Catfish Alley Read Free

— Connecticut, I
think. They bought Riverview — I heard they paid cash — which is probably the
most beautiful property in Clarksville.
    "Of
course you can address the committee, Louisa," I said. I tried to sound
charming. I've been working on charming for years. I think I pulled it off. Besides, if I can get into Louisa
Humboldt's good graces, I stand a strong chance of getting the contract to
restore Riverview. That would be quite the feather in my cap, not to mention
the money.
    I
remember being in Riverview several years back before the Humboldts bought it —
I must have been delivering a food box for the Women's Missionary Union — and I
was appalled. Back then that dried-up old spinster Ellen Davenport still lived
there. The house looked like something out of Great Expectations. Spooky.
    "I
would like to propose that we create an African-American tour of
Clarksville," Louisa said. The whole room got really quiet after that. I
looked around, trying to figure out how to respond gracefully. But she didn't
stop there.
    "I
believe that this part of our community is underrepresented in terms of
historical accuracy...." Our community? She's
only lived here six months. I've been clawing my way to the positions I have
now for twenty years, and in six months she thinks she can waltz in and upset
the entire order of things? She's probably one of those people born to money. I
still get annoyed with myself for letting her type intimidate me. Will I ever
get over feeling like I'm going to be found out? A memory floats by. Something
about Louisa Humboldt reminds me of the first summer I helped Mama with her job
at the Stanleys' house. I had just carried in a tray of canapes for Mrs.
Stanley and her garden club friends. Eight years old, and fascinated by those
wealthy women, I remember stopping to listen just outside the parlor door.
    "Who
was that beautiful little raven-haired girl, Irene?" asked one of the
ladies.
    "Oh,
that's my cook's little girl. She's helping her mama out this summer."
    "She's
a pretty little thing. A little coonass, I guess."
    "Now,
Rose, you know I don't like to refer to the Acadians that way."
    "Yes,
yes, I know. But you don't seem to have the same sensibilities about your
colored help, Irene."
    "Well,
that's different. They're black. This little girl is as white as you and
me."
    "Yes,
but does she speak like you and me? Have you had a conversation with her?"
    "Not
really. Just a word or two."
    "And
does she use that thick Cajun dialect like her mama?"
    "As
a matter of fact, I think she does. You know, I can hardly understand it when
they talk. Especially when they're talking to each other."
    "See
what I mean? They choose to stay backward that way, talking that coonass
language that no one can understand."
    "Oh,
let it go, Rose. She's just a pretty little girl who happened to be born into a
poor, backward family."
    Just
then Mama stuck her head out of the kitchen looking for me. I know my face was
red and hot with shame. But when Mama asked me, "What's wrong,
Chere?" I couldn't answer. My world had suddenly shifted, and in those
short few minutes I realized I had a choice. I was white and I could choose to
be like those ladies in that dining room. But I had to learn to speak like they
did — and not only that, I had to learn everything I could about how refined
white people lived. I vowed to myself then and there that my life would be
different. I would not grow up and marry some Cajun boy and live on the bayou
cooking gumbo and having babies, like my brothers' wives and my mama.
    Louisa
Humboldt's daddy was probably paying for her Ivy League education while I was
surviving on scholarships at the W. Granted, I married into Dudley's money, but
I learned how to act like I wasn't poor. Just thinking again about Louisa and
that meeting, I am so irritated I have to get off the settee and move around. I
peek around the parlor doorframe to see if Grace Clark is coming. Where did she
go?
    Louisa
Humboldt then