Page 10 of Junie

Chapter Ten

As soon as they pass from the parlor into the foyer, Bess grabs Junie’s left wrist. The pain is an instant shock in her skull, and she yanks her arm back.

“What’s the matter with you?” Bess demands.

“I fell on my wrist earlier.”

“Well, stretch it out or something,” Bess says, face wrinkled with irritation. “I prepared the Emerald Room so it was fresh for Miss Taylor’s arrival, now you need to go and tidy it.”

“But the mistress just said we was done for the night.”

“Done with them, not done with working,” Bess says. “The Taylors went in the rooms this afternoon, taking naps and changing and whatnot. Those rooms got to be clean before they go back.”

“You coming, too?”

“Between chasing after the white folks and worrying about your foolishness, I think I’ve done enough today. I’m going to eat supper,” she says, walking out the back door.

Junie clutches her noisy belly. She’s hardly eaten all day. She shuffles up the main staircase, past Violet’s door, picking up a stack of fresh sheets from the linen closet before pushing open the squeaky door to the Emerald Room.

As no one had visited Bellereine since last Christmas, when one of McQueen’s cousins had come to stay, this guest room was as sealed as a tomb until this morning. Even after cleaning, it smells of mildew and must. While Junie is certain everything in the room is expensive, she is disgusted with its gaudy opulence. The walls are papered in an emerald-and-gold fleur-de-lis pattern. The bed, a standard four-poster like Violet’s, is made in matching green and gold fabrics, with a velvet coverlet laid across the edge. The armoire and dresser, each formerly belonging to Mr. McQueen’s late mother, are carved with a chinoiserie design and finished with golden hardware. Junie puts her cleaning tools down and marches toward the green curtains, pulling them open to reveal a sliver of moonlight.

She winces at the stench of the full chamber pot next to the window and creeps toward it. She tosses the contents of the pot out the window onto the grass before closing the curtains, then cracks another window open to let fresh air in. She begins to wipe the pot with a vinegar-soaked rag. A night breeze blows through, billowing the verdant velvet curtains full like a frog’s throat.

The last time she’d been in this room was with Minnie, preparing for that visit. They’d unfurled the coverlet together before making the bed. Minnie’s silence that day was normal—her sister was never one to talk when they worked, even when they were alone. But it was the way she shook the blanket loose, like a chicken whose neck she intended to break, rageful, that made it clear something was wrong.

Junie didn’t ask, of course. Minnie was moody, and Junie had learned well enough to leave her alone when she had an attitude. Besides, finishing work early would mean time to read in Violet’s room, or sneak off into the woods. Questioning her sister wasn’t worth the minutes.

A week later, she was dead.

Selfish, her mind hisses. She could have asked, could have tried to find out what was wrong. Instead, she’d let one of the last opportunities to ask her sister something meaningful slip away. A knot rises in Junie’s throat.

Thinking back, Minnie’s wrath with the blanket wasn’t even the strangest thing she had done that day.

When Junie first became a maid, her sister would scold her for leaving her rag on the floor, saying, “You ain’t got no idea how dirty those floors are. Keep your rag clean, keep the house clean.”

It always seemed like a stupid rule to Junie; they were the ones who cleaned the floors, after all. But that’s how Minnie was.

That day, she had been so focused on the bottom left drawer, kneeling over it and looking ready to wipe the interior clean. It wasn’t unusual for the maids to spend time opening and cleaning the drawers after a guest left, but as Junie passed by, she spotted Minnie’s rag on the ground beside her.

“You dropped your rag,” Junie had said. “Keep your rag clean, keep the house clean, right?”

Minnie had shot her an irritated glance, then closed the drawer and left the room to clean elsewhere. After her sister left, Junie had peeked into the drawer, hopeful to catch Minnie in the type of secret that could prove she wasn’t so perfect, after all. Instead, the drawer was empty.

Junie finishes cleaning the pot and pauses. What had been the spirit’s clue again?

Box. Green.

Her eyes fall on the emerald velvet curtains and widen. Maybe green wasn’t the color of the box.

Maybe it was the location.

The Emerald Room would be the ideal place to hide something precious; the McQueens never bothered going in there.

Her gaze sets on the vanity, its four drawers tightly closed.

Junie creeps to the door, pressing her ear against it. Violet is still singing; the white folks will be downstairs awhile longer.

Miss Taylor’s trunk rests in front of the vanity, and she shoves it aside and yanks open the bottom left drawer. The inside is empty, save for another family of daddy longlegs. She opens the other drawers—all empty.

Junie slumps against the vanity, shifting her knees against her stomach to massage away the hunger. In this room alone there could be a hundred hiding spots, and with Miss Taylor staying here, there’ll hardly be enough time to check them all. Even worse, this room was only a hunch; the box could be hidden anywhere in the house. She pushes backward against the frame in frustration.

The vanity creaks, and an object slides inside.

Junie sits upright in excitement, her hunger forgotten.

She pushes into the vanity again, this time with more force. Something slides again.

She climbs to her knees, opening and closing the drawers back and forth again. When she reaches the last one, she shakes it back and forth with all her strength.

The sound of wood against wood echoes in the hollow drawer.

She drops her hands into the drawer, shooing out the spiders, feeling around the solid bottom for—

“Pardon me?”

Junie stifles a scream. She shuts the drawer and leaps to her feet to find Miss Taylor standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Miss Taylor, I apologize.”

Miss Taylor closes the door behind her.

“What were you doing in that drawer there, Junie?”

“I…I was sent up to clean. This drawer was full of spiders, so I was cleaning it out for you, ma’am,” she lies. Sweat beads on her forehead.

“I see,” Miss Taylor says. “I suppose that’s all right, then.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Oh no, no! Don’t worry yourself, nothing to apologize for. I just prefer to tend to my own things.”

Junie thinks back to last summer, when she, Minnie, Bess, Granddaddy, and Muh spent days unpacking the McQueens’ things after their summer trip to Talladega. She couldn’t imagine that a high-class person, let alone a lady, would want to look after her own belongings.

Miss Taylor takes a seat at the vanity to take off her earrings. Her eyes meet Junie’s in the mirror. “You must be hungry, Junie. Go on and eat. And, please, don’t worry about cleaning up here again, all right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Junie says. “Have a good night.”

“You too, dear.”

Junie walks out of the room. Stupid, foolish, carefree. Even if the box is in the drawer, there’s no easy way to get it now. She trudges out of the main house, cursing under her breath as she goes to collect her cold dinner from the cookhouse.

After scarfing her food down at the cookhouse counter, she slinks back into the night, her mind on the contents of the Emerald Room drawer. Miss Taylor will be staying for at least a week, and won’t want her anywhere near her things. And with her responsibility to follow Violet nearly everywhere she goes while Mr. Taylor visits, she’s not likely to have many moments to steal away. She rips a handful of tall grass in frustration. There is no way to solve this problem, not in the middle of the night. Junie stomps off to the cabin, praying her nightmares will let her sleep.

—

The cabin walls rattle with Muh’s snoring. The sun has risen, and the last of yesterday’s rain drips through the roof onto Junie’s face. She sighs, rolling onto her side, pulling the thin, knit cover over her face to hide from the incoming day. It is the first time in months that she’s spent the whole night in her pallet; even during her awakenings in the middle of the night, the idea of facing Minnie’s ghost in the woods without the first task completed is scarier than any nightmare her mind can conjure. She checks the three tally marks on her wrist, which have softened now to a less conspicuous brown.

The first task seems easy enough: Get into the Emerald Room, find the box, and open it. But after her run-in with Miss Taylor the night before, and with another day of pleasing and deceiving ahead, getting back in the room is insurmountable. Even if she can get away to sneak into the room when the white folks are busy, there’s no guarantee she’ll have enough time to figure out where the box is hidden in the vanity.

Golden tears fill Junie’s memory. What will happen to Minnie if she can’t get the box in time?

She can’t ask Violet for help. Violet would think she’s insane for chasing a ghost, and she is still one of the white folks, albeit a kinder one. Junie is already on Bess’s bad side, and Auntie, Muh, or Granddaddy would punish her just for thinking of sneaking around.

There is the new boy, Caleb.

He’s arrogant to be sure, but with a bit of convincing, maybe he would do it.

Junie groans.

She tosses off her blanket, throws on her uniform, and stomps out of the cabin.

Caleb is stretched on a stack of hay next to the stables, a hat thrown over his face. His shirt is off, tucked underneath him to dull the sharp hay needles. Should she really wake up a sleeping, shirtless man she’s hardly known a day? She imagines the whooping Muh would give her if she walked up on this scene.

Junie huffs with disappointment. She’ll have to find him later in the day. At least it’s still early enough to sneak some coffee from the cookhouse.

She turns, oblivious to Caleb’s boots stacked behind her. Her foot collides with the sole, throwing her off balance and sending her falling into the dirt with a loud thud.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she whispers.

“There’s some over there, but I think you missed it,” Caleb says, and she turns to see him rubbing his eyes with a chuckle. He gets up, extending his bare, muscled arm to help her up.

“Thank you,” she says, wiping off her dress. She curses her own clumsiness; this is at least the third one she’s messed up in as many days.

“Mhmm,” Caleb yawns, lounging on his hay bed. “You here for a reason, or do you just like to scare people before the sun’s up?”

Humiliation rises in her cheeks.

“Can you put your shirt back on? Nobody wants to see your skinny self.”

“Not really the way to start off a conversation, Delilah June, but I’ll do it because I consider myself a gentleman,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head.

Junie nearly rolls her eyes.

“Anyway, since you’re up, I need to talk to you.”

“To me?” Caleb says, gesturing toward his chest. “Must be Christmas morning.”

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? What for?”

“Well, I haven’t been the most welcoming or kind to you since you got here, and I should’ve been nicer. I know you’ll be here awhile, and I don’t intend to make things difficult for you. I ain’t used to having guests around, and I know sometimes I can be tactless.”

“Tactless?”

“Yeah, it means foolish or impolite.”

“That’s a big word for a country girl.”

“Country people are full of surprises.”

“Well, you’re forgiven for being rude. That’s all, then?” Caleb asks.

“Well, now that we’re friends… there is something else.” Her tongue ties like she has sucked on a lemon.

“Friends? Now I really want to hear.”

“Well, I was hoping we could help each other, maybe. Like you did last night, telling me about how Mr. Taylor might like Violet. Like, you could tell me what Mr. Taylor says, and I can tell you all of what Miss McQueen says, and we can keep up with the whole courtship?”

“That’s awful nosy, Miss Delilah June.” Caleb pulls a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with a match. “Why are you so concerned about what the Taylors do?”

“That’s a terrible habit,” Junie says. “At least get off the hay, unless you intend to burn the house down.”

“A man as perfect as myself needs at least one flaw,” he says, hopping down.

Junie restrains another eye roll. Showing her disgust won’t get him on her side.

“You mean to tell me you’re not at all concerned about this courtship?”

“Not particularly. See, Miss Violet’s choices don’t affect me much. Far as I see it, I’m going back to New Orleans either way.”

“What if he falls for her and stays in Alabama the rest of his days?”

“You sure think Alabama’s got a lot to offer.”

“Well, if we both know their secrets, we can persuade ’em to do what we want.”

“No deal. I don’t stick out my neck.”

“My Granddaddy told me looking out for only yourself is the easiest way to end up alone.”

“In my experience, looking out for yourself is the easiest way to stay living.”

Junie’s pulse pounds in frustration. He is a stone wall, an arrogant barrier of smooth talk and smoke. And the only way to get through smoke is to cut straight through it.

“Look, I need you to distract Miss Taylor.”

“And why is that?”

“You can’t ask questions about it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s my business.”

“Sounds like you’re asking me to make it my business.”

“There’s something I need in her room.”

“I’m not gonna help you steal, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m no thief. There’s something in that room that belonged to my sister. I need to get it back.”

Caleb crouches to silently tie his boots, stands up, and steps toward her.

“Way I see it, whether I like it or not, Mr. Beau and Miss Bea are in charge of me. They have a say in quite a bit of my fate. You, on the other hand, are a maid in some nowhere county in Alabama who can’t seem to keep her nose out of trouble and her behind out of the dirt. So, adding it all up, that dog just won’t hunt. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna need a strong cup of coffee after being woken up like this.”

He saunters past her, dusting off his pants and trotting along with a bounce in his step. Junie flares her nostrils, her pulse speeding, muscles quivering. How dare he say that about her? She opens her mouth, but then hesitates. No matter how insolent he is, she still needs him. How can she make him believe he needs her ? She chases after him.

“Caleb!”

He stops, slouching his shoulders and turning to face her.

“You called?”

“I’ll teach you to read.”

“Shh!” he says, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her toward the stables. “You crazy yelling things like that? Every white man from here to Jamaica’s gonna hear you. Besides, what makes you think I can’t read already?”

“Because most Negroes can’t,” Junie says confidently. “And you didn’t know what tactless means. It don’t matter, I’ll teach you how if you help me with the Taylors.”

Caleb scrunches his eyebrows, rolling his lips under his teeth.

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

She pulls her poetry notebook from her pocket, careful not to rattle the necklace from its place next to it. “See, I wrote all of these. I can read and write. Violet taught me when we were girls, and I’m better at it than she is. I taught my sister. I can teach you, too.”

“And in exchange, I help you distract the Taylors.”

She nods.

“You’re sure you can do it?”

“I swear on my daddy’s grave.”

Caleb stares at the sky, kicking the dirt with his foot. She smiles; he’s caught.

“I can distract them this afternoon when they all go to the garden. You gotta be quick, but I’ll come up with something.” He puts on his hat, walking toward the cookhouse. “And you better not be lying about this, Delilah June.”

“It’s Junie,” she says, suppressing her excitement.

“Too bad,” Caleb says with a wave. “I like Delilah June better.”