Blackberry Winter

Chapter 3




VERA

“You’re late,” Estella said, eyeing me from behind her gray steel desk when I walked into the maids’ quarters at the Olympic. A single lightbulb dangled from a wire in the dimly lit basement room. She nodded toward a mound of freshly laundered white linens in urgent need of folding.

“I know,” I said apologetically. “I’m so sorry. The streetcar was late, and just before I left I had a confrontation with my—”

“I’m not interested in your excuses!” she barked. “The fifth-floor suites need cleaning, and quick. We have a group checking in tonight. Dignitaries. The work must be done fast and with attention to detail. And watch your corners on the beds. Yesterday they were sloppy, and I had to send Wilma in to remake them all.” She sighed and returned to the paperwork in front of her.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said, stowing my purse in a cabinet and tightening my apron before heading to the service elevator. “I’ll do better.”

“And Vera,” Estella said, “you didn’t bring the boy again, did you?” She craned her neck as if she expected to find him hiding under my skirt.

“No, ma’am,” I muttered, suddenly wondering if I’d left a water glass out for Daniel. Did I? Will he be thirsty? I repressed the thought as Estella’s eyes bore into me.

“Good,” she said. “Because if you mistake Seattle’s finest hotel for a nursery school again, I’m afraid I’ll be forced to give your job to any number of women who would love to have it. You ought to be grateful to be gainfully employed when so many people aren’t.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I am very grateful. It won’t happen again.”

“Very well,” she said, gesturing toward a silver tray that held two enormous slices of chocolate cake and a champagne bottle. If only Daniel could have a slice of chocolate cake. I made a mental note to scrape together tip money to make him one. Every child deserved a taste of cake, even poor children. “Take that up to room 503,” she said. “Manuel’s out on another delivery. It’s for an important guest, so look smart about it, won’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, wheeling the cart out the door.

As the service elevator pushed upward, I studied the cake—dark chocolate, with fudge wedged between each layer—and the bottle of French bubbly, its label printed with exotic words I did not understand. I felt a pang of hunger, but willed myself to look away from the cake. With any luck, I’d come across a bit of cheese or a dinner roll in one of the rooms I cleaned that night. Last week I found a steak sandwich. It had been nibbled at the edge, but I didn’t mind, having not eaten at all that day.

I steadied the cart when the elevator came to an abrupt stop, wincing as the champagne flutes clinked together, narrowly avoiding toppling to the ground. What would Estella say if I broke them? I pushed the car out into the hallway, nodding at a fashionable couple walking by. They ignored me. Where are they going? To the theater? The opera? It was easy to get lost in fanciful dreams working at a hotel, and to pass the time, I permitted myself to think about what it might be like to lie in a bed of freshly pressed linens and fluffed pillows. While dusting the golden trim, I’d peek into closets and admire the couture clothing hanging within, the jewels spread across dresser tops, the perfume bottles that cost as much as six months’ rent. I once dabbed a little on my wrist, breathing in the exotic floral scent of wealth and luxury, until I thought of Estella, then quickly scrubbed with soap and water.

As I made my way through each suite, I’d dream up stories about the lives of the guests, always wondering what it would be like for me, for Daniel, if our circumstances were different.

I stopped at room 503 and knocked. Music played inside. Jazz, maybe. “Just a minute,” a female voice called out, followed by the sound of giggling.

Moments later the door opened and a beautiful woman appeared, about my age. Her breasts brimmed over the edge of a pale pink lace nightgown cinched tightly around her waist. Her short hair, dyed to a striking yellow blond, curled slightly at the ends, just like in the advertisements. When she looked down at the cart, I could see the dark of her natural color peeking through the roots. “Oh, goody,” she squealed, running her index finger along the edge of the cake and then licking it, ignoring my presence entirely. “Lon,” she cooed into the room, “you devil, you. You know champagne and chocolate is my weakness.”

I followed her inside. The air smelled of musky cologne, and my cheeks burned red when I noticed a half-clothed man lying in the bed. With the coverlet draped at his waist, he looked like a king propped up against a bevy of pillows. “Just set it over here by me, doll,” he said kindly, looking straight into my eyes. I turned away, embarrassed at the sight of his bare chest, tan and dewy, like he’d just exerted himself.

“Oh,” he said, grinning, beckoning me to hold eye contact with him. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart. Are you new here?”

“No, sir,” I said. “I mean, well, yes, sir. Just six months.”

The woman looked very annoyed by our exchange. “Lonnie,” she whined, “let me feed you some cake.”

“In a minute, Susie,” he said without taking his eyes off me. “I’m Lon Edwards. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you.” He extended his hand. The woman brooded.

I took it awkwardly, unsure of what to say, so I squeaked, “I’m Vera. Vera Ray.”

“Pleased to meet you, dear,” he said, tucking a crisp one-dollar bill into my apron pocket.

I stood back and curtsied. “Thank you, sir, er, Lon; I mean, Mr. Edwards.”

“I hope to see you again,” he said, grinning, before turning his gaze back to Susie, who appeared starved for his attention—and the chocolate cake.

“Yes, sir,” I stammered. “Thank you, sir. Good night.”

As the door clicked closed behind me, I exhaled, just as I saw Gwen waiting for me in the hallway. Short, plump, with an unfortunate scar on her left cheek, she rarely frowned or complained, which is why I had taken to her immediately.

“Estella sent me up to help you with this floor,” she chirped. “Big group coming in. We have to work fast.” She grinned. “I see you’ve met Lon.”

I shrugged, patting my pocket. “He tips well.”

Gwen grinned. “He also has a thing for maids.”

“Gwen!” I puffed. “You’re not saying that I would—”

“No, no,” she said, poking my side playfully with the edge of her feather duster. “It’s just that the woman with him now—Susie—she used to work in housekeeping, before you started.”

“You mean, she was…?”

Gwen nodded. “Just like us. And now he keeps her in his suite, all fancy and made up, at his beck and call.”

My cheeks flushed at the thought. “How perfectly terrible.”

Gwen shrugged. “Susie doesn’t seem to think so. He gives her a hundred dollars a week, and access to his car and driver. Sure beats scrubbing the floors.”

“A hundred dollars a week?”

Gwen looked wistful. “A fortune.”

“Well,” I said, taking a deep breath and then exhaling away the thought. “I’d never put myself up for sale like that.”

Gwen shrugged. “Never say never,” she said as we keyed into the first of the eleven rooms that needed cleaning. “These are frightening times. So many people are hard on their luck. My eldest sister lives in Kansas. Her husband is out of work, and they have eight children. Eight mouths to feed. Imagine what she’d do to feed her family. I’m just grateful I only have my own piehole to look after.”

I thought of Daniel and the predicament I faced with the rent payment. I couldn’t string Mr. Garrison along very much longer. We’d be out on the streets in a few days, maybe a week if we were lucky.

“Gwen,” I muttered, “you don’t happen to have twenty dollars I can borrow, do you? It’s for my rent payment. I’m in a terrible bind.”

“I wish I did, honey,” she said, her kind eyes sparkling with compassion. I felt a pang of guilt. How can I expect her to bail me out when I know she’s in the same boat? “Here,” she said, handing me two crumpled bills. “My last two dollars.”

“I promise, I’ll pay you back,” I said.

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, pointing to the bed. “Let’s get started on stripping down these sheets. I’ll even let you have all the tip money we find in the rooms. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Maybe,” I said.



By five a.m., we’d finished the floor, even the enormous penthouse suite, and I had raw, cracked hands to show for it. Gwen yawned, handing me a bottle of discarded face cream she’d pilfered from an empty room. “Put some of this on,” she said. “It’ll help.”

I smiled at the kind gesture.

“Want to stop at the diner before heading home?”

“I can’t,” I said. “I have to get back before Daniel wakes.”

Gwen put her hand on my arm. “It’s hard to leave him, isn’t it?”

I nodded, aware of every second wasted. Daniel was waiting. “It’s unbearable, actually.” My eyes stung a little and I looked away.

“This isn’t forever, you know,” she said. “You’ll find your way. You’ll meet someone. Someone wonderful.”

I wanted to say, But I already did, and look what happened, but instead I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “My ship has to come in one of these days, right? And yours, too.”

Gwen winked. “That’s right, honey,” she said, giving me a squeeze. “Now, how’d you make out with tips?”

I shrugged. “Four dollars.”

Gwen smiled. “Combine that with my two and Lon’s tip and you have—”

“Not enough to pay rent,” I said, defeated.

Gwen sighed. “Well, it’s a start. Give that handsome boy a kiss for me.”

“I will,” I said, opening the door to the street. A cold wind hit my cheeks, pushing its tendrils into the cracks of my sweater and sending chills through my tired body. As I stepped onto the sidewalk, I gasped when my feet sank into at least four inches of fresh, white snow. Good heavens, snow? In May? The weather matched the uncertainty, the cruelness of the world. I sighed. How will I get home now? The streetcar can’t be running—not in this weather.

I knew I’d have to walk, and fast. The apartment wasn’t far, but in snow, and with a hole in the sole of my right shoe, it might as well have been miles. But it didn’t matter; Daniel was my destination. I trudged along, steadfast, but a half hour later my feet ached, and I winced in pain at the stinging intensity of the exposed patch of flesh. I hobbled into an alley, tore the lining of my dress free from its seam, and wrapped it around my foot. A man with a sooty face hovered near a trash can. He tended a small fire under a makeshift shelter, poking the embers with a stick. My hands felt icy and I longed for warmth, but his unwelcome gaze told me to press on. Besides, there wasn’t time to stop; Daniel waited. I climbed one hill and then a second. The swath of linen only dulled my frost-kissed skin for a moment before the sting returned, throbbing with fierce pangs. Two more hills. Keep going. I could be home by sunrise, to greet him with a kiss the moment he opened his eyes. I owed him that.

By the time I reached the apartment building, I could no longer feel my feet. Even so, I hurried inside, dragging my numb limbs up the stairs. Though unheated, the stairwell’s ten-degree rise in temperature warmed me.

“Well, hello there, good-looking,” a man called to me from the hallway. I hated living above the saloon. It meant pushing past a half-dozen drunkards—some unconscious in the hallway; others angry, looking for a fight; and still more looking for a woman. A bold one reached out and grabbed my hand, but I broke free long enough to make my way up the stairs and barricade myself inside the apartment. As I locked the door, I panicked for a moment. In my state of exhaustion, I couldn’t remember if I’d let myself in with a key or if the door had been unlocked. Surely I locked it before leaving for work last night? Fatigue was playing tricks on me.

The fire I’d lit in the fireplace the night before had long since died out. The air felt cold. Bitter cold. Poor Daniel, with only a thin quilt to warm him. Was he chilled last night? I shuddered at the thought of the city’s wealthy—warm and comfortable under millions of down feathers, eating cake at midnight—while my son shivered in his bed in an apartment above a rowdy saloon, alone. What’s wrong with this world? I set my purse down and peeled off my snow-covered sweater, dotted with bits of ice that sparkled in the morning light. I walked to the compartment under the stairs and pried open the little door, pulling out my bracelet from its secret hiding spot. Daniel loved running his little fingers along the gold chain. I fastened the clasp, knowing how happy he’d be to see it on my wrist again.

I suppressed a yawn as I climbed the stairs to Daniel’s room, but my exhaustion was unmatched by the excitement I felt to see my little boy. He’d be giddy about the snow, of course. We’d make snowmen, and then cuddle up together by the fire. I’d get an hour of sleep in the afternoon while he napped. A perfect day.

I opened the door to his room. “Daniel, Mommy’s home!”

I knelt down by his little bed and pulled back the quilt, revealing only crumpled sheets. My eyes searched the room, under the bed, behind the door. Where is he? “Daniel, are you hiding from Mama, love?”

Silence.

I ran to the washroom, and then downstairs to the kitchen. “Daniel!” I screamed. “Daniel, where are you hiding? Come out, right this minute!”

My heart pounded in my chest with such intensity it muted the sound of the men engaged in a fistfight on the floor below. My eyes scoured every inch of the apartment, and I prayed it was only one of his little jokes. Surely, in a moment, he’d pop out from behind the pantry door and say, “Surprise!” the way he did when we played games together?

“Daniel?” I called once more, but only my voice echoed back to me in the cold, lonely air.

I pushed through the apartment door and ran down the stairs. I hadn’t stopped to put on a wrap, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t feel the cold; only terror. He has to be close by. Maybe he woke and saw the snow and decided to go out to play.

I ran past the men loitering around the saloon, and out to the street. “Daniel!” I screamed into the cold air, my voice immediately muffled into a hush by the thick layer of snow. “Daniel!” I called out again, this time louder. I might as well have been screaming through a muzzle of cotton balls. A suffocating silence hovered. I looked right, then left.

“Have you seen my son?” I pleaded with a businessman in an overcoat and top hat. “He’s three, about this tall.” I held my hand to the place on my leg where Daniel’s head hit. “He was wearing blue plaid pajamas. He has a teddy bear with a—”

The man frowned and pushed past me. “Some mother you are, letting a three-year-old out in this weather,” he muttered as he walked away.

His words stung, but I kept on, running toward another person on the sidewalk. “Ma’am!” I cried to a woman shepherding her young daughter along the sidewalk. Both wore matching wool coats with smart gray hats. My heart sank. Daniel doesn’t even have a warm coat. If he’s out in this weather…I looked directly at the woman, my eyes pleading, mother to mother. “Have you seen a little boy wandering around here, by chance? His name is Daniel.” I barely recognized my own voice. Desperate. High-pitched.

She eyed me suspiciously. “No,” she said without emotion. “I haven’t.” She pulled her daughter closer as they walked away.

“Daniel!” I screamed again, this time down an alley, where I sometimes let him play hopscotch or jacks with the other children while I knitted in the afternoon. No answer. Then it occurred to me to look for footprints in the snow. His feet were small enough that I could distinguish their impressions. But after searching for a few minutes, I realized my efforts were futile. The snow, falling so hard now, covered any trace of his tracks with its cruel blanket of white.

I walked a few steps farther, and this time, toward the back of the alley, a fleck of blue caught my eye. I ran to it and fell to my knees, sobbing, shaking my head violently. No. No God, no! Daniel’s precious bear, Max, lay facedown in the snow. I picked it up and held it to my chest, rocking back and forth the way I might have comforted Daniel after a nightmare. I trembled from a place deep inside. My little boy was gone.