“Yes, ma’am.” Raven had been in her employ only a couple of days but had replied with enough “Yes, ma’ams” to last a lifetime.
Supper conversation tended to consist of Helen doing all the talking and Raven and Steele doing the listening. That evening was more of the same.
“I saw in the newspaper that yellow fever is marching through New Orleans again. Hundreds of people are already dead. Texas and Mississippi are talking of not letting trains fromthere travel through their states. I told my sister yellow fever is caused by all the race mixing they do in that godforsaken city.”
Raven knew there were many competing theories as to the cause of the fever, but miscegenation was not one of them. The news of all the deaths was troubling, however. She hoped Vana, Eden, and the others in the city weren’t being affected. The sickness had caused enough heartbreak in the Moreau family. She shared a look of concern with Steele. Helen, still waxing about the sins of race mixing, was too self-absorbed to notice.
Grateful when the meal ended, Raven and Steele took the dishes back to the kitchen. As she washed and he dried, he asked, “Is it common for states to stop trains from New Orleans during yellow fever?”
“It’s happened occasionally in the past, but hopefully it won’t be necessary this time around. I don’t want to be stuck here.”
“Neither do I.”
“You can take a northbound train home once we’re done here.”
“True, but what will you do?”
She shrugged and placed a platter in the rinse water. “Figure it out, I suppose.”
“You’re always welcome to come to Boston.”
She smiled. “And stay where?”
“With me. I’ve plenty of space.”
Amusement made her shake her head. “I’msure your prizewinner would look real kindly on that arrangement.”
“Once Da marries your mother, you’ll be family.”
“Uh-huh.”
“No?”
“No, Steele. I’m not living any place where water freezes.”
“You might like it.”
“No, I know I won’t. Let’s get these dishes done, so I can iron her sheets before I drop.”
“You’ve put in a full day.”
“I have.” But women like herself were expected to work from no light to no light, and be grateful to have any employment at all. Complaints tied to being overburdened were neither tolerated nor addressed because you could be easily replaced by others with children to feed and debts to pay.
When the last dish was done and put away, he asked, “How long do you believe it will take to get the ironing done?”
“Maybe an hour. I also have to put the sheets on her bed.”
“Okay. While you handle that, I’ll get started on heating the water for your bath.”
She studied him, her emotions mixed. “You really don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do,” he replied solemnly.
She looked away to hide those same emotions now welling up inside. As she’d noted last nightwhile trying to sleep on that awful excuse for a sofa, such small shows of kindness were new to her, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. Saying thank you seemed inadequate, but it was all she had. “Thank you,” she said. “I feel as though I’ve said that to you a hundred times today, but your help has meant so much.”
“It’s been my honor.”
A few days ago, she’d wanted him thrown into a bayou, and now...