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"Five years. Before that I worked as a stock girl at Filene's, but I didn't like the work as much as I like working as a maid."
"Why do you like working as a maid?"
"You get to work in such nice houses. All not as big as this one, of course; but nice ones. And you meet people of better breeding. That's the way my mother put it. She was a maid, too, for years and years. Now she's in a rest home."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"That's okay. She's happy. I'm sorry for you, Annie. I know your tragedy. All the servants were talking about your mother this morning, the ones who remembered her, that is."
"You mean like Rye Whiskey?"
She laughed.
"When the groundskeeper called him that, I thought he was ordering a drink."
"My mother used to call him that, too. But that reminds me. When you go back down to the kitchen, you tell Rye Whiskey that I want him to come up to see me. Right away. Tony was supposed to send him up, but he must have forgotten. Will you do that, please?"
"Oh, of course, I will. I'll go right down now. Would there be anything else you might want with your supper?"
"No, this all looks fine."
"Then you'd better eat it before it all gets cold," Mrs. Broadfield snapped as she came into the bedroom and crossed to the bathroom, carrying an armful
of fresh, white towels. "Didn't I ask you to bring up these towels?" she said, turning at the bathroom door. Millie blushed.
"I was going to do just that, ma'am, as soon as I served Annie her supper."
Mrs. Broadfield grunted and continued on into the bathroom. Millie started away quickly.
"Don't forget Rye Whiskey," I called to her in a loud whisper.
"I won't."
Mrs. Broadfield came out and stopped at my bed to look over ray meal. She frowned at the small piece of chocolate cake.
"I distinctly told that cook not to put rich desserts on your tray. Just Jell-O for now."
"That's all right. I won't eat the cake."
"No, you won't," she said, and reached over to take it of the tray. "I'll see that you get the Jell-O." "It's not important."
"Following my orders is important," she i uttered, and then she pulled her shoulders back like a general and marched out of the room. Poor Rye Whiskey, I thought. I hadn't even met him yet, and now, because of me, he had gotten into trouble. I finished my meal, eating more out of necessity than out of pleasure, chewing and swallowing mindlessly. Each piece of broiled chicken tasted as if it were made of stone. It wasn't the fault of the carefully prepared food. I was just too tired and too depressed to care.
Just as I finished, I heard a knock on my outside door. I looked out and saw the elderly black man I knew had to be Rye Whiskey. He still wore his kitchen apron and carried a small dish of Jell-O.
"Come in," I called, and he came forward slowly. As he drew closer I saw that his eyes were wide, the whites around his black pupils so bright, it was as if a candle burned behind them like the candles in pumpkins on Halloween. What he saw in me obviously took his breath away.
"You must be Rye Whiskey."
"And you surely is Annie, Heaven's daughter. When I first set eyes on you from the doorway there, I thought I was lookin' at a ghost. Weren't the first time I thought I saw sornethird like that in this house, neither."
He tipped his head to whisper some prayerful words and then looked up, his face a portrait of sadness and worry. I knew he had been here through all of it: my grandmother's flight from home, my great-grandmother Jillian's madness and subsequent death, my mother's arrival and eventual unhappy parting with Tony Tatterton, and now my tragic arrival.
His thin hair was as white as snow, but he had a remarkably smooth, wrinkle-free face and looked very spry for a man I estimated to be close to if not over eighty.
"My mother often spoke fondly about you, Rye."
"I'm glad ta hear dat, Miss Annie, for I was sho' fond o' yer mama." His smile widened and he nodded, his head bobbing as if his neck were a spring. He glanced at my supper tray. "Food all right?"
