“Is her body still there?” Junior asked.
Mama shook her head.
Papa moved to put his hands on Mama’s shoulders and rub them. “Mrs. Grandaway was an admirable lady. Always treated you well. What does this mean for your job?” he asked, his expression solemn as he comforted her. With colder weather approaching, his hours would be reduced, as they were each winter when there was less to do in the Conways’ yard and garden.
“I don’t know. We knew the old lady was becoming frail, and she had her health issues to be sure, but this comes as a surprise. I’ve been so busy all day, I’ve scarcely had time to realize what’s happened.” Mama accepted a glass of water from Louise and drank it all in one gulp. “It’s the only place I’ve ever worked. Mrs. Grandaway hired me to work when I was about your age, Louise. Since then, the house has grown quieter as her children moved on to start lives of their own. Charlie and I are the only ones left.”
Louise felt a pang of sorrow when she pictured Charlie, Mrs. Grandaway’s driver and groundskeeper. He was older than Mama and always had butterscotch candies in his pocket. What would he do now?
“Are you sad she’s dead?” Junior asked.
“I’m sorry to see her go. Papa’s right, she’s taken good care of our family over the years in many ways.”
Louise remembered the last time she had gone over to Mrs. Grandaway’s to bring Mama a message. Of course, Louise never went anywhere in the house, just stayed in the kitchen, but even there, she got a sense of the old lady. Lists lay on the counter or were tacked around the room, all covered in a spidery but graceful script. These lists contained exacting directions for how Mrs. Grandaway wanted tasks completed. On the second Wednesday of each month, all windowpanes needed to be scrubbed with newspaper and a mixture of warm water and vinegar. The silver was to be polished every Thursday, and the china in the corner cabinet needed to be taken out every Friday, dusted, and placed with dinner plates along the back, salad plates stacked on the right, dessert plates to the left, and all other pieces in between in rows from largest to smallest.
“Where will you go next?” Emily asked.
“I don’t know. Jobs are not easy to come by these days.”
“Everyone knows Mrs. Grandaway was fond of you in her own special way,” Papa said.
“True, but you know as well as I do that no one’s hiring help, and certainly no one will pay me the wage that she did.”
Emily brushed some dust off the apron she wore and said, “I’ve been getting lots of compliments lately on my stitching at church. Mrs. Brown always tells me I could take in mending work, probably land myself some sort of sewing job too if I wanted.”
Mama nodded. “Your handiwork is lovely. Everyone’s been talking about that altarpiece you made. I don’t doubt that Mrs. Brown is right, but I don’t want anything taking away from your schoolwork.”
“I can sew during the afternoons and complete my schoolwork in the evenings. It will be fine.”
Mama cocked her head to gaze at Papa, and the two exchanged a glance. “That’s a good idea, but don’t get carried away with taking on too much. It should only be a little piecework. Nothing that keeps you too busy, nothing that detracts from your academics.”
Emily agreed and, without saying anything more, she and Louise went back to preparing dinner while Julia rose and set the table. Mama and Papa disappeared into their room, but their voices could be heard through the wall, low and tense. Louise envied the way Emily could help and it troubled her that she had nothing similar to offer. Running certainly didn’t pay anything. She would be done with school in the spring, but what would happen then? With no means and her dark skin, none of the nearby women’s colleges were realistic possibilities. She needed to start thinking about what would come next.
THE FOLLOWING DAY at practice after school, Louise lingered a couple of minutes to speak with Coach Quain. “Excuse me, sir, but are there any jobs that would use my running skills? Or could I win any money or something like that?”
Coach Quain tucked his clipboard under his arm. “I don’t know. What do you mean?”
“Well, what’s going to happen with me after I graduate in the spring?”
“I guess that depends. How’s your family doing, Louise?”
A cool breeze blew down the straightaway on the railroad tracks and dried leaves scraped along the ties. Louise wrapped her arms around her chest in an attempt to stay warm. “We’re fine. I’ve started thinking about getting a job.”
“Yes, I see. When I’m out on my postal route, I talk to a lot of folks. Would you like me to keep an eye out for you?”
“Thank you, sir. Is there any way I can make some money out of doing this? I’ve put a lot of time into training.”
He shook his head. “In fact, the AAU rules are pretty strict. In order for you to maintain your amateur status, you can’t accept any paying jobs pertaining to running, no cash prizes, nothing. You’ve been racing awfully well, though, and if you keep it up through the indoor season this winter, you could get an invitation to the Olympic trials in the spring.”
“Will the Olympics pay me?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“So what’s the point of competing in them?”
“I suppose it’s just an honor and could give you a unique experience. You could see more of the country and meet new people.” He scratched at his chin. “I’ll tell you what, though. Not many colored athletes have competed in the Olympics, and certainly no colored women, but there are no rules
