Moments later, Leon knocked on Mary’s office door, opened it and gestured for Thelma to enter. She looked tired and a bit sweaty from her jaunt up the hill.
“Good morning, Thelma. Thank you for coming. Please sit down.” The mess hall cook took her seat in the armchair provided. Luckily the chair was just wide enough to accommodate her more than ample posterior. “Thelma, let’s get to the point,” Mary suggested.
“How long? I have a meal to serve at one o’clock, you know. Backside runs on schedule.”
“I am sure that’s true. Now I want to talk about the manner in which you spoke not only to Sugar and Maizie yesterday but also to me.”
Thelma would have squirmed in her seat if she had the room, but there was none, so she sat stiffly and waited.
“Your remarks yesterday were shocking to me. Do you know you sound very judgmental when you speak?”
“Just tellin’ things like they are. Seems this ranch has a hankerin’ to employ colored folks who everyone knows ain’t worth a lick. Makes us white folks uncomfortable and then we have to work harder. Do their work too.”
Mary picked up the “New Rules” form. “You signed this form, which meant you understood that all backside employees are to treat each other with respect and understanding despite their heritage, race, or religion. Are you saying you didn’t understand what you were signing?”
“No, I’m sayin’ that ain’t right. I have a right to feel like I do. It is how white folks should feel. Them blackies is not as good as us and should be treated as such.”
“You mean people with different-colored skin are inferior?”
“That’s right. Not smart at all. And there ain’t no one who grew up around here who don’t know it. Besides I don’t see anything wrong with askin’ if Sugar is Maizie’s mama.”
“It was the way you said it.”
“Don’t see nothin’ wrong.”
“When you said that Maizie may have stolen her new dress, you were implying that was the only way she could have gotten such a dress.”
“Well, how did she get it?” asked Thelma. Just then Maizie walked in the door. Mary took on an officious tone. “Here is a contract I need typed, Maizie. All these new invoices need to be recorded in your ledger. Check to make sure the budget is balanced. Then when you are through with that, we will need to look into placing all those orders you are researching.”
“Yes, Mrs. Glidewell.” Maizie took the contract, placed it on her desk, sat down, took two sheets of typing paper and a carbon, and rolled them into the drum of the Underwood typewriter. She started to type the document without a hitch, not looking at the keys.
“Maizie is a skilled office assistant. She is quite an asset to me,” Mary said. “Thelma, we aren’t kidding. There will be no more bigoted remarks to anyone here at the ranch. If I hear from others that you are continuing to do this, you will be dismissed.”
Thelma was just about to offer a comment when Mary said, “Thelma, I insist you join us all for lunch. I want you to get to know our ranch-house staff.”
Leon arrived and said softly, “If it pleases, lunch is ready.”
“Is Mr. Glidewell back?”
“He is, madame.”
“Perfect timing, Leon, Thelma and I were just finishing up. Maizie, put down your work for now and we will go eat.” Maizie pulled the papers and carbon out and said, “This is done, Mrs. Glidewell,” and handed Mary a neatly typed contract for Thelma to sign.
“Thelma read this over and sign it. I’ll have Maizie witness it.” Thelma hesitated and admitted, “I can’t read. The words, they’s too big.”
“Oh. Here Maizie, please read this for Thelma.” Maizie took the letter and read it out loud, clearly and slowly.
“Thank you, Maizie. You see, Thelma, Maizie is quite an asset.”
Thelma sighed. “Give me that pen.”
When the behavioral contract was signed and witnessed, the three followed Leon into the employees’ dining hall. It was a pleasant room with a view of the plain and lots of sunshine. Seated and waiting were Ol’ Jon, Sugar, Ruby, and Claire.
“I really must be gettin’ back.”
“I want you to stay, Thelma. Really I do,” said Mary.
Leon directed Thelma to sit between the Creole, Ol’ Jon, and Sugar Jackson. Mary asked Maizie to sit next to Sugar, while she and James sat at the ends of the table. Philippe took a seat between Ruby and Claire, and Leon began his elegant table service. His waiter routines were the same for all the guests, whether they be a housekeeper, a Creole gardener, a French chef, the owner of Glidewell Ranch, or a visibly disgruntled mess-hall cook. The food was wonderful: sprouts from Ol’ Jon’s garden and roasted chicken. It was tender and succulent; chicken cooked in the French style, with butter pushed under the skin and baked quickly on high heat. Thelma said nothing. At times she would look to her right and left and see Sugar and Ol’ Jon sitting at the table on either side of her. Visibly uncomfortable, she sat stiffly in her dining chair engaging with no one.
The conversation at the table was rich with laughter. People told stories about life on the ranch at no one’s expense but in good fun. When the dessert service began, Thelma had yet to say one word.
“We’re having match races soon. We got a chance to win it. Wil and I think Capp is the guy who can win it all. Running Wild is a strong, sure stallion. A little wild, yes, but Capp can handle him,” said James.
“I sho’ do like the sound of Glidewell winning,” Ol’ Jon said.
“And we got others too. Why, we could win all the quarters of the draw. Have it be a Glidewell sweep,” said James with so much enthusiasm he sounded like
