on, then,” she says. “Get back to polishin’ those boots.”

That night when Molly sends me to bed, I ask if I can leave the door open so I can call out to her if I need somethin’. She say that fine by her, and not long after, I hear her snorin’, so it ain’t so quiet, and even though I still cry for my mama, I get to sleep easier. Next day I get up before the sun an’ I’m waitin’ for her and Robert in the kitchen when they show up.