Read The Women of Brewster Place for Free Online Page B

said, her eyes narrowing. “You workin’?”
    Mattie told her where she worked.
    “Where’s your husband?”
    Mattie knew this question was coming, and she was tempted to say that he had been killed in the war, but that would be a denial of her son, and she felt nothing shameful about what he was.
    “I ain’t got one.” And she bent down and picked up her suitcase.
    “Well,” the old woman chuckled, “I’ve had five—outlived ’em all. So I can tell you, you ain’t missing much.” She opened the gate. “Since you done already picked up your valise, you might as well come on in and get that boy out the night air. Got plenty of room here. Just me and my grandbaby. He’ll be good company for Lucielia.”
    She took Basil from Mattie’s arms. “Lord, he’s heavy. How’d you tote him all day? Look a’ them fat legs, pretty red thing, you. I was always partial to reddish men. My second husband was his color, but did he have a temper.” And she cooed and talked to the baby and Mattie as if she had known them for years.
    Mattie followed her up the stone steps, trying to adjust her mind to this rapid turn of events and the nameless old woman who had altered their destinies. They entered the house and she set her suitcase on the thick green carpet and looked around the huge living room overcrowded with expensive mahogany furniture and china bric-a-brac. Through a door on the right, a yellowing crystal and brass chandelier hung over an oak table large enough to seat twelve people.
    “Don’t mind the house, child. I know it’s a mess but Iain’t got the strength I once had to keep it tidy. I guess you all must be hungry. Come on in the kitchen.” And she headed for the back of the house with the baby.
    Mattie was beginning to collect herself. “But I don’t even know your name!” she called out, still fixed to the living room floor.
    The old woman turned around. “That mean you can’t eat my food? Well, since you gotta be properly introduced, the name of what’s in the kitchen is pot roast, oven-browned potatoes, and string beans. And I believe there’s even some angel food cake waitin’ to make your acquaintance.” She started toward the kitchen again and threw over her shoulder, “And the crazy old woman you’re sure by now you’re talkin’ to is Eva Turner.”
    Mattie hurried behind Eva and Basil into the kitchen.
    “I meant no offense, Mrs. Turner. It’s just that this was all so quick and you’ve really been kind and my name is Mattie Michael and this is Basil and I don’t even know how much space you got for us or how much you want to charge or anything, so you can see why I’m a little confused, can’t you?” she finished helplessly.
    The woman listened to her rattled introduction with calm amusement. “People ’round here call me Miss Eva.” She put the baby on the polished tile floor and went to the stove. She seemed to ignore Mattie and hummed to herself while she heated and stirred the food.
    Mattie was beginning to wonder if the woman might actually be a bit insane, and she looked around the kitchen for some sign of it. All she saw was rows of polished copper pots, huge potted plants, and more china bric-a-brac. There was a child’s playpen pushed in the corner with piles of colorful rubber toys. Basil had seen the toys also and was tottering toward them. Mattie went to stop him, and he cried out in protest.
    Miss Eva turned from the stove. “Leave him be. He ain’t botherin’ nothing. Them’s Lucielia’s toys, and she’s asleep now.”
    “Who’s Lucielia?” Mattie asked.
    Miss Eva looked as if she were now doubting Mattie’s sanity. “I told you outside—that’s my son’s child. I’ve had her since she was six months old. Her parents went back to Tennessee and just left the baby. Neither of ’em are worth the spit it takes to cuss ’em. But then, I can’t blame her daddy none. He takes after his father—my last husband, who I shouldn’t of never married,