The Tobacco Wives, page 3
“And I lost my daddy!” I reminded her.
“See, that’s what I mean. You’ve got such a mouth on you, always talking back. You still have me, don’t you? You have your aunt. That’s more than I’ve got.”
I told her she had Aunt Etta too, but she said it was different. Blood mattered, and I was blood, she wasn’t. It didn’t occur to her that she was my blood and that she was leaving me here like I was some orphan.
“Now go on,” she said, forcing a smile. “Scoot. Have fun and mind your aunt.”
Momma waved to where Aunt Etta stood watching in the doorway. “Thanks so much. I’ll call when I can, but long-distance is real pricey. You might not hear from me on the regular.”
She struggled to release the parking brake until it finally gave with a thunk and Momma backed out, tapping the horn and blowing me a kiss like all this was just nothing. Her taillights disappeared around the corner, and I had no idea when she’d return. All that remained was a slick of shimmery oil where she’d left the Buick running.
Three
Aunt Etta’s cat-shaped wall clock ticked in time with the swing of its tail and eyes—back and forth, back and forth.
“Did you eat?” Aunt Etta asked, motioning for me to sit at the kitchen table. “Of course you didn’t,” she answered before I could.
“I had some crackers.”
She shook her head and said something under her breath.
“I’ll make some eggs. You’re in luck because I got two this week.”
The war was ending, but a lot of the soldiers were still overseas, so the rations and shortages continued—eggs, sugar, and meat too. Doing without was the least we could do.
I laid my head down on the table. I hadn’t really slept, not good sleep anyway.
After a while, Aunt Etta touched my back, and I sat up. She put a plate of scrambled eggs, a napkin, a fork, and a tin of salt in front of me.
“Here you go, baby. You’ll feel better with something in your stomach.”
I felt a pang in my chest at the sight of the eggs, cooked just the way I liked them.
Aunt Etta pulled out the chair next to me and sat. “Oh, honey,” she said, wrapping her arm around me. “It’s okay. It’ll be all right.” She smoothed one of my curls.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Etta,” I said. “I didn’t know Momma was just leaving me here without even asking you. It’s your busy time.”
“You’re sorry? You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, Maddie. I’m happy to see you, and you’re always welcome here, you know that. But you’re right, I didn’t know you were coming.”
I took a bite and wiped my mouth with my napkin. “It seems Momma wants me out of her hair so she can find a new husband.”
“Hmm.” Aunt Etta shook her head. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”
I sprinkled a touch more salt on my eggs.
“Your mother didn’t have an easy time as a girl,” Aunt Etta said. “You know she lost her father very young. Many’s a night she and your grandmother went to bed hungry. Losing your daddy’s been hard on her, opened up old wounds.”
I swallowed hard. “I didn’t know about that,” I said. “I mean, I knew they didn’t have much money, but not that they didn’t have enough food to eat.”
“Well, it was long ago, and life got better for them. But some things you never forget.” Aunt Etta patted the top of my hand. “Now it’ll be fine for you to stay, but we have to have a talk.”
“Okay,” I replied, sitting up taller. She looked real serious.
Aunt Etta told me how everything was different at this time of year. It was much more demanding than what I was used to, so I needed to be prepared. Today I would join Aunt Etta for a fitting with her most valued client, Mrs. Elizabeth Winston, the lady I met that one time when I was a little girl. Mrs. Winston, or Mitzy as, according to Aunt Etta, everyone called her, was one of the most powerful women in Bright Leaf. Aunt Etta made most of her money for the year sewing for Mrs. Winston and her friends, so we couldn’t afford to disappoint or upset them.
I was nervous and excited at the same time. I told Aunt Etta about the practice I had put in since last summer. It wasn’t right to brag, but I couldn’t hold back about my work with embroidery and eyelet, and how I had set a sleeve all by myself.
“You have been busy! I better watch myself or you’ll be taking over my best customers.”
I started to laugh, but it turned into a yawn.
“What time did your mother wake you up?” Aunt Etta asked.
“I don’t know. It was pitch-black.”
“I swear . . .” Aunt Etta tsked.
She stood and opened the cabinet over the sink, took a mug out. “Do you drink coffee?”
“No, ma’am.” Momma liked her coffee first thing in the morning. Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee, she always said. Thank goodness it was only rationed for a year. I took over as chief coffee maker after Daddy left, measuring out the grounds and turning on the percolator every day before school, though I never drank any myself.
“Well, how’d you like to start?”
It smelled delicious. “I’d like that fine,” I answered, perking up.
She poured me a cup and handed me a bottle of milk from the refrigerator. I knew enough not to ask for sugar. The coffee turned from black to a color close to sand, and the mug clinked as I swirled the spoon around and around. Aunt Etta said the coffee would help me stay on my toes.
I took a sip and pretended to like it. “What’s Mrs. Winston like?” I asked.
“Well . . .” Aunt Etta hesitated, then tightened the belt on her robe. “I guess you could say she’s like the first lady of Bright Leaf. She’s married to the president of Bright Leaf Tobacco, and a real do-gooder, in charge of organizing fundraisers and charity programs for the community. She’s always been very outgoing—a social butterfly—even as a little girl.”
“You knew her when she was little?”
“I sure did.” Aunt Etta nodded. “I helped make her christening dress, as a matter of fact. You know, my mother sewed for Mitzy’s mother, so we go way back.”
“Great-grandma Lottie?” I asked.
“The very one.”
“Wow,” I said. “So you’ve known Mrs. Winston her whole life. How old is she now?”
“Well, a lady never reveals her age. Not once she passes thirty. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”
“Has she always been rich?”
“She grew up rich, but once she married Mr. Winston, she became wealthy. There’s a difference.”
“How do you mean?”
“The rich have lots of money, but the wealthy don’t ever have to even think about money.”
Imagine, living like that. Not having to hold your breath every time the checkout girl rings up your groceries, not having the shame that comes when you have to put something back. Not having to worry. “That sounds real nice,” I said.
“Yes and no. Money solves a lot of life’s problems, but it sure can’t buy happiness. There’s something to be said for earning your keep. She’s got a lot of things, but she isn’t what you’d call self-sufficient.”
“She seemed independent enough to me,” I said, taking another sip of coffee. “She did her own shopping when I saw her that one time.”
“She means well. You’ll like her. And she did indeed take a liking to you—” Aunt Etta cut herself off. “Want a little more?” she asked, lifting the coffeepot off the kitchen counter.
“No thank you.”
“Mitzy is friendly, but it’s important to remember that she’s not our friend, she’s our employer. As close as I am to her, I always keep that in mind. I mostly listen, don’t talk too much about myself. It’s better that way, more professional. Do you understand?”
“I think so. Okay then,” I said, taking another small sip. It really did smell better than it tasted.
“Don’t look so worried. Just be yourself, honey. You’ll be fine. Now, why don’t you go freshen up? Wear your best dress and shoes. We’ll get the Murphy bed down later.”
Years ago Aunt Etta transformed the lower level of her home into her professional workspace and studio. Women came here with ideas—pages torn from magazines or crude sketches on brown paper bags—which Aunt Etta turned into meticulously crafted garments that made them feel beautiful. Even factory uniforms were constructed with care to flatter every figure, thanks to Aunt Etta’s capable hands. She made house calls for the tobacco wives, but the factory workers, middle-class women, and wives of lesser executives came to her.
The downstairs was a magical place where bolts of colorful fabric were arranged like a rainbow, and spools of thread peered out of a glass cabinet, just waiting to be chosen. There were machine needles and hand needles, gauges and measuring tapes, scissors and sheers. And, of course, Aunt Etta’s collection of Vogue magazines. She kept everything neat and orderly, with pride of place given to her collection of antique thimbles. When she was a girl, she bought her first one with some money she had earned mending, then people started giving them to her as presents. Aunt Etta was very well liked, if the number of thimbles was any indication. She had dozens and dozens, and no two the same. Some were hand painted with flowers and birds, others with monuments from all over the country. My favorite was the guardian angel. When I held it in my hand, I could feel the angel’s flowing gown and outstretched wings carved into the pewter. Aunt Etta said that thimble would likely have been a christening present from long ago. How sweet, the idea that a little baby would have an angel to watch over her.
I loved falling asleep among the fabric and notions, dreaming of the endless possibilities in a bolt of cloth. Waking to the sunlight streaming through the large bay window felt like its own blessing. The house had been built on an incline, so there was plenty of natural light, and the door that led to Aunt Etta’s small backyard made it easy for her customers to come and go. It also came in handy when I wanted to sneak a cigarette out back while the dog day cicadas chirped.
Lost in my thoughts as I walked down the stairs, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I found someone standing at the bottom of the steps.
“Maddie May! What on earth are you doing here?”
“Frances!” I yelped, and asked her the exact same thing.
“Oh,” replied Frances. “I just needed to borrow a few slices of bread. You know how it is. I was in the middle of cooking my breakfast and realized I didn’t have any left for toast. I’m always popping over here when I’ve forgotten something. Lucky for me, I’m close enough to walk. Good luck, huh; that I have a friend who will let me have some bread when I need it?”
Frances was talking awful fast.
“But you! A surprise sunrise visit from across the state is something else entirely. I’m guessing you didn’t just come for breakfast. What are you doing here?”
“Momma dropped me off this morning,” I said, trying to calm the wobble in my voice. “She said she needs time to herself.”
Frances shook her head and made a whistling noise, then wrapped her arms around me.
“Hey now, it’s all right,” she said. Her short hair tickled my face. “It’s good to see you, Maddie May. Always good to see you.”
Aunt Etta had known Frances since grade school. She was funny, always knew what to say to make you laugh, but mostly, she was very, very smart. She was the first to call me Maddie May, when I was just a tiny baby. Daddy told me that. He also told me that when he was a little boy, Frances would let him quiz her on any topic, and if he ever asked a question she couldn’t answer, she would buy him an ice-cream cone. He only ever stumped her once, though, and Daddy was rewarded with a chocolate burst from the Good Humor man. Daddy thought the world of Frances and claimed that she would have been a millionaire if only she hadn’t been born a girl. That might have been true, but she made a good living as the lead executive secretary at Bright Leaf Tobacco Headquarters. Aunt Etta always joked that Frances really ran the downtown office. “She wears the pants in that place, that’s for sure” was what she actually said.
“Maddie,” Aunt Etta called out as she came down the stairs. “Are you almost ready?” Frances and I looked up.
“Frances! What are you doing here?” Aunt Etta asked, glancing over at me as though I was in on some big secret.
“I was just hoping to steal a few slices of bread,” said Frances. “For my breakfast.”
“Is that all? Well, come on up and I’ll get some for you.”
As Frances climbed the staircase, Aunt Etta reminded me to hurry up and change into my best outfit. We couldn’t afford to be late or untidy.
I hoped Momma had packed my yellow dress, the one I sewed last summer with the embroidery around the collar and the hem. It was by far my nicest. I was glad to see it when I unbuckled the case, but my stomach flip-flopped at the discovery that Momma had packed practically everything I owned. I’ll be gone as long as it takes, she had said. Surely she’d be back to fetch me before school in the fall.
I heard Aunt Etta and Frances moving around upstairs, speaking quietly. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, so I walked over near the stairway to listen.
“I’ll just have to make do,” Aunt Etta said. “What choice do I have? I just wish I knew when Grace was coming back for her.”
“It’ll be fine, though. Maddie May’s always been such a good girl. She won’t give you a moment’s trouble.”
I stepped back into the workroom and changed my dress. I didn’t want to make things difficult for Aunt Etta, but I didn’t have a choice either. There was nowhere else to go.
“Maddie?” Aunt Etta called a few minutes later.
“Coming!” I grabbed my satchel and took a deep breath.
The coffee must have worked. I was wide awake.
Four
Like all the wealthy tobacco families, the Winstons lived a good few miles away on the north side of Bright Leaf. Since gas was rationed and Aunt Etta only used her car on special occasions, we would cover the distance by bus, the same one we took to town when it was too hot to walk. And boy, was it hot. Not even nine o’clock and already the air was thick and heavy with gnats as we walked to the bus stop. August here was scorching, but I didn’t expect it to be this sweltering in June. In the Holler this time of year, the morning grass was cool against my feet, the evening air chilly enough for a sweater.
“The heat’s gonna be bad today, but at least we’re not working the fields,” Aunt Etta said, motioning to the near distance where the tops of the tobacco plants swayed in the warm breeze.
The morning was quiet and the road was empty. Lucky for us the bus soon rumbled to the stop, kicking up dust. The door swung open with a squawk.
“Morning, Etta. Morning—” The driver paused for a minute, studying me. “Maddie, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “Morning.”
“Morning, Ed,” Aunt Etta said, settling herself into a seat and motioning for me to sit next to her. The seat was cracked in places and pinched the backs of my legs.
“How about this heat?” the driver said. “’Bacca sure loves that sun. More sunshine, bigger leaves, and you know what that means.” He chuckled. “I’m hoping it’ll be a strong season for all of us. I for one would be relieved if we had a bumper crop.”
Aunt Etta nodded and then said, “How is Gladys getting on, Ed? I’ve been meaning to ask.”
His face went from sunny to serious. “Well, she’s hanging in there as best she can.” He glanced from the road to the rearview mirror as he spoke. I could feel the sadness in him as he talked about his wife.
Aunt Etta shifted in her seat, then took two embroidered handkerchiefs from her purse; she handed one to me and dabbed her neck with the other. I patted the back of my neck with the folded cloth, feeling the sweat roll down my back.
“Is she home now?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “She came home last week.” Sadness changed to worry as he talked about having to take time off work for her treatments, and now a trip to New York. Then his voice got real quiet. “It was way worse than they thought. She’s got the cancer in her throat, and they have to remove her voice box.”
“Oh no,” my aunt said, leaning forward in her seat. “I’m so sorry, Ed. That’s just awful. Please tell her I’m wishing her a speedy recovery, will you? The girls at the factory must miss her terribly.”
“Oh, they do. They’ve been wonderful, bringing by casseroles and sitting with her in the evenings, reading to her to help pass the time.”
“That’s good to hear. They’re all such nice girls.” Aunt Etta folded and unfolded her hands. “My friend Frances has an extensive library. If you’d like to borrow some books for your wife, I’d be happy to ask her.”
He smiled and said thank you, but Mrs. Winston had already brought over more books than they could read in a month of Sundays.
“She and Mr. Winston both have been so good to us. They said there’d be a place for her on the production line until the men came back, but I don’t know that I want her doing that anymore. Never liked it much in the first place, to be honest with you. I do just fine as the breadwinner, but no, she wanted to help the war effort. I told her that factory wasn’t no place for a woman.”
The bus slowed and a woman sitting several rows behind came up to the front. She wore a khaki factory uniform, and her graying hair was pulled back and secured with a net.
She leaned against a pole to steady herself as she lit a cigarette. “Ed, if I were you, I’d ask the Winstons to get Gladys an office job when she’s ready,” the woman said solemnly, returning her matches to her pocketbook and taking a long draw. “Factory work is hard on the body—especially if you’re feeling weak.”
The driver tipped his hat at her and pulled the lever to open the door.
The bus got quiet after that. Aunt Etta and I were the only passengers left, and nobody said a word as we trundled on toward town. I pulled down the window to try to get a breeze going and instead got a face full of oven-hot air. Rows and rows of shoulder-high, green tobacco plants blurred together like one of those cartoon flip books. As soon as I tried to look at a row, it turned into the next, the next, the next.
