Flying Clean

Flying Clean Chapter 5

Chapter 5

After the completion of the well at the tail end of July 1937, my fears of being let go from the farm proved to be irrational. Harry Desmond seemed to find respect for me after his first look at the glorious well and he not only spoke to me more often- when before he tended to grunt his orders at me- he began inviting me into the house to dine with the family. I had been at the Desmond farm since May and I had never set so much as a foot inside the house. Now, I wasn't invited in for every meal, but when Marjory came to the front porch, banging an empty pot with a spoon at dinnertime, it was accepted that I come in with the family to eat.

The inside of the house was not as shabby as the outside; that was the first thing I noticed. Although it still seemed very small- especially for such a large family- the floors and walls were immaculately clean, the hundred-year-old wood scrubbed to a high shine which reflected the pale lights of the house. There was not clutter, as I had expected, but everything seemed to have its place and not a single knick-knack was askew. It didn't register with me right away, but that night I would notice that in the small house, I could clearly see that there were children living there; their clothes were folded tightly and stacked in neat piles, their beds were more than obvious in the single room the children shared, but I never once saw a single toy, or a drawing tacked proudly to a wall. It was a cold house. A utilitarian house. And I didn't like it.

It was an honor to come inside for dinner, don't get me wrong. If appreciation for my hard work could be shown from this cold and distant family, this was the only way it could have been. I had been accepted by the Desmonds. The rotten children still called me names, the good children still averted their eyes from me as if I were a disease they were afraid was catching, but I was being acknowledged in a new way, nonetheless.

I realized during that first dinner, as the fourteen of us crammed around a single long table, that I had never before spoken with Marjory Desmond and I had hoped that she might turn out to be a pleasant person.

As it turned out, she was the single coldest person I have ever met. Marjory did not speak unless she was quietly, menacingly warning the children that they would burn in Hell for whatever it was that they were doing. I was included in these tirades from time to time. It seemed that Marjory Desmond did not speak unless she was speaking about Hell or Jesus. She spoke to her husband not at all.

Dinners with the Desmonds were uncomfortable for me, though at the same time, they were a personal triumph from my hard work. The children did not speak at dinner and Harry only rarely had anything to say- and when he did, he was usually issuing a work order to one of his children for their evening chores. The only voice that was heard during a typical dinner was Marjory's as she spread the word of Jesus. I found out later that the Desmonds did not attend church, but Marjory stepped up as a minister during each meal. The Desmonds did not eat meat on Fridays, I found, though I was always sure to have a helping of beef. The rotten children eyed me hatefully on these nights and Marjory constantly threatened me with Hell, but Harry insisted I keep my strength for work. I often did my best to ignore Marjory's suppertime sermons- not because I am opposed to the word of God, but because her perspective on the Good Book seemed a little convoluted to me, though I have never known why. Also, a sort of requirement of dinner with the Desmonds, I ignored but hated the way the Dirk stole easily half of each sibling's meal throughout dinner. I had always wondered how the boy had been able to put on such a grotesque amount of muscle; now I knew and I hated him more with every pilfered mouthful.

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