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Authors: Kathryn Stockett
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lucky.”
“I’ve never been happier in my whole life.”
I leave it at that. Underneath all that happy, she sure doesn’t look happy.
T HAT NIGHT, I CALL A IBILEEN.
“Miss Hilly was at Miss Leefolt’s yesterday,” Aibileen says. “She ask if anybody knew where you was working.”
“Lordy, she find me out there, she ruin it for sure.” It’s been two weeks since the Terrible Awful Thing I did to that woman. I know she’d just love to see me fired on the spot.
“What Leroy say when you told him you got the job?” Aibileen asks.
“Shoot. He strut around the kitchen like a plumed rooster cause he in front a the kids,” I say. “Act like he the only one supporting the family and I’m just doing this to keep my poor self entertained. Later on though, we in bed and I thought my big old bull for a husband gone cry.”
Aibileen laughs. “Leroy got a lot a pride.”
“Yeah, I just got to make sure Mister Johnny don’t catch up with me.”
“And she ain’t told you why she don’t want him to know?”
“All she say is she want him to think she can do the cooking and the cleaning herself. But that ain’t why. She hiding something from him.”
“Ain’t it funny how this worked out. Miss Celia can’t tell nobody, else it’ll get back to Mister Johnny. So Miss Hilly won’t find out, cause Miss Celia can’t tell nobody. You couldn’t a fixed it up better yourself.”
“Mm-hmm” is all I say. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, since Aibileen’s the one who got me the job. But I can’t help but think that I’ve just doubled my trouble, what with Miss Hilly and now Mister Johnny too.
“Minny, I been meaning to ask you.” Aibileen clears her throat. “You know that Miss Skeeter?”
“Tall one, used to come over to Miss Walters for bridge?”
“Yeah, what you think about her?”
“I don’t know, she white just like the rest of em. Why? What she say about me?”
“Nothing about you,” Aibileen says. “She just…a few weeks ago, I don’t know why I keep thinking about it. She ask me something. Ask do I want to change things. White woman never asked—”
But then Leroy stumbles in from the bedroom wanting his coffee before his late shift.
“Shoot, he’s up,” I say. “Talk quick.”
“Naw, never mind. It’s nothing,” Aibileen says.
“What? What’s going on? What that lady tell you?”
“It was just jabber. It was nonsense.”
CHAPTER 4
M Y FIRST WEEK at Miss Celia’s, I scrub the house until there isn’t a dust rag or a stripped sheet or even a run stocking left to wipe with. Second week, I scrub the house again because it’s like the dirt grew back. Third week, I am satisfied and settle in my ways.
Every day, Miss Celia looks like she just can’t believe I’ve come back to work. I’m the only thing that interrupts all that quiet around her. My house is always full of five kids and neighbors and a husband. Most days when I come in to Miss Celia’s, I am grateful for the peace.
My housekeeping tasks fall on the same day for every job I take: on Monday, I oil up the furniture. Tuesday, I wash and iron the damn sheets, the day I hate. Wednesday is for scrubbing the bathtub real good even though I wipe it down every morning. Thursday is for polishing floors and sucking rugs, minding the antique ones with a hand broom so they don’t thread. Friday is heavy cooking for the weekend and what-have-you. And every day is mopping, washing clothes and ironing shirts so they don’t go getting out of hand, and generally keeping things clean. Silver and windows, they’re as needed. Since there aren’t any kids to look after, there’s ample time left for Miss Celia’s so-called cooking lesson.
Miss Celia never does any entertaining, so we just fix whatever she and Mister Johnny are having for supper: pork chops, fried chicken, roast beef, chicken pie, lamb rack, baked ham, fried tomatoes, mashed potatoes, plus the vegetables. Or at least I cook and Miss Celia
“I’ve never been happier in my whole life.”
I leave it at that. Underneath all that happy, she sure doesn’t look happy.
T HAT NIGHT, I CALL A IBILEEN.
“Miss Hilly was at Miss Leefolt’s yesterday,” Aibileen says. “She ask if anybody knew where you was working.”
“Lordy, she find me out there, she ruin it for sure.” It’s been two weeks since the Terrible Awful Thing I did to that woman. I know she’d just love to see me fired on the spot.
“What Leroy say when you told him you got the job?” Aibileen asks.
“Shoot. He strut around the kitchen like a plumed rooster cause he in front a the kids,” I say. “Act like he the only one supporting the family and I’m just doing this to keep my poor self entertained. Later on though, we in bed and I thought my big old bull for a husband gone cry.”
Aibileen laughs. “Leroy got a lot a pride.”
“Yeah, I just got to make sure Mister Johnny don’t catch up with me.”
“And she ain’t told you why she don’t want him to know?”
“All she say is she want him to think she can do the cooking and the cleaning herself. But that ain’t why. She hiding something from him.”
“Ain’t it funny how this worked out. Miss Celia can’t tell nobody, else it’ll get back to Mister Johnny. So Miss Hilly won’t find out, cause Miss Celia can’t tell nobody. You couldn’t a fixed it up better yourself.”
“Mm-hmm” is all I say. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, since Aibileen’s the one who got me the job. But I can’t help but think that I’ve just doubled my trouble, what with Miss Hilly and now Mister Johnny too.
“Minny, I been meaning to ask you.” Aibileen clears her throat. “You know that Miss Skeeter?”
“Tall one, used to come over to Miss Walters for bridge?”
“Yeah, what you think about her?”
“I don’t know, she white just like the rest of em. Why? What she say about me?”
“Nothing about you,” Aibileen says. “She just…a few weeks ago, I don’t know why I keep thinking about it. She ask me something. Ask do I want to change things. White woman never asked—”
But then Leroy stumbles in from the bedroom wanting his coffee before his late shift.
“Shoot, he’s up,” I say. “Talk quick.”
“Naw, never mind. It’s nothing,” Aibileen says.
“What? What’s going on? What that lady tell you?”
“It was just jabber. It was nonsense.”
CHAPTER 4
M Y FIRST WEEK at Miss Celia’s, I scrub the house until there isn’t a dust rag or a stripped sheet or even a run stocking left to wipe with. Second week, I scrub the house again because it’s like the dirt grew back. Third week, I am satisfied and settle in my ways.
Every day, Miss Celia looks like she just can’t believe I’ve come back to work. I’m the only thing that interrupts all that quiet around her. My house is always full of five kids and neighbors and a husband. Most days when I come in to Miss Celia’s, I am grateful for the peace.
My housekeeping tasks fall on the same day for every job I take: on Monday, I oil up the furniture. Tuesday, I wash and iron the damn sheets, the day I hate. Wednesday is for scrubbing the bathtub real good even though I wipe it down every morning. Thursday is for polishing floors and sucking rugs, minding the antique ones with a hand broom so they don’t thread. Friday is heavy cooking for the weekend and what-have-you. And every day is mopping, washing clothes and ironing shirts so they don’t go getting out of hand, and generally keeping things clean. Silver and windows, they’re as needed. Since there aren’t any kids to look after, there’s ample time left for Miss Celia’s so-called cooking lesson.
Miss Celia never does any entertaining, so we just fix whatever she and Mister Johnny are having for supper: pork chops, fried chicken, roast beef, chicken pie, lamb rack, baked ham, fried tomatoes, mashed potatoes, plus the vegetables. Or at least I cook and Miss Celia
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