“Yes, I’m Gloria Mae Shaw. Steven seems to think my name is Glory.”
“Glory is a pretty name. I’m Mattie. Don’t like my name much.” The girl put her head down.
“Mattie is a fine name. What are you baking?”
“Strawberry pie. The last of the season. Got the dough almost ready.” She pressed out the dough withher hands and set the pie plates over it, ready to make the shape. “The girls like pie.”
Gloria nodded and her stomach grumbled. She set her hand there when Mattie looked up knowingly. “Sorry, I should have realized you’d be hungry. I can cook you up anything you’d like.”
“Oh, no. Don’t go to any trouble. Anything will do. All of a sudden I have an appetite again.”
Mattie nodded and wiped her face with her sleeve, getting most of the flour off her face. “That’s good.” She eyed Gloria with an honest, searching expression. “I’m glad to see you’re healing. Can’t really tell you had bruises except for a little yellow discolor on your chest and some scrapes still left on your face. Emmie’s remedy did you good.”
“Y-yes. I’m feeling better.”
The girl turned around and began filling a plate from the cookstove. Without ceremony, she set down a dish of thin-sliced potatoes, bacon and corn biscuits. “I also have fried chicken and dumplings leftover from yesterday, if you’d like. Have a seat. Would you like tea or coffee?”
“Oh, you don’t have to serve me. I’ll get it myself.”
“No, please. You just sit put. You’re the guest here.”
“But—”
“Coffee or tea?” The girl had already set a napkin down with utensils and pulled out a seat for her. Gloria didn’t want to be rude. It seemed this young girl took pride in serving up her food.
“Coffee is just fine and thank you.” She took the offered seat. “This looks wonderful.” But Gloria hadn’t eaten solid food for nearly a week. Hungry ornot, she knew her stomach wouldn’t abide such a large meal. She wouldn’t be able to get too much of it down.
“Dear Lord,” she began, putting her head down. “Thank you for this bountiful meal before me. And…and thank you for seeing to my care these last few days. Amen.”
It was the shortest prayer she’d ever offered up. Though Gloria had much to be thankful for, right now, her heart wasn’t in her prayers. She struggled with her faith, the night Boone died weighing heavily on her mind.
When Gloria looked up, she found Mattie staring at her. “That sounds real nice. Haven’t heard a prayer since I left the orphanage. We used to say our prayers mornings and nights, just before bed.”
“You were in an orphanage?”
Mattie nodded, intent on shaping dough into the pie plates. “For as long as I can remember.”
Gloria took a bite of her potatoes, not wanting to pry into Mattie’s life. But she couldn’t help wondering how a girl so young had gone from living in an orphanage to being employed in a brothel.
“I, uh—”
“Go on?” Gloria encouraged her with a nod. “I’d really like to hear what you have to say.”
Mattie shrugged and stopped her work to look at her. “It’s just that, in the beginning I had hope of being adopted. But as time went on and I got older, there was less and less chance of that ever happening. Most people picked the young boys. Sister Marie said it’s because boys are extra help on the ranches and farms. Saint Catherine’s isn’t a bad place really. It’s where I learned to cook.” She beamed a big smile.
“Sounds as though you were happy there.”
“Yes, for a time. I was beginning to understand that I might never leave. Until one day when the sisters came for me. They said they had a family who wanted me and just days later I was living at the Clemons’ homestead in Stockton. One week later, I ran away.”
“What happened?”
Mattie closed her eyes as if shutting her mind off to a terrible memory. She shook her head. “Mrs. Clemons was more ill than she let on to the sisters.
“Glory is a pretty name. I’m Mattie. Don’t like my name much.” The girl put her head down.
“Mattie is a fine name. What are you baking?”
“Strawberry pie. The last of the season. Got the dough almost ready.” She pressed out the dough withher hands and set the pie plates over it, ready to make the shape. “The girls like pie.”
Gloria nodded and her stomach grumbled. She set her hand there when Mattie looked up knowingly. “Sorry, I should have realized you’d be hungry. I can cook you up anything you’d like.”
“Oh, no. Don’t go to any trouble. Anything will do. All of a sudden I have an appetite again.”
Mattie nodded and wiped her face with her sleeve, getting most of the flour off her face. “That’s good.” She eyed Gloria with an honest, searching expression. “I’m glad to see you’re healing. Can’t really tell you had bruises except for a little yellow discolor on your chest and some scrapes still left on your face. Emmie’s remedy did you good.”
“Y-yes. I’m feeling better.”
The girl turned around and began filling a plate from the cookstove. Without ceremony, she set down a dish of thin-sliced potatoes, bacon and corn biscuits. “I also have fried chicken and dumplings leftover from yesterday, if you’d like. Have a seat. Would you like tea or coffee?”
“Oh, you don’t have to serve me. I’ll get it myself.”
“No, please. You just sit put. You’re the guest here.”
“But—”
“Coffee or tea?” The girl had already set a napkin down with utensils and pulled out a seat for her. Gloria didn’t want to be rude. It seemed this young girl took pride in serving up her food.
“Coffee is just fine and thank you.” She took the offered seat. “This looks wonderful.” But Gloria hadn’t eaten solid food for nearly a week. Hungry ornot, she knew her stomach wouldn’t abide such a large meal. She wouldn’t be able to get too much of it down.
“Dear Lord,” she began, putting her head down. “Thank you for this bountiful meal before me. And…and thank you for seeing to my care these last few days. Amen.”
It was the shortest prayer she’d ever offered up. Though Gloria had much to be thankful for, right now, her heart wasn’t in her prayers. She struggled with her faith, the night Boone died weighing heavily on her mind.
When Gloria looked up, she found Mattie staring at her. “That sounds real nice. Haven’t heard a prayer since I left the orphanage. We used to say our prayers mornings and nights, just before bed.”
“You were in an orphanage?”
Mattie nodded, intent on shaping dough into the pie plates. “For as long as I can remember.”
Gloria took a bite of her potatoes, not wanting to pry into Mattie’s life. But she couldn’t help wondering how a girl so young had gone from living in an orphanage to being employed in a brothel.
“I, uh—”
“Go on?” Gloria encouraged her with a nod. “I’d really like to hear what you have to say.”
Mattie shrugged and stopped her work to look at her. “It’s just that, in the beginning I had hope of being adopted. But as time went on and I got older, there was less and less chance of that ever happening. Most people picked the young boys. Sister Marie said it’s because boys are extra help on the ranches and farms. Saint Catherine’s isn’t a bad place really. It’s where I learned to cook.” She beamed a big smile.
“Sounds as though you were happy there.”
“Yes, for a time. I was beginning to understand that I might never leave. Until one day when the sisters came for me. They said they had a family who wanted me and just days later I was living at the Clemons’ homestead in Stockton. One week later, I ran away.”
“What happened?”
Mattie closed her eyes as if shutting her mind off to a terrible memory. She shook her head. “Mrs. Clemons was more ill than she let on to the sisters.
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