The Fae of Boots and Laces

by Jennifer Garrett

  The Fae of Boots and Laces

  Jennifer Garrett

  Published by Jennifer Garrett, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  THE FAE OF BOOTS AND LACES

  First edition. November 13, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 Jennifer Garrett.

  Written by Jennifer Garrett.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  The Fae of Boots and Laces

  About the Author

  Dedicated to my three "little ones." Wishing you endless faerie tales and starry filled nights.

  The Fae of Boots and Laces

  Sarah Wilson reclaimed her spot on the park bench and, after checking on her children, Maggie and Albert, pulled out her book once again. She twirled the scarf around her neck, tucking it underneath her coat. The early November wind shivered through her, despite her many layers of clothing, a sure sign that the last two months of 1899 would endure harsh winter-like weather before the season officially started. She examined her well-worn wool coat as she wrapped her arms around her, gaining an additional barrier to the cold.

  The children will need new coats before the worst of winter hits; they’re growing so fast. Mine can certainly see me through another winter. She gave up on her book and instead opted to stroll through the Central Park skating rink, squinting for a glimpse of her children in the maze of twisting arms and legs. As she walked, she felt a sliver of warmth seep through her being, and soon she spotted her two, spinning on opposite sides of the ice.

  Sarah had splurged on the horse-drawn trolley car, so she didn’t want to leave early. A smile crossed her lips. Despite the below-freezing temperatures, Maggie and Albert, ten and twelve respectively, were thoroughly enjoying themselves. Sarah isolated their giggles and homed in on them, each appearing to enjoy a separate circle of rowdy playmates.

  They didn’t often take the trolley car. Money was far too precious. And now, with the advent of electric streetcars, one could spend even more money getting from one place to another. Sarah thought back to her husband and his comments from earlier in the day. “Best to get them out from underfoot this morning. I’ve got a large order I’m working on. And you know how tight space is in this old cramped apartment.” Jim had thrown a tool in frustration. On their way out, she’d heard his comment aimed at the children. “Albert, Maggie, be ready to pitch in after dinner.”

  Sarah hung her head as she relived the scene. Kids shouldn’t have to do the work of adults. That would be their lot in life soon enough. Both she and her husband were concerned about making ends meet from month to month. Times were tough. The upcoming New Year—1900—brought with it the promise of new and exciting advancements and discoveries. Yet, for now, hardship surrounded them.

  Sarah’s job teaching the children in the tenement and Jim’s piecemeal work as a cobbler barely had them scraping by. It was all they could do to pay rent and buy food. There wasn’t any left over. And most months, when they counted their coins, they fell short. It couldn’t go on much longer, and they both knew it.

  Spending their money on a frivolous trolley ride seemed hard to justify but not so much so when Sarah glimpsed her children laughing and playing, just being kids. Away from their tiny apartment, with their meager belongings and small stores of food, they could be free for bit. Later this evening they would help shoulder the burden as they all pitched in to meet the needs of tomorrow’s order. She nodded her head in affirmation. This small indulgence was well spent for her kids.

  A commotion on the side of the ice rink snapped Sarah from her thoughts. From where she stood, it appeared as if Albert were involved in a collision involving a whole pile of children.

  Maggie edged her way closer to the stack of sprawling limbs, and, when she eyed her brother toward the bottom, she waved her mother over.

  A few other parents slid their way onto the ice as well. As each one claimed their child and moved aside, thankfully only bumps and small lacerations were seen. Sarah hovered over the remaining children still flat on the ice, Maggie close by her side. Sarah and Maggie both reached for Albert, who was pasted to the skater on the bottom. Sarah heard the other boy cough, the sound drawing her attention back to the boy, where he remained on the ice. He coughed again as Albert was pulled free by his sister.

  Sarah froze, as did several other parents, while she took in the full scene in front of her. The boy’s stocking cap had fallen off, and his coat and shirt had been torn away by the pile of children, popping several buttons and revealing the skin below.

  The three parents on the ice stared at each other and then back to the boy who rose to his knees.

  “What’s wrong, Ma?” Albert asked, breaking the silence. “We’re all fine. See?” Albert stretched out his arms and twirled on his skates.

  “No, we’re not,” Sarah responded, her voice barely a whisper.

  A woman came into view, clambering for the youngster still on the ice. As she got closer, the small circle heard her suck in her breath. “Oh, no! How could this be? He was fine when we got here.”

  Sarah found her voice. “You must go now. You, him, any others in your family. You’re all contagious.” She took a breath to steady her heart beating loudly in her ears, while at the same time clinging to her two children, urging them backward in small collective steps. “What are your names?”

  The woman’s gaze darted to the faces of those gathered who had also slowly put distance between her son and themselves.

  Sarah could almost smell the woman’s fear oozing from her pores.

  “My name is none of your business.” Startled from her trance-like state, the woman yanked her son upright and quickly left the ice.

  “Ma, what’s wrong?” Maggie whined. “You look funny.”

  “We need to catch the next trolley. Albert, see that street sweeper there?”

  “Sure, Ma.”

  “Go throw your coat and scarf in there. And hurry.”

  “But it’s cold. Why?”

  Sarah bent down on her knees, even with her two children. “That boy was sick. Very sick. I’m being cautious. Albert, I’ll give you my coat.” Sarah pushed his backside toward the street. “Now go, son.”

  Albert scurried to the man sweeping garbage from the street. The worker gawked at her son as he threw away his coat. Then, as Albert walked away, the street worker stopped, dug through his trash, and, quickly finding the new treasure, donned the coat himself.

  Sarah covered her son with her own coat; then the solemn threesome headed toward the trolley.

  The cheerfulness had been sucked out of the day for Sarah. Could this break from monotony actually turn into a death sentence? Shuffled by the crowd, Albert and Maggie squeezed in tighter on either side of Sarah. She suppressed the urge to put distance between herself and her son. No longer cold despite the chill in the air, beads of sweat broke out on Sarah’s forehead.

  “Mommy?”

  “Yes, Maggie?”

  “What was wrong with that boy? You should tell us.”

  Sarah shook her head. “There’s no way to be sure, dear.”

  “I think I know, Maggie,” Albert ventured. “Ma’s not telling ’cause she doesn’t want to scare us.” Maggie peered across her mother and focused on her big brother.

  “Smallpox,” Albert said in a low tone. “That’s it, isn’t it, Ma?” He studied his gloved hands. “I should pitch these too, huh?” He pried the supple gloves from his fingers and threw them from the open-air trolley. Three sets of eyes watched as the gloves were quickly buried in dirty snow and the splattered muck from the road.
“I only got a quick look at him before you pulled me back. He had bumps of some kind on his arms and chest, from what I could see.”

  “Ma, is that right? Is that what you think?”

  Sarah didn’t meet her daughter’s gaze. She heard the sadness in her daughter’s tone and didn’t trust herself, still personally dealing with the disturbing facts and their ramifications. She grasped her children’s hands on either side of her. “There’s no way to know.” She gave each hand a squeeze. “Try not to worry.”

  They traveled the remainder of the short trip in silence. Sarah didn’t take her own advice. Her mind raced. Her son could very likely already be infected—as could she and Maggie. And returning to their small apartment would expose Jim as well. There was nowhere to quarantine themselves. It could be weeks before they knew the truth. It was all she could do to not get physically ill on the spot.

  Their apartment building loomed in the distance. The laundry strewn between the buildings, coupled with the business conducted from carts on the street, added a layer of normalcy back to the day as Sarah tried to push aside the most recent event. “I’ll talk to your father about this later tonight when his work is done.” Her resolve growing, she met the gaze of each of her children. “Come to me if you have a question. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Albert answered.

  Maggie nodded her head, her stoic facade from earlier unchanged.

  The trolley stopped. “Okay. Out you two. Watch your step now.”

  Albert jumped out and helped his sister down, then pushed her aside as he expertly dodged the emptying of what must have been a night pail from high above. Maggie scrunched her nose as Albert nonchalantly guided her around the mess. Once clear he headed forward at his own pace, leaving his sister and ma behind. Sarah grabbed her daughter’s hand, and they maneuvered through the crowded space between the buildings until they came to their entrance.

  BEING ON THE SECOND-from-the-top floor had a few advantages—the steps weren’t one of them—but less unknown debris falling from above, she was always grateful for that. The door remained slightly ajar from her son’s recent entry, and the fumes from her husband’s work met her before she entered their apartment. A potpourri of odors that never failed to assault her senses came together with a mixture of new leather, oils, grease from the machines, and shoe polish. The confined space exacerbated its intensity.

  As she so often did, even in the chill of winter, she opened a window. Her husband was numb to the effects of the constant and harsh aroma. She and her children were not. A little outside air flow did so much to improve the breathability of the air inside.

  Jim looked up as he paused his focused detailed stitching of a woman’s boot. A smile raised the corners of his mouth as their gazes met. “How was skating? Albert rushed right by me without a word.”

  Sarah flashed a quick smile back. It wouldn’t fool her husband. But she tried. “It was nice to be out in the fresh air.”

  “Humph. Maggie, how was it?”

  “Good, Pa.”

  “Maggie, set the table for me while I get started on dinner.”

  To say their living quarters were small was a severe understatement. The family resided in only three rooms, none with bathroom facilities. The tenement building had two large bathrooms, one for each sex, to accommodate all the tenets.

  Their apartment had a multifunctional kitchen area. They prepared food, dined, and relaxed in the same space where her husband worked. Fortunately the room was comparatively much larger than the other two, and Singer machinery, tools, shoes, and other supplies were well organized in one-fourth of the room, with a small workbench for the finished product, which doubled as a work space for the children as well.

  Jim and Sarah had the one true bedroom, and the children shared a room not much bigger than a large closet with bunk beds and a chest of drawers. At times the lack of space was suffocating.

  A crisp breeze from the partially open window blew across the back of Sarah’s neck as she gathered the ingredients for dinner. She breathed in and exhaled, all in an attempt to clear the fog of fear that had settled over her. Pushing aside the feeling, even if only temporarily, her hands set to work. Maggie retreated to the room she shared with Albert, giving Sarah plenty of room to complete her tasks.

  Soon the tiny space was filled with the aroma of meat loaf while it baked in the oven. Potatoes bubbled on the stove. As the spices and flavors mingled, Jim joined her in the kitchen. He hugged her from behind.

  “I’m almost weak from hunger.” The tone of his voice wasn’t lost on her. She turned to face him with a genuine smile on her face this time.

  “It’s almost ready. Wash up.”

  Jim scrubbed his hands in the water basin, then called the children. He kissed Sarah’s cheek. “I guess you’ll tell me what’s bothering you later.”

  She nodded but busied herself with the final dinner preparations. “Yes, later.”

  He squeezed her shoulder, then joined the children at the table. Jim said grace, and carried the conversation with talk of his progress during the day, plus the final items that he and Albert would finish this evening.

  Sarah washed the dishes after encouraging her daughter to get ready for bed. Finally this day is almost over. While she worked, the steady clash of tools rang in her ears in conjunction with the muted voices of her husband and son. She wondered how many more pairs needed to be completed tonight before they’d be done with this evening’s quota.

  Her thoughts drifted back to the boy plastered on the ice. Neither her son nor daughter knew the young man. No telling how many children could have been infected. She prayed none would be impacted by whatever ailed the young skater, but she had an awful feeling about the whole affair.

  As a teacher Sarah had been trained in basic first aid and what to look for in children who appeared ill. The child they saw probably had a fever since he already had blisters spotting his skin. She racked her brain. What else could it possibly be but smallpox? The wait would be excruciating.

  If her son had caught the disease, it could be many days before they knew it to be so. What could be done in the meantime? She tried to work through a solution in her head. Something. ... Anything they could do. The dishrag twisted between her fingers. She yanked it free and threw it on the counter.

  “Ma?”

  Sarah jumped, her son’s voice catching her off guard.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Pa and I are going down to wash up now. We’re done for the night.”

  Sarah pasted a smile on her face for her son. “Okay. When you return, get ready for bed.”

  “I will, Ma.”

  A squeak from the side room reminded her that Maggie was preparing for bed. Moving the curtain aside, Sarah ducked into the small space.

  “Sweet dreams, Maggie.” Sarah leaned down and kissed her daughter on the cheek.

  “Night, Ma.”

  A chill rustled through the air, even in her children’s enclosed space. She pulled a blanket across her daughter. “There. Is that a little warmer?”

  Her daughter’s head dove under the blanket in response, leaving only the tip of her head exposed.

  As Sarah rose to leave, she heard Maggie’s muffled response. “Thanks, Ma.”

  Minutes later, back in the kitchen, she banked the smoldering fire, then clamped the stove door shut. Despite the dropping temperatures, Sarah wanted some fresh air. In the silence the ticking of the clock weighed on her, as it marched on, announcing that tomorrow was coming with this impending doom held over her family.

  My coat, where’s my coat? Oh, ... Albert has it.

  Sarah crossed the room, grabbed a blanket to throw about her shoulders, then headed for the fire escape. As she ducked outside, she took a deep breath. At least the air was moving. Per normal, out here the air wasn’t always fresh, and it was much worse in the summer. Refuse and waste were routinely dumped everywhere and only cleaned up occasionally.

  This is where the perks of a higher floor
came into play. Wrapping the blanket around her, she replayed the skating rink scene in her head, trying to find anything she could have done differently. She sighed and adjusted her perch, sending a tiny piece of wood below. These boards that Jim had added to the small space were useful, but one could still easily fall to their death out here. It happened and not too infrequently—one of the perils of hanging laundry.

  From the opening leading back inside, she heard low voices. Sarah glanced inside in time to see Albert disappear behind the curtain. Minutes later Jim joined her outside.

  “Things aren’t usually going so well when you come out here at night.”

  Sarah leaned her head on his shoulder. “You know me pretty well.”

  He chuckled. “Well, yes, and Albert told me what happened at the skating rink.”

  “What?”

  “Now, relax. He’s upset. I pushed him to tell me what was bothering him.”

  “Would you like to share the blanket with me?” She felt him shrug beside her.

  “Sure.”

  Sarah opened the blanket and enveloped them both in the warm fabric. The fresh scent of soap filled her senses.

  Jim maneuvered himself behind Sarah, then drew her to him as his arms circled her waist. “It won’t help, you know?”

  “What’s that?” Sarah asked.

  “Worrying.”

  Sarah nodded against his chest. “I know. It’s frightening. Our whole world could fall in on us. All because I wanted the kids to enjoy a fun afternoon. It’s all my fault.”

  “Whoa.” Jim turned Sarah to face him. “One step at a time. You’re not even sure the kid had it.”

  Sarah laid her forehead against his. “I’m pretty sure. I’ve seen it before.”

  Jim put his finger under her chin and raised it level with his own. “We’ll deal with it, whatever happens. I know it’s scary.” Jim bent down and kissed her lips. “It’s all right.”