Escape From Purgatory

by Scarlet Darkwood - BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction

  “Didn’t mind a bit.” Claire viewed her surroundings. The back of the house inched up to a cozy forest, and several yards down the road she spied a serene pond with a few ducks gliding across the surface. Across the road an old barn sat on a rolling open field.

  He rested against the door frame, relaxed and unhurried. “I’d told Anna a nice lady had moved into the house. Her running off down there shouldn’t have surprised me. When she got home from school, she said she was going out to play. I thought she meant out back.”

  The evening air had grown cool. Claire shivered. “I enjoyed meeting her. She told me some of her ‘most favorite’ toys on the way here.”

  “I think she wanted to meet you.” George smiled. In the cool of evening, his eyes and kind expression warmed her.

  “Anna is a darling little girl. No wonder she’s the most important thing in your life.” Claire’s eyes drank in the features of his face, the texture of his hair, his eyes and the way he looked at her. She found conversation challenging.

  “I was putting dinner on the table. Now that you’re here, why don’t you join us?” He moved closer, resting his hand lightly on her shoulder. “You shouldn’t have your first dinner alone.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t intrude like that. You treated me to a wonderful lunch. I should cook for you.”

  His eyes lit up as he chuckled. “I’ll take you up on that offer. For now, come on in here. I’ll set another plate.” He propelled her inside before she could protest further, and shut the door.

  George’s farmhouse exuded an air of simple comfort, much smaller than the open rooms and hard wooden beams and flooring of his first home. In the quaint living room, crocheted covers and throw pillows covered the sofa. Lamps on the tables emitted a cozy glow, and for a moment, she considered her new home rather austere and cold. The furnishings in this room displayed modest designs, more for utility than artistic beauty. She followed him down the hallway to a small kitchen, where she sat at a wooden plank table outfitted with four straight-back chairs.

  The smell of food hit her full force as she watched George remove another plate, glass, and a set of utensils from cupboards and drawers. Before placing everything in front of her, he’d filled her plate with an aromatic thick stew, a baked sweet potato, and a slice of cornbread. From the refrigerator, he pulled out a bottle of milk.

  “I hope this is okay.” I can’t cook like you women, but Anna and I have survived mine.” He chuckled and placed the food on the table.

  “This smells so good, George. My father was a great cook, better than my mother.”

  He disappeared briefly, and returned with Anna, whose feet pattered against the floor as she ran to an empty chair. Facing Claire, she smiled. “Are you staying with us? Forever?” She blinked her eyes, and somewhere in them Claire swore she saw sincere hope.

  “Anna! Miss Claire’s our guest for dinner tonight. We’ll take her home later.” George frowned, seating himself across from Claire.

  “Oh.” The little girl hung her head down and picked at one of the carrots peeking out of the stew.

  “Here, use your fork, or spoon. We don’t eat with our hands.” Her father pointed to the silver fork resting on a napkin.

  Anna lifted her head, lips puckered in a soft pout. “We eat some things with our hands, like fried chicken or pickles or french fries, don’t we, Miss Claire?”

  Claire’s eyes trailed from Anna to a stunned George, whose frown had turned to a look of embarrassment. She smiled at Anna, patting her hand. “Well, sweetheart, we do eat some foods with our fingers, but tonight we don’t have any of those. Would you like a fork or spoon?”

  The little girl’s lips puckered into a nice round “O.” “A spo-o-o-o-n, Miss Claire, a sp-o-o-o-n.”

  “Good choice, darling. Here.” Claire retrieved the spoon and placed it in Anna’s open hand. “Now you can eat like a proper lady.”

  “Will I be as pretty as you, when I grow up?” Anna propped up on her elbow, wagging the spoon back and forth with her hand, a dreamy glow in her eyes.

  “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sure you’ll be much prettier.”

  “I-I-I don’t know-w-w-w.” Anna finally dipped her spoon in the stew, and after swallowing her bite, gazed up at her father. “Can Miss Claire have dinner with us every night, from now on until forever?”

  George’s eyes popped wide open, and his cheeks flushed red. Claire said nothing, but took an obligatory bite of food, wishing this conversation focused on another topic.

  “Anna, you just need to eat your dinner right now and be quiet, please.”

  As he tapped lightly on the table close to his daughter’s plate, George’s face bore an image of one embroiled in emotional pain more than anger, while his voice rang out with cool but gentle commands. Claire watched the scene before her noting the interaction between father and daughter, a child who behaved no differently than any other, and a father who struggled with a balance of parental authority and display of affection.

  “Did you get everything put away?” He turned and focused on Claire, his face more relaxed.

  “I did. And once again, thank you. I’m liking Knoxville already.”

  He took a quick sip from his glass. “Good, I’m glad to hear it. I’m especially looking forward to Monday. I’ll show you more of downtown, and especially the store, where everything is.”

  They finished dinner with small-talk, and Anna kept quiet, but eyed the two of them in silence. When she ate all her dinner, she asked to be excused and quickly disappeared to her room, but not before bestowing a soft kiss on Claire’s cheek.

  “She really has taken a liking to you,” George said, carrying some dishes to the sink where Claire had already filled up one side with hot, soapy water.

  “She’s adorable, and a really sweet little girl. So curious.” Claire took the dishes and began washing them.

  “Got an opinion, that one. She keeps me on my toes because I never know what she’ll come out with next.” George chuckled and wiped off the table. He came up and stood next Claire, rinsing the dishes she’d placed in the empty sink. “I’ll admit, I’ve never had a woman in this house since we moved here.” His eyes searched Claire’s. She nodded in silence. “She doesn’t remember her mother, only two at the time she died.”

  Claire tried to remember events at two years of age, but couldn’t do it. She barely remembered a few occasions when she was four. Of course, Anna wouldn’t remember her mother.

  “Does she ever talk about your wife or tell you she wants a mother?” Claire glanced over at George, who’d sidled up so close he brushed against her shoulder as he rinsed the dishes and dried them.

  “On occasion, we talk about her. We talk about things she might have liked or what would happen if she were still here. That sort of thing.” He shook his head. “As she got a little older, the hard part was trying to explain why other girls had women in their lives while she only had me.”

  “That must be so hard, trying to explain that to a little girl. Adults have a hard enough time understanding some things.”

  “It hasn’t been easy, I’ll say that.” He smiled and put away the last of the dishes as Claire drained the sink. “But enough of that, let’s get you home.”

  “Miss Claire?” A tiny voice sounded from the entrance to the kitchen.

  She and George turned around. Anna stood across the room, dressed in a nightgown and holding out an old composition doll with a bundle of frizzed hair clinging to its head. The smile on the doll’s face gave Claire the creeps with its lifeless stare and row of white teeth.

  “Yes, sweetheart. Are you ready for bed, already?”

  George held out his wrist, glancing at his watch. “It’s getting a little late. Maybe all the excitement today has worn her out.”

  Anna ran toward Claire, clutching the doll next to her chest. “Will you give Lulabelle a kiss goodnight before you go?”

  “Of course, I’ll give her a bedtime kiss.” Out of the corner of her eye, she caught
George stifling a grin. Anna handed her the doll, at which point Claire dropped a tiny kiss on its cheek. Taking back her doll, Anna stood, twisting lightly from one side to the other, turning her eyes toward the floor and then back up to Claire. “Is there something else you need, dear?”

  Anna didn’t answer, but turned shy again like she’d done earlier at the house. Claire glanced up at George, who stood with his hand propped up against his mouth, lost in thought.

  “Do you know what she wants?” Claire whispered to him.

  “If I didn’t know better, I think she wants you to kiss her goodnight too.” He pursed his lips and bounced his gaze from Claire to Anna. “Honey, are you wanting a kiss from Miss Claire?”

  The little girl’s eyes lit up, followed by a vigorous nod.

  “Well, if Lulabelle can have a kiss, you most certainly can.” Claire’s heart nearly burst with emotion. She’d dreamed of moments like this, family dinners with Adrian and tucking children into bed, soothing boo-boos, and comforting them when they had bad dreams. She stooped down, and delivered a light kiss on the girl’s cheek. Thrilled, Anna grabbed Claire around the neck and returned the gesture.

  “Night, night, Miss Claire.” Anna turned and ran out of the kitchen.

  “She seems to be smitten with you.” George smiled at Claire, who’d still not recovered from what just transpired. A little prompting, and she’d have sailed out of the kitchen and into Anna’s room so she could see her safely in bed, snuggling with her doll. Or she might have read stories until those sleepy eyes shut for the night. “You okay? Not used to kids, are you?”

  “I’m quite fine. And you’re right. I don’t have little girls who ask me to kiss their dolls or throw their arms around me.” She grinned up at George. “It’s fine. I don’t mind a bit.”

  He studied her for a few seconds before hanging the dishtowel over the oven handle. “I need to get you home. You must be worn out after today.”

  “We’ve done a lot, and you’re right. Bed would feel really good right now.” Peering into his face, she smiled. “Thank you for inviting me for dinner. It was nice having company.”

  “Wouldn’t have had it any other way. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself.”

  As George drove her home, Claire thought about how his smile showed a familiar warmth she’d come to expect, even for such a short time of having known him. She liked it, the way his face lit up, the way his eyes sparkled, and the way his voice spilled out, ruffling against her ears like the smoothest silk. He could have been a radio personality or a star on the big screen. Most of all, she liked the way he gazed at her with interest, taking in her words as if they were gold, as if she mattered.

  George seemed to pick up where Adrian had left off. Where Adrian had left her in the realm of what-might-have-been, the man before her quietly held her hand and seemed to lead her into a realm of good-things-to-come. She slipped into the passenger’s seat of the car, and found herself within minutes at her own front doorstep.

  She watched George drive off, her mood dimming along with the headlights as they faded out of sight. When Claire entered the house, an old chime clock sounded out the nighttime hour, a harsh clang that nearly sent her heart pounding right out of her chest. She climbed the stairs, legs like dead weights as she lifted each one. A lot of activity for a first day in a new town, but she was grateful for it. Keeping busy had helped her settle in just a little, and the prospects of working at G. P. and Sons alleviated immediate fears about how she’d care for herself. Other than George showing her around, she planned on resting and preparing for Monday. Perhaps she’d spend time listening to the radio in the evening. During the day she could take advantage of what little warmth was left in the season and laze by the river, her nose buried in a good novel. What better time to sip some iced tea from one of those gorgeous goblets winking at her in the china cabinet and let the day pass. Who would care if she used the fine crystal? She rather liked the idea already.

  Fatigue hit her now with all its force, and she fought the heaviness in her eyes. Every step took more effort than the last one, but she welcomed silence and solitude at last. Inside the bedroom, she shed her clothing and slipped on a new nightgown she’d purchased, an attractive soft pink silk. The airiness of it hit her skin. For the first time in a long time, she doubted that princesses in far off lands felt any more privileged or special than she did right now.

  She slid between the sheets, sinking into a fluffy pillow and a firm mattress. No bedsprings gouging into her back, no gown with a godawful stench, and most of all nothing but the sound of night and the occasional creek of the house. Tonight she lay down and closed her eyes, her mind still clinging to fresh tender memories of the evening, of happy faces, a warm home, and Anna’s sweet kiss.

  Chapter Thirteen

  By eleven-thirty Monday morning, Gay Street pulsed with new life, sidewalks filled with people. Several customers browsed the shelves of G. P. and Sons, wandering from one side of the store to the other. Others still filed in. Housewives had come to town, some intent on buying, while others seemed more interested in killing time before hurrying off somewhere else. Claire noted with pride how women eyed the hats, those made by Adrian and Mitchell. The ladies picked up different styles, trying them on and twirling around in front of the mirror for a better view. One lady had come in when the store opened and purchased one, while a handsome young gentleman came along behind her and selected a man’s hat, a grey fur felt fedora.

  George had shown her every department before he opened the store, and walked her through all the aisles filled with everything from men’s shirts to women’s dresses, to kitchenware, fine china, sewing machines and shoes. In the middle of the store, glass counters glistened with cosmetics, fancy face creams, and make-up, guaranteeing a woman would look twenty-years-old forever. Jewelry winked under showcase lights, and rich, cut-glass bottles of perfume bore exotic European labels.

  G. P. and Sons had it all it seemed, brimming over with the finest brands of merchandise Claire had ever seen. He’d properly introduced her to his eight clerks, who’d greeted her with a warm welcome.

  Oma Brooks, his head clerk, had gladly taken Claire under her wing. Claire had decided she liked the older woman, most likely in her late fifties, with her upswept greying hair and crisp suit with a shiny rhinestone pin on the lapel of her jacket. Around her neck, she wore a string of round bright red beads, and when she drew close, Claire caught the light scent of lilac perfume. In her opinion, a scowl would have just as easily suited Oma, who reminded her of stern secretaries and snooty business staff she’d encountered before. Instead, the woman’s face gleamed with a warm smile as she peered over her spectacles, and her voice wafted out soft and kind.

  Oma had ushered Claire to the back side of the store, showing her where everyone clocked in. They passed George’s office and ended up in another room where the ladies placed their purses on a wooden shelf against the back wall. A small table with four chairs sat in the middle of the room. Oma informed her that this area was the break room. At Oma’s invitation, Claire placed the brown paper bag holding her lunch inside the refrigerator next to the shelf. She gazed at the coat rack in one corner of the room, with its one, lonely white sweater. It wouldn’t be long before her sweater would take its place on one of the hooks. October would soon be in full swing, bringing with it golden days, and nights of breezy, chilly air and clear black skies littered with a million glinting stars.

  “Did Mr. Parker tell you anything about your position or what you’d be doing?” Oma turned to Claire.

  “He didn’t go into detail, really. Just said that maybe I’d help him with the business like Anita did.”

  The smile froze on Oma’s face as she nodded several times. “I see. Um, well, I’ll ask Mr. Parker later if he wants you to clock in and out like the rest of us, or if he wants you helping customers or helping him.”

  Claire returned the smile, sensing the woman’s reaction. “You know what, I’ll follow
your lead, and you tell me what I need to do. I can do anything, wait on people, ring up sales on the register, clean the shelves. I’m not too good to do any of it.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be wonderful. None of this is hard, except maybe standing on your feet all day. Let’s go back to the floor, and we’ll get started.

  Having chatted with a few of the customers, satisfied they were taken care of, Claire stood back and watched everything and everyone around her. Two of the clerks, Ruby and Joy, had taken up post in the sewing and housewares department, helping some ladies with kitchen appliances and a woman interested in a sewing machine. Roy had positioned himself between the shoe department and men’s wear, presently helping a gentleman with shoes while keeping a watchful eye in the direction of the rack of men’s suits.

  Dahlia and Minnie stood proudly behind the center counters, oohing and cooing over ladies when they tried on perfume or applied a new shade of eye shadow or lipstick. Oma and Claire shared three departments, children’s wear, lingerie, and women’s wear. Jack and Leona served as runners, shifting between all the departments as needed. Of course, Oma had informed Claire that she’d soon be expected to know all the departments as well as everyone else, and had instructed her already on how to ring sales on the cash register.

  George had holed himself up in the office since the store opened, not once coming out to check on anyone. As more customers came in, managing all the people presented a challenge at times. But no matter, the work would help pass the hours. How good it felt to be back with real people again, normal people who weren’t hollow shells housing shattered spirits. How wonderful to wear fresh clean clothes, bathe, eat savory food, and sleep in warm beds. Luck had been on her side, and she knew it. Had George shared any of her past with the others? And why had Oma given her such a puzzled look when they were in the breakroom?

  She turned when a hand touched her lightly on the back. “At twelve-thirty, did you want to go on your break?” Oma had slipped up behind her. Claire looked at her watch.