The Memory Thief Page 19

  The angles outside were a disguise. Inside the rooms were open and connected, each one swelling into the next without any need for doors or division. There was a great room, with half-empty bookshelves that stretched into the open cathedral ceiling. And a large fireplace, surrounded by cane-seated rockers. Next was the dining room, with a table built to seat thirty. I ran my hand down the wood. Across knots and deep scratches.

  “I bought that at an estate sale outside of Asheville. The seller guessed it was nearly one hundred years old. Made from American chestnut. All but extinct now. This table is probably the only American chestnut you and I will ever see.”

  “Bet with all them scratches you got it for a real bargain,” I said.

  She shook her head. “I bought it for the scratches. For dead wood dented by elbows of generations upon generations of families. For the crumbs of past meals ground into the markings.”

  She pointed to a closet in the room. “It’s full of supplies. Anything you’ll need. Polish, cleaners, and brooms. Extra aprons in case yours gets soiled. We all eat together, here, every night at six thirty. Afterwards, you will clear the table. Pay special attention to silence. Our guests like to lounge and read in the Great Room before the fire. It is tiresome to hear the clatter of dishes.”

  As we left the room she turned suddenly and stood before me. Her eyes fixed upon my face.

  “Tell me of your table.”

  “What?”

  “Did it have… scratches?”

  Stop, I ordered my hands, as they reached for the memories in my pockets. A reflex, from the pent-up hunger inside me. From the constant waiting for someone, for you, to ask about details. Like the wood of my family table.

  “You’re right,” she said, turning quickly. “Most tables aren’t worth discussing.”

  We walked through a carved archway that opened to the kitchen where three women were cooking. They looked up and waved.

  “This is Jill, Anna, and Shari. You won’t be needed in here, unless of course one of the other ladies is ill or absent. Carry on, ladies. It smells delicious.”

  The wood above the back archway in the kitchen was carved: And having food and raiment, let us be therewith content… I whispered the words, confusing like poetry. Pretty like it, too. As we walked into the next room, I saw the words again. Carved upon the cedar beam that spanned the ceiling.

  “This is the small sitting room and your daily responsibility. Tidy it as needed. Clean it thoroughly every evening before bed. There’s a chess set under the cabinet. Learn its pieces. Each night inspect it to make sure they are all there. There are also books of local photography. Make certain these are accounted for as well. As for other entertainments, television and radios are strictly forbidden. But clean books, particularly true ones such as these photographic journals, are allowed. And, of course, good conversation among our guests, perhaps with an apple dumpling and a cup of tea from the kitchen, is always encouraged.

  “This is a mountain sanctuary. A place of refuge and peace from the world below us. If you see guests in this room, and other duties have been attended to, ask if you can bring them anything. We have handwoven afghans in the Great Room closet. Other journals and books are in the library next to the upstairs office. Fresh-baked snacks, coffee, tea, and milk are always available in the kitchen.”

  At the top of a wide staircase, two halls branched out and were divided by an open space that viewed the Great Room below.

  “These are the Bedroom Halls. Guests on the right. Staff on the left.”

  She took a key from her pocket and opened a room.

  “This is yours. Rest here until dinner. Afterwards you will clear the dishes and straighten the small sitting room.”

  It didn’t glimmer. Or flash the way coins did after a farm-hand set them on a fencepost. But my eyes found the bed in the corner of the room and would not move.

  “Rules of the house: Never go in anyone else’s bedroom for any reason. If there is an emergency that you feel requires breaking this rule, find me first and we’ll break it together. We hire male and female, but you will never do the same work. You’ll never have reason to be alone together. Any violations of this rule result in immediate dismissal. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No cursing. No singing vulgar songs that you remember from the radio. Be quiet around the guests. Don’t try and converse with them, just ask if they have any needs. If they show an interest in talking to you, be polite but not overly engaging. Your work here is not social, it is functional. As you clean, be as quiet as possible. We use brooms always. Never vacuums. Guests come here from their cities and their jobs for the silence. It’s the only way they can hear the mountain. It’s the only way they can hear themselves. We charge the most expensive overnight rate on the mountain, and are nearly always fully booked. People pay a premium for the silence. Understand?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All work is finished at nine o’clock, and you must return to your room. Once in your room, you may stay up as long as you wish. Now, meals. Breakfast and lunch aren’t communal meals like dinner. Many of our guests request breakfast trays to be delivered through the slot at the base of their doors. You will help deliver these. Shari from the kitchen will direct you. Workers’ breakfast is served at six o’clock sharp in the alley behind the kitchen. We haven’t marked the alley room on guest maps because it is the place for workers to gather for breakfast, lunch, and any short breaks. There aren’t tables and few chairs. That is because your first two meals are brief. Nourish yourself with the food offered and then continue your work. Dinner is different. There is dessert and lingering and conversation. But we work throughout the day. All of us. It’s the reason we can all be here comfortably. You are allowed two other nonmeal breaks between breakfast and bed. There is a master list of all worker break times hanging in the alley. Your name will be added before morning. If during your break you need something to drink or perhaps a snack, return to the alley and Shari can help you. If you need to rest, return to your room. Sitting rooms are for the enjoyment of guests only. There is, however, a check-out system for books. In each sitting room there is a leather-bound catalog. Inside is a list of materials that guests have signed out. If you wish to take a book to your room for the evening, you must wait until just before nine o’clock to give all guests the opportunity to sign it out first. If by five till nine an item has not been signed out, you may do so. But it must be returned before your six o’clock breakfast. Since the small sitting room is your responsibility, you will also need to monitor the sign-out catalog for materials in that room. If something has been checked out for more than three days, please notify me. Don’t ever ask a guest about the materials yourself. That’s it for now. If you have questions, ask. If I’m not available, ask Shari. It’s a simple life here. Follow these rules. Do your work neatly and quietly, and you may stay as long as you wish.”

  It was a full bed, the size that me and Janie used to share. Only this one was high off the floor, with what looked like two mattresses stacked together. There was a wooden headboard, carved with a lacy pattern, at the top. And four posts rising toward the ceiling from each of its corners. Lace, thick and stained the color of tea, fell from somewhere beneath the mattress all the way to the floor. It hid the wires and springs and bolts that held the bed together. An ivory quilt, simple but thick, covered the top, with two pillows tucked beneath. And propped against the headboard, a small square cushion made of matching tea-stained lace.

  “Is this satisfactory?”

  I thought she had left. I thought she had finished her list of rules and closed the door behind her. But she was standing in the hall, the door halfway closed, her hand still on the knob.

  She had watched me step toward the bed. Watched me peer under it to see the metal bolts and make certain it didn’t float. She had watched me run my hand down the smooth quilt, pick it up between my fingers to test its heaviness. She watched me stare at the lace throw pillow. Raise
my hands to my mouth in awe, as I wondered whether to cuss, pray, or salute.

  I nodded.

  “Your uniform is in the closet. Change before dinner.” I listened for the door to close. Sat down at the edge of the bed, my back stiff, my feet braced firmly against the floor like I was ready to run.

  The first night in Black Snake trailer, me and Janie slept on the floor. I woke all through the night, worried the rats would come back. Worried the dead snake would return. But after so many nights curled up on the floor of Daddy’s car, it was sweet luxury to stretch my legs. By the end of the summer, we slept on a mattress that Mrs. Swarm threw out. Daddy dragged it to our room, and we jumped on it like little girls would. When summer ended and the nights grew cool, we could feel the chill sneaking up through that thin metal floor and into our mattress.

  Janie dragged six cinder blocks inside. She spaced them underneath so that the mattress was several inches off the ground. If we laid still enough at night and held our bodies in just the right angles, then it wouldn’t sag and dip between the blocks.

  Someone knocked at the door. “Dinner in ten minutes.”

  I walked to the closet and found a floor-length black skirt, a gray tunic, and a white apron with a matching headcap. I dressed slowly, unsure of where everything went, how it all fit together. Even in a Tennessee winter, I’d never worn so much. I wished for a mirror as I struggled to pull my hair into the headcap. The girl in me, the one that watched Momma lean so sexy against that green car, cursed that outfit. Even though I knew it was a costume. Something I had to wear, had to hide myself in, until I found better.

  At the dinner table an ivory card was placed before every seat. Names were handwritten across them. And silver flashed everywhere. Forks and spoons and knives circled every plate. I wondered how many of those Janie would have tried to steal.

  The old woman nodded and pointed to my seat. I sat as others, guests and uniformed workers like me, came to the table. An old man, not as straight or poised as the woman, shuffled into the room. He sat down at the head of the table. His hands shook as he unfolded his napkin and laid it across his lap. The old woman reached down, helped smooth the napkin. Motioned for the kitchen women to begin dinner service.

  The guests were served first. Each dish presented, described, and then spooned onto individual plates. The women worked quickly, and soon I had a plate of roast chicken and vegetables. A bread basket was passed around.

  “Lord, we ask thee to bless this food,” the old woman said. Others whispered Amen, and everyone began to eat. The old woman began to cut up the old man’s food. She placed the fork in his hand, helped wrap his fingers around the handle. He dropped it. She picked it up for him, wrapped his fingers around it again.

  Guests were talking about hiking. About how beautiful the mountains were in fall. They planned an afternoon picnic by a waterfall nearby.

  “I’m Tabby,” the woman next to me said.

  “Angel.”

  “So, what’re you in here for?” She laughed. “It’s the joke we tell all newcomers.”

  “Oh.”

  “I mean if we hadn’t messed up somehow, we wouldn’t all be desperate for room and board.”

  “I’m not here for long.”

  “We all said that once. You’ll change your mind. Sure, the routine here is borin’. The silence will drive you nuts. The clothes are shameful, they’re so ugly. But it’s safe. You wake up knowin’ what to expect. Go to bed warm and full, and most importantly, go to bed alone. I didn’t have that luxury before I came here.”

  “I just need a place to stay for a while.”

  “Runaway?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re our first. We’ve got battered wives. Addicts. Homeless bums. And hookers like me. Nice to have you, Runaway.”

  “Thanks.”

  “The old woman means business about her rules. But in time, we’ll teach you the secrets. We have a bit of fun in spite of her.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “The old man? Her husband. Stroked out a few years ago. He keeps to himself, reads all day long in a study at the end of Bedroom Hall. Supposedly, he was a genius once. There’s a book of newspaper stories about him. Now he just shuffles and reads.”

  Our eyes met. I held his gaze and noticed that unlike his wife, his eyes weren’t busy. They were just sad. They rested against mine.

  Women emerged from the kitchen, served coffee and passed a plate of sugar cookies. As the guests drifted into the Great Room, we began to clear the dishes. I turned around and found the old man standing next to me. He reached a shaking hand out. I thought he was trying to introduce himself, so I reached my hand to meet his.

  “My name’s Angel.”

  But he grabbed my hair. Held it up so that the light could shine across it.

  “Sorry, couldn’t fit it all under the cap.”

  The old woman hurried over and grabbed his arm. “I’ll help you to your study.” She turned to me as he walked ahead of her through the door.

  “Angel?” she asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “Your bed… the quilt on it, on every bed here, is hand-made.”

  I looked at the ground.

  “Perhaps, you’ll learn how. I can always use another seam-stress.”

  I cleared the dishes. Mopped the floor the way Tabby showed me. Then we straightened the sitting room together. After our chores were complete, Tabby led me down Bedroom Hall.

  “He lost a daughter,” Tabby said about the old man. “Sometimes he cries out for her before the old woman can hush him.” She stopped and put her hand on my shoulder.

  “Listen, Angel, if there’s somethin’ you need, somethin’ you can’t do without, I’m the one to bargain with around here. I’ve got ways around all of her rules. And I always like to give my new customers a welcome present. So name your poison. What do you need?”

  “There is one thing…,” I whispered lowly.

  Later that night I couldn’t sleep. I had never been more comfortable. My body full of healthy food. Wrapped in soft blankets. But my mind was busy like the old woman’s eyes. Going over every little piece of my day. From the new brochure down in my pocket to the old man holding my hair up to the light.

  The moon was nearly full, and its light spilled in from the window. I noticed a carving above the door. The same as in the kitchen. And having food and raiment, let us be therewith content…

  Whispering the words over and over didn’t help me sleep. Neither did trying to make a plan for finding you. I went to the closet. Reached inside for the whiskey that was Tabby’s welcome present. I drank from it and returned to bed soothed by the familiar burn in my throat. I closed my eyes as the room spun pleasantly around me. “Tell me of your table,” the old woman said.

  It was a trailer floor. I sat a cupcake on it once, while Janie sang and Momma lit the candle with her cigarette lighter. It was the brown earth of a bacca field. I hid snacks from school under the baby spring leaves. They could last me till mid-June.

  I shifted in the bed until my body found its familiar angle, the one that kept my old mattress from sagging between cinder blocks. Tell me of your table, she repeated. Did it have… scratches? Yes. The day the milk spilled. I sat at a graying picnic table beneath a famous sycamore tree. The table was scarred and weathered like an old barn. I looked up and saw bark peeling off the tree in slabs. I wiped milk from my face and called the tree Sister. Bark yields to a rising trunk. It hurts to grow.

  III

  Within a week I finished my welcome whiskey. After one sleepless night, I became one of Tabby’s customers. Money was as important at Red Castle as any other place. None of us earned real cash. But we all had things we wanted to buy and things to offer in exchange. The alley was our marketplace. As we stuffed meals into our mouths we whispered desires. Cigarettes for some. They’d pretend to enjoy a hike when all their chores were done. But they walked just far enough to keep the smell of smoke from reaching the house. Magazines f
or others. Dressed like pilgrims, some of the girls still longed to know the latest fashion and gossip. Lotions and lip gloss for Shari. Her hands and lips chapped from kitchen heat. One girl just ordered candy. Bubble gum and Kit Kat bars. The men ordered the same as me: Whiskey, please.

  Tabby jotted down our orders on a scrap of paper and handed it to the mailman each Friday. He’d tuck a parcel underneath a garden rock for her. She paid him in her own way. And we paid her. Each of us shared a portion of our loot, so Tabby enjoyed everything. Cigarettes, magazines, lotions, candy, and whiskey. We also gave her our break times as we covered her chores for her. And we’d lie for her.

  “Where’s Tabitha?” the old woman once asked me.

  “Her stomach wasn’t feelin’ right. She ran up a few minutes ago to lay a cold washcloth to her head. I think she may have the milk allergy. Seems every time she puts cream in her coffee that happens.”

  “Let me know if she doesn’t return.”

  But Tabby was on a date with the gardener. Shari had packed them a picnic basket. I had loaned her my cutoffs. She wore them beneath her gray tunic and long black skirt. In return, I sipped whiskey and slept again.

  My days of work were easy. Mop a floor, dust some shelves. Make sure my apron was never spotted with food or dirt. The rules were easy, too. Rising at dawn wasn’t hard when hot coffee and pastries, sometimes fruit salad and eggs, were waiting downstairs. I gained weight. Always skinny like Momma, I soon had to squeeze into my cutoffs every morning. But I always wore them, unless Tabby needed them, beneath my long black skirt. I kept my pocket treasure close.

  It was easy to keep quiet, too. The rule of silence was a welcome one. I nodded as guests filed past, but never tried to choke out Good mornin’. And I didn’t have to tell anyone why I signed the Appalachian Ancestry book out from the sitting room. I searched the index, looking for the history of a family named Ray.

  During my first two weeks there, I rarely saw the old woman. Most of the daily management was left up to Shari. But one morning the old woman came to me as I dusted the sitting room.