The Hired Girl(23)
After that, I was ready. I walked barefoot down the lane — my shoes and stockings were in the bucket. That was the strangest part of today — gracious, it was only this morning! — walking down the hill, in plain sight of the men, and knowing that I was leaving forever. I’d announced at breakfast that I meant to spend the day picking blackberries. (The berries are ripe, too, which is another sign from God that I’m leaving home at the right time.)
I tried to walk as if it was just an ordinary day, as if my buckets were empty. I daren’t pause to look my last on the home of my childhood. A lot of it I didn’t mind leaving — the privy that I’ve cleaned a thousand times, and the chicken house, and that irritating rosebush that’s infested with something that gnarls the roses. But I felt a little sad leaving the chickens, even if they are the most boring chickens in the world. And I felt real regret about leaving my tomato plants. It looks like there’s going to be a fine crop this year.
The saddest part was walking past the clothesline — isn’t that queer? But as I walked past it, I had this sudden picture in my mind of Ma and me taking the clothes off the line. I remember us folding sheets. We’d stand apart, our arms moving like windmills, perfectly in rhythm. Then we’d walk toward each other with our arms over our heads, so that the sheet wouldn’t touch the ground. It was almost like a dance, and the sheets smelled good after a day in the sun, and we were always happy, because taking the clothes off the line meant the laundry was done for the week.
When I came to the blackberry thicket, I went straight into it, with the thorns scratching my skin. Once I was hidden from sight, I put on my shoes and stockings and took the suitcase out of the bucket and tried to bash it back into shape. It didn’t look very good, but I packed everything inside it and fastened it with a piece of string. I took the letter I’d written for Father and placed it inside the bucket, with a stone to hold it down.
It was a very aggravating letter. I meant it to be, because I don’t want Father coming after me. I told him I was going to stay with Great-Aunt Alma in Lancaster. I never thought I should be grateful to have such a disagreeable relation, but I am grateful, because Father hates Great-Aunt Alma and won’t want to follow me to her house. Great-Aunt Alma always says that Ma married beneath herself. She and Father had words on Ma’s wedding day and haven’t spoken since.
The way I reckon it, the men will come in around noon, and there won’t be any dinner waiting for them. Father will be furious, but he won’t want to waste time looking for me; he’ll want to get the hay in. The boys will make a nasty mess in the kitchen, fixing their own dinner, but this time I won’t have to clean it up. Nobody will find my letter until suppertime, and they’ll be too tired from haying to follow me to Lancaster.
They might not come after me at all. Father knows that Great-Aunt Alma is so horrid that nobody in her right mind could stay with her long. Very likely he’ll expect me to come home on my own accord, with my tail between my legs. By the time he finds out I never went to Great-Aunt Alma’s, I’ll be settled in Baltimore.
So I think I’m safe. But all the same, I mean to leave a crooked trail behind me — I went first to Lancaster, then east to Philadelphia, changed my appearance, and will go from here to Baltimore. I considered going to New York City, which Miss Chandler says is an imposing metropolis but full of foreigners and a little bit vulgar. If I wanted vulgar, I could get it homegrown. So I won’t go there.
I wasn’t too scared when I took the milk train to Lancaster, because I’ve done that before, but I began to feel frightened when I got on the train to Philadelphia. I couldn’t help thinking about all that lies before me — finding a respectable boardinghouse and looking for work. I guess I could work in a factory, but I’m afraid of that. Last spring there was a terrible fire in one of the New York factories, and all the girls — the workers were almost all girls — were locked inside, and they had to jump out the windows, ten stories down, or be burned to death. Miss Chandler cried when she told me about it. The horror of it haunted me for weeks. Those poor girls! I think I’ll be safer in a regular home, working as a hired girl.
Luckily, I have plenty of money — that’s the great thing. I won’t have to take the first job I see. On the other hand, I’m all alone in the world. Once I was on my way to Philadelphia, I started thinking about that, and the more I thought about it, the more melancholy I felt. I was bound and determined that I would not cry in public, but I kept catching my breath, and my bosom heaved — or is it hove? I think hove is a real word, but it doesn’t sound right. At any rate, one of the porters — they all seem to be Negroes and awful nice — came to me and told me, in ever such a kind way, that they were having the last sitting for breakfast, and he didn’t want me to miss it if I was hungry. He said he’d show me the way to the dining car.
Laura Amy Schlitz's Books
- Where Shadows Meet
- Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine #3)
- A Covert Affair (Deadly Ops #5)
- Save the Date
- Part-Time Lover (Part-Time Lover #1)
- My Plain Jane (The Lady Janies #2)
- Getting Schooled (Getting Some #1)
- Midnight Wolf (Shifters Unbound #11)
- Speakeasy (True North #5)
- The Good Luck Sister (Wildstone #1.5)