Maybelle

I am Maybelle. I live to serve others. I am the maid.

My mama was a housemaid for the Carter's on this exact plantation some years ago. So was her mama too. I guess you could say serving the white folk runs in my blood, destiny of sorts, more of a hellish curse mind you. The white folk never thought we could be integrated with the rest of society, that we were good for nothing but being the help. But that wasn't going to stop me. The Carter's were by no means the kindest whites out there nor were they the picture perfect family they portrayed themselves to be.

"Maybelle!" shouted Mrs. Nora Carter. "Why in the hell is the table not set? I don't know what your doing in my kitchen, but hurry up with my breakfast!"

"Yes, Mrs. Carter." I say automatically. After years of seeing my mama get disciplined by Mrs. Carter, I've learned not to argue back. To courteously reply "yes ma'am" or "sorry miss, it won't happen again." But my words are empty. As empty as the pit Nora Carter calls her heart. I said those words to please her, to save myself the trouble of listening to one of her fine lectures on what the She-Devil calls "proper southern living." How the help was put on earth only to serve the likes of her and her family.

I rush through the fine mahogany door and into the dining room. I reach into the drawers of the china cabinet and pull out a fine, white table cloth. In one graceful twirl I let the cloth float down, enveloping the table. I scramble back to the china cabinet and produce stacks of the Carter's finest imported plates and cutlery. I dance around the table, setting four places: Mrs. Nora Carter, Mr. Robert Carter, May Carter, and Penelope Carter. I gently set out four crystal glasses and step back to evaluate my work. I soak in the mint green room and wipe beads of sweat from my forehead. I was satisfied with the quality of my work. Mrs. Carter on the other hand, most likely not.

Mere seconds later the Carter's barge through the door, led by the She-Devil of course. Mr. and Mrs. Carter don't acknowledge my presence, nor my hard work. The children on the other hand were a different story.

May Carter was a rebel of sorts. Always polite and courteous to colored folk. Respectful and friendly to anyone or anything. It was obvious that Mrs. Carter had a loathing for her oldest daughter. Respecting the colored folk? Why, that couldn't be tolerated in Mrs. Carter's home, now could it? The younger daughter, Penelope, was following in her older sister's footsteps. Slowly but surely the Carter sisters were breaking down the hatred barriers their dearest mother put up so long ago. They sometimes confided in me, the maid, about how they wished their mother would adapt to the times.

"Oh Miss Maybelle what am I to do? Mother refuses to accept the world around her. I'm trying to convince her the times are changing. Color don't matter anymore. I keep telling her she can't stop people like Martin Luther King Jr. but she continues with her bullheaded thinking. I don't think she'll ever change." Miss May Carter told me one day in the drawing room.

After the Carter family takes their seats I head back into the kitchen and bring out their breakfast. I grab a tray of eggs and toast and a basket of muffins. I start through the mahogany door and back to the mint green dining room. Without saying a word, I set everything down in the middle of the table. The She-Devil pipes up:

"Did you just roll your eyes at me Miss Maybelle?"

"No ma'am." I said, more emptiness in my voice.

"Well you best hope you didn't or you are in a world of hurt Miss Maybelle. I don't have time to play these damned games." Mrs. Carter spit. Through the corner of my eye I spotted May and Penelope shift uncomfortably in their seats. They avoided eye contact with their mother. I briskly leave the room and head for the kitchen. I patiently wait until the Carter's conclude their meal.

After the Carter's finish their breakfast and head their separate ways for the day, I'm left all to my own, cleaning the dishes. To my surprise, May enters the kitchen and grabs a sponge, assisting me in the chore.

"I'm sorry about this morning Maybelle. Mother was out of control. She doesn't understand what a true blessing you are to this family."

"And I don't think she ever will." I say, an unintentional edge to my voice.

"You know you really should leave here, find a better life somewhere else. You deserve a life where you don't need to serve others." says May. I knew she was right, the thought came across my mind many times, about leaving, but I guess it took another voice of reason to convince me.

"You're right May. Maybe I should pack my bags today and leave. No point in waiting." About an hour later I stood in the main hall with my one suitcase packed. I took one last look around the hell hole I was leaving, good riddance. May and Penelope met me by the front door. We exchanged hugs and fair wells and gave each other our best wishes. I took a deep breath and opened up the front door. I stepped out into the cool, spring air and closed the door behind me. No more Nora Carter, no more abuse. However it will be hard leaving May and Penelope, hopefully they continue to give their mother hell, in my name of course.

I am Maybelle. I do not serve others. I am not a maid. I am Maybelle.