Free Before the Dawn by Beverly Jenkins

into the kitchen, Mrs. France was seated at the table. The housekeeper glanced up from her coffee and oatmeal with a glare.
    Leah offered up a hasty apology. “I didn’t mean to impose. I’m accustomed to rising early, and—”
    â€œIs there something you want, Mrs. Montague?”
    So much for apologies , Leah thought testily. “Coffee. If there isn’t any, I can brew it myself.”
    The housekeeper’s steady stare made Leah feel as if she’d been magically transported back in time to her school days and was once again standing before the headmistress of Miss Caldwell’s School for Young Women of Color for committing yet another infraction. “If this is your private time, I can come back later.”
    The woman’s demeanor didn’t change. “Coffee’s over there on the stove. Miss Helene doesn’t usually come down until ten.”
    â€œTen?” Leah echoed loudly. Realizing how rude she sounded, she shut her mouth and went over to the coffeepot. Leah had never slept that late in her life. First of all, her mother wouldn’t’ve tolerated such laziness, and secondly, there’d always been chores to do or school to attend.
    As Leah poured herself a cup of coffee, she wondered if small talk would make the woman unbend at bit. “Did you know Mr. Montague?”
    â€œYes. My husband and two brothers were killed in one of his mines thirty-two years ago.”
    Leah sloshed hot coffee all over her skirt. It was not the answer she’d been expecting. Hastily setting the cup on the counter, she grabbed a nearby dish towel to dry herself. Still reeling, she also saw that she’d made a mess of the kitchen floor. Not knowing what else to say, she asked, “Where’s your mop?”
    Mrs. France pointed toward the kitchen’s door. “Out on the porch.”
    The cold air felt good on Leah’s face. She took in a few bracing breaths to steady herself, then went back inside to take care of the spills.
    A few quick swipes of the mop’s rag head returned the wood floor to its previously pristine state.
    Upon viewing Leah’s handiwork, Mrs. France cracked, “You handle that mop like you’ve actually seen one before.”
    Leah stiffened. “Why wouldn’t I have?”
    â€œFancy women like you usually have hired help for that.”
    Leah’s chuckle held no humor. “I’ve been mopping floors since I was eight. There’s nothing fancy about me.”
    Mrs. France looked skeptical, but Leah saw no reason to try to change the woman’s mind. “I’ll put this mop back.”
    After returning the mop to the porch, Leah stepped back inside and poured herself another cup of coffee. Under Mrs. France’s suspicious eyes, she left the kitchen without another word.
    Upstairs, Leah changed out of her wet skirt. She stood in front of the windows and sipped her coffee. She thought back on her encounter with Mrs. France. Fancy woman . Leah shook her head and wondered if the housekeeper hadmeant fancy as in rich, or fancy as in kept? Although neither description fit Leah, she could just imagine what she’d be called once it became known she’d married Monty less than a day before he died. What a mess. Leah could still hear the bitterness in the housekeeper’s voice. It was fairly obvious the woman held Monty responsible for the tragic demise of her husband and son. How many others were holding on to grudges from the past? Leah had many more questions than she had answers.
    A knock on her door broke her attention. When she called, “Come in,” Cecil entered. She was certainly glad to see him. “Good morning. What time did you return?”
    â€œLate. You were asleep, I could hear you snoring.”
    Leah’s hands went to her hip in mock indignation. “I do not snore.”
    â€œWhatever you say,” he responded with a smile.
    â€œSo, what did you