I nod like I agree with her, like I don’t see what Miss Charlotte can’t accept—that Gutter life requires us to make impossible decisions, ones she’ll never understand.
28
A GROUP OF GUARDS GATHER ON MAIN STREET ON SATURDAY night, yelling and laughing so their voices rise and spread. I read a few poems to Violet while she sits on her bed, watching the guards move about. When I’m done, she sits quietly for a moment, like there’s something she wants to say but doesn’t know how.
“You remember those guys who hired me?” she says.
“Yeah.”
“Well, they didn’t hire us to help with travel.”
I tell her that Rowan had a bad feeling about them, and she smiles as though this is funny.
“Rowan’s a genius,” she says, and we both laugh.
“How bad was it?” I say, because I can tell by the way she’s sitting up in her bed, twisting her bedsheets, that she finally wants to talk about it.
“We lived in this crummy place that felt cold and wet—like the basement at the academy, only worse. My bones always hurt,” she says.
The men outside start shouting someone’s name—Marianne or Mary Ellen. They’re laughing and screaming as though they’re calling out for her, and I wonder if she was one of the girls before Sarah or if they’re lost at the wrong end of town.
“Mainland men would stop by and we would dance with them or talk . . . More if they wanted. Whatever they were willing to pay for,” she says. “That’s why I hate this place. These men. They remind me of them. They smell like them. I can’t stand it.”
There are two places in Riverside where men go to meet with women, places where the windows are always covered and the front entrance is never used, only the one in the side alley. And my heart breaks at the thought of Violet paying her debts that way, with her body.
“Some of the guys who came to see me were just lonely, you know. And it was weird. Because they were married. They had kids. And they were still so lonely. But some of them were awful. Ugly. Like them,” she says, nodding toward the street, where the men are still shouting. “I could tell when they looked at me that they hated me, and I hated everything about them—the way their hands felt like straw. I hated the way they rushed and pressed with their sweaty, red faces all twisted up. But I tried my best to make them feel good, like they were wanted. Like they were special. Because isn’t that what everyone wants, to feel wanted? All I wanted was their money.”
I climb onto Violet’s bed, and she leans her head against me. We sit there for a while without saying anything, but when I ask her if her debt manager knew what was going on, she huffs and shakes her head, like the very thought of him makes her angry.
“Jameson Wells,” she says, pursing her mouth, so her face looks pointy and sharp. “I told him I couldn’t do it, that I wanted to find somewhere else to work where I could make more money, where I didn’t have to be doing . . . what I was doing. He told me that if I left, I would get a fine. That it would ruin my chance at Redemption Freedom. He said it was best to stay with the Jungs and find creative ways of making money.” She turns to me, her eyes sad, like she’s apologizing. “I didn’t want to give up on Redemption Freedom, Elimina. I couldn’t. I don’t have what Josephine and David have. A real family. I don’t have anything or anyone back there. And you saw how it went at the fair. I didn’t think I had any other options . . . So I did it.”
“Did what?”
“I was making decent money with the Jungs. But it was going to take a long time. And how long could I do that kind of work? The other girls were saying that when you couldn’t do the work anymore or when the men didn’t want you, they would just send you back to the Gutter. They can do that, you know. Jameson told me that if I was willing, I could cut my debt in half, maybe more. He couldn’t pay me in cash. But he could . . . he could fix the books, he said.”
I squint one side of my face so she knows I don’t understand.
“Adjust my debt so it looked like I was making more. He said he could get me debt-free in just a few years if I just did a few things for him.” She shakes her head back and forth, like she doesn’t believe her own words. “So I went to him whenever I could. In his car when we were supposed to be meeting. In the rooms meant for clients. ‘Yes. Oh yes, debt-free. Debt-free, baby,’ he would say before and after and during. It was awful. I kept asking him how much, how much more, and he would just say, ‘Trust me, you’re going to be free before you know it, Vi.’ That’s what he called me. Vi. And I hated it. The name. The feel of him. The look on his face when he grinned. I hated all of it.”
Outside the window, the streets are quieter now, except for one man with yellowish hair and a messy, undone uniform, who wanders down the road singing as loud as he can: “Baby, you got me for life. Baaaybeee, you got me for liiiiife.”
“I’m so ashamed,” Violet whispers, shaking her head.
“Violet, it’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“But I believed him. I did all of that because . . . because I wanted a way out so badly, and I thought he could give it to me faster. But I wasn’t smart. I wasn’t careful.”
She looks down at her belly, like she wishes the baby wasn’t there.
“Is the baby his?”
She nods. “The Jungs were very strict about . . . protection. For good reason, it seems. But Jameson didn’t want to. That was part of the deal. Do you think he knew this would happen? Do you think he’s done this before?”
I squeeze her tight as she covers her face with her hands.
“Did he give you those bruises?” I say, and she looks up and shakes her head.
“No. That was the Jungs. They wanted the other girls to know what happens when you don’t follow the rules. ‘There are no shortcuts for Gutter girls. Only dead ends,’ they said. So maybe I’m lucky. At least I’m not dead.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Violet. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I’m not okay, Elimina,” she says.
“You know what I mean.”
In the street, the man’s voice wails even louder.
“I’m going to try and get the best hiring package I can. A new one. The Jungs won’t take me back, so it’s up to Mr. Gregors. He has to decide if he’ll take me back and find a new contract or if he’d rather just keep the money from the original deal.”
“Baaaybeee, you got me for liiiiife,” the man sings.
“When will you know?”
“Should hear back any day now.”
“MPS?”
“Of course,” she says, rubbing the side of her stomach and squinting like it hurts. “I could walk back to Mainland City before one of those Network letters gets here.”
I nod, thinking about my letter, wondering if Mr. Gregors chose Miss Charlotte’s for that very reason—to make it harder to reach out to the Freemans.
“I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t get another job on the Mainland,” she says.
“Baaaybeee, you got me for liiiiife.”
“I’m sure everything will be okay, Violet,” I say.
She nods, closing her eyes and rubbing her belly, listening to the man on the road.
A LETTER ARRIVES for Violet a few days later, and she spends most of the afternoon gathering rocks and adding them to her collection. I don’t ask about the contents, but when we lie down in our beds later that evening, I start talking about how nervous I am about having the baby, hoping she’ll stay awake and share something.
“I know you have plans,” Violet says.
“What do you mean?” I say, taken aback.
“I see you rush off to the Manor. I see the way you smile and rub your belly when Miss Charlotte isn’t looking. I know you, Elimina. I know you want that baby.”
I’ve been visiting Lulabelle and Duncan every day after chores, making plans with hushed voices at Cranberry Manor and inside Duncan’s shop. We talk about the baby’s arrival, and whene
ver we have time, Duncan tells stories about the Upper End neighborhoods or the Corridor and the blocks in the Lower End.
“The Network will look out for you. You’re not in this alone,” Duncan said.
I don’t write our plans down out of fear that Miss Charlotte might see it or find it in my drawer. But when I go to bed each night, I repeat the things I’ve learned over and over so I won’t forget, just like the story Ida shared at the academy.
“You don’t have to tell me your plan, Elimina . . . but if you wind up in the Gutter . . . you could look me up,” she says, her voice soft and cracking.
“Why? What did Mr. Gregors say in the letter?”
Violet sits up carefully, rotating her belly as she retrieves a few sheets of paper from under her bed. “‘Upon careful review of the case, it has been determined that due to medical reasons, Violet Masters, Case Number 73956, has been determined to be unemployable.’”
“Unemployable? What does that mean?”
“It’s from Jameson’s agency. Mr. Gregors sent it back with his response. He said that because of this letter, I’ll never find work anywhere on the Mainland. Ever.”
“Ever?”
She nods and her lips begin to quiver. “After the baby is born, I’ll be going back to the Gutter for good.”
“They can’t do that, Violet. They can’t just declare you unemployable when you’re willing and able to do the work.”
But I know, even as I say this, that they can do whatever they want.
“Why is it so hard for them to care about us, Elimina? Don’t they know how hard it is already? Why do they make things harder? Why do they enjoy being cruel?”
I climb onto Violet’s bed and let her cry into me. “I don’t know, Violet. I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head.
“It’s all over for me, Elimina. Miss Charlotte will take the baby and then I’m done. Back to the Gutter,” she says.
“It’s not over, Violet. It’s not over at all. We can do this together now. We’re going to find a way to be okay together over there. It’s not over,” I say, and she looks at me with wide teary eyes as I rub her back in slow circles.
29
ON MY LAST SCHEDULED VISIT WITH DOC LUCA, HE shakes my hand and pats me on the shoulder as if he’s proud. He tells me that the baby is healthy and strong and should arrive in the next week—that before I know it, I’ll be on my way back to Mainland City and on to the Hill.
“Thank you,” I say with a big smile, trying hard not to look nervous and afraid, hoping I don’t give anything away.
“If the baby doesn’t want to come on its own, there are ways to help things along. Sometimes, these little ones need a nudge,” he says. “But I have a good feeling about you, Elimina.”
LULABELLE PLACES HER hands around my stomach later that morning in her yellow room at Cranberry Manor. She squeezes my belly like it’s fruit and listens with her ear pressed against it, as though the baby is talking to her at a frequency only she can hear.
“Baby’s right about ready,” she says. “This fella’s an early riser, Little Lima.”
She smiles the way she does every time I visit, as though just seeing me brings her joy, and I tell her what I didn’t tell Doc Luca, about the strange pains and the squeezing that happens throughout the day.
“Those are the beginnings,” she says, when I describe the tightness and the slow letting go that I feel in my belly. “Next, we wait for the pain.”
“The pain? Lulabelle, it hurts already.”
“That’s just tickles, Little Lima. Just you wait.”
THE REAL PAIN comes two days later, during Saturday night dinner. I try not to jolt or choke as I swallow down mashed potatoes, but I feel a sharp fire that starts in my back and pulls tight around my waist like a rope.
“Don’t leave the house for any reason. Keep an eye on each other,” Miss Charlotte says before leaving for poker.
When she’s gone, I hunch over and bang on the table, startling Violet. “The baby’s coming,” I say.
Violet pushes her chair back and waddles upstairs. She returns with my bag, the carving and the blue book of poems, which she holds out to me.
“That’s your book, Violet. That’s yours from home.”
“Home means nothing to me, Elimina. You know that.”
“But it’s yours.”
“When I come, we’ll read them,” she says. “But you’ll need this till I get there. It will help. Plus, I practically have them all memorized.”
“Then you keep the statue. We’ll put it in our new place when you get there.”
“Our place,” she says, and we both smile.
A burst of pain comes, and I hunch over while Violet stays close, rubbing my back and reciting a poem about a baby that lives across a wide river to help me stay calm. I breathe in and out in short little huffs, and when the poem is done and the pain is gone, I stand up with Violet’s help.
“Don’t forget to fill the bed with sheets in case she checks on us tonight,” I say. “But not too much. Not too obvious. Because—”
“I know, Elimina.”
“In the morning, you tell her that I went into labor, that the phone was broken, and that—”
“That you insisted on going to Doc Luca’s alone,” she says, grinning widely.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Because you’ve turned into a mother already, Elimina. I’ll be fine. I’ll remember everything you told me. I promise.”
I smile, and I try to think of something meaningful to say, something more, but all I can think of is thank you. “Thank you for everything, Violet.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You gotta go, Elimina,” she says, ushering me out the door and handing me a bag she grabs from the yard with one of my dresses soaked in blood.
“Where did you get this?”
“You’re not the only clever one, Elimina,” she says. “Put this in an alley on the way, past Duncan’s. We want them to think you had the baby, right? That something happened to you after the baby was born?”
I look at the dress, remembering the rat she placed in my bed at the academy and the blood she smeared on the wall.
“Violet, what if something goes wrong?” I say, taking the bag and standing there, like I’m not ready to go after all.
“You’ll be fine,” she says, holding me tight as I nod into her shoulder.
“I’ll see you at the bridge?” I say, stepping away.
“At the bridge,” she says with a small smile.
IT TAKES ME twice as long to get to Duncan’s shop with all the pain and contractions. I pass by guards who hoot and holler, and I make sure to be seen by a few who are sober. I place the dress in the alley next to the Country Store, and I double back to Duncan’s, hiding in the shadows along the way.
Duncan is waiting in the shop in a fancy suit, his hair and beard neatly trimmed, and when I’m safely inside, certain that no one has noticed me, I lean up against the wall to catch my breath. “I think you’re overdressed,” I say, grunting at the pain and holding my waist.
“Told the nurses I was taking Momma on a date,” he says, as he guides me to the back of the shop. “You ready?”
I nod, and he opens the door to a room full of fabrics and baskets that have been pushed to the side to make room to deliver the baby. The counters are clear, except for an iron, and there’s a small table against the wall covered in clean blankets and fresh towels.
“I’ll be right back, Elimina,” he says, before stepping out of the room and locking the door behind him.
When a contraction comes, I lean against the table with my hands clasped around the edge, grunting with my face pressed into the blankets. I count to ten, then down again. When the contractions start to come quicker and the squeezing pain gets worse, I feel certain that I’m going to die, just like Rosalind, but with my baby trapped inside me.
“Hurry up. Hurry up, please,” I say, hovering over the table with my belly hanging down, my hips swaying in th
e air.
“This place is a mess. But I’ve seen worse. I have definitely seen worse,” Lulabelle says when the door to the storeroom finally opens.
“Momma, I did what I could,” Duncan says.
She places her hands on my belly and clicks her tongue at her son. “Well, looks like we’re going to have a baby today. Let’s get you up on this table so we can see how soon.”
Her voice is calm and clear, and Duncan smiles proudly. “We’re almost there,” he says.
Lulabelle coaches me through the contractions, paying careful attention to the changes in my body and adjusting my position so that I’m as comfortable as possible when she finally instructs me to push.
“Gotta use all that energy to press out, right here,” she says, with her hand inside my body. “No screaming. Just push.”
I close my eyes and press as hard as I can, grunting and groaning, over and over, until it feels like I’ve come unplugged, like a piece of me that was stuck inside has slipped out. When Lulabelle places something small and slimy on my chest, I open my eyes to see a tiny brown face.
His eyes open and then they close, and I stare at his tiny fingers and the wiggle of his mouth.
“He’s so quiet,” I whisper as Lulabelle and Duncan watch.
“Babies only cry when they need something. It seems this one’s got everything he wants,” Duncan says, and when I look at my son, satisfied in my arms, I cry messy and hard.
As soon as Lulabelle takes the baby, I know we have to move quickly, that I can’t rest or wait until I feel strong. I’ve got to get through those gates before morning, just like Duncan said, before Miss Charlotte knows I’m gone.
“Get through those gates as quickly as possible and you’re fine. No matter what your headmaster wants, or what happens with Miss Charlotte and Doc Luca, it’s near impossible to get folks out once they’ve gone back inside. Debt is all Mainland governments care about. Giving it to you and holding you to it,” Duncan said. “So just get in there quick as you can.”
But when I look over, he and Lulabelle are whispering over the baby, not rushing at all.
“We’ve got to go,” I say, trying to sit up.
Gutter Child Page 21