Read Online Toward the Sea of Freedom by Sarah Lark - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sarah Lark
Ads: Link
want. How many months has it been anyway? Still early, isn’t it? You can still get rid of it.”
Kathleen stared at her. Get rid of her child? Was the woman in her right mind?
“I know a woman who does it well, so that girls hardly ever bite the dust. But fine, fine, I get it: there’s no question. You’ll be sorry, child.”
Kathleen started crying again. Now the other girls started gathering around her. One laid a comforting arm around her. Kathleen shuddered at her luridly made-up face, but under all the powder and blush, she saw the features of an older woman who seemed much more motherly than Daisy.
“Now, let the little thing catch her breath first,” the woman soothed. “She doesn’t even know what she wants.”
“Michael,” sobbed Kathleen. “I want Michael, and the baby needs him. They can’t . . .”
“Hush, hush.” The woman rocked her back and forth. “Why don’t we go look for that Michael of yours tomorrow?”
Kathleen looked up at her hopefully. “Look for him? You mean visit him? Where? In . . .”
“In prison, dearie. You can say it. But first we need to find him. It might be that they’re holding him here, or they might take him back to your village. Or to Dublin. But I doubt it, at least not right away. In any case, we’ll ask around. Maybe you’ll get a chance to see him. But no more crying now; it’s not good for the little one in there for Mommy to be sad.”
The woman took one of the greasy cosmetic rags from the table and wiped Kathleen’s tears away. “Anyway, I’m Bridget. No need to stand on ceremony with me. What’s your name?”
“Kathleen,” she whispered. “Mary Kathleen.”
She had never before needed the Mother of God’s help so desperately.
Chapter 5
Kathleen slept in the whores’ dressing room, atop a mountain of worn ruffled dresses that stank of sweat and cheap perfume. Of course, she would have preferred not to touch anything that had surely seen sinful use. She wrapped herself in her shawl and in a blanket Bridget had brought her, which, though it was ragged, smelled clean.
Despite how tired she was, Kathleen woke once or twice when a man laughed or a woman squealed. Their voices sounded increasingly rollicking and drunk as the night wore on.
Yet Bridget seemed wide awake and cheerful and not particularly haggard when she woke Kathleen the next morning. She also looked much more trustworthy than she had the evening before. She had swapped her flashy red dress for a rather banal blue one, and she wore a tidy hat on top of her thick, curly brown hair. If she hadn’t worn a layer of powder to try to conceal the traces of too many nights that had gone too late, she could have been taken for a typical housewife.
“Come on, Mary Kathleen,” she said with a smile. “Shall we see what we can do for that Michael of yours?”
Kathleen ran a hand through her hair. She knew it must look terrible. Just like her worn and now dirty and wrinkled dress. How had she ever been able to fall asleep on that pile of laundry? Surely, she smelled of that horrible perfume now.
With a grin, Bridget handed Kathleen a comb. “Take it, dearie. None of us has lice. You may find everything here shocking, but it’s really rather a nice little cathouse. Lord knows there are worse. Not even Daisy is as hardened as she acts.”
“But, but, where are they now?” stammered Kathleen. “All the girls? And the men?”
Bridget laughed. “The customers, thank the Lord, are at home. We don’t let them sleep here. And the girls are in their rooms. Most of them had a long night. Not me; they don’t want me anymore. But Daisy lets me stay on anyway. There’re almost always one or two lads a night too drunk to see how old I am, and I even do it a bit cheaper. Otherwise I do a little cleaning around here and put things in order. Ready, dearie? We should check the jail before they send your love off to Dublin or wherever.”
Kathleen arranged her hair the best she
Kathleen stared at her. Get rid of her child? Was the woman in her right mind?
“I know a woman who does it well, so that girls hardly ever bite the dust. But fine, fine, I get it: there’s no question. You’ll be sorry, child.”
Kathleen started crying again. Now the other girls started gathering around her. One laid a comforting arm around her. Kathleen shuddered at her luridly made-up face, but under all the powder and blush, she saw the features of an older woman who seemed much more motherly than Daisy.
“Now, let the little thing catch her breath first,” the woman soothed. “She doesn’t even know what she wants.”
“Michael,” sobbed Kathleen. “I want Michael, and the baby needs him. They can’t . . .”
“Hush, hush.” The woman rocked her back and forth. “Why don’t we go look for that Michael of yours tomorrow?”
Kathleen looked up at her hopefully. “Look for him? You mean visit him? Where? In . . .”
“In prison, dearie. You can say it. But first we need to find him. It might be that they’re holding him here, or they might take him back to your village. Or to Dublin. But I doubt it, at least not right away. In any case, we’ll ask around. Maybe you’ll get a chance to see him. But no more crying now; it’s not good for the little one in there for Mommy to be sad.”
The woman took one of the greasy cosmetic rags from the table and wiped Kathleen’s tears away. “Anyway, I’m Bridget. No need to stand on ceremony with me. What’s your name?”
“Kathleen,” she whispered. “Mary Kathleen.”
She had never before needed the Mother of God’s help so desperately.
Chapter 5
Kathleen slept in the whores’ dressing room, atop a mountain of worn ruffled dresses that stank of sweat and cheap perfume. Of course, she would have preferred not to touch anything that had surely seen sinful use. She wrapped herself in her shawl and in a blanket Bridget had brought her, which, though it was ragged, smelled clean.
Despite how tired she was, Kathleen woke once or twice when a man laughed or a woman squealed. Their voices sounded increasingly rollicking and drunk as the night wore on.
Yet Bridget seemed wide awake and cheerful and not particularly haggard when she woke Kathleen the next morning. She also looked much more trustworthy than she had the evening before. She had swapped her flashy red dress for a rather banal blue one, and she wore a tidy hat on top of her thick, curly brown hair. If she hadn’t worn a layer of powder to try to conceal the traces of too many nights that had gone too late, she could have been taken for a typical housewife.
“Come on, Mary Kathleen,” she said with a smile. “Shall we see what we can do for that Michael of yours?”
Kathleen ran a hand through her hair. She knew it must look terrible. Just like her worn and now dirty and wrinkled dress. How had she ever been able to fall asleep on that pile of laundry? Surely, she smelled of that horrible perfume now.
With a grin, Bridget handed Kathleen a comb. “Take it, dearie. None of us has lice. You may find everything here shocking, but it’s really rather a nice little cathouse. Lord knows there are worse. Not even Daisy is as hardened as she acts.”
“But, but, where are they now?” stammered Kathleen. “All the girls? And the men?”
Bridget laughed. “The customers, thank the Lord, are at home. We don’t let them sleep here. And the girls are in their rooms. Most of them had a long night. Not me; they don’t want me anymore. But Daisy lets me stay on anyway. There’re almost always one or two lads a night too drunk to see how old I am, and I even do it a bit cheaper. Otherwise I do a little cleaning around here and put things in order. Ready, dearie? We should check the jail before they send your love off to Dublin or wherever.”
Kathleen arranged her hair the best she
Similar Books
