Pearl put her suitcase in the back of the pickup truck and climbed into the cab.
“You don’t look so good, Miss. Are you sure you’re alright?”
Pearl was far from all right. They were five miles outside of Franklin when she passed out. She woke up in a hospital bed.
The clean white sheets enfolded her. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what had happened. The last thing she could remember was putting her bag in the back of the truck. Her bag?
“You’re awake. That’s good. You have been asleep for almost 24 hours. You had us worried.” The nurse smiled a Pearl while she checked her pulse. “The doctor will be in to see you soon. Just try to rest.”
“Where is my bag?”
“It’s right next to your bed. I took your clothes to wash for you. They were soaked in blood, honey.”
“Thank you.” That was all she could manage. Soon she would have to face the questions but for now she just closed her eyes and tried to sink back into oblivion.
She was awake when the doctor came in. “If you’re feeling up to it, I need to ask you a few questions. First. What’s your name?”
Pearl didn’t answer.
“Come on, young lady. The questions get harder from here on. Certainly you can tell me your name.”
“Pearl. My name is Pearl.”
“Okay. What is your last name Pearl?”
“I want to leave. I don’t want to stay here.”
“That isn’t possible, Pearl. You were nearly dead when they brought you in. We had to operate. The baby? Was it delivered alive or dead?”
The baby. Her baby. Pearl closed her eyes.
The doctor reached out and touched Pearl on her shoulder.
“Leave me alone. Just leave me alone. Don’t touch me” Pearl screamed and flailed her arms.
“Pearl, listen to me. No one is going to hurt you. We just need to know what happened. Is the baby alive our dead?”
“My baby was born dead. Now, please leave me alone.”
“Where is your family? We need to contact them. They must be worried about you.”
“I don’t have any family. Why won’t you just leave me alone?”
“Pearl, listen to me. You have been very sick. You are going to be fine, but your will never be able to have children. There was just too much damage.”
* * *
The morning she was to be released, the nurse brought her clothes in to her. “Here you go. Washed and ironed.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you have a place to stay? Someone you can call?”
Pearl shook her head.
“I didn’t think so. Listen. My sister Mildred has a spare room. She could use some help. She can’t afford to pay you anything. Just room and board, but it would put a roof over you head until you got straightened out.”
Pearl moved into Mildred Barrister’s spare room. Thanks only to Mildred’s aversion to housework and her charity; Pearl had a roof over her head. Gradually she regained her strength but her spirits did not return.
When Pearl wasn’t scouring, mending, dusting, canning or polishing she wandered through the streets of Franklin. She paused in front of shop windows, gardens, schoolyards – just looking – her face always expressionless. Her lips pressed tightly together. Her hands clasped in front of her. After her walks she always returned to Mildred’s kitchen to cook the evening meal. While she cooked, Mildred sat and chattered.
“This is just about the best quince preserves I have ever tasted, Pearl. What is your secret?”
“Nothing special – just a bit of lime.”
Her mama’s quince preserves. That’s what she missed the most. She made it from the rough skinned fruit Pearl and Rose picked from the low hanging branches. Pearl sat at the table while her Mama peeled and sliced the fruit and sat it boiling in their biggest pot. Soon the smell of quince and lime filled the kitchen and the temperature in the room rose as her Mama’s voice lulled her.
“Tell me about your Mama, Pearl. She must be so worried. Why don’t you write to her?” Mildred’s question brought her back to the present.
“I have written to her.” Pearl had written several letters to her Mama and to Rose, but she had torn them all up.
“Pearl, I was talking to Mrs. Beasley down at the diner. I told her about your cooking and she said she could use a hand during the suppertime rush. She said it gets busy down there this time of year and it’s more than she can handle. I am reluctant to share you but I suppose I could eat my dinner there if I find I can’t stomach my own cooking.” One of the things Pearl liked about Mildred was that she could handle both sides of a conversation with only an occasional nod or murmur from Pearl to keep her going.
Mrs. Beasley was thrilled with Pearl. She was a hard worker, a skilled cook and she was a good girl. “She never gives me a minute of trouble – not like some of those girls that spend more time flirting with soldiers than working.” That’s what she had told Mr. Beasley when he asked her about her new helper.
It’s true that the soldiers that came into her diner tried to flirt with Pearl but she rebuffed them with a quick word and a tight-lipped smile. Mrs. Beasley watched from her perch at the cash register by the door. During an afternoon lull she ambled over to Pearl who was keeping busy filling salt and pepper shakers. “You know, honey, it’s okay to be friendly. You can talk to the boys, Sugar. They’re homesick.”
“I know, Mrs. Beasley, but…”
“You’re a pretty girl. You should have a gentleman friend.”
“I appreciate your interest, but...”
“You’d like me to mind my own business” the older woman laughed.
Pearl smiled. Mrs. Beasley had Mildred’s gift for carrying on both sides of a conversation. She really did enjoy working in her diner. “No, Mrs. Beasley, that isn’t what I meant.”
“It’s all right Pearl. Forgive me. I’m just an old busy body. I just can’t help but wonder what a pretty young thing like you spends so much time alone.”
Pearl was spared the rest of Mrs. Beasley’s observation when several young men in uniform entered the diner.
Mrs. Beasley winked at Pearl. “Well, it looks like we’ve got customers, Sugar.”
Pearl had no interest in making friends with the soldiers that came into Beasley’s Diner. She wasn’t interest in dating. Every time she thought about being alone with a man her mind filled with images of Benjamin’s mistreatment. Her hands trembled a little as she approached the soldiers’ table. “What can I get you?” She smiled without showing her teeth, keeping her eyes on her pad. Mrs. Beasley just shook her head and went back to reading her magazine.
Pearl tried to keep busy reading and writing letters she never mailed. She was homeless and alone. She wanted to be home but she didn’t know where her home was. When had I last called a place home? Pungo Creek? Was there ever a place called Pungo Creek?
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