Open, Charlie

Chapter Three ~ Mary

The next day Charlie woke up early to join the others for breakfast. The girls chatted as they ate their eggs and toasts, before they all left for work, but Charlie didn't participate in their banter. She still hadn't chosen the best course. Should she stay and look for employment or should she pack up her stuff in her newly acquired carpet bag and buy a ticket to the next train west. Where would she be safer from Aaron's bottomless avarice? From his constant demands to open the next safe, the next bank vault. From the threat of the asylum?

Outside the dining room window, clouds hung low, threatening rain again. Everyone had already left, but Charlie still sat at the empty table, staring through the window, her mind blank. Stay or go?

"Miss Perkins."

Charlie ignored the landlady. Whoever the woman was talking to, it didn't concern her.

"Miss Perkins!"

Charlie started. Oh, gosh, it did concern her. That was the name she had given when she registered. She'd better started answering it. "So sorry, Mrs. Brunelli. I was woolgathering. Yes?"

"Are you going to stay the next night? I need to go to the market. If you stay, you should pay now. Otherwise, you should pack and go. I need to lock the door."

"I'll stay," Charlie said. "I'll get the money."

Soon after her landlady left for her shopping, Charlie went out too and carefully locked the front door behind her. She didn't use the key, just pressed her palm to the keyhole, and the tumblers turned obediently. She should stay in practice just in case, especially when nobody was watching. She made her way down the street under the overcast skies. The air was chilly but dry. Perhaps she should look for employment.

The first shop she passed, a bakery, she went in to buy a sweet treat and asked about a job. They didn't have a position for her. Neither did the other shops she entered: a hosiery, a milliner, a bags and purses shop, and a dress boutique. Everyone was friendly and understanding, sympathized with her needs, and sent her elsewhere. After a few hours of fruitless inquires, she almost gave up. Someone suggested she should ask at a department store—they often hired—but she was afraid to work in a department store. All department stores were brightly lit and had heavy traffic of buyers. Someone from New York, from her former life might recognize her. No, a small boutique, hidden in a back street, was her only option.

Her feet hurt and her stomach growled in frustration. She was getting hungry again. Why wouldn't anyone hire her? So she didn't have any experience, so what? She was only eighteen. She didn't have time to gain a working experience. Or did her luxurious upbringing show? Did the shopkeepers guess she grew up rich and that's why refused to employ her? Did she talk in the wrong way? Wasn't humble enough? One more shop, she decided, a pretty flower shop across the street. If nothing came of it, she would go back to Mrs. Brunelli, and tomorrow she would leave. She might get luckier in San Francisco.

"I don't have a position," the owner of the flower shop said regretfully. "But my cousin has a haberdashery shop, and she is looking for someone. What kind of work have you done before?"

Charlie's shoulders sagged. The dratted work experience again. "I didn't work before, ma'am," she said. Perhaps she should lie, invent a better answer to that ubiquitous question, but she was too tired and disheartened to start now. Tomorrow, she would start lying about her work experience.

She had never imagined it would be so hard to find a position. Stupid, stupid Charlie. Should she go back to New York, submit to an asylum? Aaron might beat her again, but he wouldn't be too harsh. He wouldn't kill her. He needed her after all. Besides, no lock nor bars could hold her captive, as long as they were made of metal. So far, all the locks she had encountered were made of metal. The sudden thought revived her. She lifted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips, and discovered the flower seller studying her.