Sicely. This here’s Friday. He’s new from the auction. Have him help you with the lunch, will you?’
Sicely turns and looks me up and down like she don’t approve of me one little bit. And I can see she ain’t a woman either, not fully grown at least. She’s only a year or twoolder than me. My stomach suddenly makes the noise of a train pulling up at a platform and I smile weakly, knowing everyone heard it. The girl makes a face like I’m some bullfrog bought in from a pond, but Mrs Allen puts a kind hand on my shoulder. ‘When did you last eat?’
‘I had a bit of bread for yesterday’s breakfast, ma’am.’
I swallow hard and her fingers squeeze my shoulder softly. ‘Good Lord! Give this boy some bread and soup, then have him help you serve at lunch. I’ll get Winnie to come down.’ She walks back outside, calling for Winnie before she reaches the back door. ‘Winnie!’ She’s got a voice as loud as a man’s when she shouts. ‘Winnie, where are you? I want you back down here!’
Sicely turns back to the pot, saying, ‘Get yourself some bread,’ as she ladles a hot spoonful of the soup into a bowl she has to hand. I reach out and take a hunk and I have it heading towards my mouth when she shrieks at me. ‘Not that bread! What you doing eating the bread laid out for lunch?’
I put it back from where I took it.
‘Don’t put it back! What you doing putting it back? Who’s going to want a piece of bread that you already touched? You should have cut yourself a piece of your own from the loaf out back. Anyone would know that.’
I pick up the bread again, not knowing if I should eat it or not, so I just keep a hold of it, all the while pretending it ain’t even there in my hand. Now I see the loaf she meant. It’s right there on the wide windowsill, sitting on its own board with a sharp knife lying next to it.
‘This the new boy?’ Winnie comes through the door at my back. She’s got the kind of face it takes a whole lot of years to make, like the bark of an old oak tree. She’s as wide as an oak at the waist as well. She views me with deep-seteyes that shine brightly between the creases of her skin. ‘Let the boy eat, Sicely, and hurry up about it.’ She lifts my hand till my lips touch the crust. Then she goes and gets that bowl of soup and puts it on the table in front of me.
Well, that food is just about the nicest thing I’ve had in a long time. I hurry through it, slurping down quick spoonfuls and wiping my bread around the bowl once it’s gone.
Winnie clears up after me. She tells me to help with lunch and I follow Sicely into the house and through to the dining room, her carrying the platter of ham and myself with a tureen of soup so big it makes me nervous to carry it in case I trip and drop it, only I don’t trip, I get it safely onto the middle of the table in one piece. Sicely scolds me anyway. ‘It don’t go there. If you’d come from a decent house you’d know that I serve it from the side and bring the plates to table.’
She sure can be severe. I pick up the tureen and take it over to where she points, and when I’ve set it down again she says, ‘No point in sending you back for the bread and butter cos you’ll probably come back with eggs and jam. You better stay right where you are while I go back for it.’
So I do. I stand in the big room on my own, my hands folded behind my back for somewhere to put ’em, my bare feet flat upon the polished floorboards. The room is pretty, with pale blue walls and lots of light from the four tall windows that look out across the lawn at the front. It’s more homely than grand, I suppose. There are pictures on the walls and shelves full of knick-knacks. I notice little statues of animals. They got a glazed china horse and a rabbit sitting up on its hind legs, its ears bent forward, pretending to listen. At the orphanage we didn’t have no clutter.
The table here is long enough for eight places, each of ’emlaid with
Sicely turns and looks me up and down like she don’t approve of me one little bit. And I can see she ain’t a woman either, not fully grown at least. She’s only a year or twoolder than me. My stomach suddenly makes the noise of a train pulling up at a platform and I smile weakly, knowing everyone heard it. The girl makes a face like I’m some bullfrog bought in from a pond, but Mrs Allen puts a kind hand on my shoulder. ‘When did you last eat?’
‘I had a bit of bread for yesterday’s breakfast, ma’am.’
I swallow hard and her fingers squeeze my shoulder softly. ‘Good Lord! Give this boy some bread and soup, then have him help you serve at lunch. I’ll get Winnie to come down.’ She walks back outside, calling for Winnie before she reaches the back door. ‘Winnie!’ She’s got a voice as loud as a man’s when she shouts. ‘Winnie, where are you? I want you back down here!’
Sicely turns back to the pot, saying, ‘Get yourself some bread,’ as she ladles a hot spoonful of the soup into a bowl she has to hand. I reach out and take a hunk and I have it heading towards my mouth when she shrieks at me. ‘Not that bread! What you doing eating the bread laid out for lunch?’
I put it back from where I took it.
‘Don’t put it back! What you doing putting it back? Who’s going to want a piece of bread that you already touched? You should have cut yourself a piece of your own from the loaf out back. Anyone would know that.’
I pick up the bread again, not knowing if I should eat it or not, so I just keep a hold of it, all the while pretending it ain’t even there in my hand. Now I see the loaf she meant. It’s right there on the wide windowsill, sitting on its own board with a sharp knife lying next to it.
‘This the new boy?’ Winnie comes through the door at my back. She’s got the kind of face it takes a whole lot of years to make, like the bark of an old oak tree. She’s as wide as an oak at the waist as well. She views me with deep-seteyes that shine brightly between the creases of her skin. ‘Let the boy eat, Sicely, and hurry up about it.’ She lifts my hand till my lips touch the crust. Then she goes and gets that bowl of soup and puts it on the table in front of me.
Well, that food is just about the nicest thing I’ve had in a long time. I hurry through it, slurping down quick spoonfuls and wiping my bread around the bowl once it’s gone.
Winnie clears up after me. She tells me to help with lunch and I follow Sicely into the house and through to the dining room, her carrying the platter of ham and myself with a tureen of soup so big it makes me nervous to carry it in case I trip and drop it, only I don’t trip, I get it safely onto the middle of the table in one piece. Sicely scolds me anyway. ‘It don’t go there. If you’d come from a decent house you’d know that I serve it from the side and bring the plates to table.’
She sure can be severe. I pick up the tureen and take it over to where she points, and when I’ve set it down again she says, ‘No point in sending you back for the bread and butter cos you’ll probably come back with eggs and jam. You better stay right where you are while I go back for it.’
So I do. I stand in the big room on my own, my hands folded behind my back for somewhere to put ’em, my bare feet flat upon the polished floorboards. The room is pretty, with pale blue walls and lots of light from the four tall windows that look out across the lawn at the front. It’s more homely than grand, I suppose. There are pictures on the walls and shelves full of knick-knacks. I notice little statues of animals. They got a glazed china horse and a rabbit sitting up on its hind legs, its ears bent forward, pretending to listen. At the orphanage we didn’t have no clutter.
The table here is long enough for eight places, each of ’emlaid with
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