Free Place Called Estherville by Erskine Caldwell Page A

was almost certain that she knew what Madgie was leading up to now, as well as what she would eventually ask. She told herself that this was one time when she wanted to be able to answer convincingly and conclusively.
    “Kathyanne,” Madgie began, leaning over the table toward her confidentially and lowering her voice to an intimate level, “Kathyanne, has my husband—has Mr. Pugh—has he ever shown any indication—has he ever said anything that made you think he is interested in you—in any way—well, you know what I mean, don’t you? Men always give themselves away, don’t they? They’re so awkward and bungling about such things. They can be downright childish. You can nearly always read their minds a mile away. Now, I want you to be perfectly honest and frank. Mr. Pugh will never know you told me. You know you can trust me. Now, has he ever approached you with a suggestion—anything like that—I mean, has he ever actually—well, has he Kathyanne?”
    “No, Miss Madgie,” she replied in a firm voice, looking directly at her.
    “Are you sure—is that the truth, Kathyanne?” she asked through trembling lips. Her hands were clasped tightly together and resting on her lap. “I must know the truth, Kathyanne! I’ve got to know the truth!”
    “It is the truth, Miss Madgie.”
    Madgie drew herself up with a doubtful, uncertain sigh. After that she leaned back in the chair, her shoulders drooping wearily. She suddenly looked older and the lines in her face were more noticeable.
    “I don’t know whether to believe you or not. Women are such dreadful liars about such things. All women are. Even girls your age. I don’t know.” She was frowning and shaking her head, and she made no effort to hide her tears. “It’s awful not to know—not to be absolutely certain. Maybe it’s wisest always to suspect the very worst. Then you are never in doubt. Men can’t be trusted—no man can be—not even Mr. Pugh. I know colored girls are a great temptation to white men—even the blackest can be, but especially mulattoes and quadroons. My father—sometimes I wonder if Mr. Pugh—but there’s no way on earth of knowing absolutely.
    But if I thought for one minute—” She was crying brokenly. “If I only had your—your charm. Yes, that’s what it is—your charm. I’d give my very soul for it now—because then I know I’d never have to worry about Mr. Pugh. I could hold him. I know I could!”
    Madgie wiped the tears from her face with the napkin, and they looked at each other, both wondering what thoughts were in the other’s mind. It was growing late and none of the housework had been done that morning. Kathyanne tried to think of some way to ask Madgie for her wages again without upsetting her and making her angry. Madgie kept gazing at her suspiciously.
    “Kathyanne, if I ever have reason to believe—” Madgie said hesitatingly, “—I’d stop at nothing. You know that, don’t you? I’d have no mercy for you. I wouldn’t think twice. I’d kill you. Yes, I really would. You’d better remember that, Kathyanne. I mean every word of it. I’d kill you.”
    “Yes, Miss Madgie,” she said, frightened.
    Madgie got up the second time to leave. She was almost out of the room before Kathyanne could bring herself to speak. She ran to the doorway.
    “Miss Madgie!” she called tensely.
    Madgie stopped and looked back at her.
    “Miss Madgie, please, ma’m, it’s about my pay.”
    “Oh!” she exclaimed as though relieved to hear what Kathyanne had said. “Oh, yes.” She smiled agreeably, turning and going toward the front of the house. “I’ll be right back, Kathyanne.”
    As soon as the table had been cleared and the tablecloth and napkins folded and put away in the sideboard drawer, Kathyanne went to the kitchen and began washing dishes. Madgie’s manner had been so unexpectedly pleasant when she mentioned her wages that she wondered what could be the reason for such a sudden change in