by D L Lane
“Why ever not?” I asked, batting my lashes like his fiancée.
“Using foul language is beneath a lady.”
I pushed on his chest, moving him enough to squeeze past. “That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. King.” I took a few steps into the hallway. “’Cause I ain’t never been a lady.”
“Ms. Singleton!” He whispered/hissed, but I acted as if I didn’t hear him, going back into the kitchen where I belonged.
Chapter Fourteen
This isn’t a request!
September 14, 1936
“Finally!” I sighed, sitting down on the chair by my bed, Ms. Bonny across from me. “I’m exhausted.”
A week had passed, Mr. King trying to speak with me every stolen moment he could get, but I didn’t allow it, always busy working or moving on around him, not listening to a word he said and intending to never hear him again—not with my heart anyway.
“I know just how you feel.” She took off her shoes, wiggling her stalking-covered toes.
I doubt she did, but I nodded, heel/toeing off my own sturdy work shoes. “I’m not looking forward to tomorrow, either.”
“You and me both. Having a large dinner party to announce the engagement to the bigwigs who work for the King’s, is going to keep us on our feet most of the night.”
Something took hold of my throat and squeezed off my air.
“What do you think of Catherine Carrington?” she asked.
It took me a second to gain my composure.
Ms. Bonny cocked her head. “Are you all right?”
I nodded. “I don’t really have an opinion about her,” I answered a little too late, but the strange pause in the conversation didn’t matter, neither did my response ’cause I was fibbing.
If I’d told the truth, it would have been I didn’t like that Carrington woman—the way she watched me and always seemed to be lurking around, not to mention she was going to marry Mr. King, and that alone was enough to turn my stomach.
“She seems fake to me.” Ms. Bonny stretched her arms. “No one smiles all the time. Her face is going to get stuck that way if it hasn’t already. And the way she bats her lashes, it’s just ridiculous.”
Yeah, I want to poke her eyes out, I thought but didn’t allow the meanness to spill from my mouth, instead, changing the subject. “Well, too tired or not, I’ve got to go brush my teeth.”
“Go on.” Ms. Bonny draped herself across her bed. “I’m going to lay right here.”
***
Locked inside the bathroom, scrubbin’ my teeth a little too hard, I noticed an envelope slide beneath the door from where I stood at the mirror. It screamed, look at me! I frowned. I didn’t want to, so I dropped my gaze to the porcelain sink.
It didn’t take long, curiosity getting the best of me, for my attention to be shifted to the reflection of the envelope once more, but I refused to drop what I was doing. I wouldn’t rush over to pick up the little square.
Just ignore it.
Two more swipes for good measure, then I spit out the foamy paste, rinsed my mouth with water, dried my hands and face with the towel, then turned, focused on what lay upon the tiled, black and white honeycomb floor.
Mississippi stared back at me in recognizable dark, spiky letters.
Tear it up and toss it. You don’t care what Mr. King has to say.
Slowly, I made my way, bent and picked up the envelope, ready to shred the thing and let the pieces rain from my fingertips into the trash, but for reasons I couldn’t explain, I did the opposite.
Finger sliding beneath the flap, I opened it, pulled out the piece of paper, and stared, for I don’t know how long. Then, extending my hand out in front of me as if a lunatic were going to jump off of the page and grab my neck, I unfolded Mr. King’s note with care.
Nothin’ scary happened, so I read.
Tomorrow there is an all-staff meeting at 2:00 p.m. to go over things for the party. You will be at my office promptly at 1:30 p.m. sharp to talk beforehand.
—TDK
P.S. This isn’t a request!
“This isn’t a request,” I muttered/snorted.
Well, if the man thought his order mattered to me, he had more thinking to do on the subject.
Crumpling up the paper, ready to throw it away, I hesitated, a smile spreading across my face.
Going over to the vanity, I spread it out on the top, working the wrinkles free as best I could. Once satisfied the paper wasn’t going to get any better, I re-folded it and put it back into the envelope.
Two seconds later, I walked out the door on a mission. So, on bare feet, I snuck down to Mr. King’s office, found the pen he used, and wrote one word across the front of the envelope, below my name.
NO!
“Let him chew on that!” I muttered, imagining the look on Mr. King’s face when he saw my response on the envelope I’d left on his desk.
Funny thing, an evil little pleasure overtook me as I skipped my way out of his office and up the stairs. My exhaustion was gone.
***
Two o’clock had arrived faster than I hoped it would, giving me no choice but to go with the others into Mr. King’s office, but at least I’d defied the man by not showing up thirty minutes earlier like he’d ordered in his note the night before.
All of us took up a large portion of the room, some sitting, some standing. Mr. King’s daddy headed up the meeting, the man himself not bothering to glance my way as we, or at least I, pretended to listen.
I did catch bits and pieces of the older Mr. King’s speech, like, “Make sure our guests are well attended this evening.” And, “Bring your best smiles.” But my mind, as well my eyes, were focused on Thayer Drayton King, who was seated behind his desk—hands clasped together, resting on the desktop. But he held them so tight; it looked as if his knuckles would burst.
“Everyone’s dismissed,” Mr. King’s daddy announced.
Turning to go, Mr. King—my Mr. King, not his daddy said, “Ms. Singleton, I need a word.”
“I’m running behind on my afternoon chores, so—”
“Ms. Bauman, please make sure whatever tasks you have given Ms. Singleton for the afternoon are covered for a few moments,” he said, causing me to flip back around and frown.
“Consider it done,” she replied, as everyone, including his daddy, left the room.
“I saw the note I gave you last night, sitting on my desk this morning when I arrived,” he said, standing and striding to me.
“Did you read my response?”
“I did.”
“Then, you know how I feel about talking to you alone.” I spun back around, my hand on the doorknob when he stopped me—long fingers wrapping around my wrist.
“I just want to know one thing, and then you can go on with your afternoon,” he said close to my ear, his warm breath caressing my cheek.
I closed my eyes. “What?”
“The day I saw you down by the lake with Mr. LaCroix, he was touching you.”
I didn’t say anything; he hadn’t asked a question yet.
“Was he in any way being improper with you?”
I glanced over my shoulder and up at him. “You mean like you and I have been improper?”
Mr. King flinched as if I’d struck him.
Good, I hope it hurt.
“Would you please just answer the question, Mississippi?”
“Why?”
Taking hold of my upper arms, he turned me around to face him. “Because I want to know if I need to ask him to tender his resignation.”
I pondered his words for a moment, clarity coming as my eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you’re going to fire him?”
“If he did anything he shouldn’t have done with you, then yes, I am.”
“If you dare fire that man for being nice to me, I’ll—”
He crossed his arms, eyebrows arching. “You’ll what?”
I’d never gambled in my life, but after listening to my daddy and the boys talk, I fi
gured I had a good idea of how to play, so I was going to put Mr. King to the test, hoping the answer wouldn’t be the final blow.
With a serious face, I pulled my bluff. “I swear to you, Mr. King, if you let that man go, I’ll walk out of the door—someplace to live or not—and you will never see my face again.”
He stared at me, and for an instant, I thought I’d lost, my heart sinking to my feet. Then, he heaved a breath. “Fine. I won’t fire Mr. LaCroix.”
A stupid joy filled me, and I was drowning in it ’cause he didn’t want me to leave, but I kept my poker face in place as I walked over, taking a seat. “Then, I’ll stay.”
Mr. King started in my direction when the tap, tap, tap at the door stopped his progress. “I’m in a meeting,” he called.
The door began to open, so whoever it was didn’t care.
“I’ve been concerned,” Catherine said, that smile she always wore stretched across her face as she strolled in like she was already the lady of the house.
“About what?” Mr. King asked once he looked her.
“Father King told my father you would be a while, and I had to come see why.” She glanced around her fiancé’s arm, green gaze falling on me. “Ms. Singleton,” she said, some of the sugar leaving her tone. “Is there a problem?”
I stood. “None at all.”
Mr. King half-turned, giving me his left side, Catherine his right. “Ms. Singleton works for me, so whether there is or isn’t a problem would be something for me to handle and handle alone, Catherine.”
Her plump pink lips pursed. “I wasn’t trying to overstep.”
“But, you have.” He slipped his hand into the front pocket of his suit pants.
The woman placed a palm on Mr. King’s forearm, squeezing him. “I’m sorry,” she cooed, shifting her eyes to mine for an instant, but there was no hiding those flickers of hate, not from me. “Forgive me, Thayer.”
Reaching up, she placed a soft caress of lips on his cheek.
He stood frozen in place, his face just as icy.
“I’m going to go,” I said, trying not to scurry, but getting to the door as fast as I could—one foot already over the threshold.
“I’ll walk you out,” Catherine said, all the sugar returning probably melted in her mouth.
Interlocking her arm in mine as if we were best friends on a stroll, she made her way with me down the hall from Mr. King’s office. Once we rounded the corner, she dropped my arm like a hot tater.
“You listen here,” she said, ugly all over her face. “I know the games some women play to get their paws on a wealthy man, but your grubby hands will stay off what’s mine.”
Pulling my hand up, I studied it, turning my palm this way and that. “Don’t look grubby to me.”
“I’ve asked around about you,” she sneered.
“Funny, I haven’t asked a soul about you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Did you think I wouldn’t be checking in on things? I’m going to be running this house soon.”
I blinked, letting that sink in. “You’re gonna get rid of Ms. Bauman?”
She laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “You really are a twit. Why would we keep her on if I’m here?” Twirling the end of her golden hair, Catherine said, “But we digress. My point being before you butted in, is, some poor-white-no-account-piece-of-trash from the swamps won’t be turning my Thayer’s head.”
I imagined, to some girls, hearing Catherine say those things about being ‘poor white trash and a no-account’ would have knocked them back, hurting their feelings and all, but I’d heard it many times before.
“I don’t think you need to worry your pretty little head ’bout me, Catherine, especially since I ain’t playin’ the same game you are.”
She sniffed. “Your efforts are being wasted; you need to aim a whole lot lower if you want a man. Thayer won’t give a nothing like you, the time of day.”
I locked my gaze with hers. “Maybe he already has.”
“I’m watching you,” she said, venom spewing as I turned to go.
Now, I was aware my sassy mouth tended to get me in trouble, and sooner or later it would again—Catherine’s hatred for me would be growing stronger by the day, I was sure—but the idea of getting under her skin made the risk of any retribution worth it. Though, you know what they say, hindsight is twenty, twenty, and all, and my vision wasn’t anywhere near being clear as I flung a glance over my shoulder and smiled. “I know, Ms. Carrington.”
With my head held high, I walked away.
Chapter Fifteen
The party
September 15, 1936
Thirty or more well-dressed people mingled about the estate, gathering in the dining room once Mr. King’s daddy announced dinner was ready to be served. And for the first time since I’d arrived, the vast space was full to bursting.
“Before we start,” the older King said, standing and tapping his crystal glass with a fork, gaining the attention of the entire room, including mine. “You were all invited here to celebrate with us.” He placed his hand on the back of his son’s chair. “Thayer and Catherine have made it official! They are to be married next spring.”
Applause rippled along the table, with a few “How wonderful’s!” and, “It’s about time!” sprouting up from the guests, while Catherine smiled, hand to her throat, looking so happy she would cry. When she leaned to her right, to hug Mrs. King, her ruby-red dress shimmered from the flames in the fireplace, glittering jewels ringing a rainbow around her neck.
Mr. Carrington slapped his soon-to-be son-in-law on the back.
When Thayer smiled, I thought I might pass out, but I gained my strength when his blue-eyes met mine. Any happiness on his face faded, and sorrow flickered in the depths of his gaze. The way he looked at me said a thousand things, but the one thing I wanted to see the most—that this was all some huge misunderstanding and he wasn’t going to marry that woman, didn’t exist.
Refusing to let myself cry, I took a breath leaning over to whisper to Ms. Bonny. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to step out for a moment.”
“Are you sick?”
I was but not in the way she meant, I was sure. “I’m feeling a bit lightheaded. I think it’s too hot in here.”
“All right, but hurry back.”
“I will. I won’t be gone for long.”
Once outside, I braced my hand on the wall, hunched over, and spewed the dinner I ate earlier into the bushes by the front steps, the pounding in my head feeling some better.
I took the gift Ms. Bauman had given me from my apron—the pretty hankie she embroidered with a big, curling M, wiped my mouth, and stood. Overwhelmed with grief, I tipped my head back, staring into the starry night sky. “Mama, if you can hear me, I need your help.”
The door rattled, shooting another spine of irritation through my skull. Can’t a girl get a moment alone in this place?
When I glanced over my shoulder, my legs weakened. Mr. King had come out, but by the look of concern on his face, it was Thayer stepping up to me. “What’s wrong? Why did you leave?”
“Do I have to answer that?” Weariness settled into my bones.
“I guess not.”
Tucking the handkerchief away from where I’d retrieved it from, I straightened, facing Mr. King. “I would like to ask a question of my own.”
“Go on.”
“How do you always find me?”
“I pay attention,” he said.
Rolling my eyes, I leaned my hip on the railing, firing out the most important thing on my mind. “Do you love that woman?”
Thayer met my gaze, sadness coming off of him in waves. “I don’t.”
“No?” That made no sense at all to me! “Then, why are you going to marry her?”
“You wouldn’t understand, Mississippi.”
“Try to speak to me in plain ol’ English, and I’ll attempt to follow along,” I smarted off.
He shook his head. “That’s not what I me
ant.”
“Just what did you mean?”
“I meant you wouldn’t understand because I don’t.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said, echoing an earlier thought.
With an exhale, Mr. King tipped his head back as if to look into the night sky. “Marrying Catherine Carrington is like the merger of two wealthy companies. It was a sensible business decision, not one made from the heart, but”—returning his gaze to me, he tapped his head—“made up here.”
I scowled.
“After my father spoke to me at length about getting married, saying he would be very disappointed if I didn’t step up and do the right thing, I gave in.”
“The right thing?”
“See, if I marry her, it will add to the strength, power, and wealth of my family and hers.”
“A business decision,” I muttered as what he’d said made some sense, but not enough to marry someone you didn’t love.
Mr. King glanced at his feet. “Did I make the right decision?” He rubbed his jaw, looking back at me. “At the time, I figured why not?”
“And now? Standing here, what do you think about your decision?”
“I think I made a huge mistake, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Sometimes, you can’t fix what’s already done,” I said sadness overtaking my voice.
“Mississippi, I owe you an apology.”
“What good will that do?”
“Look. I’ve been trying to say I’m sorry for a while now, but it seems we are always interrupted, or something interferes. I wanted to tell you about Catherine, and I started to a hundred times, but I just couldn’t find the right words to say it or even the right time to say it.”
I palmed my aching forehead. “So, you’re telling me in the whole time I’ve been living here with you Mr. King; you couldn’t have just come right out and said, ‘Mississippi I’m sorry I fooled with your heart and your head, I shouldn’t have done that, I’m gettin’ married?’”
“I would never be so heartless and crass.”
“And you think me finding out the way I did, and all of the goings-on here tonight”—I swiped my hand out toward the house—“isn’t heartless?”
