Silva returned to the house with an empty glass and saucer just as Mr. Kern barged in. The two circled each other before Silva finally eased away inside the pantry, placing the Missus’s bussed tray within the cupboard.
“I swear there’s no beating this heat,” Mr. Kern complained.
Silva rolled her eyes then calmed her face before she continued.
“Well, I fixed some cold lemonade if you’d care for some,” she offered.
“That there’s too sweet,” he said without even tasting it. “I can’t stand it syrupy.”
“I can fix you one separately,” Silva said.
“No, don’t bother,” he scoffed. “It’d probably come out the same way. Just have the Missus come in from that porch. Last thing we need is another sickness on our hands.”
“Yes, sir,” Silva said.
Silva walked stubbornly to the porch with a slow, tiresome gait that seemed more like an ornery child set to some unwanted task than a servant charged by her employer. We all dreaded disturbing Miss Lula during these moments of contentment, as her joy brought peace to the house that did not exist otherwise. There Miss Lula sat, her eyes the deepest blue, her dress the color of sunshine as it clung to her slender frame. Upon hearing Silva’s footsteps, the Missus looked up and smiled.
“I swear I can’t eat or drink no more,” she said kindly.
“No, Miss, I ain’t here for that,” Silva said.
“Good, ’cause I thought you were gonna make me, I swear,” Miss Lula joked, chuckling at her own bit of humor, which was rare to say the least.
“Mr. Kern was just wondering if you wanted to sit inside for a bit, rest your eyes for a blink before supper.”
“No, I’m quite fine out here,” she said. “This heat’s not nearly as bad as what’s inside.”
“Well, I can’t force you, but Mister’s real concerned you might grow ill again and I must say, I can’t blame him.”
“Tell him I’m not coming!” she yelled. “And that’s final.”
It turned out that when she did return to the house, she was pleasant again and smiled just as brightly during dinner, to which Mr. Kern looked away and focused on the lack of seasoning in his food, smacking his lips loudly as he tried to distinguish the source of that bad taste.
“Silva!” he called nastily, watching as she turned the corner into the dining room. “Something just don’t taste right here.”
“It tastes fine to me,” Miss Lula chimed in before Silva could apologize. “In fact, it tastes even better than it normally does. I loves Silva’s fried chicken.”
Mr. Kern scowled as Miss Lula grinned bigger than a naughty child, holding her cup to her mouth to keep from completely laughing out loud.
“I told her she should start a business,” Miss Lula continued. “Call it ‘The Best Darn Fried Chicken This Side of the Delta.’ Sure did.”
Mr. Kern smiled a slow grin that cracked along the lines of his face and seemed altogether sinister once it was completed.
“I guess you’re right, Lula,” Mr. Kern assented.
Possibly he’d hoped his agreeableness would deflate her ego or maybe this trick would get her to shut up and quit that foolish behavior, but either way, he did not add to her childishness, saying simply, “That’ll be all,” and watching Silva leave the room.
Miss Lula’s eyes brightened, the repetition of her fork hitting the plate seemingly awakening her thoughts in the silence that crept over and under and through.
“I tell you, you’re sure on a rampage,” Miss Lula said looking solely in Mr. Kern’s direction. “This food got good flavor. It’s probably something in you that’s spoiled.”
She waited.
“Anyhow, I thoughts you liked Silva,” she said. “Guess I was wrong.”
Mr. Kern ate his meal quietly, poking his tongue with his fork yet never delivering a word in opposition or giving her a reason to continue. He lit his pipe then sighed a loathsome expression that covered his face and eventually faded into lasting fatigue.
“I just never understood it,” the Missus said. “You been good to her for years, and now you can’t stand her. You know, George?”
She looked into his eyes but gave up when he remained silent.
Following supper, Silva and I cleared the table and washed the remaining dishes. The boys had returned to the house from the fields and waited by the side door for their mother just as they did each night. Silva gathered her hat and purse as well as a small bag of leftover cornbread and chicken from dinner, which was always allowed by the Mister and Missus if there was enough, when suddenly Miss Lula appeared at the doorway.
“Miss!” Silva jumped. “What ya need?”
“Don’t worry, Silva,” Miss Lula said. “Just thought I might rest on the porch tonight and figured I’d stop here for a bit of coffee to take with me.”
“Sure thing,” Silva said, removing her hat and purse while grabbing the pot from the stove.
“You go on home,” Miss Lula instructed. “Bernice can manage.”
Silva looked at me fearfully then placed on her hat once more and took her purse from the nail and her bag into her hand as she opened the door to the sounds of her boys’ laughter.
“You have a good night, Miss,” Silva said.
At that moment, a spark reawakened inside the Missus as she looked out toward the sound of that laughter and caught sight of the passing culprits just as the door closed, their silhouettes crossing before her like flashes amongst the shadows at dusk, as brought about by those occasional cars that did pass along the isolated road. She turned to me and smiled, a contentment having built in her that replenished with each breath she took then gave away in heavy sighs. It all seemed so childish, yet with her it was often this way, and we all dealt with it. She giggled and twisted in her chair until I finally presented her coffee, which she marched outside like some teenager who had been given extended curfew for the evening. There she sat for only a few minutes before dumping the coffee in the grass and returning to her quarters. Still, at breakfast the next morning, she remarked on how great it was to sit outdoors at night, how the air was much cooler and the crickets just dazzling as they croaked and hopped all around her, how the Southern summer was like no other, not that she had ever experienced another. She bade Silva to sit with her a while longer, since Mr. Kern was not keen to listen to her ramblings, leaving me to command the regular household duties in Silva’s absence. Needless to say, Mr. Kern did not like it one bit, yet he tolerated it for as long as he could, as long as that season allowed or his stomach could manage the turmoil of her content, until alas, the cold came once more to that small town.