Lovesick (8 page)

When he reached her, Virginia had to lean her head back slightly to hold him full faced in front of her.

“That is a very dramatic hat, Mrs. Yeager,” he said.

“You don't think it gilds the lily?”

“Impossible.”

“What a kind thing to say. Please call me Virginia—as my friends do.”

“Very well, Miss Virginia.” She noted that he did not return the offer to call him by his Christian name. Instead, he added, “I seem to recall that your maiden name was Blankenship. That is a fine family, indeed. I went to Emory with Lionel Blankenship.”

“A distant cousin no doubt,” Virginia interjected. “As they say, stick a pushpin into a low-country map of the Carolinas and you're likely to hit a Blankenship.”

“Yes, well, a fine family. I am certainly looking forward to getting to know you more over the weekend. The best of luck to you.” She thought that ever so slightly his hand held hers just a bit more tightly than was proper. Then he was off to Jubal Hart and her bonnet. Virginia wondered how many times she would be forced to hear that recitation.

When he had greeted all the contestants, Claiborne introduced Roland to tell them about how the program would unfold.

“In a few minutes, Miss Crowley is going to ask you some questions and then have her photographer take some pictures of all of you for the paper,” he said. “Tomorrow, I'm afraid, will not be as glamorous. We will meet tomorrow morning at eight-thirty
AM
in the kitchen for the first round of the competition. Each of you will make an item from your breakfast menu. If you only submitted one item, you must make that. If you submitted two selections, you may choose which one. You will have two hours to prepare your dish and then Mr. Claiborne, Miss Crowley, and myself will taste, compare, and judge. At that time, four of you will be eliminated.”

There was an audible gasp from somewhere in the room.

“Goodness,” said Inez Honeycutt. “Eliminated. How humiliating to just be told to go home.”

Roland held his hand up to silence the chatter. “Yes, the competition is very real. After lunch, the remaining four contestants will meet at two o'clock to prepare an item from her Sunday Dinner menu. The same rules as for breakfast apply, except you will have three hours to make your dinner entry. That should give those of you who wish to make a cake or a pie plenty of time. We will eliminate two more contestants after this round.

“The championship round will take place on Saturday morning, where the final two contestants will make an item from her Ladies' Luncheon menu. Again, contestants will be given three hours to prepare the dish. We will announce the winner at a reception held here on Saturday afternoon at four o'clock. You may use any special pie plates, molds, or cooking equipment that you may have brought with you. We will supply all other ingredients including, of course, Mystic White Flour, both plain and self-rising.”

There was a feeble attempt at laughter, but Virginia could tell his announcement had caught many of the women off guard, could read the surprise and indignation on several faces, though the women tried to conceal their emotions. She thought Muriel Sallis might just stand up and march right out of the room. These women were not used to being so much on display, and they did not like it. This struck at their vanity—to be called out in public as the worst at something they took pride in. It was like being told your child was ugly. It just wasn't done.

Roland concluded, “If you have any questions for me, please see me after the photo session. We will have a tour of the kitchen, and I will do whatever I can to assist you.” He returned to his seat as one of the photographers pulled a chair up to the edge of the circle for the reporter. In the lull, Wadena Chastain confided to the group in an exaggerated stage whisper. “My brother Bobby won a pig once at the fair. Had to wrassle a boy for it, though. At least we don't have to wrassle.”

“At least not yet,” answered one of the women. But Virginia couldn't tell which one. She was running recipes in her head, planning her strategy. She had no intention of leaving now that she had arrived.

7

pound cake . . .

The call for a tray to be delivered to Miss Virginia's room came just after seven o'clock. One of the other boys was in line to take it, but Butcher asked if he could step up.

“Not a problem,” said Walter. “These ladies don't tip much no ways.”

Butcher managed to sneak a bit of pound cake on the tray for Mona. He knew how much she liked sweets. It was a small gesture, but he hoped she would notice.

When the girl opened the door to the room, Butcher saw Virginia seated in the chair by the window in her stocking feet, sipping a highball, her eyes closed. He put the tray on the table and waited. For a moment, he wasn't sure she was even going to greet him.

Mona spoke on his behalf. “Mr. Butcher is here to see you, ma'am.”

Virginia raised her head and opened her eyes. He could see she was slightly tipsy. Not as drunk as the night in her kitchen, but she had had a nip. He wondered if it was a signal things had gone badly.

“George, thank you for bringing our supper tray.”

“Weren't no problem. Glad to do it.”

He stood for a moment, unsure what to do. He looked to Mona for help.

“He wants to know about the reception. Tell him.”

Virginia smiled. “Yes, the reception. I was just drinking a toast to myself. I was a huge success if I do say so.”

“That's good news indeed. You'll be baking in the morning I suppose.”

“We're all baking in the morning,” she said. “All the ladies are on display in the morning baking for breakfast. Or does a waffle count as baking? You were right, you know. Three of them are doing waffles. Poor Jubal Hart is making pancakes. She'll probably wear that god-awful bonnet of hers as well. Two are making biscuits. The very fact I am doing something different should give me some advantage.”

“Just like I told you,” he said, smiling. “You bring the popover pans with you? They got muffin tins down in the kitchen, but they won't hold the heat. And make sure they have the ingredients out for you—they need to be at room temperature.”

“I have the popover pans. And I have spoken to Roland about the ingredients. Please, George, do not ask me about food. I have listened to women do nothing else but talk food all afternoon. I feel like I have been battered and fried and baptized in gravy. Wadena Chastain is making cake doughnuts. Isn't that clever? Why didn't you think of cake doughnuts, George?”

“A doughnut is more variable. You have to time them just right or they get tough.”

“Don't you love it, Mona? You see, like I said—he has an answer for every question. George is a walking food encyclopedia. Answer me this, George. What is the most important item in your kitchen—and you can't say stove.”

“I don't know. My recipe book, I suppose.”

“You don't know. Your recipe book. Well, then, let me tell you that you would have not done very well in the interview portion of our competition, Mr. Butcher. The ladies of Atlanta want to know what you treasure, need to know what it says about you. Miss Jocelyn Hind Crowley wants them to know. It's her job to tell them. Inez Honeycutt said it was her Bible. Martha Humphrey said it was the medal from her dead son, which she keeps framed by his picture.”

“What did you say?” George asked.

“I told them it was my mirror. You should have seen the looks I got from those sows.” Then she began to act out the scene for him.

“ ‘A mirror, Mrs. Yeager?' asked Miss Jocelyn Hind Crowley. ‘What function does that serve?' ”

“ ‘I may spend the afternoon in the kitchen, Miss Crowley,' I said. ‘But when it is time to serve the meal, the only powder I want on my nose is face powder, not baking powder. A cook should be every bit as attractive as her food.' I thought of that right on the spot. Wasn't that witty of me? I thought about that night in the kitchen when I wanted a mirror. It just came to me.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said. “That was sure a smart answer. Not one I would have thought of.”

“You may have the ideas about the food, George, but I am bringing something to the equation as well.”

“Yes, ma'am, you do. That's for sure.” He hesitated, not wanting to leave, but knowing he had only a short time. “I brought Miss Mona a bit of cake. It wasn't on the order, but I put it on.”

“That was very sweet of you, George. But you don't want to do things that might call attention to yourself. What if you had gotten caught?”

“I was real careful, Miss Virginia. And I was wondering if Miss Mona might want to take a walk after you all have your supper. I will be off by nine, and I could walk her around to show her a little of the town. I'm sure she must be tired of being cooped up in here all day and night.”

Before Mona could speak, Virginia answered. “As I said, it is probably not a good idea for you to do anything that might call attention to yourself or to associate you with . . . us. Mona is fine to stay here with me.”

Butcher tried to read Mona's expression. Was she angry? Embarrassed? Either way, he could tell that Virginia was not concerned with the girl.

“Besides, I will need her help to get ready for bed. She always helps to see me to bed, don't you, Mona? Now, George, it may be best for you to get back to the kitchen.”

“I was wondering if there was anything I could do . . . you know. To help.”

“Do you want to grease the pan for me, George? Do you want to stand over my shoulder and make sure I have the measurements right? Sorry, but you are just going to have to keep out of sight for now. If there is anything I need from you, I will let you know. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Stop being such a nervous Nellie. You make me nervous, too. I practiced the recipes every day after you left. Didn't I, Mona?”

“Yes, she did. Biscuits and more biscuits.”

“Things could not be going better. I know I have impressed the judges. I would say that Colonel Claiborne is even a bit smitten with me. Can you imagine? He is perfectly dreadful. He has no hair to speak of, but he still has dandruff. How is that possible? George, you have to trust me now. You have to step away from it.”

George nodded to them both and left. Outside the door, he felt the past rush over him like the breeze from a ceiling fan. It was the same shut out feeling he had back in Brest when he had visited Maude on a night when he was not scheduled to visit. He had started drinking in the afternoon and began to miss her. He stumbled his way along the familiar streets. However, when he arrived he discovered she was already occupied entertaining a local dairy farmer. Everyone in the house was in the dining room and parlor, drinking and toasting. Maude had become engaged to the dairy farmer that very afternoon. Butcher knew she had other men, but this was different—the fact that she loved someone else, wanted to marry him was not a consideration. He tried to fight the dairy farmer, whose name he did not know, until several of the men along with Laurent pinned his arms and threw him out the door onto the street.

Laurent tried to explain that it was for the best, that Butcher would be leaving soon anyway. Butcher knew this was true, but it did not console him. Laurent told Butcher the farmer was the one who supplied all the dairy for the house, all milk and cream, the butter, the eggs. “He has bartered them with us for a long time,” he said. “He has had his eye on Maude for a while. Besides, I am the one you should feel sorry for,” he laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “Now I will have to pay cash for everything.”

Butcher didn't think the joke was funny. “I am in love with her.”

“I wish you could be happy for her. This is a good match. If you really do love her, you will understand this. You will step away.”

Butcher could feel that he was ready to cry, so he clambered up from the street and declared that he would never return. Butcher told Laurent that he and Helaine and Maude and her dairyman could all go to hell. Fuck 'em all.

Laurent told Butcher that perhaps it would be best if he did not return to the brothel. And if he tried, he would throw him out. Butcher knew he did not need to threaten. He would never return, never see Maude again, but he never forgot the feeling of being cast away. It was the same thing he felt now outside the door to Virginia's room. But hadn't he known it would come to this—that he had to trust her? What else was there?

When he returned to the kitchen, he got a reprimand from Roland for taking too long with the order. “I bet you snuck off to take a smoke break, didn't you? We got orders here that need to go out. So learn to move your sorry black ass faster, or you will find you won't have a job here.” Butcher pushed his anger, his hurt deeper. He delivered half a dozen more trays before the end of his shift without complaint.

When he had changed out of the hotel uniform into his own clothes, as he came out from the dressing room, he saw Mona standing by the back stairs, near the service elevator. She wore a pale yellow sweater that glowed golden in the light from the milk-glass shade on the stairs. She was waiting on him. She had come for their walk.

“Did she change her mind?” he asked.

“Who knows what her mind is? She's gone to sleep. I just picked up the key and walked out the door.”

“Snuck out the door, I betcha.”

“I wanted to thank you for the cake.”

“Would you like to go take a walk with me?” he asked. He wanted to walk with her, maybe put his arm around her, tried to imagine if she would let him kiss her.

“I can't go far. Maybe we can walk to the corner and back,” she suggested.

Outside, the air was thick with warmth.

“Humid night,” he said.

“I hate it down here,” she said.

“It's no worse than Fayetteville. I bet it's hot there now, too.”

“I hate it there, too.”

“Where is it, then, you want to be that's not one of them places?” he asked.

“Away from her,” she said.

“You can just leave her. You're old enough. I bet a great many women would be happy to have someone like you in their employ. Does she treat you bad?”

“Good enough for a servant girl—fetch this, make me this, clean up my mess. She don't hit me as much as she used to. But she don't like me much. That I know.”

“Sad to say, it's going to be that way anywhere you work for a white woman. It just is.”

They walked the rest of the way to the corner in silence, looked at the empty intersection, and turned to walk back. “But it shouldn't be,” she said. Butcher looked down into her eyes and he knew what she was going to tell him was something he already knew, something he had known all along. “I think she's my mother.”

They didn't go back to the hotel. Instead, they walked in silence until they came to a coffee shop he knew that served late in the evening, catching trade from the hotels and restaurants when workers finished a shift. They found a booth near the back. They ordered only coffee.

As she raised her eyes toward him, he was reminded of the afternoon he first met her. He could not help himself, but reached across the table and took her hands in his. He thought of his own mam, how she would stroke his shoulder as he stood on a box at the table in the kitchen, watching her cook, sometimes helping her with small tasks—stirring a bowl of batter, whipping eggs. He thought, too, of Maude, how she told him her family had left her with Helaine and Laurent, traded her for food, supplies. Mona did not pull away, but left her hands in his, quivering like a rabbit or small bird trapped and too frightened to fight.

“I have never been courted, Mr. Butcher,” she said. “I don't really know what to do.”

“But you know I care for you.”

“Yes,” she said. “I know.”

“I would watch out for you,” he said. “I would never force you.”

She pulled her hands away and placed them in her lap.

“Then we will give it time. To be honest, I haven't courted much myself. Let's just give it some time. About the other. You said you think Miss Virginia is your mam. What makes you believe that?” he asked.

“She hates me, calls me her albatross, her millstone. But even so, she would never turn me out—and there were some hard times before we got to Fayetteville. Some hard times. But she always kept me close, even when there was no need for her to have a child with her. At least not until the major.”

“She told the major the truth about you?”

“No,” she said. “The afternoon he was supposed to come to supper I asked her what was going to happen to me if he proposed. She said I was free to come along with them as long as it was convenient for everyone involved.

“When I asked her what that meant, she said I could come or I could go—she had done her duty by me, that she had made sacrifices aplenty for me, and she had been on her own younger than me. That's when I told her that I knew. What I think.”

“What did she say?”

“She told me that I was crazy. Told me that she had helped her friend by taking me in. But when I ask her about Dorothea, she doesn't ever have anything to say. Where she came from. Who her people were. Why is that? If I was this woman's child, don't you think she would want me to know that?”

“Maybe there isn't anything to tell.”

“I know it, Mr. Butcher. I know it. Anyway, we had a terrible row. I told her I would tell the major if she didn't.”

“And did you?”

Mona smiled, but only slightly. “Didn't have to. As we were fighting, the major came by. I'm not sure why. But he heard it all. And he left. Plain and simple. I hid from her. She started drinking and was so angry that I knew she would hit me if she could find me. I heard her calling and calling. But then you stepped in. Brought her the pie. She said it was like the sky opened up and she saw a rainbow that night when you came to the house. A rainbow with a pot of gold.”