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Now, when I stepped down to say my good-bye, I couldn't help the flow of tears. It was as if a dam had burst.

"Don't you go making Louella feel terrible now, honey. I got me a long trip ahead and a new tough row to hoe. You think it's going to be easy, two old women, set in their ways, living together in a tiny house? No sir, no sir," she said.

I smiled through my tears.

"I'll miss you, Louella . . . terribly."

"Oh, I expect I'll miss you too, Miss Lillian." She turned around and looked up at the plantation house. Then she sighed. "I expect I'll miss The Meadows a great deal, miss every corner of every cabinet and closet. A lot of laughter and a lot of tears been heard and been wrung between those there walls."

She turned back to me.

"You be nice to the new help and watch over your Mamma best you can and just tend to your own business. You growing into a beautiful young lady. It's just a matter of time now before some handsome gentleman comes calling and sweeping you off, and when that happens, you remember old Louella, hear? Send me a note and tell me. Promise?"

"Of course, Louella. I'll write you often. I'll write you so much, you'll get tired of it."

She laughed. She hugged and kissed me and then she took one more look at The Meadows before letting Henry help her into the carriage. It was only then that I realized Emily hadn't even bothered to come down to say good-bye to her, though she, just like me, had known her all her life.

"Ready?" Henry asked her. She nodded and he tapped the horses. The carriage started forward, down the long avenue of cedars. Louella looked back and waved with her handkerchief. I waved back, but my heart felt so hollow and my feet so numb, I thought I might faint with sorrow. I stood there and watched until the wagon was out of sight and then I turned and slowly walked back up the stairs to enter the house that had become a lot more empty, a lot more lonely, a lot less home.

PART TWO

9

GOOD NIGHT, SWEET PRINCE

Charles Slope and his wife Vera, the woman who Papa hired to replace Louella, were pleasant enough people, and their infant son Luther was sweet, but I couldn't help the emptiness I felt in my heart. No one could ever replace Louella. Vera was an excellent cook, however, and although she made things differently, they always tasted good; and Charles was certainly a hard worker who gave Henry the relief and assistance he needed at his age.

Vera was a tall woman in her late twenties with dark brown hair in a chignon so tight it looked painted on. I never saw a strand out of place. Her eyes were soft light brown and she had a somewhat dark complexion. She had a small bosom with a narrow waist and hips. Although she was long-legged, she walked and moved about gracefully, never lumbering or slouching like Emily and other tall young women I had seen.

Vera ran the kitchen efficiently, which, in what were becoming increasingly hard economic times, Papa appreciated. Nothing was wasted. Leftovers were turned into stews and salads to the point that the hound dogs felt deprived and gazed up with disappointment when the scraps were thrown to them. Vera had worked in a rooming house before and was accustomed to making do with much less. She was a quiet woman, much quieter than Louella. Whenever I walked past the kitchen, I never heard Vera singing or humming, and she was rather closed-mouth about her past, rarely volunteering any new information about her youth. Papa's formal ways didn't seem to scare her and I could see the pleasure in his eyes when she referred to him as Sir or Captain Booth.

Naturally, I was interested in how she would react to Emily and how Emily would treat her. Although Vera never contradicted Emily or disobeyed one of her orders, she did have a way of gazing at her sharply that told me she didn't like her, but knew enough to keep her feelings well hidden beneath her Yes ma'ams and No ma'ams. She never questioned or complained, and quickly learned the pecking order.

All of Vera's gentleness was reserved for her infant son Luther. She was a good mother who always managed to tend to his needs and keep him clean, well fed and occupied, despite her chores in the kitchen and her added burden of seeing after Mamma from time to time. Papa must have prepared her for Mamma's erratic, strange behavior, for she didn't appear surprised the first time Mamma was too tired or too confused to come to the dinner table. She prepared Mamma's tray and brought it to her without comment or question. Actually, I was very pleased with the manner in which Vera looked after Mamma's needs, always checking to be sure Mamma was up and around in the morning, helping her to dress herself or even to wash herself. It wasn't long before she got Mamma to permit her to brush Mamma's hair the way Louella often did.

Mamma was very pleased with having an infant in the house. Although Vera was careful not to permit Luther to bother Papa, she managed to have Mamma see him and talk to him and even play with him almost every day. That, more than anything, seemed to draw Mamma out of her doldrums and despondency, although she would invariably retreat to her strange and melancholy ways.

Luther was a curious child who would easily get himself tangled in clothes piled in the wash basket or who would crawl without fear under furniture and behind cabinets to explore, if he was not watched. He was large and strong for his age and had dark brown hair and pecan-colored eyes. He was already a tough little boy, who rarely cried, even when he fell and bumped himself or put his fingers too close to something hot or something sharp. Instead, he looked angry or disappointed and went off to find something else of interest. He resembled his father more than his mother and had the same short hands with stubby fingers that Charles had.

Charles Slope was a soft-spoken man in his early thirties, who had experience with automobiles and engines, which was something that pleased Papa since he had recently bought a Ford—one of the few automobiles in this part of the country. Charles's mechanical knowledge seemed limitless. Henry told me there wasn't a thing on the plantation Charles couldn't repair. He was particularly brilliant when it came to improvising parts, which meant older machines and tools could be kept useful and Papa could postpone any new investments.

Economic troubles were growing, not only for us but for our neighboring farms as well. Every time Papa returned from one of his trips, he declared the need to find new economies in the house and on the farm. He started to let some of our farm laborers go and then began cutting back on our house servants, which at first meant that Tottie and Vera had to do extra work around our house. Papa then decided to shut down large sections of the plantation, which I didn't mind, but the day he decided to let Henry go, my heart sank.

I had returned from school and was just starting upstairs when I heard some whimpering from the rear of the house and found Tottie sitting in a corner by the window in the library. She had a feather duster in her hand, but she wasn't doing any work. She was all crunched up in the chair and just staring out the window.

"What is it, Tottie?" I asked. Hard times were raining down around us so fast, I didn't know what to expect.

"Henry's been sent off," she said. "He's packing his things and going."

"Sent off? Sent off to where?"

"Off the plantation, Miss Lillian. Your papa, he says Henry's too old to be of any value now. He should go live with relatives, but Henry, he ain't got no relatives alive, none to speak of, that is."

"Henry can't go!" I cried. "He's been here almost all his life. He's supposed to stay here until he dies. He always expected he would."

Tottie shook her head.

"He'll be gone before night falls, Miss Lillian," she declared as solemnly as the Voice of Doom. She sniffed and then stood up and began to dust again. "Ain't nothing like it was," she muttered. "Those dark clouds just keep rolling on in."