lost a great deal of weight. Far too much weight.
She would not be coming back from this sickness.
What will become of us girls when she dies?
In a deep corner of my heart I clutched at and gripped a
tiny, brittle hope, a hope that when Opal passed, I might be free again and
make my way home to my parents.
My folks. Are they still living? Neither of them
would be old yet, but life on a farm was arduous, and disease and injury were
ever-present in the world, threatening even the hardiest of bodies.
Like Opal’s.
Opal’s ever-present shadow, Big Jim, was also older by eleven
years. He was just as massive, just as strong as when I had first laid eyes
upon him, but he was not as light on his feet as he had been in his younger
days.
Big Jim was, like the rest of us, preoccupied with Opal’s
condition. I could see from the concern glinting in his simple-minded eyes that
he, too, knew Opal would not rally. As I watched him, I probed for the right
opportunity to flee. I would have to be quick and have a good plan.
I left off staring out the window and came to the table when
called.
In the years following my surrender to her, Opal had built
on to her house. Twelve girls now sat down to the morning meal. Usually Opal
presided at the table, but she had sent word that she would be taking her
breakfast in her room.
For the third morning in a row.
Instead, Big Jim and two other hired men like him kept watch
over the table. Their sole job was to keep us girls in line.
While I ate, I covertly studied the three men. I was not
sure if Big Jim had thought ahead, had thought about what would become of
Opal’s “business” when she died. His eyes shifted uncomfortably from watching
us girls to watching Marco, a younger, smarter version of himself. Marco, in my
estimation, was an ambitious type, the kind of man who would make a move to
take over Opal’s business the moment she was no longer able to give orders.
But Opal was not at quite that point yet; no, she was not
about to allow a coup to topple her rule. Not over her own house!
Tensions in the house were rising, however. I would have to
time my escape to dovetail with the power struggle I could feel looming
near—when Opal’s attention was elsewhere.
My timing did not foresee Opal’s preemptive move.
Only two days later, she called all of us—working girls and
hired muscle—into the parlor. She looked . . . somewhat better,
stronger, than she had for a while. Certainly she had taken pains with her
toilet and dress, even though her clothes sagged upon her exceedingly thin
frame.
As I studied her, I wondered what it was that I sensed about
her. I was mildly disconcerted when the word “relieved” came to mind.
Relieved?
“Ladies,” she nodded at the dozen women who worked for her,
“and gentlemen.” Her last word held a degree of sarcasm, and she fixed on
Marcos, in particular, as she addressed us. She drew herself up in her chair.
“I have an announcement to make.” She again surveyed us,
considering each of us for a moment. Then she sighed, and a bit of vitality
seemed to seep from her.
“But first, Big Jim, would you kindly show our guests in?”
Big Jim ushered three men into the room, two of them
impressive in their stature and girth. The third smiled at Opal and swapped a
wad of chaw from one side of his mouth to the other.
“Miz Opal. Right good t’ see ya lookin’ s’fine t’day,” he
grinned.
Opal, a tight smile frozen upon her face, nodded like a
queen to an inferior subject. “Mr. Jacobs. Thank you for your prompt arrival.”
She inclined her head and Jacobs took a seat. His men stood
behind him, hands clasped in front of their bodies, expressions inscrutable.
“Ladies,” Opal began again, “and gentlemen,” (this time
there was no mistaking that she had fixed her gaze upon Marcos) “I wish to
announce that Mr. Jacobs has made me an agreeable offer for my business. I have
accepted his offer. As of this afternoon, Mr. Jacobs
She would not be coming back from this sickness.
What will become of us girls when she dies?
In a deep corner of my heart I clutched at and gripped a
tiny, brittle hope, a hope that when Opal passed, I might be free again and
make my way home to my parents.
My folks. Are they still living? Neither of them
would be old yet, but life on a farm was arduous, and disease and injury were
ever-present in the world, threatening even the hardiest of bodies.
Like Opal’s.
Opal’s ever-present shadow, Big Jim, was also older by eleven
years. He was just as massive, just as strong as when I had first laid eyes
upon him, but he was not as light on his feet as he had been in his younger
days.
Big Jim was, like the rest of us, preoccupied with Opal’s
condition. I could see from the concern glinting in his simple-minded eyes that
he, too, knew Opal would not rally. As I watched him, I probed for the right
opportunity to flee. I would have to be quick and have a good plan.
I left off staring out the window and came to the table when
called.
In the years following my surrender to her, Opal had built
on to her house. Twelve girls now sat down to the morning meal. Usually Opal
presided at the table, but she had sent word that she would be taking her
breakfast in her room.
For the third morning in a row.
Instead, Big Jim and two other hired men like him kept watch
over the table. Their sole job was to keep us girls in line.
While I ate, I covertly studied the three men. I was not
sure if Big Jim had thought ahead, had thought about what would become of
Opal’s “business” when she died. His eyes shifted uncomfortably from watching
us girls to watching Marco, a younger, smarter version of himself. Marco, in my
estimation, was an ambitious type, the kind of man who would make a move to
take over Opal’s business the moment she was no longer able to give orders.
But Opal was not at quite that point yet; no, she was not
about to allow a coup to topple her rule. Not over her own house!
Tensions in the house were rising, however. I would have to
time my escape to dovetail with the power struggle I could feel looming
near—when Opal’s attention was elsewhere.
My timing did not foresee Opal’s preemptive move.
Only two days later, she called all of us—working girls and
hired muscle—into the parlor. She looked . . . somewhat better,
stronger, than she had for a while. Certainly she had taken pains with her
toilet and dress, even though her clothes sagged upon her exceedingly thin
frame.
As I studied her, I wondered what it was that I sensed about
her. I was mildly disconcerted when the word “relieved” came to mind.
Relieved?
“Ladies,” she nodded at the dozen women who worked for her,
“and gentlemen.” Her last word held a degree of sarcasm, and she fixed on
Marcos, in particular, as she addressed us. She drew herself up in her chair.
“I have an announcement to make.” She again surveyed us,
considering each of us for a moment. Then she sighed, and a bit of vitality
seemed to seep from her.
“But first, Big Jim, would you kindly show our guests in?”
Big Jim ushered three men into the room, two of them
impressive in their stature and girth. The third smiled at Opal and swapped a
wad of chaw from one side of his mouth to the other.
“Miz Opal. Right good t’ see ya lookin’ s’fine t’day,” he
grinned.
Opal, a tight smile frozen upon her face, nodded like a
queen to an inferior subject. “Mr. Jacobs. Thank you for your prompt arrival.”
She inclined her head and Jacobs took a seat. His men stood
behind him, hands clasped in front of their bodies, expressions inscrutable.
“Ladies,” Opal began again, “and gentlemen,” (this time
there was no mistaking that she had fixed her gaze upon Marcos) “I wish to
announce that Mr. Jacobs has made me an agreeable offer for my business. I have
accepted his offer. As of this afternoon, Mr. Jacobs
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