Saturday's Lady

Six

Omaha was a dirty, stinking town, but it wasn't worse than Chicago where the man had been last. At least the cows here were alive, anyways, from what he could see. And the land! Chicago was full of buildings, all ramshackle and full of people, but Omaha had open space. Once you left the town, anyways, which wasn't hard to do. Everything was flat and the sky stretched out for a thousand miles. He half expected to be able to see Chicago from here.

He kicked a stone out of the road and hoisted his pack on his shoulder. There wasn't much in it, he'd spent almost every penny he'd found in Chicago to get here. Then there was a comb and his other shirt, but nothing else. There had been a photograph of his wife, but it was gone now too, lost somewhere along the way. He was more saddened by that than he thought he would be. It had been years since he'd seen her last.

He decided as he walked along that Omaha was nicer than he'd expected. Still stinking, still dusty, but in the summer sunshine it was nice enough. There was a saloon, anyways, and a few shops. He could stay here a while, maybe get an honest job. They wouldn't cheat him like they had in Chicago, with the 'new' house he'd rented a room of, or the bad milk. There were lots of farmers, and it was getting close to haying season, so perhaps he could earn a few pennies doing that. Maybe he could stay here.

He'd thought a lot on the trains. There hadn't been anyone to talk to, so he'd dreamed. He dreamed of his children that he hadn't seen in years. He had to picture them being young, because he couldn't picture them grown up. 

He wondered where they were. Their mother had taken them to America, last he knew. He could have walked by them a thousand times in New York, or Chicago, or even here, and he'd never have known.

He was sorry.

Since he'd decided to save pennies, and he'd stopped drinking, he'd been tormented by them, every time he slept. He felt remorse for what he'd done, for leaving them alone, for letting them go. He was sorry for hitting his wife, for screaming at his children, sorry he'd ever started drinking in the first place. He'd tried for a long time to justify it, you know, his father had been a heavy drinker too, after the Hunger was over and life didn't go back to normal, as they still starved and his own mother had died with a belly full of English corn.

The more he thought, though, the more the red-haired man realised he was in a new land, where people had never known hunger like that, and besides, they'd given England the boot a hundred years back, so there was one obstacle gone. Even here, while he was still a man with no real skills, he'd found work-- disgusting though it was, he was paid-- and he could move on.

Yes, he decided, this was a good place. Hopefully it will stay that way for people like me.

*****

Emma had gotten used to the corset by now. It had been made for her, after all, it had just been stiff, and now it was used to her and she to it.

"Is that too tight?" asked Hannah.

Emma turned and twisted in the mirror. "No, it's fine. Thank you."

Hannah helped her step into the crinoline silently. "I think I'd better go into a different line of work," she muttered as her fingers fumbled the ties.

"I'd do it myself if I could reach," laughed Emma, a little embarrassed. Until recently she'd never had anyone help her dress, except a sister to do buttons. Now she was standing in front of a coworker in lacy underwear, stepping into a literal cage.

"It's better than having Cook yell."

"Or cleaning wax off the candlesticks."

Hannah laughed too, putting the petticoat over Emma's head. She paused. "Do you actually like doing this?"