Kathryn Stockett - The Help

I get that eerie prickle, of being in a house so empty. Where’d she go? After working here all this time and her only leaving three times and always telling me when and where and why she’s leaving, like I care anyway, now she’s gone like the wind. I ought to be happy. I ought to be glad that fool’s out of my hair. But being here by myself, I feel like an intruder. I look down at the little pink rug that covers the bloodstain by the bathroom. Today I was going to take another crack at it. A chill blows through the room, like a ghost passing by. I shiver.

Maybe I won’t work on that bloodstain today.

On the bed the covers, as usual, have been thrown off. The sheets are twisted and turned around the wrong way. It always looks like a wrestling match has gone on in here. I stop myself from wondering. You start to wonder about people in the bedroom, before you know it you’re all wrapped up in their business.

I strip off one of the pillowcases. Miss Celia’s mascara smudged little charcoal butterflies all over it. The clothes on the floor I stuff into the pillowcase to make it easier to carry. I pick up Mister Johnny’s folded pants off the yellow ottoman.

“Now how’m I sposed to know if these is clean or dirty?” I stick them in the sack anyway. My motto on housekeeping: when in doubt, wash it out.

I tote the bag over to the bureau. The bruise on my thigh burns when I bend down to pick up a pair of Miss Celia’s silky stockings.

“Who are you ?”

I drop the sack.

Slowly, I back away until my bottom bumps the bureau. He’s standing in the doorway, eyes narrowed. Real slow, I look down at the axe hanging from his hand.

Oh Lord. I can’t get to the bathroom because he’s too close and he’d get in there with me. I can’t make it past him out the door unless I pummel him, and the man has an axe. My head throbs hot I’m so panicked. I’m cornered.

Mister Johnny stares down at me. He swings the axe a little. Tilts his head and smiles.

I do the only thing I can do. I wrinkle my face as mean as I can and pull my lips across my teeth and yell: “ You and your axe better get out a my way. ”

Mister Johnny looks down at the axe, like he forgot he had it. Then back up at me. We stare at each other a second. I don’t move and I don’t breathe.

He sneaks a look over at the sack I’ve dropped to see what I was stealing. The leg of his khakis is poking out the top. “Now, listen,” I say, and tears spring up in my eyes. “Mister Johnny, I told Miss Celia to tell you about me. I must a asked her a thousand times—”

But he just laughs. He shakes his head. He thinks it’s funny he’s about to chop me up.

“ Just listen to me, I told her—”

But he’s still chuckling. “Calm down, girl. I’m not going to get you,” he says. “You surprised me, that’s all.”

I’m panting, easing my way toward the bathroom. He still has the axe in his hand, swinging it a little.

“What’s your name, anyway?”

“Minny,” I whisper. I’ve still got five feet to go.

“How long have you been coming, Minny?”

“Not long.” I jiggle my head no.

“ How long?”

“Few . . . weeks,” I say. I bite down on my lip. Three months.

He shakes his head. “Now, I know it’s been longer than that.”

I look at the bathroom door. What good would it do to be in a bathroom where the door won’t even lock? When the man’s got an axe to hack the door down with?

“I swear I’m not mad,” he says.

“What about that axe?” I say, my teeth gritted.

He rolls his eyes, then he sets it on the carpet, kicks it to the side.

“Come on, let’s go have us a talk in the kitchen.”

He turns and walks away. I look down at the axe, wondering if I should take it. Just the sight of it scares me. I push it under the bed and follow him.

In the kitchen, I edge myself close to the back door, check the knob to make sure it’s unlocked.

“Minny, I promise. It’s fine that you’re here,” he says.

I watch his eyes, trying to see if he’s lying. He’s a big man, six-two at least. A little paunch in the front, but strong looking. “I reckon you gone fire me, then.”

“Fire you?” He laughs. “You’re the best cook I’ve ever known. Look what you’ve done to me.” He frowns down at his stomach that’s just starting to poke out. “Hell, I haven’t eaten like this since Cora Blue was around. She practically raised me.”

I take a deep breath because his knowing Cora Blue seems to safen things up a little. “Her kids went to my church. I knew her.”

“I sure do miss her.” He turns, opens the refrigerator, stares in, closes it.

“When’s Celia coming back? You know?” Mister Johnny asks.

“I don’t know. I spec she went to get her hair done.”

“I thought for a while there, when we were eating your food, she really did learn how to cook. Until that Saturday, when you weren’t here, and she tried to make hamburgers.”

He leans against the sink board, sighs. “Why doesn’t she want me to know about you?”

“I don’t know. She won’t tell me.”

He shakes his head, looks up at the black mark on the ceiling from where Miss Celia burned up the turkey that time. “Minny, I don’t care if Celia never lifts another finger for the rest of her life. But she says she wants to do things for me herself.” He raises his eyebrows a little. “I mean, do you understand what I was eating before you got here?”

“She learning. Least she . . . trying to learn,” but I kind of snort at this. Some things you just can’t lie about.

“I don’t care if she can cook. I just want her here”—he shrugs—“with me.”

He rubs his brow with his white shirtsleeve and I see why his shirts are always so dirty. And he is sort of handsome. For a white man.

“She just doesn’t seem happy,” he says. “Is it me? Is it the house? Are we too far away from town?”

“I don’t know, Mister Johnny.”

“Then what’s going on?” He props his hands down on the counter behind him, grabs hold. “Just tell me. Is she”—he swallows hard—“is she seeing somebody else?”

I try not to, but I feel kind of sorry for him then, seeing he’s just as confused as I am about all this mess.

“Mister Johnny, this ain’t none a my business. But I can tell you Miss Celia ain’t having no relations outside a this house.”

He nods. “You’re right. That was a stupid thing to ask.”

I eye the door, wondering when Miss Celia’s going to be home. I don’t know what she’d do if she found Mister Johnny here.

“Look,” he says, “don’t say anything about meeting me. I’m going to let her tell me when she’s ready.”

I manage my first real smile. “So you want me to just go on like I been doing?”

“Look after her. I don’t like her in this big house by herself.”

“Yessuh. Whatever you say.”

“I came by today to surprise her. I was going to cut down that mimosa tree she hates so much, then take her into town for lunch. Pick out some jewelry for her Christmas present.” Mister Johnny walks to the window, looks out, and sighs. “I guess I’ll go get lunch in town somewhere.”

“I fix you something. What you want?”

He turns around, grinning like a kid. I start going through the refrigerator, pulling things out.

“Remember those pork chops we had that time?” He starts nibbling on his fingernail. “Will you make those for us this week?”

“I fix em for supper tonight. Got some in the freezer. And tomorrow night you having chicken and dumplings.”

“Oh, Cora Blue used to make us those.”