Constantine worked for our family for twenty-nine years.
For the next week, Daddy rises before dawn. I wake to truck motors, the noise of the cotton pickers, the hollers to hurry. The fields are brown and crisp with dead cotton stalks, defoliated so the machines can get to the bolls. Cotton harvest is here.
Daddy doesnt even stop for church during harvest time, but on Sunday night, I catch him in the dusky hall, between his supper and sleep. Daddy? I ask. Will you tell me what happened to Constantine?
He is so dog-tired, he sighs before he answers.
How could Mother fire her, Daddy?
What? Darlin, Constantine quit. You know your mother would never fire her. He looks disappointed in me for asking such a thing.
Do you know where she went? Or have her address?
He shakes his head no. Ask your mama, shell know. He pats my shoulder. People move on, Skeeter. But I wish shed stayed down here with us.
He wanders down the hall to bed. He is too honest a man to hide things so I know he doesnt have any more facts about it than I do.
That week and every week, sometimes twice, I stop by Elizabeths to talk to Aibileen. Each time, Elizabeth looks a little warier. The longer I stay in the kitchen, the more chores Elizabeth comes up with until I leave: the doorknobs need polishing, the top of the refrigerator needs dusting, Mae Mobleys fingernails could use a trim[59]. Aibileen is no more than cordial with me, nervous, stands at the kitchen sink and never stops working. Its not long before I am ahead of copy and Mister Golden seems pleased with the column, the first two of which only took me about twenty minutes to write.
And every week, I ask Aibileen about Constantine. Cant she get her address for me? Cant she tell me anything about why she got fired? Was there a big to-do[60], because I just cant imagine Constantine saying yes maam and walking out the back door. Mamad get cross with her about a tarnished spoon and Constantine would serve her toast burned up for a week. I can only imagine how a firing wouldve gone.
It hardly matters, though, because all Aibileen will do is shrug at me, say she dont know nothing.
One afternoon, after asking Aibileen how to get out tough tub rings (never having scrubbed a bathtub in my life), I come home. I walk past the relaxing room. The television set is on and I glance at it. Pascagoulas standing about five inches away from the screen. I hear the words Ole Miss and on the fuzzy screen I see white men in dark suits crowding the camera, sweat running off their bald heads. I come closer and see a Negro man, about my age, standing in the middle of the white men, with Army men behind him. The picture pans back and there is my old administration building. Governor Ross Barnett stands with his arms crossed, looking the tall Negro in the eye. Next to the governor is our Senator Whitworth, whose son Hillys been trying to set me up with on a blind date.
I watch the television, riveted. Yet I am neither thrilled nor disappointed by the news that they might let a colored man into Ole Miss, just surprised. Pascagoula, though, is breathing so loud I can hear her. She stands stock-still, not aware I am behind her. Roger Sticker, our local reporter, is nervous, smiling, talking fast. President Kennedy has ordered the governor to step aside[61] for James Meredith, I repeat, the President of the United
Eugenia, Pascagoula! Turn that set off right this minute!
Pascagoula jerks around to see me and Mother. She rushes out of the room, her eyes to the floor.
Now, I wont have it[62], Eugenia, Mother whispers. I wont have you encouraging them like that.
Encouraging? Its nationwide news, Mama.
Mother sniffs. It is not appropriate for the two of you to watch together, and she flips the channel, stops on an afternoon rerun of Lawrence Welk.
Look, isnt this so much nicer?
On a hot Saturday in late September, the cotton fields chopped and empty, Daddy carries a new RCA color television set into the house. He moves the black-and-white one to the kitchen. Smiling and proud, he plugs the new TV into the wall of the relaxing room. The Ole Miss versus LSU football game blares through the house for the rest of the afternoon.
Mama, of course, is glued to the color picture, oohing and aahing at the vibrant reds and blues of the team. She and Daddy live by Rebel football. Shes dressed up in red wool pants despite the sweltering heat and has Daddys old Kappa Alpha blanket draped on the chair. No one mentions James Meredith, the colored student they let in.
I take the Cadillac and head into town. Mother finds it inexplicable that I dont want to watch my alma mater throw a ball around. But Elizabeth and her family are at Hillys watching the game so Aibileens working in the house alone. Im hoping itll be a little easier on Aibileen if Elizabeths not there. Truth is, Im hoping shell tell me something, anything, about Constantine.
Aibileen lets me in and I follow her back to the kitchen. She seems only the smallest bit more relaxed in Elizabeths empty house. She eyes the kitchen table, like she wants to sit today. But when I ask her, she answers, No, Im fine. You go head. She takes a tomato from a pan in the sink and starts to peel it with a knife.