Bethrah came to work for us because Missus Caliban, Tucker’s mother, was doing all the work. John wasn’t much good for anything; I guess he must’ve been at least eighty. And you couldn’t get Tucker to do any house cleaning. It wasn’t that he’d refuse; you just wouldn’t dare ask him. He’d come in and lift heavy things, but he wouldn’t do anything else. He was in the garage most times. So Mother decided Missus Caliban needed some help and called an agency.

They sent the first woman on a Wednesday, but nobody liked her and she was gone by Thursday night.

Friday morning, when the doorbell rang, I was sitting in the parlor waiting for some friends to come and pick me up. So I yelled back to the kitchen that it was for me and went on to the door.

“Hello, I’m Bethrah Scott. I came to apply for the maid’s job.” And she smiled.

I was stunned. She didn’t look at all like a maid. Maids are fat and very dark and have thick Negro accents. I mumbled something like: “I’m Dymphna…Willson. I…” and looked at her again.

She was tall—that was the first thing I thought about—almost six feet (in heels, she said later, six feet, one and a half) and slim; I guess willowy is a better word. Her hair was dark red, like old rust, straight and shiny, wavy and cut off short. She was wearing a light gray summer suit with a plain white blouse and the cutest pair of black shoes you ever saw. Her eyes were big and hazel. She was just beautiful, that’s all, and I loved her the first moment I ever saw her. Not only didn’t she look like a maid, she hardly looked like she was colored, except maybe her nose. She looked very young and when she smiled, her eyes smiled too so that her whole face seemed happy.

I just stared up at her and smiled, asked her to come in, and told her I’d get my mother. I saw her inside and closed the door. I wanted to say something profound, but didn’t know what so I ran down the hall to the kitchen where Mother was having a late morning cup of coffee and talking to Missus Caliban about what they needed at the store that week. I told Mother a girl had come who wanted to be a maid. I started to say that she didn’t look like a maid, but didn’t finish the sentence.

Mother noticed how confused I looked. “What’s wrong, dear?”

“Nothing. But she…Oh, you’ll see. Come on.” So I turned back into the hall, where Bethrah was standing patiently. When Mother came, I noticed she was a bit startled too, but she handled it much better than I did.