I never saw Susan again. Mr. Hartwell, the coffeeshop owner, said she never left a message. Unfortunately for me, my father’s behavior grew increasingly erratic. He quit his job at the university and took to the bottle. If he didn’t spend all his day at home, he spent it getting drunk at the local pubs. He’d stumble home long after I’d put Eileen to bed, reeking of cheap beer and whatever else he’d seen fit to imbibe with his last paycheck.
I kept the worst of it from Eileen, telling her our father was taking some time off from work. She was not a timid child and asked questions no one should ever ask about their parents.
“What’s wrong with Papa?”
“I cannot say,” I fibbed, not wishing to destroy her innocence. “He’s still grieving for Mama.”
“But why does he act that way?”
“He’s been… ill.”
“Ill? How? Will I catch it?”
“No, dear,” I sighed, simmering a vegetable stew because we couldn’t afford meat. “It’s best we leave him be.”
Eileen frowned at her doll. “Mathilda doesn’t like it when Papa drinks.”
I dropped the spoon on the floor. “What did you say?”
“You don’t have to hide it from me, Anne. I know what Papa does.”
“How long have you—”
“Long enough.”
Oh, dear.
“I don’t want to live here anymore,” Eileen declared with a stubborn tilt of her chin. “I want to go live with Aunt Cecilia.”
“Aunt Cecilia lives in St. Louis.”
“I know.”
“And Papa asked her before we left.”
“Did he?”
I nodded, washing off the spoon. “She refused.”
“What about—”
I shook my head. “I’ll take care of you, Eileen,” I promised. “No matter if I have to get on my knees and scrub other people’s floors.”
“What are you talking about, silly?” she said, wrinkling her little nose. “Scrubbing other people’s floors? Are you a servant?”
“No,” I sighed, peering down into a pot full of greenish liquid. I added a few more dashes of salt and pepper. “But I have had trouble finding work.”
“Work?” she cried in alarm. “Why do you need a job?”
I thought about lying one more time, then decided against it. She was old enough. “Papa quit his job, Eileen. Last month.”
“He did?” she gasped. “But he gets dressed every morning and goes out!”
“That’s only because he didn’t want you to know. He comes back right after.”
“I… see.” She smoothed her doll’s hair thoughtfully. “And where is he now?”
“Out drinking, I suspect.” It was my turn to wrinkle my nose. “I don’t know about this stew.”
“Forget the stew!” she cried, leaping from her chair. “What about us? What happens if Papa doesn’t work, Anne?”
“We’ll manage.”
“Don’t lie!”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are!” she railed. “Everyone lies!”
“We’re just trying to protect you,” I sighed heavily and lowered the heat, hoping the stew would thicken enough to be edible. I turned to face her. “That’s what adults do, Eileen.”
“You’re not an adult, Anne. You’re still a child.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose I am.”
“And I don’t think it’s fair.”
“What isn’t?”
“That Papa quit his job so he can drink all day and we have nothing to eat.”
“I tried to get some beef.” I turned back to the stew and lifted the lid, grimacing at the foul-smelling stench wafting from its brackish depths. “But the rent was due.”
“What about chicken?”
“Gas bill,” I reminded her gently.
“You mean there was nothing left?”
I shrugged. “At least we have flour for bread.”
“Yes,” she sniffed. “But no butter.”
“Be glad we have milk.”
“But no tea!”
“Eileen,” I pleaded, feeling a headache brewing. “Bear with me.”
“I’m trying. But it’s hard when you’re hungry.” She handed me a spoon. “Let me taste.”
I scooped out a small amount of broth and blew on it. She took a tentative sip and scrunched her little face into a comical mask of horror. “Ew! That’s horrible!” she gasped, handing back the spoon and tearing out of the kitchen.
Knowing she was probably right, I tasted my experiment and regretted not begging the butcher for a scrap of offal. But pride is a two-headed monster that is not so easily slayed. I threw in all the spices I had, replaced the lid, and busied myself with setting the table.
* * *
As usual, my father was late. He’d been out all day, doing God-knows-what, and I had already put Eileen to bed. I kept the stew simmering just in case and sat at the table going over that month’s bills. Eileen’s tuition was due. There was coal to buy for the stove. I had a little book I kept for bookkeeping. Papa’s last paycheck had kept us afloat for weeks, but it wouldn’t last long.
At some point, I was going to have to find work, and I needed to find it soon.
Placing a check beside the remaining bills due, I placed the book in the cupboard and swept out the kitchen. I was filling a bucket to mop when there was a knock on the door. “Who can that be?” I muttered, glancing at the clock. “Who knocks after midnight?”
I tripped over my feet, hurrying to the door. When I opened it, I saw two policemen and knew my world had come to an end.
“Miss Gibson…?”
“Yes?”
“There’s been… an accident.”
* * *
No one would tell me exactly how my father died. He either died when struck by a speeding carriage or he fell and struck his head. The answers were like pieces of a wooden puzzle. I’d get bits here. A huge chunk there. Perhaps a sliver if I pressed hard enough. But the courts determined there was no criminal mischief involved and quickly closed the case.
I thought if I were a man, they might have been a little more forthcoming.
As an unmarried woman, they frowned upon my inquiries, and their answers were often condescending and vague. No matter how hard I pressed the issue that I thought there had to be more, they brushed my concerns aside like breadcrumbs on a filthy table and told me they had other things to focus on.
Like stolen fruit carts.
Eileen was beside herself, sullen and ill-tempered. Sometimes she refused to eat, and I’d have to plead with her to eat the broths I made. I pulled her out of school as I could no longer afford the fees and tried schooling her at home.
I was forced to sell my mother’s wedding ring to pay for my father’s casket and burial. What was left over got us out of the house and into a dingy flat near Wapping. It was cold, dank, and smelled of rotten meat no matter how much I cleaned.
After a month of this, I wrote to my Aunt Cecilia in St. Louis and pleaded with her to take Eileen. I wasn’t worried about myself. I could manage. But Eileen needed good food and a warm place to sleep. Both of which I could not provide. I didn’t tell her about it until Aunt Cecilia showed up on our doorstep.
She was not pleased to see me, and the feeling was mutual.
“Anne,” she greeted me in her lofty way of speaking. My uncle was a dentist and accorded my aunt a very comfortable lifestyle. She employed a housekeeper, a maid, and a cook. “You’re moving up in the world.”
“Please, Aunt,” I begged tiredly, worn out from a day of scrubbing the flat. “Will you take her?”
“Of course. Where is the little lamb?” She made a show of looking around. “Where does she sleep?”
“This way,” I said, leading her through a gloomy hall that led to the only bedroom. I slept in the kitchen on a cot and gave Eileen the bed. My sister was huddled in the corner, talking to her doll. We had to sell most of them. “Eileen,” I called softly. “Aunt Cecilia is here. She’s come to visit.”
“That’s nice.”
Aunt Cecilia looked horrified. “I’ll wait in the kitchen.”
I nodded and did my best to appear nonchalant. The room was untidy, despite my telling Eileen to pick up after herself. And it was then that I knew I’d made the right decision. “I have something to tell you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Of course you do,” I sighed, dropping down beside her. “Aunt Cecilia wants you to come… visit.”
Eileen glanced up hopefully. “Really?”
“Yes. And she said you can stay for as long as you want.”
“Oh, Anne!” Eileen cried happily, flinging her arms around me. She pulled away slightly. “Will you come, too?”
“I cannot.”
“Why?” she pouted.
“I… must tend to a few things here,” I lied, twisting my fingers in my apron. “It is only for a little while.”
“But Anne! What will you do while I’m gone?”
“Get a job,” I said, knowing full well I’d have to leave London. There was no life for me in the city that killed my brother and, most likely, my father. “There is work up north.”
“I don’t know why you can’t come with us,” she protested. “You can find work in St. Louis!”
I could. But Aunt Cecilia had agreed to take Eileen on the condition that I remain in London. “It would be unseemly,” my aunt had written. “You are old enough to care for yourself. And what would you do? You’ve no money for school.”
“I’ll be all right,” I assured my sister, reaching up to tease a ringlet. “We’ll write, and you’ll tell me all about your adventures.”
“Will I see you again?” she asked tearfully.
I didn’t know how to answer that one. I truly didn’t. We would, I said finally. But I knew Aunt Cecilia might have something to say about that. My mother’s family had never approved of my father, thinking he wasn’t good enough as a lowly architect. That made no sense to me. But my grandparents came from “old money” and my father wasn’t part of the equation, no matter how much he made. They had wanted her to marry a politician, much to her horror.
I quietly assured Eileen I’d visit when I could and packed her things for the voyage.
The day I said goodbye was the hardest thing I’d ever done and the first night in the flat without Eileen was akin to torture.
I lay in her bed, missing the sound of my mother’s voice and Joshua’s teasing laughter. I missed the smell of my father’s pipe as he read the newspaper. And I missed Eileen crawling into my bed at night because she couldn’t sleep. “Move over, Anne,” she’d mutter before giving me a shove.
Now, I had no one.
No one to tell me breakfast was ready.
No one to tell me it was time for school.
I buried my face in Eileen’s pillow and wept.
In the morning, I bathed and dressed. I spent all day looking for work, marching the soles off my secondhand shop boots and praying I’d have enough money left over for a bowl of soup. It was two days into my search when I finally found something tucked on the last page of the afternoon paper. It was a familiar notice. Carefully worded and to the point. It said:
Wanted: Woman to keep house and care for elderly gentleman. Must be unmarried, diligent, and accustomed to hard work. Will pay for food and lodging. Inquire at this address.
With my heart in my throat, I went to the post office and paid for a sheet of paper and an envelope. I wrote out what I thought was a proper inquiry, gave up my last coins for the postage, and mailed it the same day.
I never expected a reply. I was working at a laundry when I received the letter. My hands were so raw from wringing scalding sheets, the letter opener kept slipping. I carefully slit the envelope open and found a tersely worded reply along with a five-pound note. It was barely enough for train fare.
I didn’t have to think about what I was going to do. I packed my meager belongings, quit my job at the laundry, and was on the first train out of London the next afternoon. In hindsight, I probably should have heeded that small voice in my head.
But hunger and grief do strange things to people.
Unfortunately, I was one of those people and would soon learn the hard way that life would never be kind to Anne Gibson.
