I smiled at her. “That looks heavy,” I said. I thought Henry should help her with the basket, but he made no move toward her.
“Ain’t bad,” Hattie said. “Used to it.” She rested the basket momentarily on the kitchen table.
“Let’s continue our tour,” Henry said.
“Excuse us,” I said to Hattie. It was going to take me some time to get used to having a person in the house whose role was simply to clean up after us.
Henry put his hand on my elbow and guided me into a hallway papered with pink cabbage roses on a gray background. He pointed to a closed door. “That’s Mama’s room,” he said. “And by the way,” he added, “you don’t need to excuse yourself from Hattie, or sympathize with her about her work. She knows her place. You have to learn what yours is.”
I felt scolded. “I’ve never had a maid before,” I said.
“You’ll adjust,” he said, leading me back to the foyer. He motioned toward the broad staircase. “Let me show you upstairs,” he said.
I gripped the smooth dark banister, which was almost too thick to get my hand around, and followed him up.
“There are three more bedrooms up here,” he said, when we reached the upstairs hallway. “Mine, and Lucy’s, and one for guests. And then there’s this parlor.” We stepped into a small living room. The flocked wallpaper was a pale blue and the overstuffed sofas and chairs were upholstered in a bold multicolored floral print. I instantly loved the room. I could picture myself sitting in one of those comfortable-looking chairs, studying for my licensing exam as I sipped a cup of coffee and smoked a cigarette. I recalled Henry telling me that his mother rarely came upstairs because of a bad knee. I would be free to smoke up here without her knowing what a “manly” girl her son had married. I chuckled to myself.
“What’s so funny?” Henry asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I love this room, that’s all.”
Back in the hall, we passed the closed door to Lucy’s room and then Henry opened the door opposite hers. “My room,” he said. “Now our room, at least temporarily. Sorry about the mismatched beds. Hideous. Some of my workers brought the extra one from the factory so we’d have two in here. Again, temporary, trust me. It makes my stomach turn to see these beds together.” He motioned toward the two twin beds, one with tall carved posts at the head and foot, the other with a headboard made of wooden slats.
I laughed. “They make your stomach turn?”
“A pineapple bed and a mission-style bed right next to each other?” He gave a visible shudder and I laughed again.
“You’re going to have to teach me about furniture,” I said. To be honest, I barely saw the beds. I was taken by the armoire on the opposite wall. It was enormous, very tall, shaped like an elongated pentagon. The mirrored door was a long graceful oval and small floral carvings ran in a narrow line across the arched top and down each sloping side. “I don’t know a pineapple bed from a … what did you call it? Mission bed? But I do know that this is beautiful,” I said. “Did your father make it?”
He laughed as he came to stand beside me. “You have good taste,” he said, “but I can see you have a lot to learn about furniture. This is Victorian. Made even before my father’s time.” He ran a hand over the smooth wood. “Mahogany exterior.” He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. “Cedar interior covered in turquoise satin. It’s where I keep my good clothes, as you can see.” Suits and shirts hung neatly from the brass bar that ran across the interior of the armoire. He shut the door and carefully turned the key. “You will have the use of that entire closet.” He pointed to a nearby closet door. “I’ll move the rest of my things from there into the spare room.”
Back in the hall, Henry showed me a bathroom that, while small, contained a deep claw-foot tub I would have liked to sink into right at that moment. “You and I will use this bathroom,” he said. “Lucy has one next to her room. Hers is larger. I had no need for all that space, but we’ll have a good-sized bathroom in my—our—new house.”
We walked to the end of the hall and stood at the window that overlooked the backyard. I could see the garage and Hattie’s little cottage.
“We added the garage onto the old woodworking shed several years ago when we got a second car.” He looked at me. “Do you drive?” he asked.
“I have my license,” I said. My mother and I had shared an old Ford until, with the gas and tire rationing, we decided it had become more trouble than it was worth and sold it to Vincent for a small sum. It was quite easy for us to take the bus wherever we needed to go, and a friend had often given me a ride to nursing school.
“Unfortunately we just have the Cadillac running now,” he said. “There’s a ’39 Buick in the garage, but the tires are in terrible shape, and as long as rationing continues, we won’t be able to replace them. Otherwise, I could let you use it. But you’re welcome to take a cab wherever you want to go.”
“Are there buses?” I asked.
He smiled at me. “You’re a frugal one, aren’t you?” he said. “Yes, there are buses, but please feel free to take a cab.”
“All right,” I said, returning my gaze to the little cottage. I noticed the window boxes, empty now for the winter. “I bet that cottage is adorable in the warmer months,” I said.
“Hattie’s lived there the past two years,” he said, “but I still think of it as Adora’s cottage.”
“That was the maid who saved your life?”
He nodded. “She worked for us for more than twenty years.”
“Twenty years!”
“She was like part of the family,” he said. “Her son and daughter too. But she’s about fifty now and crippled with rheumatism, so she had to stop working. Hattie’s her niece.”
“Where did Adora go?”
“She’s still in Hickory, living with her daughter and her grandchildren. I hired her son and daughter on at my factory. Zeke is our maintenance man and Honor works part-time as a housekeeper.”
“Wasn’t Zeke the colored man in your office when I came to the factory?”
“That’s right.”
“How come he’s not in the military?”
“He was.” Henry shrugged. “He volunteered for the Marine Corps and broke his leg last year while he was in training at Camp Lejeune. He’s doing well though. Walks with a limp and I’m sure he has more pain than he lets on.” He put his hands in his pockets. “We still look in on Adora. Make sure she’s got enough to eat, what with the rationing and all.”
I followed his gaze toward the cottage. “How did it happen?” I asked. “How did Adora save your life?”
He shook his head as though he were tired of talking. “Not now.” He turned to face me. “You look a bit wrung out,” he said. “I know this must be a lot to take in. Would you like a nap?”
The thought of lying down, closing my eyes, and escaping from everything new and unfamiliar was seductive. “I would,” I said.
We walked back to his room, where he told me the pineapple bed would be mine. “You can unpack and have a good rest,” he said. “I’m going to drive over to the factory.”