pretend her future might be different than it was.
But this was the stark reality she faced. She needed to find a fool who wouldnât mindâor noticeâher lack of virginity. If she didnât, one day she would have to walk away from the woman who had raised her because she could no longer afford her care.
It didnât matter how little Daisy wanted that to happen. It didnât matter how sick she felt at the thought. Coins didnât lie.
Daisy could only hope she hadnât ruined her chances at marriage. If she couldnât marry, if nobody ever wanted herâ¦
She couldnât think of that.
She had to think of that.
Crash was right. Daisy was remarkably good at lying to herself. One day, sheâd stop hoping to come to her own rescue. One day, sheâd recognize that there was no escape. Sheâd do her best to find herself a fool of a fiancé, because she knew she wouldnât leave her mother. She couldnât.
When that happened, when she smiled at some man with half her sense, Crash would think the worst of her. Heâd call her a liar and a cheat and more. He wouldnât be wrong.
There were some things one could not say to oneâs mother.
I cannot marry yet. Thereâs this man I hateâincidentally, the one who took my virginityâand he would poke fun at me.
No, it was time to grow up and face the truth. She couldnât care what Crash would say.
She smiled at her mother instead. âI know.â Her cheeks hurt, holding that false expression.
Today was Monday evening. On Saturday, the judges would award the bequest to someone else. They would crush her dream. Theyâd make it clear that sheâd told herself lies. At that point, she would have to accept what she had to do. She would have to stop hoping for an escape.
It was as inevitable as her motherâs rheumatism.
âSunday,â Daisy said. âThis Sunday. Thatâs when Iâll start looking.â
Chapter Five
D aisy was glad for work early the next morning, even though she woke with every muscle in her body shrieking in protest at their ill-usage the day before. Work gave her an excuse to wash quickly and hide the bruise on her hip before her mother noticed. Work allowed her to leave before the sun rose.
She didnât have to think of her presentation or what would come after she lost. She arrived at the shop in the early morning hours and lost herself in her work, bunching together little bouquets of forced violets and tying them with ribbon. It was quiet work, comforting work; she didnât have to talk to anyone while she was doing it. She could just match flowers together and tie them with cord. White and purple; pink and lilac. Each little bouquet was a bit of happiness that she put together for someone else.
Today, though, she couldnât entirely lose herself in the activity. Her motherâs words came back to her.
Itâs like those flowers you sell. Nobody wants them after theyâve begun to wilt.
Bouquets of temporary happiness. Purchased for a penny; discarded the moment they became inconvenient.
She could almost imagine Crash leaning close to her and whispering in her ear. You are remarkably good at lying to yourself.
She shoved her mental image of him away.
At least she enjoyed her work. She made people happy. She made them smile.
The shop bell rang and a woman peered in. She was wearing a sober working-womanâs skirt of dark wool and a dingy gray shirtwaistâlikely once whiteâwith ink stains on the cuff.
Daisy summed the woman up with a single glance. She was likely one of the unmarried women who labored in the backroom of one of the nearby shops. Daisy had talked to many such women. She probably lived in a rooming house with dozens of other women. She saved her coins, one by one, dreaming of another life, a better life.
It would never come. Women never worked their way up. They started their life near their pinnacle and
But this was the stark reality she faced. She needed to find a fool who wouldnât mindâor noticeâher lack of virginity. If she didnât, one day she would have to walk away from the woman who had raised her because she could no longer afford her care.
It didnât matter how little Daisy wanted that to happen. It didnât matter how sick she felt at the thought. Coins didnât lie.
Daisy could only hope she hadnât ruined her chances at marriage. If she couldnât marry, if nobody ever wanted herâ¦
She couldnât think of that.
She had to think of that.
Crash was right. Daisy was remarkably good at lying to herself. One day, sheâd stop hoping to come to her own rescue. One day, sheâd recognize that there was no escape. Sheâd do her best to find herself a fool of a fiancé, because she knew she wouldnât leave her mother. She couldnât.
When that happened, when she smiled at some man with half her sense, Crash would think the worst of her. Heâd call her a liar and a cheat and more. He wouldnât be wrong.
There were some things one could not say to oneâs mother.
I cannot marry yet. Thereâs this man I hateâincidentally, the one who took my virginityâand he would poke fun at me.
No, it was time to grow up and face the truth. She couldnât care what Crash would say.
She smiled at her mother instead. âI know.â Her cheeks hurt, holding that false expression.
Today was Monday evening. On Saturday, the judges would award the bequest to someone else. They would crush her dream. Theyâd make it clear that sheâd told herself lies. At that point, she would have to accept what she had to do. She would have to stop hoping for an escape.
It was as inevitable as her motherâs rheumatism.
âSunday,â Daisy said. âThis Sunday. Thatâs when Iâll start looking.â
Chapter Five
D aisy was glad for work early the next morning, even though she woke with every muscle in her body shrieking in protest at their ill-usage the day before. Work gave her an excuse to wash quickly and hide the bruise on her hip before her mother noticed. Work allowed her to leave before the sun rose.
She didnât have to think of her presentation or what would come after she lost. She arrived at the shop in the early morning hours and lost herself in her work, bunching together little bouquets of forced violets and tying them with ribbon. It was quiet work, comforting work; she didnât have to talk to anyone while she was doing it. She could just match flowers together and tie them with cord. White and purple; pink and lilac. Each little bouquet was a bit of happiness that she put together for someone else.
Today, though, she couldnât entirely lose herself in the activity. Her motherâs words came back to her.
Itâs like those flowers you sell. Nobody wants them after theyâve begun to wilt.
Bouquets of temporary happiness. Purchased for a penny; discarded the moment they became inconvenient.
She could almost imagine Crash leaning close to her and whispering in her ear. You are remarkably good at lying to yourself.
She shoved her mental image of him away.
At least she enjoyed her work. She made people happy. She made them smile.
The shop bell rang and a woman peered in. She was wearing a sober working-womanâs skirt of dark wool and a dingy gray shirtwaistâlikely once whiteâwith ink stains on the cuff.
Daisy summed the woman up with a single glance. She was likely one of the unmarried women who labored in the backroom of one of the nearby shops. Daisy had talked to many such women. She probably lived in a rooming house with dozens of other women. She saved her coins, one by one, dreaming of another life, a better life.
It would never come. Women never worked their way up. They started their life near their pinnacle and
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