Copyright @ calibeachgirl
All rights reserved, 2012
Thanks to estragon and deepblue...
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Chapter 11
"I should be ashamed of myself," Georgia said to herself, in the privacy of her own room. "To be attracted to a man, merely because he has." She sat down on the edge of the bed. "It's just sinful lust, that's all," she continued, thinking back to that single kiss that stood between them all this time. She wondered what her father would have thought... kissing a white man.
"I must just keep my distance, that's all, and I will come to my senses and leave him alone." She wanted to believe what she was telling herself but knew it was a lost cause. There was no denying that kiss, as simple as it was. No, that was the wrong word. As wonderful as it was, that was the word. Wonderful...
He had to be a good man, she thought. Why would he go to so much trouble to deceive her, a mere colored girl, when he could have almost any woman he wanted? She was sure that either Liza or Ellen would have gladly gone to his bed. Other than kissing her, he had made no effort to seduce her and if she wished to admit the truth, his behavior was more restrained than her own.
It seemed most likely, she thought, that he never had wished to seduce her and his motives for keeping her there were just what he had said, that he needed the help, her help, to keep the household running.
The thought should have been a comfort to her but in fact, she found it depressing... profoundly depressing. This, more than anything else, served to enlighten her to her own feelings.
"I'm a fool," she said as she finally removed her clothes, got into bed and tried to sleep. She no longer wore her nightdress, finding it too confining, too restricting. Why would he waste his time trying to seduce a colored woman when he could have his pick of any one he wanted, especially now that he had his uncle's wealth?
The rhythmic ebb and flow of the waves below the house should have lulled her to sleep. In a perfect world this would have invited soft whispers and confidences, romance even. Sometime during the night, her fingers found her dampening warmth.
It was early the next morning when the fattening smell of bacon permeated the house and Georgia found herself strangely, intensely hungry after such a long, deep sleep, a sleep this time without vaguely remembered dreams. Washing quickly, she dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen, where she found Susan and Ellen, both wearing new dresses, putting scrambled eggs into the oven to keep them warm while they anxiously waited for Jack and Bill to finally arrive.
"Good morning, girls," she said, trying to sound cheerful, though strangely tired from her imaginings of the night before.
"I feel," Susan said to her, "like I've escaped from life-long prison. You can't imagine how happy I am to be here. I feel like my life has just begun. This is quite the house, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is," Georgia answered. "Yes, it is." She looked self-consciously at her own drab dress, and wondered if she should change her clothes before Jack arrived.
She turned, hearing the sound of shoes across the black-and-white checker-board linoleum. "There you are," he said. "I've been looking for you." She glanced down at the floor, so similar to her existence, so separate and yet so together.
"Good morning, sir," she said, well aware of the other girls so obviously listening in the kitchen, determined not to call him 'Jack,' probably ever again.
"A place this size must certainly take a great deal to run and I am glad that you now have, I hope, enough help to keep it going." He searched her face, looking for answer to questions unasked.
"Yes, sir."
With his hand on her arm, he pulled her out of the kitchen and into the dining room. "Has anyone spoken to these girls about their salary? I don't know what you told them and I should have asked about that yesterday." They both knew that wasn't why he was still holding her arm, gently yet firmly, so tightly that she couldn't leave, didn't want to leave and yet couldn't stay.
"No, sir, I haven't and neither did Mr. Doyle. They were so happy to leave the orphanage that they never asked and I just forgot to bring it up." How could she have made such a mistake? It could be embarrassing... it WAS embarrassing how she had let him down in such a simple task. What was he thinking?
Bill appeared in the doorway, breaking the tension. "Breakfast is ready," he said, "and it smells pretty good."
Her feelings for Jack created more problems than she wanted to admit. After breakfast, Susan approached her while Liza was washing the dishes. "Is there something I should know?"
"What do you mean?"
"I've seen how he and you look at each other. I don't want to create any problems, is all."
Was that a smirk she saw on the girl's face? "Uh, no, of course not. What problems?" Georgia inquired, worried now. It was hard enough living here with him without this.
Susan smiled. She didn't believe the woman, no matter how much she might have protested. It remained to be seen, though, what would come of it. The idea of marriage was impossible for them. However, that did not preclude the man taking Georgia for his mistress. Would she, as a potential wife, be able to accept that her husband had a mistress, a colored one at that? She looked at Georgia. It was something to think about, something to think about, indeed.
Chapter 12
Liza, Betty and Catherine settled into the routine housework, working easily together despite their initial misgivings. By working as a team, not only did the work go faster with each girl responsible for the same things in each room, but being able to talk together made the day pleasant. Betty and Catherine had grown up with the Sisters, who told them work was a form of prayer and therefore, to be done quietly. Liza, on the other hand, loved to sing and soon had her new companions accompanying her as each morning progressed.
Susan and Ellen stayed in the kitchen and that became their domain, their kingdom. Susan, with her ability to read well, started working her way through the cookbook and each day was an experiment, perfecting a dish for everyone's enjoyment or realizing that it wasn't going to work, no matter what. There was a new entrée every day, and the ones no one cared for were crossed out in the book.
Ellen put all her efforts into biscuits, rolls, breads, cakes and pies, finding herself covered with a perpetual dusting of flour.
Bill made ice cream once a week, using the raspberries from the vines growing near the house. He had already talked to Jack about planting cherry trees for pie and ice cream.
