Chapter Five

 

MRS. RANDALL MADE a cup of hot tea, bid them good night and left them alone.

Iris gave Mayme a mischievous wink. “Want to know about China Polly?”

She shot Iris a look. “You’ll get in trouble if Mrs. Randall hears.”

“Rubbish.” Iris scrapped the remaining meat off the plate and into the roasting pan. “Do you want to hear or not?”

Mayme carried the glasses to the sink. “You seem determined to tell me, so go ahead.”

“She was a slave.” Iris kept her voice low to nearly a whisper.

Mayme knew it was so Mrs. Randall wouldn’t overhear.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s not colored.” She scraped the plates into a tin pot.

“It doesn’t matter. You’ll see mostly Chinese slaves out here.” Iris pumped water into a kettle and hung it over the fire to heat.

“I saw a lot of them in town. They sure don’t look like slaves.” Mayme tied an apron around her waist and leaned against the bench with her arms crossed. She wasn’t quite sure if Iris was intent on pulling her leg or if she wanted to gossip.

“They auction them off in the livery yard when a train load comes in.”

“Oh my. Those poor people.”

“China Polly was one of them. By the time she was eighteen, she’d been sold four times.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “By her father to a bandit for two bags of soybeans; to a Shanghai brothel; to a slave merchant of immigrants to America; and to a saloon keeper who kept prostitutes for miners.”

“That poor girl. What kind of people can do that?”

Iris frowned. “It’s the rich ones of course.” She tossed a piece of timber onto the fire. Bright flickering sparks snapped and disappeared upward into the chimney. “The bastard figured she was getting too old, so she somehow ended up here. They made her stand naked on the auction block. When she was ordered to get dressed, she figured she’d not been purchased for a wife.”

“Who bought her?”

“Mom.”

“Your mother?”

“Yep. She didn’t buy her for a slave of course. She just wanted help with me. My father was a logger. He died when a chain broke and a log rolled over him.”

“I’m so sorry. So how did the two of you end up here?”

Iris turned and looked at her incredulously. “You don’t know?”

Mayme frowned and shook her head. “Know what?”

“Mrs. Randall is my mother.”

“She is? Oh. Of course, now that you say that, I do see a resemblance.” She nodded quickly to hide her surprise. Truth told, she would never have guessed.

“Uh huh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t look a thing like Mom. She always tells me I’m a spitting image of my dad. I’m not sure what that means, or if it’s good or bad.”

She smiled at Iris. “It means your dad was good looking.”

A little while later, Mayme carried the washbasin outside to the side of the porch and poured the rinse water over the rail and onto the flowers. She returned to the kitchen and found it empty. Iris had already gone to bed. She retrieved her oil lamp and climbed the stairs to her room. She stood outside her door and tried to peer past the shadows cast by the lamp. Aside from the chirping crickets outside, not a single sound came from any of the closed doors. She turned the doorknob to her room and stepped inside. It took only a few minutes to undress, slip her nightgown over her head, and lower the wick to extinguish the light. Despite her short nap earlier, she fell asleep almost the instant her head hit the pillow.

 

CHIRPING BIRDS OUTSIDE the window woke her. The room was mostly dark but she recognized the shadow of the dresser. She stretched her arms over her head and immediately regretted it. Air cold enough to raise the gooseflesh on her arms lifted the drapes and wafted over her. She wrapped the blanket tighter around her and snuggled her nose into the warmth.

An abrupt knock on the door made her cringe.

“Gime goo ge’ up.”

“Go away. It’s not even light out yet,” she mumbled into her pillow.

Annie knocked harder and then again a few moments later.

“All right, all right. I’m coming.” Mayme huffed and braving the cold, flung the covers back.

She hurriedly pulled on a pair of trousers to cover her bare legs. Gooseflesh peppered her skin as she doffed the gown and replaced it with a flannel shirt.

“This is just plain crazy getting up at this hour,” she mumbled.

She put on thick socks and shoved her arms into a wool sweater as she slipped her feet into her shoes at the same time.

Annie’s eyes widened when Mayme opened the door. Annie wordlessly looked her up and down, shook her head, and trotted down the stairs.

Thinking a cup of hot tea would help warm her up, Mayme followed close behind. She gathered her hair behind her head and fastened it in a braid as she walked.

The gray light seeping through the windows gave the stairs and entryway a ghostly appearance. The lamp light in the kitchen kept it at bay, but it wouldn’t be long before it matched the sunlight outside and the lamp extinguished.

Mayme drew a deep breath beside one of the open windows. The air had a hint of dawn in it: damp and cool, metallic but not distasteful. The mountains in the near distance were framed in a pink triangle as the sun rose, gray at first, then silver, and then deep pink as the earliest sun rays caught the summits.

She entered the kitchen and conversation stopped. Mrs. Randall and Iris stared openly. Lalu glanced up briefly and bowed her head. Annie stood to the side with her arms crossed over her meager chest. She didn’t look happy.

Mayme looked around at each of them. “What’s the matter?”

Annie rolled her eyes and snickered before looking away.

Iris grinned but said nothing.

“Good morning, Mayme,” Mrs. Randall said. “Please pardon our reaction. Your choice of clothing is rather stark for a young lady.”

Mayme lifted her palms upright and looked down at her shirt and trousers. “What’s the big deal? I was cold.”

Iris giggled. “It’s just that you look like such a boy in those clothes and with your hair back like that. I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“Oh.” Mayme shrugged. “Well, I guess I could put on something else when it warms up.” Although it’ll be something a sight more comfortable than the dress I had on yesterday.

“That probably would be a good idea,” Mrs. Randall said before taking a bite of toast. She dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Please sit down and have some breakfast. There’s hot water for tea if you’d like some.”

“Yes, thank you.” She slid a chair out from the table and sat next to Iris.

Iris elbowed her playfully and tittered again.

“Iris.” Mrs. Randall gave her daughter a stony look.

Iris sobered and set about eating her breakfast.

“Mayme, please help Annie clean up after breakfast. I would then urge you to wander about town. Any establishments looking for help will have signs in their windows. We’ll talk later about anything that may have struck your fancy.”

“Is it safe? There were so many people in town yesterday, I could barely make out where I was going.” Mayme poured a cup of tea and added milk until it faded to a pale tan. She helped herself to a slice of toast and spread a generous amount of butter over it.

“It’s always like that, but still plenty safe. Just keep to the far sides and as close to the shops as you can. There’s less likelihood of getting run over by a horse or taken in the opposite direction by the swarm of workers.”

Iris and Lalu left shortly thereafter. Mrs. Randal disappeared into the bowels of the house, leaving Annie and her to put the kitchen back in order.

Annie was extremely quiet, merely grunting responses to questions Mayme asked about where to put the dishes after they’d washed them. A little later, while Annie emptied the washbasin, Mayme ducked upstairs to change.

She was anxious to explore and discover the possibilities out there. It occurred to her that it was really her first day where she had the opportunity to make decisions for herself. The train route had been predetermined and as far as could see, there’d been no alternative but to seek out Mrs. Randall. Of course there’d be some advisement from her, but Mayme was confident she’d have the final word on her job choice.

Her room had warmed up since she’d left for breakfast. She assumed it was safe to put on lighter clothing but was disinclined to wear a dress. Unfortunately she didn’t have much of a choice. She’d packed plain frocks that were fashionable, but not too chic. The limited space in the suitcase was as good excuse as any to not bring any of the horrid dresses she’d been forced to wear for banquets and other venues used to promote the family name. She’d hated that and would much rather have been in trousers and shirt, and in the company of her dog and horse.

She missed both of them. Her father had purchased Abby to be a hunting dog. Her bloodlines were impeccable and she’d come from a long line of proven pointers. But she’d been afraid of gunshots from the get-go and it had taken a lot of convincing to talk Father into keeping her as a pet. Mayme wondered what would become of her. She was sure that Abby was not allowed to sleep in the house, let alone on a soft bed. If only there’d been a way to bring her along. The problem was she didn’t have money to support herself, let alone a dog. Or a horse.

She wished she had Blaze now. He was her show horse and had ribboned in all the fancy jumper events. But she and Blaze had bored of all the hype. There was more exciting things to do than just ride around in a circular ring. So in between lessons and shows, they’d gone exploring. That was the one and only time she’d used the influence of her last name. The hundreds of acres surrounding the stable were used to graze and fatten cattle. She’d gone to each of the landowners and asked if she could ride on their property, dropping the Watson name at the appropriate time. She was repeatedly given permission.

She sighed with resignation. She missed the freedom of riding. Blaze hadn’t care that she belonged to one of the wealthiest families in Illinois, nor what she dressed like. The times she’d spent riding or walking with Abby taught her to be comfortable with being alone. Even in the company of her parents, without a sibling, it had been a lonely upbringing. She wondered if that was what sparked her rebellious nature.

The plain blue dress was a bit faded from use. It was her favorite if she had to admit to having one. The long sleeves didn’t end in lace around the wrists and there were no frills around the neckline. It would do for today.

Comfortable warmth slid over her face as she emerged from the shadow of the porch. Four vultures circled overhead, riding the thermals in search of their next meal. It was quiet at this end of town. For that she was thankful. She didn’t miss the racket of the city. When she was allowed home from school she always spent the first several hours reveling in the silence.

She looked down the street and frowned. It looked like a replay of yesterday except the dust didn’t seem as bad. A moving wall of people prevented her from looking past the corner shops. The crowd moved without rhyme or reason. People moved back and forth with and against each other. Every once in a while it spit out a horse and rider or a horse-drawn wagon.

Mayme kept to the right side of the road as she walked closer to the first building. She stood at the corner with her hand on the shop to appraise the surroundings. The majority of the crowd seemed to remain in the middle of the street. Like ants emerging from a nest, individuals would separate themselves from the crowd and disappear into one of the shops.

She stepped onto a makeshift walkway made of roughly hewn planks, the cracks of which were packed with dirt. From her vantage point, now above the heads of the drove, she could see that the shops were nearly identical and semidetached. Each had what looked like a path running down the side. She wondered if they were short cuts to whatever was behind them.

As she meandered down the sidewalk she often had to stop short to avoid colliding with someone going into or out of a shop. She made a mental list of the places that advertised for help: mercantile, sewing shop, bakery, butcher, and livery. She didn’t think she qualified for a job at the livery because she wasn’t strong enough to hoist heavy bags of grain and whatnot. She vetoed the sewing shop. She’d rather watch grass grow than have to pick up a needle and thread. Likewise, the butcher held no appeal for her either. That left the bakery and the mercantile. The thought of working in a hot shop day in and day out held no allure for her either. That settles it. The mercantile it is.

She knew she was supposed to discuss it with Mrs. Randall, but she’d already made her decision. Pleased with her choice, she found her way back to the mercantile, and hopefully to meet her new boss.

It wasn’t hard to find. Shovels, pick axes, and other tools lined the outside wall on both sides of the door. A few dresses and an assortment of material were displayed in the window. The want ad was nailed haphazardly to the door frame and fluttered quietly in the breeze. As she passed by, she yanked it off and walked in.

It was a decent sized, dark, cozily atmospheric shop. There was a larger assortment of tools just inside. It looked like everything, including the windowsills were decorated with a light coating of dust from the road.

A few women milled about, looking at and selecting goods to place in the woven baskets held in the crook of their arms. Two stood in line to pay for their items. Mayme thought it best to wait until the man behind the counter was free before approaching him. So she wandered about. It would be a wise move on her part, she thought, to familiarize herself with the store. A row of stools sat against the counter near the huge, clear glass jars of candy. Kerosene lamps hung from the tin ceiling. The orange glow added to the shop’s character. Its shelves and narrow aisles were crammed with sundries: chewing tobacco, slabs of jerky, bread, and bolts of material and other sewing supplies. A closet-sized area on the opposite side was filled with boxes of nails, more tools, and gold-panning inventory.

“Can I help you, young lady?”

Mayme looked around and realized she was now the only person in the shop, other than the shopkeeper.

He was a muscular, short man with eyes that gleamed. His voice was deep but not quite harsh. His round faced was ornamented by a handlebar moustache which stuck out quaintly under the tip of his rigid nose.

She took an easy breath, looked him directly in the eye, and stepped forward with an outstretched hand.

“I think I can help you. I’d like to apply for the open position.”

He shook her hand and cocked his head. “You would, would you? Do you have any experience?”

She straightened her shoulders and held her chin high. “No. Not yet.” She shot him a confident smile. “I took some business courses in school and have been well trained in etiquette. I’m a very fast learner and am sure I will become a useful asset.”

“Go on. I’m listening.” He crossed his arms over his chest and squinted his eyes.

Mayme leaned toward him slightly. “I can help you with your inventory presentation. For instance, if you put the boxes of nails in the order of size, customers will have an easier time finding them. And if you move the chewing tobacco away from the bread, it would be more appealing.”

He huffed. “And where do you suggest I put it?”

“Well, I would move the bread away from the window so the sun doesn’t cause it to stale fast. And the chewing tobacco—” She tapped her chin thoughtfully and looked around. She grinned when it came to her. “Why not on the other side of the counter with the matches and cigarette papers?”

The man frowned. He turned and stood beside her.

A wave of panic ran through Mayme. “I’m sorry if I’ve insulted you. I only wanted to help.”

He remained silent for a moment with his gaze focused toward the counter. “What’s your name?”

“My—Oh. Mayme Watson, sir.”

“Okay, Mayme Watson sir. I’ll try you out for a week to see how you do. The pay is two dollars a week to start.” He looked at her and smiled. “You can start tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.”

She pressed fingers to her smiling lips. She was overwhelmed in a good way and she felt her chest expand with self-pride. This was her first job ever and she’d gotten it without the help of anyone. Not her father or even her last name. She nodded. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.” She rose up on her tiptoes and surveyed her place of employment.

“I’m Smart by the way.”

Mayme looked at him questioningly. “Uh, so am I.”

“Didn’t you just say your name was Watson?”

“Sir?”

He smiled playfully. “Call me Mr. Smart. That’s my last name.”

“Oh. Oooh. Of course.” She raised her eyebrows and giggled. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Smarty. I mean Smart.”

Mr. Smart laughed heartily.

Two men walked through the doorway, one of which went straight to the counter.

“Okay, Miss Watson. I have customers to wait on. I’ll see you first thing in the morning.” Without waiting for a response, he strode toward the counter.

“Yes, sir. Tomorrow. I’ll be here,” she said to his back.