Rosettaknew that if she hadn’t tattled that her brother and pa would be at home. Her guilt was so immense that she refused to utter a sound and clung to her mother’s side for fear that she too would leave. Unlike before, Beryl wished for the distraction of her daughter’s ceaseless chatter. Now the two of them moved about like ghosts who had lost their earthly body. Beryl lugged her near term belly over a metal tub to wash the Culpepper laundry while Rosetta picked berries from a scraggly blackberry bush. If there were time and her mother not too tired, they would bake a fruit cobbler together.
While the sheets were being hung, Rosetta spotted a ghastly Mrs. Culpepper walking unevenly down the dirt path that led to their home. Pregnancy did not agree with her and she was cautioned to stay in bed. However, the incident with the soiled laundry was never forgotten and she made it a point to check in every now and then to see if Beryl was doing the wash properly. Although she could barely stand, Mrs. Culpepper did not want to show any weakness in front of the people who worked for her. She straightened up as best she could before steadying herself against the fence.
“Amazing.” Mrs. Culpepper said in her best civil tone. She thought she was making genial conversation, but had no idea how to relate to people whom she felt were beneath her station.
“What’s that,” Miz Culpepper?” Beryl said without bothering to look up. She was all too familiar with the syrupy drawl of Southern belles who insisted on speaking in a slow condescending tone as if no one but them understood English. She found the woman to be more of a nuisance than anything. But with her husband and son away and only Nehemiah and a few church members to help with the picking, Beryl believed she was at the woman’s mercy.
“How you people carry on so,” Miz Culpepper said. They were both about to give birth and Rosetta wondered what people she was talking about. “You’re nearly due same as me and you carryin’ on like t’weren’t nuthin’. But then you are bred for such things.” Mrs. Culpepper smiled weakly. Unlike her husband, Beryl was not one to look down when being addressed by white people. She stopped what she was doing, straightened up, and gave Mrs. Culpepper a hard look that fell somewhere between disdain and disbelief. It wasn’t a facial expression that was associated with anyone in particular, but it came to be well associated with a certain type of black woman’s countenance. Rosetta was familiar with the rigid stare and was prepared for a standoff, but her mother just stood there waiting to see what back-handed compliment Mrs. Culpepper would give next. “Well, you know,” Mrs. Culpepper said adjusting the ribbon on her bonnet. Beryl looked at her squarely which unnerved the woman to no end.
“No, I don’t know Miz Culpepper. Say watchu mean ‘cuz I ain’t got time. Next thing you know, be wondren why yo laundry ain’t done.” Mrs. Culpepper cleared her throat. “There’s so many of y’all.” She cleared her throat again. “That’s all I meant to say, really.” Beryl gave her one last rigid look then began rubbing the clothes harder as if she wanted to wash the woman away.
Rosetta thought that it must’ve taken all of Mrs. Culpepper’s strength to be so mean because she looked as though she was about to faint . “Them berries look mighty refreshin’, Rosetta.” “Mind if I have a few?” Rosetta glanced in her direction, yet kept on picking.
“Mind your manners, Rosetta,” Beryl said to her stubborn daughter. She didn’t want to give Mrs. Culpepper the opportunity to say her child was ill-mannered. “Ya hafta ‘cuse her Ma’am, she ain’t been right since Eubie and her pa left.”
“Seems to me as though your husband shoulda been back by now. With all the money he owes, jes’ might stay gone. You may wanna think ‘bout lettin’ Rosetta work in the big house with my baby comin’ an all.” Beryl was not about to let her get away with undermining her husband. And the thought of letting Rosetta be a house servant was definitely out of the question.
“Rosetta’ll pick cotton ‘fore she work for any young-un a yours. Like me, she’ll wait right here for her pa to bring Eubie back.”
“Jes’ so you know. We ain’t runnin’ no charity. Baby or none, when the crop’s due, they due,” Mrs. Culpepper said her lips quivering at the shock of being sassed to. With her back turned, Rosetta spit in the tin cup that held the berries then turned back around with the sweetest smile and offered them to Mrs. Culpepper.
