Chapter 12
“I’M SORRY,” JOSEPHINE WHISPERED. “I-I’m so sorry. To you both.”
Miss Mary looked from the stove to the oven, then back to her. “This is your attempt at biscuits and gravy?”
“I can explain, Miss Mary. I—”
“You lied to me, Mrs. Dunham. Straight to my face, in my home, under my shelter last night, you lied.”
Fighting back tears, Josephine couldn’t bring herself to look either woman in the eye.
Miss Mary huffed. “What a mess. And with tenants sitting at my table waiting to be fed.”
“I can explain,” Josephine said again. “It’s true, I don’t know how to cook. But I do have other—”
“You should’ve been honest with me. From the very start, Mrs. Dunham, something told me not to trust you. But since you arrived in Dodge Coburn’s company—and anyone could see you were in a hard way—I decided to give you a chance.” Miss Mary shook her head. “But I see now that my gut was right.”
Her gaze moved to Josephine’s left hand. Josephine knew what she was thinking, and couldn’t argue. Wearing her mother’s ring had been a lie, too.
“I’d ask you to pack your bags,” Miss Mary continued. “But seeing as you don’t have any, I’ll just send for Dodge and have him tote you on back down to Tullahoma.”
“No, Miss Mary. Please.” Josephine’s voice broke. “I cannot go back to—” About to say Atlanta, she caught herself. “To him. If I go back, it will be the end of me.” Tears spilled freely now. “I can work. I’m a teacher. Or I was. I know how to—”
“Got no need for a teacher.”
“Maybe there’s a school—”
“We’ve already got honest people teaching our young.”
Josephine hiccuped a breath. The image of Clay Darden, rage in his eyes, filled her mind, followed by that of his father, Mayor Darden, and she began to shake.
“You could’ve been honest from the start,” Miss Mary said, her voice tightening. “Then maybe we’d be on better footing. But you made your own bed when you took to lying.”
“I had no choice,” Josephine whispered.
“We always have a choice,” Miss Mary snapped, her own voice catching. “No matter how hard the road is. It’s what makes a person who they are!”
Miss Mary’s eyes glistened, and Calla blinked back tears.
Miss Mary drew herself up. “You’re saying if you go back, your man will kill you?”
“Yes. Him or his father, one.” Josephine wiped her cheeks and stood straighter. “If you’ll allow me to stay, just for a little while, I’ll do whatever work you give me. And I won’t cause trouble.”
“Why do I have trouble believing that?” Miss Mary glanced back at the stove.
“I’ll clean this mess. All of it. Just please, allow me to—” Maybe it was the dire need of her circumstances, the pleading in her own voice, or realizing how far—and quickly—she’d fallen, but Josephine felt something break down deep inside her.
“I don’t know how I got here,” she whispered.
“Or why all this happened. All I know is . . . I need your help. Because I have nowhere else to go.”
Miss Mary studied her, and Josephine—standing in yesterday’s clothes, near penniless—was reminded of the freedmen who had come to her parents’ door, their families huddled behind them, weariness etched across their faces. Only now did she truly begin to understand that look.
“You said you’re good with numbers.” Miss Mary eyed her. “Was that truth? Or another lie?”
“It’s the truth. I’m very good with numbers, and with keeping books. I’d be honored to help you—”
“I already told you, I keep my own books. But there’s a man in town who needs help with orders, receipts, and the like.
I heard him talking again last night at the table.
His business is growing faster than he can manage.
” Miss Mary’s gaze hardened. “But if I put my good name behind yours and you fail to—”
“I won’t. I promise you. I’ll do a good job and will not tarnish your name.”
Miss Mary glanced at Calla. “You okay with this?”
Calla nodded without hesitation.
“All right then.” Miss Mary laid out her terms. “You’ll clean this mess, staying out of Calla’s way while she gets breakfast for my tenants, then clean yourself up.
” Miss Mary gave her a once-over. “I’m a mite taller than you, and thicker ’round the middle but I think I’ve got something that’ll fit you.
I’ll make loan of a skirt and blouse, and you get into town this very day and see that man about the job.
I’ll write everything down, even send him a note. ”
Josephine blinked back a flood of relief. “Thank you, Miss Mary.”
“Don’t go thanking me just yet. You don’t get the job, that means you can’t pay room and board.
And an able body works and pays their way.
I know you’re down on your luck, and I feel for you.
But everybody’s got something. No matter if you can see it outright or not.
So you get that job, and you can stay here.
” She glanced at Calla, who again nodded.
“And Calla here, good-hearted woman she is, will let you share her space. You’ll take your meals here in the kitchen with her.
Table in the dining room is for tenants or guests only.
And you’ll attend church every Sunday. Either the Methodist church with me or where Calla goes.
Doesn’t matter to me. What matters is getting the Word inside you. You good with all that?”
Josephine didn’t hesitate, even though it meant sitting through sermons she knew wouldn’t be to her liking. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“All right then. Get to it.”
With that, Miss Mary swept back through the door to greet her tenants.
Josephine gripped the back of a kitchen chair, still struggling with emotion. “I’m sorry about your kitchen, Calla.”
Calla covered Josephine’s hand. “Things that can be cleaned up so easy ain’t worth spilling tears over. It’s the things we do to each other that we can’t undo that deserve mourning.” She drained her honeyed mint tea. “More than we usually do.”