Mrs. Appleton stood by in frigid silence, but Clementina’s fury was hot—and well deserved by me. She grabbed my shoulders with hard hands to arrest my progress when I tried to enter the room.
“Margaret!” she yelled over my shoulder. Margaret rushed up the servants’ stairs and down the hall, wearing her best black dress and starched apron and cap. At Clementina’s probing, Margaret confessed unhappily that I had indeed been gone for several hours on this day and for all of the previous one (managing to leave out confessing that I’d also been gone the day before)—“to try and find her daughter, a cause of great concern to her.”
Despite my tender care of Henry to date, my heartfelt pleas, my vow to make this up to her and Henry, Clementina dismissed me on the spot, giving me a half hour to pack and be gone. Her mother looked on, face as stiff as china. Not one hair of her bun stirred as she nodded her approval. Only Henry wanted me to remain; he aimed his head my way and screamed for me.
“Can’t I please nurse him once more,” I begged, “rather than leaving him hungry?” I couldn’t bear his distress, and my bodily discomfort was growing in response.
Clementina put her powdered face close to mine. “Your milk is unsuitable. My son would do better to live on artificial food.”
My words tripped over one another as I tried to explain again why I’d had to leave him.
“I’ve had enough of you and your endless problems,” my mistress intoned, leaning so close I saw the tiny red vessels in her eyes. “Be gone from this house, and good riddance!”
I asked meekly for my money from the first of the month till today. Clementina reached into the beaded bag at her waist and threw a quarter at me, which I picked up from the floor. It was far less than she would have owed if I’d done my work, but I was lucky to get it.
I stumbled to my attic room. My body flooded with urgency as I thrust clothes and other effects into my valise. The attic was musty from dampness, and its odor suddenly revolted me. My head spun and my mouth watered with nausea. I lay back on the mattress, hoping not to be sick.
The sensations subsided as I listened to the household’s noises. I heard Clementina tell Margaret to feed Henry with a bottle. Then she called that she was going to the doctor’s to request another wet nurse. The front door slammed shut; a bit later, the pattering of hooves and rolling of wheels indicated her departure by carriage. Someone climbed the stairs to the attic story, and Albert entered my room, hot and dusty in his traveling clothes.
“If you have no place to go,” he said, holding out a card to where I lay, his face awkward.
I accepted it. “Burnham Imports, Incorporated, 8xx Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Penna.,” it read.
“Best to call before ten or after four.” He gave a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll have more time to attend to you.”
I thanked him and sat up, putting the card into my skirt pocket; he gave a slight bow and returned down the stairs. At least I have a last resort, I thought. Perhaps even a friend.
I finished packing and left that spacious attic room, descending with my valise to the nursery, where Henry lay drowsy in his crib. He began to make sucking motions when I entered, but I dared not nurse him. Leaning close, I whispered that I was sorry to have drugged him and kissed his plump cheeks repeatedly. He opened his brown eyes wide, startled at my passion. I picked up the bottle of laudanum from the floor and tucked it into my valise—since I’d paid dearly for it. Then I descended to the kitchen, expecting a final parting with Margaret and Miss Baker.
Instead, they gave me one more sheltered night.
Which brings me to this moment. The sky is dark. I’ll use the outhouse, and pump some water at the well to drink and wash in. I’ll dry off with the blanket Margaret gave me, assemble my hair, put on clean clothes, and sleep on my valise rather than getting mussed by filth from the floor—so that, in my efforts to reclaim my Lotte tomorrow, my appearance won’t be so unkempt as to bar me from succor.
Sixth Month 7
Before sunrise this morning, Margaret knocked at the door of the stable closet. I was assembling my belongings for departure, having slept little and done it propped against the wall so mice wouldn’t crawl through my hair. She handed me bread and a boiled egg, which I ate rapidly, standing up. Then she gave me an entire pound cake from Miss Baker.
“She said she hopes you’ll get Charlotte back and have that sewing machine soon,” she told me.
I gave heartfelt thanks, tucked the cake into my valise, and buckled the straps.
“I wish you could stay longer—I’d bring meals out.” Margaret’s blue eyes went wet.
Moved, I said I couldn’t let her risk dismissal for me, and besides, I had an urgent task ahead. I wiped hay and dust from my skirt and hugged her. We fit nicely, with her head at the height of my shoulder. I pushed my face into her thick waves of hair and smelled the freshness of her youth.
“I’ll write to let thee know my address when I’m settled,” I promised. “Rosa can read the letter and help with thy reply.”
“I plan to get a primer, so I may be reading your letter and writing back myself!” she said. As we regarded one another, an earnest look came to her freckled face. She reached into the pocket of her apron and drew out a small carving.
“I want you to take this.” She handed me a wooden horse with touches of brown paint on its eyes, mane, and tail. “My father made it before I left. To carry me safely on my journey.”
A lump formed in my throat. “Thee is too kind!” I tried to hand it back.
“No,” she said, arms clamped at her sides. “It’ll protect you and your baby.”
“I’ll give thee something, then.” I opened my valise and laid the horse inside, then found a tortoise-shell comb from Mother. I held it out, but Margaret refused.
“I had no friend in the house before you came. And you taught me—” She heaved a sob. Again we embraced.
“We can’t leave the stable together,” I said, pulling back.
She didn’t move.
“I’ll go first.” I picked up my valise, covered my head with the yellow shawl from Clementina, and ran past the horses shifting in their stalls to the garden, then the road—leaving behind the kindest, most sincere girl I’ve ever known.