sold it. Mama called the new people white trash with money and said no good ever comes from mixing with that kind. We took a train bound for the North. Chicago was the last stop, and Dad said it was as far from Louisiana as we needed to go.” I put the coffeepot back on the stove and turned down the heat. “Dad figured it’d be better in a big city like Chicago.”
“Is it?”
“In some ways.”
Trudy said, “You couldn’t give me a hundred dollars for the South.” She kneaded the wet linens, working on a stain.
Isaac blew on his coffee, then had a taste of it. Thinking about Isaac’s question, I opened the oven door and stuck a toothpick in the center of the first loaf. The toothpick came out moist; the bread needed a few more minutes.
My school in Chicago, I recalled, was better than the one in Louisiana—there were more books. Jobs were easier to come by in Chicago, but rent was high. Still, a person could make a decent living. But the stink, it was bad. No matter which way the wind blew there was no getting away from the smell that came from the stockyards. Day and night, slaughterhouse fires burned carcasses. Black clouds of soot blocked the sun and there were no stars at night. For all that, though, I was glad to be here. Chicago was where I’d met Isaac.
I turned to him, smiling.
Our eyes met, and just like that, everything went still. The trains, Trudy sloshing the linens in the basin, the creaks in the house, it all stopped. Isaac’s eyes took me in. I stood before him, letting him admire me, me looking back at him, me taking pleasure in it all.
“Your bread,” Trudy said. “Mind your bread,” and that quick, it was over. Isaac took a long drink of his coffee, and me—my heart racing—I didn’t do anything. “Your bread,” Trudy said.
“Yes,” I said. I opened the oven, drawing in deep breaths of the hot air, feeling woozy. Isaac had seen me in a new way. I fumbled with the hot pads, my hands shaking as I took out the three loaves. I ran a knife along the insides of the pans, then flipped them upside down onto the cooling rack. I felt Isaac watching me; I wanted to go to him. I wanted him to put his arms around me; I wanted his lips on mine.
I tapped the bottoms of the bread pans with the knife. The metal made a sharp sound. The bread loosened and dropped. Something had passed between Isaac and me. I kept on tapping, needing the noise to fill the kitchen.
Trudy wrung out a section of her wash. “Yes, sir, Sergeant DuPree,” she said. “The boarders sure do admire you.”
He put his cup on the counter. “That so?”
“You’re all they talk about,” Trudy said. “You and that homestead of yours, it’s turned their heads. And you,” she snapped at me. “Stop that tapping.”
Startled, I dropped the knife. It fell on the floor, clattering. I stared at it, heat rising in my cheeks. Still sitting, Isaac slid the knife toward him with the toe of his boot and picked it up.
“Give it here,” Trudy said. He handed it to her, the handle pointed out. “Now go on,” she said. “We’ve got work to do.”
“I can see that,” Isaac said, smiling some. Then he glanced at me and in that instant, I believed I saw a shine of admiration.
He wasn’t gone but a second when Trudy turned on me. “What’s wrong with you? Making eyes at that man. You’re nothing but the help and he knows it. You’ll get yourself in trouble this way, throwing yourself at him. He’ll forget you before he’s even through with you, and didn’t I tell you about Lydia Prather? There’s talk of a June wedding.” Trudy pointed a finger at me. “Watch yourself, that’s all I’ve got to say.”
I closed my eyes against it.
On the tenth morning of Isaac’s leave, he came to breakfast wearing his uniform. I’d been the one what had rubbed out the spots and set the creases right even though laundry was Trudy’s job. I had insisted, telling Trudy that I had spare time while she had so much to do.
“Is it?”
“In some ways.”
Trudy said, “You couldn’t give me a hundred dollars for the South.” She kneaded the wet linens, working on a stain.
Isaac blew on his coffee, then had a taste of it. Thinking about Isaac’s question, I opened the oven door and stuck a toothpick in the center of the first loaf. The toothpick came out moist; the bread needed a few more minutes.
My school in Chicago, I recalled, was better than the one in Louisiana—there were more books. Jobs were easier to come by in Chicago, but rent was high. Still, a person could make a decent living. But the stink, it was bad. No matter which way the wind blew there was no getting away from the smell that came from the stockyards. Day and night, slaughterhouse fires burned carcasses. Black clouds of soot blocked the sun and there were no stars at night. For all that, though, I was glad to be here. Chicago was where I’d met Isaac.
I turned to him, smiling.
Our eyes met, and just like that, everything went still. The trains, Trudy sloshing the linens in the basin, the creaks in the house, it all stopped. Isaac’s eyes took me in. I stood before him, letting him admire me, me looking back at him, me taking pleasure in it all.
“Your bread,” Trudy said. “Mind your bread,” and that quick, it was over. Isaac took a long drink of his coffee, and me—my heart racing—I didn’t do anything. “Your bread,” Trudy said.
“Yes,” I said. I opened the oven, drawing in deep breaths of the hot air, feeling woozy. Isaac had seen me in a new way. I fumbled with the hot pads, my hands shaking as I took out the three loaves. I ran a knife along the insides of the pans, then flipped them upside down onto the cooling rack. I felt Isaac watching me; I wanted to go to him. I wanted him to put his arms around me; I wanted his lips on mine.
I tapped the bottoms of the bread pans with the knife. The metal made a sharp sound. The bread loosened and dropped. Something had passed between Isaac and me. I kept on tapping, needing the noise to fill the kitchen.
Trudy wrung out a section of her wash. “Yes, sir, Sergeant DuPree,” she said. “The boarders sure do admire you.”
He put his cup on the counter. “That so?”
“You’re all they talk about,” Trudy said. “You and that homestead of yours, it’s turned their heads. And you,” she snapped at me. “Stop that tapping.”
Startled, I dropped the knife. It fell on the floor, clattering. I stared at it, heat rising in my cheeks. Still sitting, Isaac slid the knife toward him with the toe of his boot and picked it up.
“Give it here,” Trudy said. He handed it to her, the handle pointed out. “Now go on,” she said. “We’ve got work to do.”
“I can see that,” Isaac said, smiling some. Then he glanced at me and in that instant, I believed I saw a shine of admiration.
He wasn’t gone but a second when Trudy turned on me. “What’s wrong with you? Making eyes at that man. You’re nothing but the help and he knows it. You’ll get yourself in trouble this way, throwing yourself at him. He’ll forget you before he’s even through with you, and didn’t I tell you about Lydia Prather? There’s talk of a June wedding.” Trudy pointed a finger at me. “Watch yourself, that’s all I’ve got to say.”
I closed my eyes against it.
On the tenth morning of Isaac’s leave, he came to breakfast wearing his uniform. I’d been the one what had rubbed out the spots and set the creases right even though laundry was Trudy’s job. I had insisted, telling Trudy that I had spare time while she had so much to do.
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