Glory Over Everything by Kathleen Grissom Page A

forward to, Delia!” he said.
    The woman placed the iron lid back on the pot, then picked up a small bucket and brought it over to slide the onion peels from the table. As I watched her work, her dark eyes kept darting in my direction.
    â€œHow was Mrs. Burton today?” my new employer asked.
    â€œOh, she have a good day,” Delia said.
    â€œShe saw Malcolm?” he asked.
    â€œYessir, she go to his room. Like I say, she have a good day.”
    â€œFine, fine.” Mr. Burton looked back at me.
    â€œWe’re trying out a new apprentice for the shop. This is James,” he said, by way of introduction. He waved toward a dark hallway. “Can we get that back room cleared out enough to make room for a bed?”
    â€œThe one ’cross from the wine cellar?” she asked.
    â€œThat’s the one,” he said.
    â€œI get Ed to take out some a those barrels what holds the apples and . . .”
    â€œFine, fine,” he answered, already on his way to the stairway. Before he began to climb the steps, he addressed me again. “Delia will get you straightened out. Be ready to leave in the morning at seven.”
    â€œYes, sir,” I said, so grateful for his kindness that tears threatened. I soon sobered when Delia and I were left alone to stare at one another. Her brown muslin head rag was tied low on her forehead, and her face appeared to be set in a frown, though it might have been her low-slung jaw and heavy bottom lip that made it look so. Hers was not a handsome face.
    â€œNo white boy been put down here with us before,” she said, clearly unhappy with my presence.
    â€œAnd I’m not used to sleeping with servants,” I said sharply.
    She gave me a quick hard look. While I found her stare intimidating, I would not allow a Negro woman to speak to me in that way.
    She picked up one of the lamps and, while mumbling to herself, shuffled slowly across the zigzag pattern of the brick floor and into the dark hallway. When she sensed that I wasn’t behind her, she turned back. “You comin’?” she called.
    I followed as she led the way to a small back room half filled with large barrels. In the lamplight, I saw there would be space enough to place a bed under the narrow window and away from the small fireplace.
    â€œSet your bag down, and Ed see to get a pallet for tonight. Tomorrow we get a bed set up. What else you think you needin’ in here?” she asked.
    I decided it best to present a full list. “I suppose I shall need a desk,” I said, “and a floor covering. Of course I will need a lamp and a washstand and a mirror—”
    â€œI say what you needin’, not what you wantin’,” she said, then abruptly left the room. Since she had the light, I had no choice but to trail back after her into the kitchen. With nothing else to do, I sat on a stool and watched as she bustled around, preparing a supper tray for the Burtons. When she finished, she carried it to a corner in the room and there opened a small trapdoor to load the tray inside. After she gave a few yanks to a cord, which rang a bell on the floor above us, there was a low rumble as someone in the dining room above began to use a pulley to bring the meal up.
    I couldn’t stop myself. “Who is up there?” I asked.
    â€œRobert,” she said.
    â€œRobert?” I asked.
    â€œHe the butler.”
    â€œThe butler?” It was an unfamiliar word, one I could not recall having heard before, but I would not show my ignorance.
    â€œThat what I say,” she said, then directed me to a corner of the table and set before me a large pewter spoon and a wooden bowl filled with the hot stew. Until now I had felt too drained from the day’s events to eat, but the aroma awakened my appetite.
    I was relieved to see that she was not joining me. It was one thing to share my meal with Henry out in the woods, but to sit at the table with a