Gehenna, 1942

“Delilah, another Schlitz!” Herald called from the end of the bar. He slid his arm around Deloris and pressed a kiss to her temple. Tomorrow he’d be in here with Trudy, his wife, who was no doubt home with the kids now.

I put down the chipped mug I’d just washed to grab his beer—low head like he likes it. Dolores takes her whiskey on the rocks. She also prefers not to speak to me. It’s not my fault Herald stares at my ass.

Familiar headlights crawl across the slice of gravel outside, and the front end of Mettie’s black Chevy slides into view. My lips curl into a smile I’m unaware of.

“Uh-oh,” Lou shouts from the other end of the bar, striking a match. “Your old man’s here.” He tips me a wink and lights a Winston.

Loud laughter vibrates from the poker game between five steel workers at the round table. No one cared that the war bulletin on the radio was drowned out for a second or two. Someone either just won or drank too much to care about losing. Nearby, a young couple stare into each other’s eyes with a devotion most only wish for.

The bell above the door rings just as the Glenn Miller Orchestra starts singing Moonlight Cocktail.  My heart leaps at Mettie’s dark eyes locking onto mine from the doorway, but pauses at the short stranger following him.

I open the drawer and pretend to straighten bills. My husband pulls out a chair for his dark-haired companion. A small bundle swaddles close to her chest and tiny fingers coil in her black hair.

I close the distance between us, not bothering to secure the drawer first. “Methuselah,” I say with more authority than intended.

“Hi dear,” he reaches across the bar for my hand. Large calloused fingers brush the silver bracelet he gave me last spring. “Let’s speak in private.”

I pull off my apron. We walk hand in hand to the office.

WWho’s your friend?”

“She was walking down Haskell Road, out past the quarry.”

“I didn’t ask where she was walking, Mettie. I asked who she is.”

“Her name is Salome. She was part of the carnival that came through here. Boss kicked her out, I guess. She’s all alone with that little baby. I thought I’d get her a decent meal, if nothing else.”

I exhale and take a step closer. “You brought her to the right place. Poor girl.”

“Have Jenkins cook her up something. The kitchen’s not too busy is it?”

“No, not many eating tonight.” He takes my hands and we share a quick kiss.

In the warm kitchen, Jenkins’ tall frame bends to smell a simmering pot of stew and a slab of unsliced cornbread. I peer into the main room. The young couple necks shamelessly in the corner, and a few of the steel workers point and sneer.

“Smells good back here, Jenk.”

He looks up with a lopsided grin, now stirring counter clockwise. I want to tell him that’s bad luck, but bite my tongue. Instead, I cut a generous square of cornbread. Jenkins steps aside and digs in the ice chest while I ladle a hot portion of stew into a wooden bowl.

He doesn’t look up to watch me leave the room. Steam warms my face and I push red hair behind my ear. With my free hand I draw clockwise circles over the bowl and plate.

Mettie and Lou are headed out to the back patio. Lou sidles with his head down, and Mettie’s hand is pressed firm to his back. It’s no doubt about the money Lou still owes.

I show no pity while slipping behind the bar.

“Salome? Mettie told me your name.”

Striking blue eyes rise to meet mine. Eyes like that didn’t exist in Gehenna. They were Hollywood or Paris eyes. “Yes.”

“This is for you,” I set the bowl and small plate of cornbread down. “Want a drink? We’ve got Schlitz, Pabst and Falstaff. Whiskey and Gin too.”

“Just water,” she shook black hair from her face. Several strands had come loose from their bun, draping her fair neck. “He eats before I drink.” The cooing black-haired child let out a small wail, and Salome opened her green blouse. Tiny lips suckled on one dark nipple while I poured her glass.

“What’s his name?” I set the cold water with the food.

“Silas.” One long finger strokes the child’s face. The baby’s soft, soot-black eyelashes flutter.

Mettie slides onto the stool next to her, his eyes don’t dare trail to her chest.

A hush falls over the poker table. The room quiets just enough to hear a deep, drunk voice mumbling about “the gal with her titty out.”

I grab a pinch of salt from the little glass jar I keep tucked between bottles and sprinkle a few grains at my feet. Goddess help me if a fight breaks out.

Herald doesn’t even try to hide his staring. Deloris turns to purse her lips in disgust.

“Why don’t you turn around so we can all see, Sweetheart?” someone yells from the poker table. The young couple parted just to watch the scene unfold. “Come on now, we won’t bite. Let’s see whatcha got under there.”

Heat crawls up my spine. “Alright,” I call out. “This ends now. Let the girl feed her baby or leave.”

Salome cradles the baby with one arm, and reaches into her boot with the other. Something metallic glints in the low light. She flicks open a switchblade like someone who could do it in her sleep, and stabs its tip into the bar. The knife stands still as a grave. Salome turns around, baby still sucking, and rises from the stool. “Anyone else wanna disrespect me or my son?”

The young woman in the corner huddles into her lover like a frightened doe. Jenkins moving pots and pans in the kitchen is the only sound. Herald watches with a toothy smile, and Deloris’s lips are still pursed. Cards drop with no words at the poker table.

“Thought so,” Salome sets back down and smooths Silas’s soft black hair.

The knife stands guard while she sips her water and nibbles at the cornbread. “Thank you, for the food.”

“You’re welcome. I’m Delilah, Mettie’s wife.”

“I know.” She buttons her blouse and dabs at the baby’s mouth with a small cloth. A root wrapped in green cord rests between her breasts.

Mettie and I share a glance. His eyes tell me he knows. She’s leaving with us.