Monday morning hit me hard. I woke up from a dream about my mother, shaken, although I couldn’t remember much of what had happened. It had felt so real, though, and as Henry and I walked downstairs and into the dining room for breakfast, I couldn’t shake the feeling of having my mother with me, inside me somehow. Lucy had spent the night at a friend’s house—I was quite certain the friend was Violet—so it was only Ruth, Henry, and myself eating the eggs, ham, and grits Hattie had made for us. Ruth was dressed to the nines, ready to go to a Kraft Fine Furniture board meeting, and Henry was dressed for the office. The two of them talked factory business while I nibbled my breakfast and held the dreamlike memory of my mother close.
When Henry and Ruth left, I went upstairs and sat in the parlor to read, but I was unable to get my mother out of my mind, and before I knew it, I was crying hard. It was as though the reality of her being gone was only now hitting me. I would never again be able to call her. Talk to her. Hug her. I buried my head in my hands and let out the grief I’d been holding in for the past couple of weeks.
“Miss Tess?”
I jerked up straight to see Hattie standing in the doorway of the parlor, a pile of folded sheets in her arms. Embarrassed, I brushed the tears from my face.
“Excuse me, Hattie,” I said, even though she was the one interrupting me. I tried to smile. “I’m just having myself a good cry.”
Hattie walked into the room and crossed over to one of the upholstered armchairs. With her tall, reedlike build and long legs, she had a way of covering a good distance in very few steps. There was nothing hesitant about Hattie. Not in the confident way she cooked our meals, or mopped the floor, or crossed a room.
Now she sat down, the neatly folded sheets on her lap, and leaned toward me. “Mr. Hank told me your mama passed,” she said. “That’s what got you in the doldrums?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“He say she fell out and smacked her head on somethin’.”
I nodded. “She probably had a seizure from diabetes.” Would Hattie know what diabetes was?
“She had the sugar,” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “The sugar.”
“And you missin’ her. Wish you could talk to her one more time?”
“Exactly,” I said.
“I can help you,” she said, “but you got to promise you ain’t gonna tell Mr. Hank or Miss Ruth what I say. Right?”
I stared at her. “Hattie,” I said, “I think this is one of those problems that’s beyond help.”
“No, Miss Tess, you wrong. You got to talk to Reverend Sam.”
“Who’s Reverend Sam?”
Hattie looked toward the door as though someone might overhear us, even though no one else was home.
“He talk to the spirits.”
I had to laugh. “I’m afraid I don’t believe in that sort of thing,” I said.
“That’s because you ain’t never talked to the likes of Reverend Sam,” she said, smoothing her hand over the pile of sheets. “I see him whenever I’m in the mood to have a visit with my brother Conway.”
“Conway?”
“He passed when I was ten year old. Reverend Sam found him for me some years back and we been visitin’ ever since. Sam don’t ask for money or nothin’. He just do it out of a kindly heart.”
I kept my smile in check as I wondered how to respond. If she got some comfort from this Reverend Sam I didn’t want to take it away from her.
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “But I don’t think it would work for me.”
“Oh, honey, it works for everbody,” she said. “I can give you a wrote-down-on-paper guarantee. My man see him too, from time to time. He likes to have a chat with his daddy that passed.”
“You have a man, Hattie?” I asked, surprised. How quickly I’d come to think of her as “ours,” with no life outside the Kraft house.
“Yes, ma’am, I sure do. Oscar. He’s a fine man. Works over at that textile mill by Mr. Hank’s factory.” She grinned at me. “But that’s between me and you, now, hear?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’m so pleased to hear you have someone.” I really was, and I was touched she would confide it in me when she’d known me such a short time.
“And like I say, he thinks the world of Reverend Sam too.”
“Well,” I said, thinking it was time to bring this “Reverend Sam” conversation to a close. At least she’d gotten me out of my “doldrums.” “Thank you for telling me about him.”
We both turned at the sound of a door opening and closing downstairs, and Hattie immediately jumped to her feet, sheets in her arms. She didn’t want to be caught taking a break. Or perhaps she didn’t want to be caught talking to me. She walked toward the door, then turned back to look at me.
“You gonna go see him?”
“I don’t think—”
“He lives in Ridgeview,” she said, glancing toward the hallway and the stairs. “You know where that’s at—Colored Town? Big blue house on Second Avenue. Diffent from all them other houses. Can’t miss it.”
“Thank you,” I said again. “And I’m sorry you lost your brother, Hattie.”
“Oh, he’s still around, Miss Tess,” she said from the doorway. “Jest like your mama.”