The House of Eve (67)

“Good afternoon, Your Excellency,” two called out in unison. The other one stood but looked down at her feet.

“Ladies, this is Ruby. Loretta, please help her get settled.”

Loretta stuck the piece of paper she had in her hand into the front pocket of her smock shirt and smiled. Her golden-streaked hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and just by the ease of her kind eyes, I knew that we’d get along just fine.

“Dinner is served daily at five thirty sharp. Please come down with your hands and face clean.” Mother Margaret pointed to the small sink. “Cleanliness is next to godliness,” she barked, before closing the heavy door behind her.

“Shit. She always coming up here unannounced,” said the girl with the gap between her teeth. She wore her hair in two braids that bent out below her ears.

I carried my bags over to the empty bed and sagged into the cushion. The gap-toothed girl reached beneath her pillow and pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes. She placed one between her lips and pretended to smoke.

“Calms my nerves.” She gestured to the unlit cigarette. “They call me Bubbles. You met Loretta, but I call her Goldie ’cause how many girls like us you know with blonde streaks in their hair?” Bubbles giggled.

Loretta rolled her eyes. “Keep talking, and your baby will come out looking just like me. That’s what my grandmother always said. The person who you’re mad with is the one the baby looks like.”

Loretta pulled from her pocket the paper she had stashed when I came in and unfolded it.

“That there is Georgia Mae.” Bubbles pointed to the quiet girl, who had pulled her knees up to her chest and was picking at her toenails. “She don’t talk.”

The three girls ran the gamut on the color wheel, with Loretta being as light as butter cream, Georgia Mae’s skin as rich as hickory, and Bubbles falling somewhere in the caramel middle.

“When you due?” Bubbles took another imaginary puff.

“End of January.”

“I’m early January,” said Loretta.

“Georgia Mae and I are November and December. That makes you the baby of the bunch. You’ll have more chores to do.” Bubbles puffed.

There was a lamp and Bible on top of the small chest next to the bed. Loretta pointed to the two drawers that were mine, and as I unpacked the few things I brought with me, the wailing started up again.

“What is that noise?” I looked up for an explanation.

“Just a girl who gave up her baby. Regret is a motherfucker.” Bubbles blew out a fake puff.

“You’ll get used to it,” Loretta offered, tucking her letter back into her pocket. It was worn around the edges.

“That’s why no matter what these crackers say, I’m keeping my baby.” Bubbles returned her cigarette to the pack and tucked it under her pillow.

Loretta looked up at Bubbles with doleful eyes. “You know why we’re here. It’ll just be easier if you accept it.”

“Humph. I’ll accept it all right. By breaking my foot off in one of their asses,” Bubbles boasted.

“It’s best just not to think about it,” Loretta said to me. “You have plenty of time before you go over. Just try to enjoy the moment like I do.”

“Go over?” I asked.

“Over to the other side and have your baby,” Loretta explained.

Bubbles snapped. “Reading the same old letter hardly seems like enjoying the moment.”

“I miss Rucker. What can I say?” Loretta touched her breast pocket.

“You better off reading those boring books over there in the corner.” Bubbles pointed to a bookshelf that I hadn’t noticed. “Take your mind off things for sure.”

Inside one of my bags, I had managed a few small canvases, brushes and a few tubes of paint, all of which I shoved under my cot. My body was suddenly so weary, it felt as if I had walked all the way here from North Philadelphia. I laid down. The girl’s distressing cries continued, and I buried one ear in my pillow and covered the other ear with my hand.



* * *



A bell rang over the PA system that was wired into our attic bedroom. The girls stood, and we all took turns washing our hands and face at the tiny sink against the window and then filed out one by one. In the dining room, Bubbles headed over to the smaller round table that was set for four. There was a breadbasket, and a serving dish of the stew I had smelled when I arrived. Over at the long tables sat blondes, brunettes and one redhead, all of them white. I counted eight girls between the two long tables, plus the four of us girls from the attic room.

Mother Margaret stood in front of the unlit fireplace with her hands clutched in prayer. “Let us bow our heads please. Bless us, O Lord and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, Through Christ, Our Lord. Amen.”

Spoons clanked against the bowls.

“White people’s food.” Bubbles reached for the salt and pepper shakers without tasting it.

We ate mostly in silence. Bubbles was right; the stew wasn’t very flavorful, no matter how much salt I added, but I was too hungry to care. When we finished, I followed their lead and helped with the cleanup. Some girls went into the kitchen to wash and dry dishes, while others dusted off the chairs and swept the floor. In the kitchen, Bubbles scrubbed the pots clean while Loretta wiped down the stove. Georgia Mae and I collected all the trash, tied up the bags and carried them out to the cans at the back of the house.