The Housekeeper Did ItCopyright © 1997 Property of Deborah K. Fletcher for Florence MacLennan Brown. All rights reserved.It was not that long after the Depression, or maybe just the end of it. I was out doing errands, and I met a black woman on the street. We got to talking, and I learned that the woman had no home, no job, and not much of anywhere to go. Feeling that she was a decent, honest woman, I offered her a job cooking and cleaning. Ellen said she didn't take care of children, but she could cook and clean. I didn't have any children at the time, so that was fine. I gave Ellen the job, and a bedroom, and also a key to the house, and told her to go move right in. Ellen worked for me for many years, and she always called your grandfather and me Mister Bill and Miss Florence. One day, Ellen made a mistake that I could never forget. I forgave it, but I never forgot it. I had bought a nice leg of lamb for dinner, and had asked Ellen to prepare it. Then your grandfather and I went off to work. When we returned home for dinner in the evening, Ellen proudly presented the leg of lamb, declaring that she had done "real good." She said we would never know we were eating lamb if we hadn't been told. She was right. I was awfully upset, because my housekeeper had ruined a leg of lamb. It turned out that Ellen particularly disliked lamb, and wanted to spare us the necessity of having to eat it. Another Story of EllenCopyright © 1997 Property of Deborah K. Fletcher for Florence MacLennan Brown. All rights reserved.The depression was a very hard time for many people. I was one of the fortunate ones; it didn't hit my family too hard. It certainly affected my husband's construction business, but my job was secure. One day, at the height of the depression, I was having a business lunch in a nice restaurant. At another table, sitting alone with a battered suitcase beside her, was a black woman. She was crying. I couldn't understand what was wrong. I spoke to the restaurant owner, and he explained that her name was Ellen. He had known her for years, and the people she worked for had to let her go. She had come to the restaurant hoping to find work...or even food. While he wished he could do something for her, his business was also suffering, and jobs and money were scarce. I went over to her and asked her name. I asked if she would like to work for me. I couldn't afford to pay her much, but she would at least have a nice home, plenty to eat, and a little money to call her own. Oh, she was just so grateful! I gave her bus fare, told her the address, and sent her off with a house key. My husband got home from work before I did, and was flabbergasted to see a strange black woman working in the kitchen. Yes, it was a blessing for all of us. Please View and Sign My Guestbook © 1998-2000 Debbie Fletcher, joiya@tcia.net
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