to hide the laughter threatening to explode. I didn't mind cleaning up the mess, but Mrs. Bartlett's bossiness was a comedy of the absurd.
"I need to moisten some more towels," I said as I stood and left the room.
I reached the kitchen, a compact room at the rear of the house, and let myself giggle for a few seconds.
From the kitchen sink I could see more of the small formal gar den with its carefully manicured shrubbery and an array of spring flowers. A brick walkway wound through the garden that featured a fountain in the middle-a great place to read the Bible and pray. I turned off the water along with my daydream. I had no idea whether I should live in the house or not.
At the entrance to the parlor, I heard Mrs. Fairmont say, "What on earth gave her that idea? To presume after one visit that I would want her to live-"
"Oh, Tami," Mrs. Bartlett interrupted. "Thanks so much for helping us clean up this mess. You're a dear to do it and come to the aid of two helpless old women."
"You're welcome."
I resumed my work without any desire to laugh. I didn't mind being a servant, but Mrs. Bartlett's deception and supercilious statements about helplessness after she'd bragged about her golf game and long walks on the beach made me mad. I used the broom and dustpan to scoop up the broken pieces. Mrs. Fairmont didn't speak a word. A few more wipes of wet paper towel across the floor, and no sign of the morning's disaster remained. I looked up and saw Mrs. Bartlett mouthing words to her mother. I wanted to stuff a washcloth into Mrs. Bartlett's mouth.
"What should I do with the dirty cloths?" I asked icily.
"There's a clothes drop at the end of the hall," Mrs. Bartlett said. "Follow me."
As soon as we left the room, Mrs. Bartlett turned to me. "Give me a few minutes alone with Mother. She's ecstatic about the idea of you staying with her, but we need to work out the details in private."
"That's not what ... ," I began, but Mrs. Bartlett was gone.
I found the dirty-clothes drop. Mrs. Bartlett's subterfuge was an out-and-out lie, and I had to set the record straight. If honesty destroyed the chance to stay rent-free in a beautiful house, then there had to be a low-rent apartment on a bus line somewhere in Savannah. I returned to the parlor. The two women were sitting in silence. I could feel the tension. I moved to the edge of a cream sofa and started to sit down.
"Stop it!" Mrs. Bartlett cried out. "Don't sit down."
I jumped to my feet and looked around.
"Your dress is drenched in coffee," Mrs. Bartlett said. "It might bleed onto the sofa."
"Get a towel for her to sit on," Mrs. Fairmont said.
Mrs. Bartlett looked at her mother. "But I thought-"
"Get a towel from the upstairs linen closet," her mother insisted.
Mrs. Bartlett turned to me. "We won't be staying long. I'm sure you'd like to change out of that dress and into something clean."
Mrs. Bartlett left the room. As soon as her footsteps could be heard going up the stairs, I spoke rapidly.
"Mrs. Fairmont, I didn't come here to invite myself to live in your house. That's not the way I was raised. The office manager at the law firm gave my name to your daughter because I've helped take care of people with health problems in the past. I talked on the phone with Mrs. Bartlett, and she was kind enough to arrange my trip to Savannah. She even rented a car and put me up at the bed-andbreakfast on Abercorn Street last night. I completely understand if you don't want a houseguest for the-"
"Ken arranged for the car and lodging," Mrs. Fairmont interrupted. "If you ask me, he's a saint for putting up with Christine. Fortunately, the boys take after their father."
"Yes ma'am. But I want to be completely honest with you. This meeting was a setup."
Mrs. Fairmont eyed me as she had at the door upon my arrival.
"Do you like Flip?" she asked.
"Yes ma'am."
"More important," she said with emphasis, "he likes you. I've never seen him take to a stranger like he has to
"I need to moisten some more towels," I said as I stood and left the room.
I reached the kitchen, a compact room at the rear of the house, and let myself giggle for a few seconds.
From the kitchen sink I could see more of the small formal gar den with its carefully manicured shrubbery and an array of spring flowers. A brick walkway wound through the garden that featured a fountain in the middle-a great place to read the Bible and pray. I turned off the water along with my daydream. I had no idea whether I should live in the house or not.
At the entrance to the parlor, I heard Mrs. Fairmont say, "What on earth gave her that idea? To presume after one visit that I would want her to live-"
"Oh, Tami," Mrs. Bartlett interrupted. "Thanks so much for helping us clean up this mess. You're a dear to do it and come to the aid of two helpless old women."
"You're welcome."
I resumed my work without any desire to laugh. I didn't mind being a servant, but Mrs. Bartlett's deception and supercilious statements about helplessness after she'd bragged about her golf game and long walks on the beach made me mad. I used the broom and dustpan to scoop up the broken pieces. Mrs. Fairmont didn't speak a word. A few more wipes of wet paper towel across the floor, and no sign of the morning's disaster remained. I looked up and saw Mrs. Bartlett mouthing words to her mother. I wanted to stuff a washcloth into Mrs. Bartlett's mouth.
"What should I do with the dirty cloths?" I asked icily.
"There's a clothes drop at the end of the hall," Mrs. Bartlett said. "Follow me."
As soon as we left the room, Mrs. Bartlett turned to me. "Give me a few minutes alone with Mother. She's ecstatic about the idea of you staying with her, but we need to work out the details in private."
"That's not what ... ," I began, but Mrs. Bartlett was gone.
I found the dirty-clothes drop. Mrs. Bartlett's subterfuge was an out-and-out lie, and I had to set the record straight. If honesty destroyed the chance to stay rent-free in a beautiful house, then there had to be a low-rent apartment on a bus line somewhere in Savannah. I returned to the parlor. The two women were sitting in silence. I could feel the tension. I moved to the edge of a cream sofa and started to sit down.
"Stop it!" Mrs. Bartlett cried out. "Don't sit down."
I jumped to my feet and looked around.
"Your dress is drenched in coffee," Mrs. Bartlett said. "It might bleed onto the sofa."
"Get a towel for her to sit on," Mrs. Fairmont said.
Mrs. Bartlett looked at her mother. "But I thought-"
"Get a towel from the upstairs linen closet," her mother insisted.
Mrs. Bartlett turned to me. "We won't be staying long. I'm sure you'd like to change out of that dress and into something clean."
Mrs. Bartlett left the room. As soon as her footsteps could be heard going up the stairs, I spoke rapidly.
"Mrs. Fairmont, I didn't come here to invite myself to live in your house. That's not the way I was raised. The office manager at the law firm gave my name to your daughter because I've helped take care of people with health problems in the past. I talked on the phone with Mrs. Bartlett, and she was kind enough to arrange my trip to Savannah. She even rented a car and put me up at the bed-andbreakfast on Abercorn Street last night. I completely understand if you don't want a houseguest for the-"
"Ken arranged for the car and lodging," Mrs. Fairmont interrupted. "If you ask me, he's a saint for putting up with Christine. Fortunately, the boys take after their father."
"Yes ma'am. But I want to be completely honest with you. This meeting was a setup."
Mrs. Fairmont eyed me as she had at the door upon my arrival.
"Do you like Flip?" she asked.
"Yes ma'am."
"More important," she said with emphasis, "he likes you. I've never seen him take to a stranger like he has to
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