The House of Eve (70)

“William, I thought I had made myself clear. That I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Baby, I didn’t know you meant my mother.”

“Especially your mother. I told you how she and her friends make me feel. You should have asked me first.” She put her hands on her hips.

“Listen, Elly, I want this as badly as you do. My mother feels the same way. I promise you she will not only keep our secret, but she will help us pull this off. We need her.”

“This is about us, William. Not me, you and your mother.”

Eleanor held out the schedule that Rose had drawn up for her, complete with diagrams of how big her belly should be for each public appearance.

William smirked. “She sure thinks of everything.” He put the paper down and grabbed Eleanor around the waist. “My mother means well, and she will make sure everything goes off without a hitch. I can promise you that. I’ve known the woman all my life.”

Eleanor sighed.

“We are going to bring a baby into our home and love it. That’s all that matters.” He kissed her on the lips and then tugged on her bottom one until she found herself submitting.

“What did you bring me?”

“Open it.”

Eleanor unraveled herself from William’s embrace and pulled the twine from the box. It was a heaping slice of carrot cake.

“If this is going to be convincing, I’m going to need you to put on a little weight.” He tapped her on the backside. “Especially here.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes as she pinched off a piece of cake with her finger. “Mmmm, if this is any indication of what you will be feeding me, I’ll take one for the team.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN FORGIVE US, SINNERS



Ruby




A loud, buzzing alarm blared through the PA system, jolting me awake. It was still dark out. My cold feet slapped against the floor before I fully realized where I was. It only took a few blinks of my eyes for the previous day to flash before me.

“What now?”

Loretta stood at the sink brushing her teeth. “Pad your knees.”

“For what?”

“To scrub the fucking floors.” Bubbles wore dungarees with stained, ripped T-shirts tied around her kneecaps.

I rummaged through my drawer, looking for items of clothing that might do the trick.

“Hurry, the late crew gets stuck with the stair steps, and that’s backbreaking,” Loretta said, cracking open our door.

On the first floor, a few girls were lugging buckets of water. Georgia Mae went into the utility closet and handed out scrub brushes. Loretta’s arms were filled with rags. Each girl took two. Mother Margaret’s footsteps were heavy as she tramped from the kitchen into the parlor, where we all stood at attention. Most girls had their hair tied away from their face and, like Bubbles, had cushioned extra material around their knees.

Mother Margaret raised a megaphone to her lips and called for us to spread out. “Four of you in here, and then two girls to each of the other rooms.”

I dashed behind Bubbles into the lounge as Loretta and Georgia Mae took the long stretch of hallway.

Mother Margaret’s voice continued to loop. “Out there, they call you whores and sluts. Damaged goods. But in here, you can redeem yourself and pay for your sins. On the count of three, recite the Lord’s Prayer like you mean it. One, two…”

Our voices merged in prayer. It felt like I had stumbled into a movie about orphans or badly behaved children.

“Louder. God can’t hear you when you are mumbling.”

The scrub brushes made sloshy, scratching sounds against the floors, while the prayer was called out in unison.

“Not too much water.” Bubbles wrung out her rag in the murky bucket. “More elbow grease.”

I followed her direction. We stayed on all fours, scrubbing and drying, buffing and polishing, while repeating the Lord’s Prayer. It was the one prayer I knew. The one Nene had taught me to say on bended knee at night. I had not uttered it once since moving out of her apartment.

We kept at it for so long that my knees felt tender, my back ached, and I was hungrier than I had been in a long while. Hard labor had not been listed in the brochure.

“Ask God to forgive you for your lustful sins, girls. Your wicked ways. Pledge to him that you will do right by that innocent baby. Save the child from eternal damnation by relinquishing it to married parents who will raise it under the eyes of the Lord.” She paused, then continued. “You are unworthy. Say it.”

“We are unworthy.”

“Forgive us our sins,” she shouted.

“Forgive us our sins,” we called back in voices that sounded off-key and miserable. This went on for what felt like hours, until my lips cracked with thirst.

Finally, Mother Margaret put the bullhorn to her lips and relieved us.

Exhausted, I reached for my bucket, and at the same time it tipped over in my direction. Dirty water splashed over onto the floor, and I blotted it as quickly as I could with my rags.

“Ooops,” mocked a big-boned girl with red acne marks pocking her ivory face.

“Why would you do that?” I whined.

“Keep your mouth quiet or I’ll do worse.” She held a fist at me and then stomped in the puddle, making the mess worse on her way out the door.