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“It’s dry now, Mama.” Seven-year-old Esther Sessions stepped back from the fire, a piece of newsprint dangling from her fingertips. Her nose wrinkled at the lingering odor. Herring for dinner—again. She wouldn’t dare complain. She wouldn’t say anything to her father this evening if she didn’t have to. Maybe it would be one of the good nights, when he didn’t come home.
“Bring the paper here, darling.” Mama’s feeble hand stretched out from the cot. “If we’re lucky there will be a story about Queen Victoria.”
Esther pulled a chair close and spread the paper over her patched skirt. Today they had one of the first pages of a paper that was only a few weeks old. It was so disappointing when the fish came wrapped in the obituaries or a page of advertisements, though she didn’t mind the latter too much. She found it interesting to read about all the marvelous items that could be purchased by people who had money. Her parents hardly bought anything—except coal, food, candles now and then, and the bottles of drink that made her father act even worse than usual.
Her mother rolled carefully on her side, so she could see the paper too. Her eyes scanned the page, and her face lit up. “Let’s start with this one.” She pointed to a bold headline.
“‘The Great Ex—'” Esther frowned, then tried again. “‘The Great Ex-hibe—'”
“—The H is silent, and the I doesn’t sound like the I in ice,” Mama corrected gently. Her trembling hand took Esther’s and moved it across the words. “The great exhibition.”
“What does that mean?” Esther rolled the word around in her mind, liking the important sound of it.
“I don’t know,” Mama said. “Let’s read and find out.”
Keeping her finger on the page, Esther started the first line. “‘On Friday multi—'”
“—Multitudes,” Mama said. “You’re doing so well, Esther.”
“‘Multitudes of people flocked to the Crystal Palace.’” Esther’s breath caught as she imagined what a palace made of crystal might look like. She turned to her mother. “Is there really such a place? It sounds like something from a fairytale.”
Mama tried to lift her shoulders as if to shrug but only managed a slight movement, accompanied by a wince. “There must be such a place if it’s in the papers.”
“What does ‘flocked’ mean?” Esther asked. “Did the people fly? Like a flock of birds?”
Mama shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Esther looked down at the paper again. “‘The nob—le—'”
“—Noble.” Mama smiled sadly. “That means people who are titled.”
Esther nodded. People with titles lived in grand houses, had plenty to eat, wore pretty clothes, and rode in fancy carriages. “‘The noble, the learned, and the wealthy—’” She knew that word because it was the opposite of what her family was—“‘came to parade its long ave—nues.’”
Mama reached and turned the paper so it was angled more toward her. She began reading quietly. “‘The exhibits engross the attention of all. Admiration, along with a sense of wonder overcome the observers as they take in the immense number of striking objects on display.’”
Esther’s imagination whirred as she and Mama took turns reading about sculptures, fountains, glass, artwork, and inventions.
“‘Such a marvel of industry and innovation has never been seen before,’” Mama finished.
They sighed at the same moment.
“I should like to see just one of those marvels,” Esther said. An entire crystal palace filled with such treasures was incomprehensible.
“Someday you shall.” Mama set the paper aside and clasped Esther’s hand. “The world is changing, and you’re going to be a part of it. But to do so you must keep reading and learning.”
“Then you must be with me.” Esther stared down at her lap as her foot swung back and forth, the toe of her worn shoe, handed down from her brother, peeling halfway up each time it caught on the warped floorboards.
“Look at me, Esther.”
She lifted her fearful gaze to her mother’s loving one.
“I will always be with you. Even if I am not in this room or with you every minute. I will always be right here.” Mother’s trembling hand reached to touch the spot over Esther’s heart.
“Papa says I must go to work soon too.” Esther was already older than many children who worked. The only reason she’d been able to stay at home this long was to care for her mother. And that . . . It wouldn’t go on forever, as much as she wanted these times, just the two of them together, to last.
Silas had been working in the factory nearly six years now, and he was only four years older than Esther. Her father threatened to take her with him each day—small children were especially prized at the mill—and Esther knew that day was coming fast. Only Mama’s illness had allowed both of them to stay home together as long as they had.
Esther worked hard to please her father. She cooked the best meal she could each day, and she kept his clothes clean and mended and the floor swept and the room tidy. Not that there was much to tidy up.
A coughing spell seized Mama, as if to confirm Esther’s worst fears. Mama was getting worse, not better.
Esther jumped up and ran to the basin. She returned with it in time to catch the bright red blood that almost always came up now when her mother coughed.
“Thank you, Esther.” Mama lay back on the cot, her eyes closed, when her coughing spell was done.
Esther tucked the thin blanket around her, then went outside to dump the basin. When she’d finished, she gave a quick glance back at their door, then down the opposite end of the street to the pump. She would need fresh water to prepare dinner and to help Mama wash. Impulsively she decided to hurry and get the water now, before going home. She hadn’t brought her shawl, but it would only take a few minutes, and she’d left Mama resting as comfortably as she could these days.
Esther ran the length of the street, to the pump at the end. Two women and one boy were in line before her, so Esther had to wait, shivering and all the while glancing back toward their door. It wasn’t good for Mama to be alone so long, or at all, really. What if she had another coughing fit?
At last it was Esther’s turn at the pump. She rinsed the basin, then filled it as high as she dared without spilling. Thankfully it was tin, not porcelain like some, so it wasn’t too heavy for her to carry, though she had to walk slowly this time.
At their door she paused, balancing the basin on her leg and reaching for the knob. The door swung open, and her father loomed over her. Startled, she jumped back, and some of the precious water sloshed over the side of the basin.
Home early. What had he done this time to be fired?
“Where’ve you been?” He grasped Esther’s arm and jerked her forward, spilling more water down the front of her skirt and onto her shoe.
“I—I had to get water for dinner.”
“Same old slop,” her father snarled. “Not much longer. Tomorrow you start working too.”
“But Mama . . .” Esther’s protest died on her lips as she stared across the room. “Mama!” She dropped the basin and ran toward the cot and her mother’s still form. She took her mother’s cold hand in her own and pressed it to her cheek. “Wake up, Mama.”
“She’s dead,” her father said coldly.
“I was only gone a few minutes,” Esther sobbed. “Oh, Mama.” She pressed her cheek against her mother’s still chest.
A rough hand jerked her head back. “Go fry up that fish.” Her father pointed his thumb toward the fire. He released her braid and it slapped against her back.
Esther made no move to obey. Mama can’t be dead. She can’t. She shook her mother’s shoulder a little, then noticed the blanket wasn’t tucked around her as it had been. Esther’s eyes shifted to the end of the bed, searching for and not finding the blanket. She found it on the floor beside her father, near the head of the bed and her mother’s face.
She looked back at her mother—lips parted, brow scrunched, arm raised as if she’d been—
“You killed her!” Esther whirled on her father, pummeling him with her fists.
He didn’t deny it but laughed and shoved her hard away from him. “It’s your fault she’s dead. You shouldn’t have left her here all alone.”