3

Donavon reached up and wiped away the steam so he could see his reflection in the bathroom mirror adjoining his bedroom. Each bedroom had a private washroom, which Donavon was happy for. He didn’t have to share it with his siblings or have Misty’s many beauty products cluttering up the counter space.

He looked at his reflection; his wet, auburn hair hung in his eyes. Donavon ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tame it, then he reached for his comb and dragged it through his short hair. He placed the comb back on the counter and picked up his cologne, dabbing it on. He ran his hand over his jaw, trying to decide if he should shave again. He had shaved that morning before he left for the airport, but he often had a shadow by late afternoon.

Deciding he didn’t need to shave, yet Donavon headed out into his bedroom. He had laid out a pair of black slacks and a white button-up shirt on his bed before his shower. Though he was at home, he knew his father preferred business casual all the time, and he wanted to live up to his father’s expectations. He pulled on a pair of clean shorts, and then he got dressed, but he forgot the tie.

He could go for a drink. So, he stepped into his polished shoes and made his way downstairs to the parlour, where he knew his father kept the Kentucky bourbon. He walked into the parlour and stopped short when he saw the young woman from the kitchen on her hands and knees scrubbing the hardwood floor. Her back was to him, and she hadn’t noticed he had come in behind her.

Donavon stood just inside the doorway quietly, watching her. She was slender with an athletic build, and from this angle, he had a fantastic view of her high, firm bottom. Her hair was long and in tiny braids. He had never seen anyone with hair quite like hers, but he did like the way it looked on her. He remembered seeing her in the kitchen. He knew from the front she had full breasts and a narrow waist. Her neck was long, and her face was round. She had big dark doe eyes and full lips. He wasn’t usually attracted to black women, but this one was beautiful. Breathtaking really. He couldn’t fight the smile when he looked at her.

Donavon cleared his throat, and the woman glanced back over her shoulder and then scurried quickly to her feet. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cromwell, I meant to be done before anyone came down. I will get out of your way,” she said, bending over to pick up the bucket of water.

“Please don’t run away on my account. I don’t mean to interfere with your duties. Pretend I’m not here. Please continue.”

She looked at him and then the floor. “Are you sure I won’t just be in the way?”

“Not at all,” reluctantly she put the bucket back down and lowered herself to her knees, dipping the scrubbing brush back in the water. He watched as she began to wash the floor again. He walked over to the bar and poured himself a glass of bourbon as he watched her wash. “You are new to the house, aren’t you?” He had never seen her before.

“I started here three months ago. My mother got me the job,” she confessed.

“Who’s your mother?”

“Camille Kelley.”

Donavon chuckled to himself. “You are Alissa,” she looked up at him, surprised he knew her name. “I have overheard your mother talking about you,” Camille had been a maid in his mother’s home for the last twenty years ever since he was a boy. “You are the baby of the family, right?”

She seemed impressed by his knowledge. “You overhear a lot.”

“I like to listen,” one could learn a lot about people if they just listened. “Don’t your brothers work for my father?”

“They do. One works in the fields and the other in the factory,” she sounded like she didn’t like the fact that her family worked for his family. She was trying to be polite, but her tone was curt. “And my father kills himself in the textile mill, making forty-eight percent of what his white co-workers make,” he had a feeling she had meant to say that part a little quieter, but he had heard it anyway.

Donavon smiled. “I see we have a civil rights activist among us.”

She paused in her task and didn’t look up from the floor. “Sorry, Sir, I spoke out of turn.”

“Don’t apologize; I agree with you. I think it is unfair that everyone doesn’t make an equal wage for the same job. Even though President Johnson passed the Civil Rights Act back in ‘64 expressly banning discrimination based on race, colour, religion, sex, or national origin in employment practices and ended unequal application of voter registration requirements, racial segregation and inequality is still alive and well in schools and the workplace here in the south. We haven’t quite embraced equal rights like the rest of the country.”

She was now looking up at him, stunned, silent by his liberal political outlook. “That is a very progressive viewpoint for a…” She didn’t finish her thought.

“White southern plantation owner?” He finished for her. “What can I say, I have spent most of my life up north, and they have a very different outlook on things,” she just smiled. “You seem very opinionated for a servant.”

“I don’t intend to be a servant for long,” she said, sitting back on her knees.

“Then why be a servant at all?”

“Law school is expensive, and my parents can’t pay for it. So, I’m working to pay for my tuition.”

“Are you now? A black female lawyer that is a lofty goal.”

“One I intend to achieve.”

“I wish you the best of luck. Hopefully, you won’t have to work here long.”

“Not on what your mother pays me. It is going to take me years to pay for school,” that was a shame, but he didn’t run the house, so he had no say in what the staff was paid or how they were treated. His responsibility was soon to be the sugar cane fields and the sugar refinery.

Donavon stood up a little straighter when his mother walked into the room. She looked down at Alissa and sighed with annoyance. “Dear Lord, what are you doing here?” She snapped. “You are paid to be invisible. You had all day to get these disgusting floors clean, you lazy lout, and here you are imposing on my son’s time to finish a job that should have been done hours ago.”

“It is fine, Mother, I don’t mind,” Donavon said, coming to Alissa’s defence.

“It is unacceptable. Get out of here,” she said, taking the folded newspaper off the nearby table only to hit Alissa with it. “Go,” Alissa stood up and took the water bucket and left the room, but not before she glared at his mother, which Ellie didn’t seem to notice. “I swear to God you can’t find good help these days. Every one of them is either useless or lazy. Worthless,” she huffed.

“You could have let her finish.”

“You have to be firm with these people, or they will walk all over you. You will learn that when you take over for your father. Bleeding hearts will only get you taken advantage of. If you don’t keep them in their place, they will cause you nothing but trouble,” she said, taking a seat on the couch and patting the seat next to her for him to sit down. “Sit with me,” he did as she bid. “Are you excited to work with your father? I know he has been looking forward to it.”

“I’m very excited.”

“Tomorrow, we are hosting a grand dinner with all our friends so we can welcome you home properly. All the neighbours will be there and all your father’s business connections. Not to mention the eligible young ladies.”

Oh, he knew where this conversation was going. “Mother, no matchmaking, please.”

“Oh, come on, you are twenty-seven. I think it is time you find yourself a nice girl from a good family and settle down. Marriage is a fabulous way to merge business empires.”

Donavon sighed; the last thing he wanted was a cold, calculated marriage of convenience. His parents had been a marriage of convenience, and while he was sure they were found of each other now, he didn’t think they were in love. They led very separate lives and only came together publicly to present the world with a façade of the happy family to further his mother’s social reputation and his father’s political agenda.

“I promise Mother when I find the right girl, you will be the first to know. But for now, I want to focus on my career. So, I have something substantial to bring to the table when I barter for my wife’s hand.”

“You are a Cromwell,” she said with arrogant pride, “trust me, that will be more than enough.”

Donavon took his mother’s hand in his, and he smiled at her. “Mother, please, no matchmaking.”

“Oh, fine.”

“Promise me,” she didn’t say a word. “Promise me.”

“Oh, fine,” she said, annoyed. “I promise.”

“Good,” he said as he stood up. “I’m going to go for a ride,” one of his favourite pastimes was horseback riding. He had loved riding at boarding school and whenever he was home. His father’s stables had some prime horseflesh. He would go for a ride across the countryside and be back in time for dinner. By then, Misty should be home.