The Seventh Cross (working title)

The Seventh Cross Chapter 1

For the third time that day, Kimberly Bronson scuffed her knuckles across her scrubbing board's wooden ridges. She was fortunate not to draw blood. Blood meant stopping, and stopping meant working all night. If she got blood on a sheet, it meant putting it through the time consuming stain removal process then washing it over again with the scrubbing board. However, it was rare she drew blood these days, the skin covering her knuckles had hardened to calluses through years of rasping clenched fists across the wash board. Scuffed knuckles hurt, and each subsequent scuff was fresh salt on an old wound. Worse still, the pain abruptly cut short her day-dreaming and reminded her exactly where she was. She was in the Broxbourne brothel and her job was washing soiled bed sheets. Kimberly nursed her knuckle between her lips then blew on it to sooth the pain. After giving her face and shaved head a rub with both hands, she got back to her day dreaming and sheet scrubbing.

Kimberly worked in the brothel since arriving with her Brother, Zander in Broxbourne. Zander took to hunting and selling his catch while Kimberley struggled to find employment. Broxbourne was small with mostly family run businesses. Any employment opportunities not catered for by family members was offered to friends. In the rare case a vacancy was available after friends and family were accommodated, it would be offered to men before women, the brothel of course being the exception to the rule. After every door closed, the Broxbourne brothel door remained open. Kimberley heard they ran a bar so hoped to snag a job as barmaid. Her dad was fond of beer and had brewed the stuff for as long as Kimberley could remember. She had fixed him many a pint through the years so knew what constituted a correctly poured mug of beer. Like everywhere else, the bar had no vacancy; Kimberley was offered the more traditional brothel work but declined. On her way out the door, the brothels acting manager, who went by the cringe worthy name of 'Madame Meow' called her back. "Got another role needs fillin If ya aint scared of ard' work. It'll put some coin in yer pocket." Kimberly turned to face Madame. "Get through a 'lotta bed sheets ere, need 'em washed and pressed everyday." Kimberly nodded her acceptance. Her naivety matched only by her innocence.

On her first day, Madame Meow led her through the network of round tables in brothel's saloon. Kimberly cast eyes at the bar and was momentarily glad she would no have to deal with drunken men who were led to the establishment by carnal instincts. A staircase on each side of the bar led upstairs to the working girls rooms. Again, Kimberley was happy she was not reduced to 'that'. Madame Meow led Kimberley down a short hallway mired in shadow; they passed several doorways and ended up at the last room on the right of the dank and gloomy passageway. Four unpainted wooden walls encased the biggest pile of laundry Kimberley had ever seen. Above the pile was a hole in the celling, unceremoniously knocked out so prostitutes could tip their dirty sheets down into the scrubbing room she stood in.

Kimberley's eyes squinted and her nose wrinkled when she stepped through the doorway. The stench was an assault on her senses. She paced tentatively towards the pile, with each step it grew bigger. Stains that were obvious and ones that were not almost gave the heaving pile life. She stood gawping at a stack of ruffled bed clothes a head taller than herself. Insects buzzed at the top like birds circling a mountain top. On the stone floor next to the pile, lay a washtub and scrubbing board. The water looked cloudy and the absence of steam suggested it was cold.

Picking up on Kimberley's open disgust, Madame Meow gave her a reassuring slap on the back. "It ain't so bad kid. After all, a thousand flies can't be wrong." Madame Meow tilted her head back and loosed a dirty laugh, it sounded like her throat was as saturated as the sheets. With a squeeze of Kimberly's shoulder, the brothel manager walked off and left Kimberly to it. "Ten clean sheets equal a copper penny, take as many breaks as ya need but you don't go home till the pile is done." The Madame called over her shoulder. Kimberly watched Madame Meow depart. The woman moved with an exaggerated sway of the hips, long practiced and perfected from years in the brothel business.