Chapter 1/Part 1
Free At Last, Free At Last, Thank God Almighty We’re Free at Last
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Dear Reader: I thought I could make my background more clear if I included a short memoir. This happened in the winter of 1979, a few weeks after Terry’s physical death. Note well that I said “physical.” Only his body was gone, not his spirit. My sister had slipped on the ice, broke her arm in two places, and I took charge of the household. The strangest part of the story is this; when my sister was helpless I shook off my deep depression in order to run the household. When her cast came off in the early spring, I went back down. My sister and brother-in-law had insisted on hiring a cleaning woman who came twice a week that winter to relieve me of the heavy cleaning. Please meet Ardella Grant who came to mean a lot to me.
1
It was on Thursday of that week that our cleaning lady came for the first time. Her name was Ardella Grant. Tall, gray-haired, with skin of medium brown and wearing a flimsy housedress printed with a floral background, she silently took in the décor of Maggie’s living room as I showed her where to find the broom, mop, and other cleaning supplies. She had taken off her tall, black rubber snow boots; under these she wore laced-up black leather walking shoes. Her coat was very heavy and warm, a good coat. I told her what her duties would be, then went up to Maggie’s room and shut the door behind me.
“I won’t be able to stand this,” I said to Maggie. “She doesn’t even have warm clothes to wear. Well, she does have a very nice, warm winter coat and heavy boots. But she’s old, Maggie. She’s got to be in her sixties, and here she is, probably taking two buses at the crack of dawn in order to get here.”
“What can’t you stand about it, Letty?” my sister asked languidly.
I was exasperated. “Everything, Maggie! I don’t want a 60-year-old black woman creaking around this house, trying to get down on her knees to scrub the bathroom floor. I can do all of this myself. I’m going to tell John to call the agency and ask for somebody else, someone younger at least, who—“
“Letty. If you bother John about this, just because your tender liberal conscience is acting up, I’ll never speak to you again.”
“What did you say?”
Maggie regarded me calmly. “You heard me, Letty. And anyway, who are you to go mixing yourself up in the lives of these people? If you were able to persuade John to call and get another person, you probably will end what’s-her-name’s chances of ever getting work through them again. They’ll think she’s too old to work and that will be that, and she needs the money. Obviously.”
“Her name is Ardella Grant and I can’t believe what you just said. You can’t talk to me like that, Maggie. I’m about one second away from packing my bags and leaving you and the children and John and finding another place to live. When I think—“
“Ardella. Sorry, Letty. I truly am sorry. I just meant that John has so much on his mind right now. He needs to feel that everything at home is OK and squared away, that my arm will heal and the kids are alright and meals will be made and the house will be clean. You know.”
“Yes, Maggie, but that’s not what you said. You threatened to never speak to me again if I spoke to John about getting rid of Ardella. Frankly I’m feeling a little overwhelmed and I need to be alone right now.”
I slammed the bedroom door and climbed the steep stairs to my third floor bedroom –once there, I had a good cry. Maggie had always been out-spoken; I was used to that but my emotions were quite close to the surface now and everything that came my way felt more intense. Oh well, I thought wearily, try to ignore her.
lgmwriting 