The House of Eve (92)

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE REDEEM THYSELF



Ruby




As I trudged up the long driveway of the Gingerbread House alongside Mother Margaret, my breath was ragged. I felt like my most vital organ had been removed from my body without my permission. Grace had been with me every second that I had spent in this place; to enter the house of hell without her felt like betrayal.

Mother Margaret’s habit rustled as she stomped her foot impatiently. When I still didn’t move, she placed her hand on the small of my back and shoved me through the door. The kitchen reeked of the same stew that had simmered on my first day at the home. My hand rushed to my mouth as I choked, and then dry-heaved.

As I passed through the downstairs rooms, the eyes of the porcelain girls followed me, silently begging to know what happened. But I did not want to give them anything, just as the girls who went over before me gave nothing. What I wanted was to click my heels three times and let the black hole of sadness engulf me.

I knew the blackness well. I had seen Inez swallowed by it. Whenever her man of the month stopped coming home, she’d retreat into her bedroom with the door locked for days at a time, wearing the same powder-pink nightgown, chain-smoking cigarettes, Billie Holiday’s record on repeat. During those times, she didn’t care if I ate or went to school, just as long as I didn’t bother her.

The stairs to the attic took the last of my energy, and when I barreled through our bedroom door, I ran right into Loretta.

“Ruby. You all right?”

My eyes must have said what my mouth could not, because she pulled me into her arms and held me tight.

“I know how you feel,” she said softly.

When I let her go, I noticed the suitcase opened on her cot. “You leaving?”

Loretta dropped her eyes. She looked lovely, her hair combed loose around her shoulders, her face’s earlier puffiness gone. The navy sweater looked good against her golden skin.

“My mom’s coming.” Loretta looked around our room to make sure she had everything.

Georgia Mae’s and Bubbles’s beds had been turned over with clean linen, their drawers emptied.

“We are going to stop on U Street for dinner and then stay the night in the Whitelaw Hotel. I can’t believe I’ve been in this city for four long months and haven’t seen one bit of the place.” She chattered on, and I could tell that she was trying to pretend like we were here for another reason.

“Sounds like fun.” I played along.

Once her suitcase was closed, she fastened it shut with a large gold buckle.

“What did you have?”

“A girl. Named her Grace.”

“That’s beautiful. Was it awful?”

“Worse.”

Then Loretta’s lovely eyes watered over. “We must carry this to the grave, Ruby.”

Before I could answer, a knock interrupted, followed by Mother Margaret’s voice. “Loretta, your mother has arrived to fetch you.”

“Coming, Your Excellency.”

Once we heard her footsteps traveling away from our door, Loretta walked over to me and placed a sheet of stamps and a slip of paper in my hand.

“Look, I know we aren’t supposed to do this. But we should keep in touch. Promise you’ll write me?”

I took back the stamps I had given Loretta. The ones Shimmy had given me. As much as I liked Loretta, I knew that it would be too painful for us to keep in touch. The only way to survive this heartache was to pretend it never happened. Bury it away, like I had done with Leap.

“Okay. Take care of yourself.” I squeezed her hand, and then watched as my partner till the end walked out the door. Back to her life with two parents who loved her, and a future that promised that her sacrifice of giving up her son meant that it would be all right.

I was the last one standing.



* * *



The next morning, Mother Margaret entered the attic room with a new girl.

“This is Mary,” she said.

Mary was cinnamon-colored with a well-defined nose. She wore a simple housedress that suggested that she was from the country. Her belly strained against the buttons.

“Do get her situated,” Mother Margaret continued. “Tomorrow you’ll have to report to the laundry, to give back to the house for your time here. It’s a small price to pay for all that we have done for you.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

Mary looked around the room like a scared kitten dropped in a den of wolves.

“It’ll be okay,” I offered. “Just do what they tell you, and everything will be fine.”

A part of me wanted to tell Mary the truth. About the humiliation, the pain, the heartbreak. But she’d know soon enough. She deserved to enjoy a bit of blindness before the storm.

Mrs. Shapiro must have paid a hefty fee for me to be in the Gingerbread House, because my sentence to the laundry was only one week long. Patty, the head lifer, had been in the laundry for nearly a year, so I knew I was lucky.

We were made to wear itchy beige, tentlike dresses that stopped below the knee. Patty woke us up at the crack of dawn each morning and marched us outside in the cold to exercise. When Patty blew her whistle, we had to run in place for fifteen minutes, and then do jumping jacks until I felt like my middle would fall out. This was to lose the baby weight, but the workout felt cruel so soon after I’d returned from labor. Once our morning exercise was over, we boiled and hand-scrubbed bedsheets, towels, maternity gowns and even undergarments, all before our first meal of the day. The food tasted like scraps from the table. As lifers, we were also the janitors, so we were called on to plunge the toilets, unstop clogged sinks, plug leaks and clear the gutters. I was black and blue from the inside out, and I hated myself for giving up Grace. Shame had gripped me so tight that it was hard to even eat.