by Mercy Levy
Cherry read the advertisement as she sat in the kitchen alcove, having finished her regular daily chores. She was exhausted and grateful that her employers were both away for the afternoon, so she could finally take a much-needed break before preparing their supper. When Cherry had taken this position, she was excited about the prospect of leaving home and traveling, and had looked forward to the rather prestigious position of house lady for the Winchesters, who were affluent and connected.
Little did she know that, upon her arrival, her freedom would be stripped from her, and her time taken with labors enough for three workers besides herself. The house was large and well appointed, and when Mr. Winchester had told her she could use their resplendent library, it had brought tears of joy to her eyes. Now she understood that she would never, ever be given enough free time to read another book.
After emptying the ash dumps for all eight fireplaces, she had scoured the floors, dusted and mopped, and done Mr. Winchester’s mending. The walls had been washed, the silver polished, and the kitchen cleaned from ceiling to floor, in anticipation of a large delivery of vegetables and meat that had to be preserved by curing, pickling, or crated up properly for the cold storage.
Cherry did a mental inventory of all her parts, and found that every single one of them, from blonde hair to the soles of her feet, hurt like she’d walked through a field of thorns that was ablaze. She listened for the sound of the front door upstairs, and finding it still quiet, picked up one of the magazines her friend and confidante, Harriet, had given to her. That way, her friend had reminded her, if she was caught with them by her employers, she could simply say it was wrapping paper for the meat she bought by the side to anticipate the couple’s many spontaneous dinner parties.
The magazine held more of the usual tripe, advertisements for hair creams, health tonics, and lady’s’ garments, interspersed between advertisements from cities and individual men, calling for more women to join them at the west end of the railroad, at the gold rush, and on farmsteads across the prairies.
Cherry had no desire to live as a farmer’s wife in a Podunk town, but the backbreaking work she did everyday was wearing her down, and soon, she wouldn’t be marriage material at all, just another work-worn spinster, with callused hands and skin greyed from lack of sunshine and the constant layers of soot and ashes of their kitchen fires. Cherry sighed and tossed the magazine to one side, where it flipped open, its pages dangerously close to the heat of the fire.
She jumped up to close it and noticed a line from an advertisement unlike the others. It requested a woman of exactly her age, with an adventurous disposition. It sparked her curiosity, and she dog-eared the page for later consideration, hiding the magazine behind her cleaning supplies, where she knew that Mrs. Winchester would never look, even when inspecting her work. After the household was in bed, she’d consider responding to the adventure-seeking cattleman.
Just as she was stoking up the heat on the oven to start the shoulder she was roasting for supper, she heard the front door of the manor open and shut with a slam. Footsteps pounded down the stairs to the landing above and Cherry heard her name shouted. She dropped her tongs and scurried towards her employer, untying her bloodied butcher apron as she ran, and stowing the filthy garment on a hook at the kitchen doorway.
“Yes, ma’am.” Cherry panted as she reached the upper floor. “What is it that you need?” The serving girl smoothed her hands down the front of her skirt, wary of the unpleasant gleam in her employer’s eyes.
“We are having a dinner party.” Mrs. Winchester stated. “You must plan and cook a meal for at least sixty, with the ability to feed more if needed.” She glared down her nose at Cherry, who was holding her breath, waiting for the inevitable “other shoe” to drop.
“Very well, Missus” Cherry blurted. “When is the dinner party? I shall put in an order with the butcher tomorrow as soon as he opens.” She offered with a small smile.
“You had better.” Mrs. Winchester scoffed. “The party is tomorrow night.” She headed in the direction of the parlor, one of the few rooms in the house she actually used. “The house must be cleaned, top to bottom.” She commanded over her shoulder. “I can’t have you embarrassing me in front of my guests.” Cherry reeled. How was she to serve sixty guests, all by herself? Her employer was notoriously cheap, and had let her assistants go, one by one, until only she was left. She fought the panic that brought bile to her throat. She followed Mrs. Winchester toward the parlor, to ask for at least temporary help for the evening.
The Winchesters were both present when Cherry walked into the room, which was a relief to her. Mr. Winchester usually left the running of the house to his wife, but in her few brushes with him, he’d been amicable and seemed to possess more common sense than his vapid and materialistic wife.
“Sir and Madam, I apologize for interrupting.” Cherry began in a timid voice. “I will not be able to properly serve your guests and prepare the meal at the same time. I’m afraid it would be unseemly for it to appear that I am the only servant you have, in front of others as important and affluent as yourselves.” She explained to them. She flushed, quite certain that stroking their feathers was working, as Mr. Winchester looked right at her as she spoke.
“If it is permissible, I would be happy to bring in some high-quality girls, three at the most, for the evening to assist.” She finished, breathless and nervous.
“Oh you lazy thing!” Exclaimed Mrs. Winchester, fanning herself as she lounged in her chair. “Trying to make us pay for others to do your work.” She sniffed and looked away. “Be gone and don’t even think about asking…” She broke off as her husband silenced her with a wave.
“Of course, young lady.” He interjected. “You are absolutely correct. We don’t want our guests to believe we are without means enough to hire serving girls for a party, do we?” He turned to his wife, who was fanning herself even faster, and biting her lip as she glared at Cherry.
“Of course, Dear.” She choked out through her clenched jaw. “It would be an offense to provide only the service of one lazy house-girl to our esteemed friends.” She sneered, offering the insult in a syrupy sweet voice.
“It’s done then.” Mr. Winchester declared. “You will get as much help as you need, and put it on my account. In fact, why don’t you also find us a young man to assist with the door and carriages as well.” He smiled benignly at her. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention. I look forward to an astounding meal tomorrow, now that you’ll have the help that you desire.”
Her heart thumping loudly in her chest, Cherry dipped her head and scampered down to the kitchen to put the meat for dinner into the oven. She covered her head with a scarf and slipped out the kitchen door rushing toward the butcher. She knew he would be closed by the time she arrived, so she hurried around the back and knocked on the door to his family home.
When Mrs. McGinnis opened the door, Cherry explained her situation and begged to speak to her husband. The kind woman took her straight through to the kitchen, where the butcher was drinking a beer and awaiting his own supper. He listened to Cherry’s request and agreed to have it all delivered in the morning. Mrs. McGinnis demanded that Cherry stay for a moment and share some tea and fresh baked bread, and gave her an extra loaf to take home, reminding Cherry that she wasn’t the first house-girl to be driven half mad by the Winchesters.
As she was showing Cherry out, Mrs. McGinnis held her back for a moment, a look of concern on her face.
“Look, Cherry-lass.” She murmured once they were out of her husband’s hearing. “Those Winchesters are a hard lot to handle, and they are not good people, for all the money they have. Get yourself out of there, sooner than later, young lady.” She looked around, spooked by a noise behind her. “I won’t repeat the tales. God knows gossip is as often lies as truth. But, there have been enough of them that I know something isn’t right there.” She let go of Cherry’s arm. “You come back here anytime, you ken?” She offered. Cherry
nodded, and hurried through the stinking, crowded back streets of Philadelphia to the home of her employers.
She snuck in the back door and set down the still-warm bread. She jerked the scarf off her head and spun as she heard a cough behind her. Mr. Winchester was seated by the fire, watching her intently.
“I’m sorry sir, have you been there long?” She asked, trembling with dismay.
“Not so long.” He replied. Is that dinner you brought home?” He asked, pointing to the cloth covered basket harboring the fresh baked bread.
“No.” she stammered. “That is to say, it’s only the bread, Sir.” There is meat in the oven, and I was going to make… I was going to make mashed sweet potatoes to go with it.” She pressed her hand to her heart, trying to slow the painfully quick rhythm. “Am I in trouble, Sir?” She asked.
“No, I find no fault in you obtaining food for our evening meal.” He chuckled. She wanted to feel relieved, but a feeling of dread still hovered over her. He advanced toward her and she backed away without thinking.
“Is there anything else you’ll be needing then?” She inquired as politely as she could. He was far too close for her comfort now, and as she backed away, her back hit the table behind her. He sprang forward and grabbed her arms, pushing her back against the table and holding her there by her wrists.
“As luck would have it, there is something you can do for me.” He replied to her question, pressing the front of his body against her. His breath reeked of the bourbon he’d been drinking, and even through her skirts, she could feel him, hard where he pressed himself to her. She struggled to free her wrists from his hold and he let go of one hand, just long enough to slap her across the face.
“Please, don’t.” She whimpered. “Please just let me do my work.” She ducked her head, but stopped struggling to get away.
“You belong to me, and this is the work I have for you to do.” He commanded. He grabbed her throat, forcing her head up. Shoving her into the table with his hips, he leaned in and forced his tongue into her mouth in a liquor befouled kiss. He leaned back so he could look into her eyes, and released his grip on her throat, leaving it raw and sore from his fingers. She glared balefully at him, and wrenched her still captive hand away from him.
“If you are quite done, I must finish your supper. I do not wish to tell the missus why her food is burnt.” Cherry ground out as civilly as she could manage. She was shaking with fear and horror and anger at his attack, but stood tall, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles were white.
“Oh, I’m done for now.” Mr. Winchester gloated. “But avail yourself to me later, and perhaps there will be a raise in store for you, as any good, loyal employee deserves.” He sauntered up the stairs from the kitchen while Cherry held herself still as stone to keep from throwing anything at his retreating back.
As she finished making supper, Cherry plotted and planned. There was no way she was sleeping another night in this house, and although she’d offered, Mrs. McGinnis did not need the trouble that would follow if Cherry went there.
She pulled out the tray to carry the first course of soup and bread and caught sight of the matrimonial magazine she had stowed away. An idea came to her so quickly; she knew it had to be inspiration. With lightened heart, she set the supper table for her employers.
Mrs. Winchester didn’t even look up to see the way her husband watched their house-girl, but Cherry felt his eyes on her every second she was in the room. She rushed back to the kitchen to calm herself as she prepared the plates for the main course of pork shoulder and sweet potatoes. She returned to the table, and cleared the first course to replace it with the second, and gathering her courage, spoke softly to Mr. Winchester while she was setting his plate in front of him.
“Regarding that matter of which we spoke earlier, Sir.” She began in a tremulous voice. “I will be needing some money, for the food and to put down at the boarding house for the extra serving girls.” She reminded him. “If you have it now, I can go very early, without having to wake you.” She added, knowing that if he was already drinking, he would likely be doing a great deal more of it tonight, and sleeping late in the morning.
“How dare you broach such low topics at the supper table.” Admonished a disgruntled Mrs. Winchester, who had only finally taken notice of Cherry’s attendance when she heard discussion of money.
“I meant no disrespect, Missus.” Cherry replied. “I was only trying to ensure your success as a hostess tomorrow evening.” She added.
“Your impertinence is going to land you with bruises if you cannot learn your place!” The woman of the house threatened. It wasn’t the first time she had threatened physical recourse for Cherry’s perceived incompetence, but Cherry finally understood that at some point, those threats would become a reality. Before she could apologize further, Mr. Winchester broke in.
“Leave her be woman!” He commanded, slamming the table with his fist. He stood from the table and motioned Cherry to follow him. Terrified, she looked over her shoulder at his wife, but she only glowered at her serving girl as she passed through the doorway. Cherry followed so slowly, that Mr. Winchester was coming out of his office by the time she arrived at his door.
“Sir, I don’t… I can’t… I need to get your dessert, Sir.” She stammered. He scowled at her and she immediately fell silent.
“Oh don’t look like I’ve beaten you.” He growled at her, and she flinched at his voice like a dog that’s been kicked. “He held a billfold in his hand, and emptied the contents deftly counting with two fingers as he slid the bills from the wallet. “This should be more than enough.” He declared, handing her the bills. “Bring back receipts for what you spend.” He looked sternly at her for a moment, inspecting her uniform and curling his lip in distaste. “That wretched woman is so ungenerous she will make us look paupers.” He huffed. “Go and get something… more appropriate while you are out.” His expression softened, and he reached out to touch Cherry’s arm. She cringed away from his touch, and he immediately scowled at her. “Get out of my sight and get your chores done. Don’t bother me with trifles again.” He snapped.
She ducked her head in a small bow as he pushed his was past her to the dining room, and she practically ran to the kitchen to squirrel away the money he’d handed to her, after deliberately and carefully counting it. It was more than enough for what she needed, and only about half of the salary owed her this month. She was almost dancing as served the Winchesters their dessert of Apple Betty with cream. She made all the appearances of readying for the impending dinner party, polishing the silver until she was certain Mr. Winchester was too drunk to visit any bed but his own that night, then she too, went to her quarters.
She packed quickly and easily, as she refused to ever don the uniform of a house-girl ever again. She slept lightly, and only for a few hours. When it was still dark, she slipped down to the kitchen using the back servants’ stairs. She removed the matrimonial advertisement from its hiding place and rechecked the date and the place the ad was sent from.
Briefly, she considered the possibility that if she found this man, he may have already found a wife in someone else. However, it took only a moment to admit that no matter what, she wasn’t staying in that house a minute longer. She gathered her carpet bag of clothing, the magazine and money, and at the last second, she grabbed her market basket and a cloth and filled it with leftover bread, some fruit, and a chunk of cheese and some dried beef from the cold cellar.
She slipped out the door and into the near-darkness of predawn, walking to the train station to save the money of a cab ride. The hours just before the train arrived were nerve wracking, and she sat still and quiet, starting at every footstep, expecting to see police looking for her every time she heard someone approaching.
When the train finally arrived, she nearly cried in relief. She sat in her seat and watched out the window until the station faded out of view. Only then did she finally relax enough to nibble on some of the bread and cheese
she’d brought. For the next three days, she checked the wanted posters at each stop and kept her gaze to the ground whenever authorities were present. When on the train, she kept to herself and reread the magazine, as if she could glean more information about her destination by solving a cipher in its pages.
2.
The desert landscape of Texas was a jolt after the trees she was used to. Living on the Potomac river had afforded her views of oaks and maple trees whose leaves had painted the county in gold and red and hues of orange that would make a painter jealous. Now, as she climbed down from the train with her empty food basket and her little carpet bag of clothes, she was confronted by the stark, barren landscape of the desert, wide and open for miles, then rising to great walls of rock in the distance.
She couldn’t deny that, as imposing and alien it was, the tumbleweed spotted landscape was beautiful, and the starkness of the untouched expanse made the green and gold of the few cultivated fields she’d passed on her way into town more lovely and lush by comparison. Cherry had long-since memorized the address of the post office box listed of the advertisement, but her courage faltered, and she slipped over to a bench seat to collect her thoughts, and read one more time, the now crumpled and worn advert.
Taking a deep breath, she found the courage to ask for directions from a station employee, carefully avoiding the man with the star on his vest who was scanning the platform. She had been certain that no one could be looking for her so far from Philadelphia, but just seeing the lawman made her throat dry.
“This is foolishness.” She scolded herself. “If anything, I Ieft home with them owing me money! If I even were to be approached, I have committed no crime.” Cherry doubted the Winchester’s would see her abrupt departure the same way, but she stood tall and raised her chin. There was no use being afraid or acting like she’d done something wrong now. She’d just crossed the country by herself. What other girls her age had accomplished that without a safe harbor to go to at the end of their journeys?