Dolen Perkins-Valdez - Wench

One woman whispered of a lover half her age who liked to kiss the soles of her feet.

Another spoke of her ill mother and how she would be relieved when the elder woman finally “met her Maker.”

A petite woman who looked very young to be married, even to Lizzie, spoke of how she sometimes spanked her servant on the bottom, giggling as she described how she forced the woman to pull down her underpants and bend over.

Between snatches of gossip, Lizzie admired their dresses-floating affairs that were fuller than any dresses she had ever seen. She was so curious about these that she sneaked into one of the rooms so she could rummage through the armoire. She found a hoop with wires of metal. Did they put this over their petticoats? Lizzie knew she would never recover from the thrill of these skirts. Even Miss Fran didn’t own one. Before the white women headed into town, they put on the finishing touches: bonnet, gloves, a small cape, and sometimes a parasol. And the shoes! Delicate little things held tight by ribbons.

When they wanted to bathe in the outdoor spring, the women changed into dark, woolen dresses with weighted hems. They met in the hotel lobby, tugging at their puffy hair bonnets as they chatted excitedly.

But Lizzie was especially impressed by the marvelous expense of the children’s outfits. She had never seen children so adorned. From the cover of her broomstick or dusting rag, she observed the young ones-the smart hats, expertly gathered knickers, ruffles, lace, ribbons, and bows. She had never known a child to wear silk before. It was too expensive. But some of the older girls wore dresses in the style of their mothers-in cotton and silk.

On the day before Drayle was to return, Lizzie took Mawu with her to the house. They chose to clean the front parlor where a group of white women sat around a table with bowls in front of them. A woman dressed in white spoke as she circled the table. The women stirred their concoctions. Lizzie and Mawu tried to get close enough to peer inside the bowls. The substance was yellowish brown and smelled like lemon. After much stirring, they spread the thick substance onto their faces. Then the leader of the group told them to wait for a few moments while it hardened. One woman claimed that her face burned. But the others said they felt they could feel their complexions clearing up.

“Quick!” the leader called to Lizzie, clapping her hands. “Refill these buckets with fresh water,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lizzie answered under her breath.

“She’s a slave,” Lizzie heard someone say behind her as she and Mawu left the room, a bucket in each hand.

They returned with the water and watched as the women splashed their faces over the bowls.

Later, Lizzie and Mawu tried to reproduce something of the same. They sat on the steps of Lizzie’s cottage and mixed aloe with lemon juice and egg. Mawu was certain that she had heard mention of tree sap. Lizzie disagreed, arguing that the tree sap would be too hard to rinse off.

Reenie and Sweet arrived just as the two arguing women had agreed to let Lizzie win.

“What in Sam hill are y’all doing?” Reenie asked. Sweet put down a rag stuffed with dirty clothes.

Lizze paused. “We’re…” she thought of a word she’d read once, “…beautifying.”

“Well, I’ll be. Do it to me, too,” Sweet said. She sat beside them on the steps, and Lizzie spread it on her face. Surprisingly, Reenie sat too and turned her face up to be lathered with the thick mixture. When Lizzie was finished with everyone else’s faces, Mawu did the same for her.

They sat patiently waiting for it to dry.

“Y’all seen them white women doing this?” Reenie asked.

“Mmm hmmm,” Mawu said. “Some citified woman was showing them how.”

Lizzie tracked a ground beetle as it made its way toward her foot. The sun in the sky was almost reaching dusk, and even though they had passed the hottest part of the day, she still felt the moisture dampening the back of her dress. The four women were quiet for a few moments, not wanting to mess up their faces.

Lizzie finally spoke, “Y’all think this gone make our faces white?”

“Maybe,” Sweet murmured.

The women left their things and walked down to the pond. They crouched close to one another beside the bank and splashed water onto their faces. Afterward, they studied their reflections in the pool. Lizzie picked at the mole on her nose. She wished she could pull it off.

Reenie dried her face on her dress. “I reckon this ain’t gone change the years on this old face.”

“Can y’all imagine,” Mawu began, “what the slaves back home would say? They would think us done gone plum crazy!”

“Is I white yet?” Lizzie asked.

Reenie put a finger on Lizzie’s chin, lifting her face to the light. “No’m. You is still the color of maple.”

They made their way back up the bank to the steps of Lizzie’s cottage. Even after Sweet had tied her laundry to her back and Reenie had tucked the reading primer back into her skirt and Mawu had pinned her hair, the women did not leave.

“Y’all wait here,” Lizzie said. She disappeared into her cottage and returned with a small bundle. She untied the knot. Inside were four small candies wrapped in red paper and two pamphlets.

“Miss Lizzie, you didn’t!” Sweet exclaimed.

Lizzie folded the top of the cloth back over her prizes. “If you don’t want it, just say the word. I’ll eat this candy myself.”

Mawu reached out to grab the bundle, and Lizzie jerked it back. “I’ll beat you first!”

“Hush, now!” Lizzie shouted above their laughter. She pressed a candy into each woman’s palm. They carefully unwrapped their treasures and placed them into their mouths.

Lizzie closed her eyes. She sucked it, scared that if she chewed, it would not last as long. When Lizzie had swallowed the last bit of it, she relished the lingering taste of caramel on her tongue. She put the wrapper to her nose and smelled it. It made a soft crinkling sound.

Only Reenie ate hers quickly. “You got to enjoy thangs before they is taken away,” she murmured when she was done.

Lizzie opened the cloth again. The two pamphlets remained.

“What them is?” Sweet whispered.

Mawu snatched one up.

“Abolition,” Lizzie whispered.

Sweet took a step back. “Marse will kill me for sho if he catch me with that.”

“I can’t read yet nohow,” Reenie said. “You keep it.”

Lizzie sighed. “Y’all meet me here tomorrow night. I’ll read it to you.”

“I can read it my own self,” Mawu snapped even though they all knew she was not literate.

“We can read it together,” Lizzie said, fingering the wrinkled pages of the stolen pamphlet.

Lizzie’s hands were black with coal dust. Even though the coal chips were in bags, its edges were covered with soot. She took two bags from Philip and put them behind the stove in her cabin. She did not use coal often during the summer. The cottage was hot enough as it was. She tried to do most of her cooking outside, only using the stove every now and again to reheat. So she knew instantly that his gift of coal was only a pretense.

He offered to carry the bags for her, but she refused. When she turned around, he was standing in the middle of the parlor, his bulk dwarfing the room. He looked different somehow, as if he had combed his hair and greased his face. Lizzie hesitated before offering him a seat.

Not surprisingly, he refused. He was not supposed to spend any time inside the cottages except to enter and exit on the occasional chore. Both of them knew how dangerous it was for him to accept a seat inside.

“You look like you’ve got something to say,” Lizzie said.

He wiped his hands on his pants, streaking black marks down each leg. That gave Lizzie something to do. She brought over a washbasin and dipped a rag into it before passing the rag to him. He used it to wipe his pants, unintentionally spreading the smudges. Then he mopped his hands for longer than it took to clean them. The cloth grew dark. Before he gave the dirty rag back to her, he folded it neatly. He dried his hands on his shirt while he waited for her to clean her own hands in the water.