Read Online My Darling Melissa by Linda Lael Miller - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Linda Lael Miller
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for.”
Melissa gaped at him for a moment, then demanded, “What do you mean? What am I letting myself in for?”
Williams only shook his head, touched Melissa’s cheek briefly with one hand, and walked away.
Melissa went into the telegraph office, took up a pad and pencil, and began composing her message to her family. It proved to be a far more difficult task than she’d expected. The things she’d planned to say sounded silly or too verbose.
In the end she wrote:
NO NEED TO WORRY ABOUT ME. I’M NO LONGER A SPINSTER. I’M DISCOVERING LIFE. LOVE, MRS. QUINN RAFFERTY (MELISSA).
She directed the wire to Keith, considering him the most charitable of her brothers, paid for the service, and left the office.
The walk to the cannery was longer than Melissa had expected, and it led past several of the seventeen saloons Quinn had bragged about, as well as a suspiciously ornate rooming house or two.
Melissa was relieved when she finally reached the noisy factory on the waterfront. After asking directions of a man who stared at her and repeatedly cleared his sinuses, she picked her way through discarded oyster shells and cigar butts to a little office building that stood separate from the cannery itself.
Her knock brought a brusque summons, and she opened the door and went in.
A small man with a rim of bright red hair ringing his balding pate sat behind a desk, half-buried in papers and all but hidden by a fog of cigar smoke. He smelled of rancid sweat, and Melissa was instantly repelled.
“Yes, yes, what is it?” the little man sputtered as Melissa hovered in the doorway, ready to flee.
“I’m looking for a job,” she said politely.
“What do you do?” was the impatient retort.
“A great deal, or nothing at all,” Melissa replied bluntly. “It all depends on your point of view.”
The fellow behind the desk looked her over and made a harumph sound. “Ever shuck oysters?” he asked, and it was clear from the way he put the question that he expected her to say no.
“Yes,” lied Melissa. “Many times.”
“Let me see your hands.”
Melissa stepped gingerly into the messy, close little room and held out both her hands.
“You’ve never done any real work with those mitts, lady.”There was a small sign, nearly buried in the litter that covered his desk, that indicated his name was John Roberts.
Melissa bit her lower lip and kept her peace. She had no idea what to say now that she’d been caught out as a liar.
Mr. Roberts gave a sort of snuffling chuckle, a sound filled with amusement, indulgence, and no small measure of contempt. He slapped the newspaper that lay in the middle of his desk with one palm. “You’re the pretty little piece those Corbin people over Port Hastings way are advertising for, aren’t you, miss? I could get a nickel or two for telling them where you are.”
Melissa squared her shoulders. “They know where I am, Mr. Roberts. I sent them a wire.”
He looked disappointed. “Oh.” Like quicksilver, the flow of the conversation changed. “Shucking oysters is miserable work, young lady. They got hard, hoary shells, sharp as razors. I’ve seen grown men that couldn’t handle the job.”
“All I’m asking for,” Melissa said bravely, “is a chance.”
Mr. Roberts thrust himself backwards in his chair, regarding Melissa in a way that made her most uncomfortable. “Don’t say old John wasn’t kind to you, missy. Don’t you ever say that.”
Melissa suppressed a shudder. “Does that mean I’m hired?”
Roberts scrawled something on a piece of paper and shoved it at her. “See this fella. He’ll give you a knife and bucket.”
So began Melissa’s first day of employment.
Five
Never in her wildest imaginings had Melissa suspected that physical work could be so grindingly hard.
She sat where she was told to sit, beside a bin full of oysters in a noisy, ill-lit room, crowded between two other women. She was given a bucket of water and a tool, and soon she
Melissa gaped at him for a moment, then demanded, “What do you mean? What am I letting myself in for?”
Williams only shook his head, touched Melissa’s cheek briefly with one hand, and walked away.
Melissa went into the telegraph office, took up a pad and pencil, and began composing her message to her family. It proved to be a far more difficult task than she’d expected. The things she’d planned to say sounded silly or too verbose.
In the end she wrote:
NO NEED TO WORRY ABOUT ME. I’M NO LONGER A SPINSTER. I’M DISCOVERING LIFE. LOVE, MRS. QUINN RAFFERTY (MELISSA).
She directed the wire to Keith, considering him the most charitable of her brothers, paid for the service, and left the office.
The walk to the cannery was longer than Melissa had expected, and it led past several of the seventeen saloons Quinn had bragged about, as well as a suspiciously ornate rooming house or two.
Melissa was relieved when she finally reached the noisy factory on the waterfront. After asking directions of a man who stared at her and repeatedly cleared his sinuses, she picked her way through discarded oyster shells and cigar butts to a little office building that stood separate from the cannery itself.
Her knock brought a brusque summons, and she opened the door and went in.
A small man with a rim of bright red hair ringing his balding pate sat behind a desk, half-buried in papers and all but hidden by a fog of cigar smoke. He smelled of rancid sweat, and Melissa was instantly repelled.
“Yes, yes, what is it?” the little man sputtered as Melissa hovered in the doorway, ready to flee.
“I’m looking for a job,” she said politely.
“What do you do?” was the impatient retort.
“A great deal, or nothing at all,” Melissa replied bluntly. “It all depends on your point of view.”
The fellow behind the desk looked her over and made a harumph sound. “Ever shuck oysters?” he asked, and it was clear from the way he put the question that he expected her to say no.
“Yes,” lied Melissa. “Many times.”
“Let me see your hands.”
Melissa stepped gingerly into the messy, close little room and held out both her hands.
“You’ve never done any real work with those mitts, lady.”There was a small sign, nearly buried in the litter that covered his desk, that indicated his name was John Roberts.
Melissa bit her lower lip and kept her peace. She had no idea what to say now that she’d been caught out as a liar.
Mr. Roberts gave a sort of snuffling chuckle, a sound filled with amusement, indulgence, and no small measure of contempt. He slapped the newspaper that lay in the middle of his desk with one palm. “You’re the pretty little piece those Corbin people over Port Hastings way are advertising for, aren’t you, miss? I could get a nickel or two for telling them where you are.”
Melissa squared her shoulders. “They know where I am, Mr. Roberts. I sent them a wire.”
He looked disappointed. “Oh.” Like quicksilver, the flow of the conversation changed. “Shucking oysters is miserable work, young lady. They got hard, hoary shells, sharp as razors. I’ve seen grown men that couldn’t handle the job.”
“All I’m asking for,” Melissa said bravely, “is a chance.”
Mr. Roberts thrust himself backwards in his chair, regarding Melissa in a way that made her most uncomfortable. “Don’t say old John wasn’t kind to you, missy. Don’t you ever say that.”
Melissa suppressed a shudder. “Does that mean I’m hired?”
Roberts scrawled something on a piece of paper and shoved it at her. “See this fella. He’ll give you a knife and bucket.”
So began Melissa’s first day of employment.
Five
Never in her wildest imaginings had Melissa suspected that physical work could be so grindingly hard.
She sat where she was told to sit, beside a bin full of oysters in a noisy, ill-lit room, crowded between two other women. She was given a bucket of water and a tool, and soon she
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