confectioner.
This evening Bessie passed the shiny brass doors of the bank and continued home. Every day the remarkable edifice served as a monument to her profound change in circumstances. Shewalked down the sidewalk as a free woman. No one chased her or abused her. Some of Mrs. Anderson’s circle, who recognized Bessie as her girl, sometimes even smiled.
Bessie crossed the street to avoid the jumble of saloons and their disreputable clientele. She stopped herself before she searched for Sam’s face among the drunkards. Around the corner came the more modest homes of the less prosperouswhite residents. She picked up her pace. There was a gray house on the corner whose owners were indifferent to their dog’s feral displays, and a line of cottages where the wives stared out of the windows with flinty expressions. Many of the white men in this part of town worked as foremen or laborers in the larger factories. They tended not to employ colored help so Bessie had little informationabout their day to day.
Presently she arrived at the dormitories. The two-story red brick buildings had been completed only a short time before Bessie’s arrival. In time the saplings and hedges on the perimeter would provide shade and character; now they spoke of fine intentions. The brick was a pure, unsullied color, without so much as a dot of mud splashed from the rain. Not even a caterpillarcrawling in a nook. Inside, the white paint still smelled fresh in the common spaces, dining rooms, and bunk rooms. Bessie wasn’t the only girl afraid to touch anything apart from the doorknobs. To even leave a speck or scratch mark.
Bessie greeted the other residents as they crossed each other on the sidewalk. Most were returning from work. Others departed to watch over children so their parentscould partake of the pleasant evening. Only half of the colored residents worked on Saturdays, so Friday night was busy.
She reached number 18. She said hello to the girls braiding their hair in the common room and darted upstairs to change before dinner. When Bessie arrived in town, most of the eighty beds in the bunk room had been claimed. A day earlier and she might have been sleeping in abed beneath one of the windows. It would be some time before someone moved away and she could switch to a better position. Bessie liked the breeze afforded by the windows. If she turned her body the other way she might see stars some nights.
Bessie opened the trunk at the foot of her bed and removed the blue dress she bought her second week in South Carolina. She smoothed it over her legs. Thesoft cotton on her skin still thrilled her. Bessie bunched her work clothes and put them in the sack under the bed. Lately she did her washing on Saturday afternoons following her school lessons. The chore was her way of making up for sleeping in, an indulgence she allowed herself those mornings.
Supper was roast chicken with carrots and potatoes. Margaret the cook lived over in number 8. Theproctors felt it prudent that the people who cleaned and cooked in the dorms did so in buildings other than their own. It was a small but worthy idea. Margaret had a heavy hand with the salt, although her meat and poultry were always exquisitely tender. Bessie mopped up the fat with a crust of bread as she listened to the talk of evening plans. Most of the girls stayed in the night before the social,but some of the younger ones were going out to the colored saloon that had recently opened. Although it wasn’t supposed to, the saloon accepted scrip. Another reason to avoid the place, Bessie thought. She brought her dishes to the kitchen and headed back upstairs.
“Bessie?”
“Good evening, Miss Lucy,” Bessie said.
It was rare Miss Lucy stayed this late on a Friday. Most proctors disappearedat six o’clock. To hear the girls from the other dormitories tell it, Miss Lucy’s diligence put her colleagues to shame. To be sure, Bessie had benefited from her advice many times. She admired the
This evening Bessie passed the shiny brass doors of the bank and continued home. Every day the remarkable edifice served as a monument to her profound change in circumstances. Shewalked down the sidewalk as a free woman. No one chased her or abused her. Some of Mrs. Anderson’s circle, who recognized Bessie as her girl, sometimes even smiled.
Bessie crossed the street to avoid the jumble of saloons and their disreputable clientele. She stopped herself before she searched for Sam’s face among the drunkards. Around the corner came the more modest homes of the less prosperouswhite residents. She picked up her pace. There was a gray house on the corner whose owners were indifferent to their dog’s feral displays, and a line of cottages where the wives stared out of the windows with flinty expressions. Many of the white men in this part of town worked as foremen or laborers in the larger factories. They tended not to employ colored help so Bessie had little informationabout their day to day.
Presently she arrived at the dormitories. The two-story red brick buildings had been completed only a short time before Bessie’s arrival. In time the saplings and hedges on the perimeter would provide shade and character; now they spoke of fine intentions. The brick was a pure, unsullied color, without so much as a dot of mud splashed from the rain. Not even a caterpillarcrawling in a nook. Inside, the white paint still smelled fresh in the common spaces, dining rooms, and bunk rooms. Bessie wasn’t the only girl afraid to touch anything apart from the doorknobs. To even leave a speck or scratch mark.
Bessie greeted the other residents as they crossed each other on the sidewalk. Most were returning from work. Others departed to watch over children so their parentscould partake of the pleasant evening. Only half of the colored residents worked on Saturdays, so Friday night was busy.
She reached number 18. She said hello to the girls braiding their hair in the common room and darted upstairs to change before dinner. When Bessie arrived in town, most of the eighty beds in the bunk room had been claimed. A day earlier and she might have been sleeping in abed beneath one of the windows. It would be some time before someone moved away and she could switch to a better position. Bessie liked the breeze afforded by the windows. If she turned her body the other way she might see stars some nights.
Bessie opened the trunk at the foot of her bed and removed the blue dress she bought her second week in South Carolina. She smoothed it over her legs. Thesoft cotton on her skin still thrilled her. Bessie bunched her work clothes and put them in the sack under the bed. Lately she did her washing on Saturday afternoons following her school lessons. The chore was her way of making up for sleeping in, an indulgence she allowed herself those mornings.
Supper was roast chicken with carrots and potatoes. Margaret the cook lived over in number 8. Theproctors felt it prudent that the people who cleaned and cooked in the dorms did so in buildings other than their own. It was a small but worthy idea. Margaret had a heavy hand with the salt, although her meat and poultry were always exquisitely tender. Bessie mopped up the fat with a crust of bread as she listened to the talk of evening plans. Most of the girls stayed in the night before the social,but some of the younger ones were going out to the colored saloon that had recently opened. Although it wasn’t supposed to, the saloon accepted scrip. Another reason to avoid the place, Bessie thought. She brought her dishes to the kitchen and headed back upstairs.
“Bessie?”
“Good evening, Miss Lucy,” Bessie said.
It was rare Miss Lucy stayed this late on a Friday. Most proctors disappearedat six o’clock. To hear the girls from the other dormitories tell it, Miss Lucy’s diligence put her colleagues to shame. To be sure, Bessie had benefited from her advice many times. She admired the
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