Cruel Harvest (17 page)

“Mama, will you
promise
, cross your heart and hope to die, that you'll come back?”

Mama made a cross mark on her chest and put her index finger to her lips and then to mine.

“Frances,” a new voice said from behind me.

I turned away from Mama to see who it was. There was something about the voice that touched me. It was gentle but firm, lilting with a Southern drawl.

“I'm Mrs. McDonald,” the woman said. “I'm your house mother.”

She had soft white hair, matching her voice. It fell to her neckline and was combed back from her face. Curls reached around her perfect cheeks, and there was not a single wrinkle, even though I would later learn that she was already seventy-two years old. She was thin and petite, with merry blue eyes that seemed even larger through her round rimless glasses.

“Welcome to Eason House. Come inside with me, Frances, I will show you your new room.”

As I looked from Mrs. McDonald to Mama, I forced myself to stay calm and not make a scene. I silently said a prayer that Mama would remember her promise and one day come back to get us. Nellie waved good-bye and walked into the house and up the stairs ahead of me without any urging. I tried to copy her attitude on the outside, but inside I was screaming,
Mama, come back!
I let Mrs. McDonald take my small hand in hers. We stood together on the porch and watched quietly until Mama disappeared out of sight.

I repeated Mama's words in my head,
Be strong; be strong
.

“Come with me, Frances,” Mrs. McDonald softly urged.

The entry was brightly lit by a chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. A wooden staircase wound up to the second floor, its polished banister reflecting the sparkling lights above. Through the foyer, I caught sight of the visitors' room with its comfortable seating and baby grand piano standing by a bay window.

I followed Mrs. McDonald up the stairs. She pointed to a bathroom on the left.

“This is the bathroom for your room.”

It was clean and large with two stand-alone porcelain sinks. Black and white tiles covered the floor. I followed Mrs. McDonald down to the end of the hall, where she stopped at an open door.

“And this is your room, Frances.”

I walked through the door, settling into the only real home I would ever know during my childhood. I had no idea I would enjoy it for less than a year.

Chapter 13
A Safe Harbor in the Storm

I slept fitfully
that first night at Connie Maxwell. Lying in my twin bed with its own wooden headboard, I listened to the other four girls in the room breathing. It was dark, but the bright December moon caused the sheer white curtains at the end of the room to glow. Moonlight danced on the chest of drawers across from my bed, where Mrs. McDonald had told me to put my clothes and other belongings. It was to be all my own, but I didn't have enough at that time to fill one drawer. Even in the dark, it seemed a warm, cozy, safe place, but I had never felt so alone. I missed Mama and my little brother so bad that I ached inside. I put my face down into the pillow and cried myself to sleep.

The sun slowly rose, and the sky outside our window slid from black to purple to pink. The morning light poured into the room. The other girls stirred, and I tried to remember their names as they each woke to the new day. For them, it was just like the day before. For me, it was the first of a whole new life, one that frightened me.

The girl beside me got up and immediately began to make her bed. I had never before slept in a bed with a new mattress, nor had there been any bedding to remake. I watched her with a mix of interest and amusement, wondering why someone would put so much effort into something they would just mess up again the next night.

The bustle in the room grew, and I did not want to be the last to rise, so I got up. The girl beside me smiled and said good morning. I did the same. She watched me for a moment. When I just stood there, she spoke.

“Mrs. McDonald wants us to make our beds before breakfast.”

“Breakfast?”

The girl tilted her head. She looked bemused. I just stood there staring at her.

“You should make your bed,” she said.

“Okay.”

I had no idea what to do. The other girls went about it as if they'd done it a million mornings before. I tried do what they did, but I struggled with the two flat sheets and the bedspread. Before I knew it, everyone was finished. The door to our room opened and Mrs. McDonald walked in. The girls lined up in front of her, and I followed.

“Go downstairs, girls. Breakfast will be ready soon,” she said. “Frances, would you please stay with me for a few minutes?” I stopped at the door. She put her arm around my shoulder, drawing me into the room.

“We make our beds each morning before breakfast,” Mrs. McDonald said.

Her words were kind, but I was embarrassed. “I did already.”

“I'll show you this morning.”

Mrs. McDonald had me watch as she made my bed. She did it quickly but explained each step.

“Tomorrow, you'll be able to do it better,” she said. “Now let's go have our breakfast.” She smiled at me.

“Yes, ma'am.”

She led me down the stairs to the dining room. Even before we entered, the smell reached me and I quickened my step. When I walked in, I saw all the girls sitting at a long table. Bowls of scrambled eggs, fluffy golden biscuits, gravy, sausage, fruit, syrup, butter, and large pitchers of milk covered the space between them. There was Nellie, right in the middle, beside the girl who would eventually become her best friend. No one was eating, and everyone was watching me walk in. Nellie gave me a look that said,
hurry up
.

I sat down, and Mrs. McDonald took the seat at the end of the table. Her head bowed, as did everyone else's. It took me a second, but I followed their lead.

“Lord, thank you for our food. We ask you to bless this meal and all who partake of it,” Mrs. McDonald prayed. “And thank you, Lord, for bringing Nellie and Frances into our family.”

Mrs. McDonald continued her prayer, thanking God for every girl at our table. I listened and felt a warmness filling me up from the inside. I felt welcome, as though they wanted me with them.

After the prayer, Mrs. McDonald started passing the food to her left. I watched as the girls sitting closer to her took their portions and passed the bowls along. I had never eaten at a table like this, among people who knew proper etiquette. I felt confused and a little ashamed. I didn't want to make a mistake. When the first bowl reached me, I stammered.

“Can I have some gravy?”

Some of the younger girls giggled. Mrs. McDonald immediately called their names.

“You can have as much as you like, dear. Until you are full.”

She probably should have used a different choice of words for me. She had no idea that I never felt full, not since I almost starved at Aunt Tessie's. It was a condition that was new to me at the time, but it followed me through more than half of my life. I learned, when I was much older, that the emptiness inside of me was not a hunger for nourishment. There was not enough food on the planet to fill the gap that losing my mama had left inside. But that's a whole other book.

On that morning, when the bowls full of hot, rich food were offered, I couldn't control myself. I could see I had taken twice as much as the others, but everything looked better than the bowl that came before it. When the last bowl reached me, my plate looked like I was bringing dinner home for a family of four. Some of the girls stared in disbelief, but Mrs. McDonald did not seem to notice. I barely noticed either. Instead, I dug in with relish, savoring every bite. The girls may have found it strange, but I paid them no mind. It was the first time in my life that food had been unlimited.

I ate my way through three biscuits drowned in syrup and cleaned my plate. I forced myself not to lick it clean. I had already figured out that licking one's plate clean was not considered proper. Most of the other new rules didn't make any sense to me. As long as I was fed, though, I was willing to try and learn.

“May I be excused?” one girl asked.

Mrs. McDonald nodded. I continued to eat as I watched her rise from the table. She carried her plate into the kitchen. Soon other girls were following her out. I watched in disbelief, my mouth full.

“We got more to eat,” I said with a mouthful. “We better eat it while it's here.”

No one seemed as concerned about that as I was. So I tried to eat enough for all of us. Finally, I realized I was the only child at the table. I believe that had been the case for some time, judging by the way Mrs. McDonald was fidgeting. I took one final bite of the big biscuit that was left on my plate and looked at her.

“May I be excused?”

I said it as courteously as I could, trying to emulate the other girls. Mrs. McDonald smiled at me.

“Carry your plate into the kitchen and put it in the sink. Then come back in and I'll give you your chores for the week.”

I looked around to make sure no one was watching me. Then I stuffed the rest of my biscuit in my dress pocket. I thought I might put it under my pillow for later.

After breakfast, Mrs. McDonald approached me with a short list.

“Frances, I've explained to Nellie already that each girl is assigned a chore for the week. This week, I would like you to sweep up the dining room after meals. Help me carry the serving bowls into the kitchen and I will show you how.”

We went to the pantry in the kitchen, and she showed me where the broom and dustpan were stored and how she wanted the work done. She expected the table to be wiped clean, all the crumbs brushed into the dustpan, the floor swept, and the chairs pulled away from the tables. She left me to my work.

I had never swept a floor the right way before and didn't understand the significance of the chore. The sound of the girls outside playing was intoxicating. I rushed along with the broom, wanting more than anything to get outside and join in the fun. When I had the floor done, I looked at the chairs. My attention span had reached its limit, so I swept the refuse under the table. Running to return the broom and dustpan, I was outside in no time at all.

I met many of the girls I would be living with. They were open and friendly, and it took no time at all for us to feel like sisters. I was so happy jumping into the games of hopscotch and jump rope that I barely noticed Mrs. McDonald until she was right next to me.

“Frances, can you come with me please?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

I followed her inside and back toward the dining room. I knew she'd found the mess under the table. I expected to be yelled at. I even feared a spanking, but that is not what happened.

“Frances,” she said, her voice as kindly as ever, “Please go and get the broom and dustpan.”

I did as she asked and was amazed as she patiently showed me how I should perform the task again. This time, she stood with me as I completed the work.

“A job is not worth doing if it is not well done,” she said. She continued on by reciting a poem while I swept the floor again.

“Once a task has first begun,

never leave it till it's done.

Be the labor great or small.

Do it well or not at all.”

Although I wanted more than anything to get outside, I heard those words, and they stuck with me forever.

The next day
I was sent to the dentist. This may sound like a small thing, but I was nearing ten, and it was the first time I'd ever had my teeth looked at. I was frightened when the hygienist walked me back. I had never seen such a place. Everything was so clean and sparkling. I thought it was going to be awful, but he made me feel at ease as he scraped and prodded my teeth. I had my first fillings and left with my mouth feeling wonderful and strange.

Back at Eason House, Mrs. McDonald took the time to teach me how to brush my teeth. At the same time, she showed me how to take care of my hair. I was given my own hairbrush, and I brushed my hair every morning. If I hurt myself playing outside, she cleaned the scrape and gave me a Band-Aid. It was my first of those too.

As the days passed, I became friendlier with my new sisters. Instead of staring at me, they'd ask me about my peculiarities.

“Why does it take you so long to eat?”

Between mouthfuls, I'd explain. “You should eat more too. You might not have any food tomorrow.”

I could tell they didn't understand, but I could not stop myself. I ate and ate until I felt near bursting. Mrs. McDonald showed nothing but patience. At the same time, she was teaching me what was normal for the other children.

“You don't want to be late for school, Frances,” she said as I continued eating long past the time everyone else left.

After a while, her urgings worked, and I left a biscuit uneaten. It was hard, but I learned to trust that the food would be there at the next meal. I left the table behind and rushed to meet up with my dorm sisters. We walked together down the long sidewalk leading to school. On the way, we laughed, talked, and exchanged secrets. I barely noticed the fact that I wore new shoes and clean clothes anymore. My hair was washed and my teeth brushed. I was taken care of. I still missed my mother—we had only seen her once since she left us there—but I loved life at Connie Maxwell. I knew I was accepted.