The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [112]
My face showed nothing other than my lit eyes. “I’ll have to speak to my father, but I’m overcome by your thoughtfulness. Thank you!” I was anxious enough wondering how Father had reacted to Calvin’s proposal and our future plans, and had no idea what he’d say to this added development.
“Dr. Sherwood talks, uh, good wages and help papers to American college. My goodness! You come highly recommended, my dear, highly recommended,” he ended in English.
I bowed again, surprised and pleased. Mother brought a stool with a cushion on top and gestured that Mrs. Bennett should sit. When Mrs. Bennett did so, she glanced at where she had previously sat and realized her gaffe. “Oh! I’m so sorry!” she said in English. “Please forgive me, I have—” She turned and whispered something to me. When I smiled politely, uncomprehending, she tried in Japanese, “Baby sick morning. Automobile is bad, large bad.”
I waved my hands in understanding and gestured a swollen belly. When both the guests said, “My goodness, yes!” I said I had something that could help and hurried to the kitchen.
“But wait— We really going now. Sick not, really—”
I heard Mother saying how honored we were to receive an American minister and his wife, how sorry she was that the man of the house was out, how pleased he’d be to meet them, wouldn’t they like a plum, and naturally they must stay for supper. I returned soon with a chamomile and ginger infusion. The Bennetts and my mother were smiling awkwardly at each other. “Please sip this. It’s completely safe for the baby.”
The Bennetts exchanged a few hurried words and Mother interrupted, gesturing a calm stomach. “Please excuse me, Reverend sir, my daughter graduated with excellence from Ewha in nursing as well as education, and also is a skilled midwife. Try just a little. See how it tastes.” My eyes opened wide at my mother’s proud and enthusiastic description of me.
“Go ahead, my dear. It’s some kind of herb tea,” said Reverend Bennett. “They’re trying to help. I’m sure it’s completely safe. A little odd tasting? No? Good.” Mrs. Bennett shifted on the stool and patted her hair. I found myself staring at her complicated mass of curls and knots, all accented with a variety of brown and orange hues, and her petite yet sharply pointed nose remained a wonder from every angle. She sipped the tea and indicated it was fine.
Reverend Bennett asked me how soon I could start working for them. Mother looked at me, and I summarized the conversation. To Reverend Bennett I said, “Excuse me, but I must speak to my father before I—”
“She can start tomorrow!” said Mother. My eyes opened wider.
Trying to get directions to their manse proved impossible. I retrieved paper and pencil from my room and drew a map to the market square. Reverend Bennett then marked the church’s location and the nearby manse and the matter was settled. “How very wonderful,” said Mrs. Bennett. “I feel good absolutely fine now. Thank you very much. You cherub! How do you say angel?”
“Please, Madam, it’s nothing. Thank you for coming, Reverend sir, for the job and the assistance with my education. I am indebted to you and Reverend Sherwood.”
More thanks and the Bennetts stood to leave. Reverend Bennett grabbed both our hands and pumped them, causing a small commotion. Mother insisted on tying Mrs. Bennett’s shoes for her while I wrapped chamomile leaves and ginger powder in a square of paper. “For the morning, Madam, with hot water. I’ll bring more tomorrow.” We walked them to the gate and waved at the departing automobile. The little crowd coughed in its exhaust. I caught Byungjo peeking to see that Mother and I were well inside the yard, then he showed a toothy grin to the roadside gathering and remarked that the black beast was impressive but had smelly farts. The crowd laughed, as did Mother and I, knowing we wouldn’t be seen enjoying his joke.
Entering the house, I said, “Umma-nim—”
“If you’re going to American college, you’ll need money.” She went to the sitting room, gathered the cups and told me