Her Secret Shame

by Christine Sterling

  It wasn’t until John had asked about their day, did Misty start to pay attention. “The day was hotter than most, especially since we are getting closer and closer to winter soon. It’s time to start preparing,” Beatrice said, taking a large drink from her cup.

  “Did Henry and Mathis just finish up? I saw them coming down the path.”

  “Yes. They worked so hard, I decided to give them the night off.”

  Misty was stirring the contents in her bowl, stopping when she heard the lie. She looked up at Beatrice and John, as they moved the conversation along. She stared incredulously at Beatrice, who was talking nonsense about the chores that Henry and Mathis did, the chores that she herself did, right down to the trench near the house. She wondered why Beatrice had lied about the men coming through.

  She kept quiet, listening in. Misty said nothing of the lie; she wasn’t one to tattle and she also wanted to know what Beatrice’s reasoning was. Beatrice was counting on Misty to be a docile woman, afraid to lose her comfort and safety that she had with John. But what Beatrice didn’t know was Misty had struggled for years, on her own. She was never looking for someone to take care of her; even now, she knew she was only going along with this marriage charade because it masked her sister.

  John turned to Misty, “And how was your day, my darling?”

  Misty bristled at the term, but it would be a lie if it didn’t fill her with some happiness. It could be real, if you just let it be, she told herself before she dismissed the thought. “It was busy. Beatrice showed me around the ranch, so I could get acquainted with the area. We mostly stayed close to the house,” she said, looking towards Beatrice and smiling. She needed to show that she was going to be docile.

  Beatrice smiled knowingly. “Yes, it was nice to spend the day with your wife, so I got to know her a bit better. What I would really like to know though, is how you two met and how you fell in love?”

  Misty looked to John, as Beatrice did too. She was interested in what John would come up with, as it was his charade they were participating in. While Misty had expected John to look flustered, he was calm as could be. “The first time I met her, was at the hotel. She had been working there a few days at that point. I had gone to the hotel, at Mr. Higgins’ request, to look into a few individuals who had just checked in. He thought they might be criminals from back east. I remember the first time I saw her in the dining area. She was unlike any woman I had ever seen. It was her red hair that first drew my eyes to her. But I know, when I saw her smile, that it was the most beautiful part of her.”

  “That first day, I didn’t talk to her, only observed her from afar. I even momentarily forgot why I was there in the first place. I knew I had to come back to talk to her. Which I did, actually, the next day, when she got into a scuffle with one of the patrons. That was when I was first introduced to Misty; and I learned that her spirit was as fiery as her red hair. And through each interaction, we just got to know each other really well. I don’t know at what point I had fallen in love with her, but one day I just knew, she was the one for me. We carried on in secret, because she was afraid of what people would think, which I respected. It proved too much when we couldn’t see each other. We were careless and that is how we got caught last night. I told everyone we were married just to save her reputation, but I knew I needed to make it right this morning.”

  John took Misty’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it lovingly before putting it back down on the table, his hand still covering hers. “But I am glad it happened, because it meant we didn’t have to sneak around anymore. And I wanted everyone to know how much I love this woman right here.” Misty looked at John, affected by his words in a way she couldn’t describe. His words hit her in her heart like nothing she had ever felt before. But what she wished for the most is for the words to be true. She realized she had cared about him far more than she had liked to admit and hearing him say all of those things just brought those secret feelings to the surface. It was hard to deny the feelings she was having in this moment, as she looked into his loving eyes. He was such a good actor, it almost made her want to cry.

  She withdrew her hand and put down her spoon. Pushing herself away from the table, she excused herself, explaining how it had been a long day, and she had been tired. She hurried back to her room, but not before she had seen John’s questioning face and Beatrice’s angered one.

  As she reached her room, she entered and looked for her nightgown, putting it on. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, feeling immense loneliness come over her. She missed Mary terribly, knowing that she was alone at that hotel with no means to get to her made her feel even worse. She felt trapped. To ease her feelings, she decided she was going to write Mary a letter, which she set to work on at that moment. She gathered the materials from her baggage and started to write. A long time had passed before she heard the door open. When she turned, she saw John slowly close the door behind him.

  “Is everything alright? You left so abruptly, I was worried something had happened. I’m sorry I didn’t come up sooner, as Beatrice needed me.”

  And there was the crux of it all; his undying devotion to his sister. Even if all his words were true, and Misty knew they were not, he was still tied to her. The woman was keeping up a double life. “As I said before, I was just tired,” she said, as she finished the letter before folding it and placing it in the small envelope. “You are a good actor,” she said, walking over to John, so she was standing in front of him. “It’s amazing how you could come up with something so easily when asked.”

  John looked startled, as if he’d not expected that reaction. He recovered quickly, sitting down on the bed. “Well, we must keep up appearances.” They sat in silence, the electrical energy buzzing around them. Misty wondered if he felt it too; she wanted him to feel it too. Before long, John stood up. “I think I should be heading out. I have a few things I need to take care of.”

  If there was ever a time she wanted him to stay, it was this moment. She had never realized how incredibly lonely she was, knowing that he was about to walk out that door. But she could never ask him. If he rejected her, she knew it would feel ten times worse than what she felt now, so she wanted to be the one to set the boundaries. “John, I think it would be best if we just act as before.”

  “As before?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes. This marriage isn’t real and while I appreciate you marrying me to protect my reputation, we don’t need to be acting like a married couple when we are alone. Do you understand me?”

  John nodded, but disappointment was evident on his face.

  “Once this is over with, I’ll give you an annulment and you will be free of me. If you could, please deliver this letter to the hotel? If you give it to Mr. Higgins, he’ll make sure to get it to her,” she said instead, handing him the letter.

  Disappointment morphed into anger as he listened to her words. An annulment was not what he wished, but he didn’t think he should press her. He looked at the letter briefly before slipping it into his back pocket. He stood next to her, as if he wanted to say something else. Instead, he leaned in and unexpectedly kissed her forehead, leaving without another word. After he left, Misty laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling until exhaustion took over, allowing her to finally sleep.

  Chapter 11

  Misty - Nineteen

  “Soup is ready!” shouted the cook.

  Misty looked over from her station, walking over to pick up the dish. “Thank you, Paul,” she said, as she carried the bowl over to the table at the edge of the restaurant. She had been working at the hotel downtown for a few weeks, mostly with housekeeping. Today she was called into the kitchen to help with running the food. She had noticed there were quite a few stares in her direction. She was starting to get used to it since she came to Philadelphia. She looked rather young to be working there, as if at all. It was hard to get this job in the first place; her looks gave men the wrong idea. But she convinced the manager of th
e hotel to give her a chance, so she was trying her hardest to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  She had just come to the city a few months ago, after hopping from small town to small town since she left her home. She worked odd jobs to save up enough money for the train ride to Philadelphia, where her father used to take work trips. It was the only city she vaguely remembered going to and it seemed like the best place to disappear. Everything else reminded her so much of home, she needed to be in a place where there was nothing familiar. The thought of Mary made her heart hurt. But she knew being away was the best thing for her.

  The hotel manager came by the dining area, stopping next to Misty as she was fixing some table settings. “Misty, I need you to deliver some blankets to room 44,” he said in a dismissive tone.

  Misty set a napkin aside. “I thought I was assigned to kitchen duty. I still have a few more place settings and then Paul is going to show me how to cook a few dishes.” Misty enjoyed being in the kitchen; growing up, she learned rather quickly to cook various dishes because of her mother’s work habits. She had grown up rather quickly.

  “Beth Ann has come down with a sickness where she can’t leave her room,” said the manager. He tapped his foot, annoyed with his surroundings. “So, I need you deliver the blankets. They were quite adamant they required them now.” Without another word, he left the room.

  Misty sighed, as she went by Paul and let him know she would be away for a bit of time. She was aware Room 44 was among the more elite rooms in the hotel, being on the top floor, so she knew the sense of urgency to get the customer what he desired. She picked up two blankets from the storage room and walked down the long hallway, to the room in question. She knocked on the door, announcing herself in the sweetest voice she could muster.

  When the door opened, she stared back in shock. “Well, if it isn’t Wilhelmina Fields. Or is it Misty?” David Tully asked. She could recognize that sneer anywhere. He was one of the boys who bullied her back home; he was also a friend of Randy’s. “What are you doing here?” he asked, as he leaned against the doorway.

  She didn’t like this, one bit. But she needed to be calm in this situation. Her job was on the line. “I’m here to give you your blankets, sir,” she said, handing the blankets to him.

  “What? And no acknowledgement for your childhood friend?” he said, inching closer to her, his breath close to her ear.

  She tried to remain calm. “Sir, I don’t know who you are referring to. You must be mistaken.”

  “Oh, there is no mistaking this hair,” he said, as he grabbed a lock that had sprung free from her bun. She stepped away from his reach, now clutching the blankets for safety across her chest. He stepped closer to her, as her back braced against the wall. “We didn’t know what happened to you, after Randy got his fun. What you may not know was he was supposed to share.”

  Her heartrate sped up, and she looked desperately from side to side, trying to see if there was anyone to help her. When she saw no one, she looked back at him. His eyes were charcoal black, and his smile was vicious. “I always thought you were the prettier of the two, between you and your little sister. What was her name? Mary, I think it was. She always looked so innocent. But you, you look like a woman. Almost like your mother. Like a whore,” he said, putting his arms out to cage her. She felt helpless in a way that she had never felt before. She had always had those knowing eyes on her, every time she came home and saw her mother was entertaining another man. It was always that same look of lust and longing, wondering if she too was available for sale. Her mother, while not the best mother since their father died, still had enough respect not to sell her daughters too, so she always would steer the men away from them. And if they got too handsy, she would dismiss them.

  But here and now, there was no one to save her. His mouth was just inches from her now and all she could think about was how he was going to take her, right here in the hallway. And she had vowed never to give herself to anyone without love in return, real love. She reacted, pushing him off and dropping the blankets. When he fell to the ground in front of her, he looked up, anger flashing in his eyes. “You tart,” he said, getting up and grabbing her arms, throwing her up against the wall. “You’ll pay for that,” he sneered as he leaned in to kiss her neck. As soon as his lips hit her throat, she thrashed against him, as best as she could with her arms pinned. Her hands were at a loss so she kicked him in his shins, until he screamed in pain and released her. She fell to the ground, getting up and running as fast as she could down the hallway.

  He reached for the end of her skirt, tearing it in the process. Once she was out of his reach, she heard him say, “I’ll have your job for this!”

  Misty ran and ran and ran, until there was nowhere left to run. She found herself outside, in the alleyway, behind the hotel. She sat on a wooden bench, left for the workers for their breaks. She surveyed her clothes, noting the skirt was ripped at the waist. She felt her hair as it was sticking out in different directions. When she brought her hands back to her face, she saw they were shaking.

  Before long, she felt the weight of what happened consume her. She started to cry, a sniffle at first until she was sobbing uncontrollably. She had been holding it in for so long. She cried for the life she left behind, for the family she would probably never see again. She cried for the boy she thought loved her and cried for the life she thought she would have now. And she cried for knowing that the past would never be gone; it would always follow her.

  She was crying so loudly, she didn’t notice when a woman had approached her. “Miss. Miss, are you alright?” asked a soft voice beside her. Misty wiped the tears from her eyes and looked up at the woman. She was tall, with a willowy frame. She looked older than Misty, possibly by at least 5 years. She was dressed rather nicely and was carrying a small box on a string.

  “No, I am fine,” she said, wiping her eyes. She started to get up before the woman motioned for her to sit back down.

  She sat down next to her, as Misty sniffled. “You don’t look fine,” she said, as she looked at her, noticing the frazzled hair and torn skirt. “I’m Lily,” she said, as she stretched her hand in Misty’s direction.

  Misty took it, whispering “I’m Misty.”

  “Now, tell me what is wrong,” Lily said.

  Misty didn’t know why she spoke to Lily that day. There was something about the way that she was sitting there, looking at her in a way that made Misty feel safe. Like she was there to help her but didn’t want anything in return. Misty didn’t know how much she missed her mom until that moment. Before she could stop herself, it all came tumbling out, like a river of sadness. She told her everything, from how her father died and her mother trying to support the family, to how she had fallen in love with a boy that didn’t love her back, the mistakes she made in thinking she was destined for a life that didn’t happen. She told her of how she was forced to leave and why she ended up there at the hotel. And then she told her, as she started to cry relentlessly, of how she was almost assaulted in the hallway.

  Lily said nothing, just let her speak while she patted her back. When Misty finished telling her story, she felt an immense relief, even though she had just relayed her whole life story to this stranger. Lily just looked at her and simply said “I’m sorry.”

  They sat there for a few more minutes, as the last of the cries left Misty’s body. She wiped the last of her tears. “I must go. I have probably lost my job,” she said as she got up.

  “You mustn’t continue working here, even if you do not.”

  “But I don’t have any other choice. I have no other place to go.”

  Lily placed her hand on Misty’s shoulder. “I believe I have a place for you. There is this family who just lost their mother. A man and his daughter. They are looking for a servant girl. If you cook and clean, I can bring you over today. I’m sure you are exactly what they are looking for.”

  Mary looked at Lily with hesitance. “But you don’t know me. Why would you
do something like that?”

  Lily smiled. “Because I know what it’s like to lose everything in an instant. And I can tell from looking at you that you are a good person. You just need a little bit of direction. Now, come, I’m actually on my way to see them now.” She motioned to the box she was holding. “I have some files I have to drop off for them. Let’s get your things and be on our way.”

  Misty followed Lily out of the alleyway, feeling hopeful for the first time in ages. Maybe things were turning around for her finally.

  John held the envelope in his hands, looking at the thin letters curling on the page. It was addressed to a Mary. That must be the black-haired girl. He wondered why she was writing a letter to a girl she had barely known. It seemed unlike her; she had been here for a few months already and resisted any other interaction with anyone here. What made this girl so special?

  John decided he would deliver the letter himself, so maybe he could answer some of his own lingering questions. As he walked over to the hotel, he saw that the girl was in the back, washing clothes. It looked like she was having difficulty, judging from the water that was on her skirt and not in the barrel. Her face looked determined though, as she continued to scrub the cloth that was in the basin.

  “Excuse me,” John said, as he approached her.

  The sound scared the girl, as she jumped, letting suds flow into the air. She turned around and saw that it was him. She got up from her seat, brushing off the soap suds on her apron. “Sir, I’m sorry. I didn’t see it was you. What can I do for you?” she asked.

  “I actually have a letter for you,” he said, handing her the envelope.