Pearl

Posted by Louise Mathewson in HandPrints Stories & Videos | 1 comment

© Louise Mathewson

Her misty blue eyes twinkled, drawing me to her like a magnet. I was a shy, lanky and insecure thirteen-year-old; she a tall, slender, silvery-haired woman in her fifties.

In 1960 the country was concerned about the Cold War with Russia, but I worried about the hot and cold wars in our household. Pearl was my mother’s housekeeper, and if I sensed a warm ocean breeze floating through the house, I knew Pearl was there. She eased the tension of a household stressed by financial and emotional turmoil, smoothing what vestiges of discord remained from the previous night.

My mother searched local newspaper ads and found Pearl, who was hired to help with household chores and to care for the children, ages thirteen, twelve, nine, and one. Mom worked the three-to-eleven shift as a nurse at the local hospital. My father traveled for business, so running a household, caring for four children and working the night shift were more than Mom could handle.

Days became weeks, then months, and my mother and Pearl developed a friendship. She often arrived for work early, sat at the dining room table with a steaming cup of coffee, and let Mom pour out whatever weighed on her heart and soul. In time, after Mom left for work, I preferred to stay with Pearl while she prepared meals, folded laundry, vacuumed or dusted.

One day after school, I leaned on a dining room chair and watched her carefully fold each article from the wicker laundry basket. The mirrored china cabinet reflected her blue, flowered housedress, over which she always wore a crisp white apron with easy folds. Her silvery-gray hair lay in soft, but solid waves that curled just a bit at the ends, creating a kind of blue halo around her head. I felt calm, watching her and the reflection.

Pearl folded each article as if it might belong to a high dignitary. Her fingers slid along a white pillowcase, gently tugging the edges to straighten and align them into perfect parallels.

Graceful hand movements danced with the fabric, pressing the wrinkled cotton as if waving a feather over it. Smoothing each side, she folded the pillowcase in half. Then another side revealed itself, and the gentle, loving strokes of her hands coaxed the case into a perfect square.

Watching her ease away the chaotic wrinkling left by the dryer, I longed for Pearl to smooth the wrinkles in my heart left by my parents’ arguments. She stacked each pillowcase in a perfect line with the previous one, and I wished my own life might feel so perfectly aligned, secure and balanced. Pearl’s hands knew the landscape of the pillowcase so well she scarcely looked at it. Instead, she looked into my eyes, holding them with her love.

Pearl smiled, and asked, “How was school?”

“Fine,” I answered in that teenaged moody tone.

“What are you going to do after school today?”

“I don’t know; maybe watch TV.”
“Your mother will be home later than usual tonight.”

“Oh? Is that when you’re leaving?”
“Yes,” she nodded.

Pausing slightly, a gentle smile flowing across her face, she tilted her head and asked, “Louise, do you know that you smile with your eyes?

I took a slow, deep breath. A ray of sunshine slowly smoothed the day’s dents in my fragile self. My heart swelled with the sound and picture of her words. For just a moment my confused identity melted away, making room for a better image of myself. I felt pretty, worthy, and uniquely Louise. I possessed something special after all: the gift of a smile.

Photo of Pearl By rKIRKimagery
Photo of Window By FreezeFrameStudio
Photo of Coffee By James Grimmelmann
Photo of Apron By daisytoad