Athenia's Choice (ON HOLD)

Athenia's Choice: Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

For two long, lonely, lifeless days, I trudged through the desolate countryside. I did not even stop when the midnight-colour dark crept up on me, enveloping me in an uncertain, foggy world. I had no sense of direction whatsoever. I passed two small farms but did not stop to plead for some sanctuary. My stomach was erupting with bursts of starvation, but I gritted my teeth, pulling through murderous storms of rain and fierce brewing gales.

Everything blended into a brown sludge. There were no trees; all the oxygen was being wrenched from me as I staggered up a hill on the morning of the third day. I gazed down at the village of Pembury, and sunk to my knees in my relief, limbs aching and tender. I ran all the way down, swinging my arms in exhausted jubilation.

A niggling thought in the back of my mind reminded me of the hunchback. He was waiting for me to return with some food. What if he died because I didn’t go back and feed him? But I had no intention of taking that treacherous journey again!

Entering the bustling main street, I wrapped my drenched scarf about my head, cupping my hands out to beg, as guilt fought against hunger in my stomach causing me to double up, moaning in pain, staring wearily into people’s eyes. The stone steps of the sweetmeats shop, where I had decided to beg, were very uncomfortable. I was given many disgusted looks from villagers coming back from church. Desperation pounded in my head like a constant whip, making me feel dizzy.

Suddenly, the doorbell of the shop chimed. A dumpy woman was staring down at me, the lines across her forehead creasing downwards as she scowled at me.

“Make ya-self scarce, an’ don’t ever go about beggin’ on my shop steps ‘egen!” she snapped, in such a brusque London accent that I scampered off, running further down the lane to the baker’s shop. Beckoning hands of heavenly scents drifting from the bakery were too much to resist; my mouth trembled and I almost cried. I started running up to people, telling them how I desperately needed just a tuppence, but they turned a blind eye.

After half an hour, I sunk back onto the baker’s shop steps and started sobbing wildly, admitting cruel defeat. Everyone saw me as a gaudy little damsel in inappropriate dress. When the shop bell tinkled and a man came out, I began to make myself scarce.

“Hey, girlie, wait!” the man cried out. I walked back meekly, by this time tripping over my own feet in tiredness.

“Have you got a character reference?” I looked at him wearily, confused. His face flashed with sympathy, and he said, utterly dazzling me:

“Look, I see you’re plain exhausted and out an about begging, I’ll give you some work at my baker’s shop.” An uncontrollable smile lit up my face.

"That is very kind of you sir, if you do not mind taking on a light-headed girl with no experience whatsoever!” I blushed, following him into the shop, as the waves of relief settled down in my body.

“Well, well, I’m sure you will learn quickly enough,” the man nodded, introducing himself as Mr Smithson. The shelves were stacked with golden loaves of bread. On another side were good quality meat pies, sweet buns and iced cakes. My jaw dropped open.

“Bessie,” Mr Smithson called, leaning on the counter. A woman in her late twenties came bustling out, dusting off her hands full of flour. I watched all the specks settle on the tiled grey floor.

“I’d like you to meet a girl I wish to try out...”

“...Marie,” I said quickly, “short for Mariettia.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bessie responded, somewhat stiffly, tucking loose strands of dull blonde hair back into her white cap. Bessie led me through the shop to the back, where she gave me an apron to wear. She watched me fumble with a knot before seizing the strings and tying me so tight it was like a corset; my lungs were completely crushed, and I reached out for something to grab.

 A few minutes later, Bessie gave me a rough idea of how to create dough, waving a rolling pin around quite a bit. I must admit I yawned through her talk, dreaming of a plush bed I could sink into. I nodded, pretending to take it all in. I added far too much flour and yeast, and was scolded as the next ingredients delivery wasn’t until next week.

I scarcely talked with my co-worker. Her brown eyes were so sharp I am sure she could read my mind. She kept muttering words such as ‘refugees', ‘strays’, ‘sympathy’, and ‘foolish’.

“So, how long have you worked here?” I questioned casually, hands sinking into another round of runny dough I had accomplished making.

“5 months, 1 week, 4 days,” Bessie sniffed precisely, icing cakes.

“Do you find the money able to provide you with comfortable living, miss?”

“I am a Mrs, I am married. My state of living is nothing to do with you- do not be so impertinent. I do not want to be telling you to hold your tongue every minute!” Bessie snapped angrily, putting a hand on one of her rather large hips. From then I kept my lips tightly pressed together.

*****

Whether the citizens of Pembury had large appetites or not, Mr Smithson’s bakery was very busy, his fresh warm loaves practically flying of the shelves. This, however, meant more work and the smoke from the ovens created a clammy, claustrophobic atmosphere. I burnt myself once or twice taking buns out the oven. Bessie sniggered, and I must admit I resented her now, even though she was an excellent cake maker.

Finally, we were allowed a 10-minute rest for a cup of tea, and ate any unwanted or stale buns from earlier in the day. I stared at the food for so long, entranced, before Bessie asked me what I thought I was playing at. I wolfed the buns down, the sweet taste lingering on my tongue, my stomach sighing in contentment. I still couldn't come to terms with Mr Smithson's kindness.

When the end of the day came, we hung our aprons and caps up, tided all the trays away, and cleaned the counters, shelves and tabletops until they sparkled.

"Well girls, see you in the morning. Yes, you too Mariettia, you can tell your ruddy father he’ll be getting some shillings to feed his beer guts at the end of the week!” Mr Smithson laughed hollowly. I stopped in my tracks. My amazement slowly died away; he thought I wanted money so my father could go-a-drinking? The worst feeling was that he wasn’t going to pay me today; without money, I couldn’t find lodgings!

“What are you waiting for?” Bessie asked me tiredly. I snatched up a glinting something on the bench underneath the pegs, hoping it was useful, and the glint may have been from a key. For now I had no choice but to follow Mr Smithson and Bessie out of the shop...