Nevertheless, I threw myself diligently into my work, eager to prove my worth—anything to remain near Cora and Flossie. Between chores, I was curious to see what my friends might get up to, and one afternoon I spied Cora practicing dancing in the tight space of her room. I was startled by a cough behind me and whirled around to see Flossie had caught me snooping through the crack in Cora’s door.
“We’re meant to join the girls at the dancehall for the first time tomorrow night,” she reminded me. I couldn’t read her expression—if she was excited or apprehensive. But Flossie could be like that; she was so practical, she often appeared emotionless.
* * *
—
The next day, as late afternoon teetered on the precipice of early evening, the girls began getting ready—Cora and Flossie included. There was a small room with a bathtub inside the main house, and I was charged with boiling water for the girls’ bath. They were each to bathe with the same water in succession, starting with Blanche and ending with the house’s newest additions. I could tell this did not appeal to Cora’s queenly inclinations, but she bit her tongue, excited to get dressed with rouge and dyed petticoats—things we’d never have been allowed to wear in the orphanage.
When all the girls were dressed, they lined up in the hall at the bottom of the stairs. I gasped when I caught sight of Cora. She wore an emerald dress with black stockings and a black frilly petticoat peeking out from under the shortened front hemline. Her scarlet hair was pinned in a lavish bouffant and her cheeks had been powdered and rouged. It was all very garish, and yet, on Cora, it was also shockingly beautiful. Flossie was dressed similarly, but on her the clothing and maquillage had an unfortunate clownish effect; evidently her pale coloring was no match for one crimson swipe applied from the pot of lip paint.
Tackett descended the rickety stairs, and after he gave each girl a once-over, the entire group trooped out the front door. When the door clicked shut and I was parted from Cora and Flossie—even if only temporarily—I felt lost.
* * *
—
I can’t recall how I filled those hours, but by the time the front door swung open again on its creaky hinges, it was nearly morning, and I had long since retired to my bedroll in the kitchen alcove. At first, I sat up, thinking to go and greet them. But then I flinched to hear male voices—more than one, and rowdy. I crept to the door that led into the sitting room and peeped cautiously within. There they were; I saw no trace of Cora and Flossie, but I spied several of the other girls. And with them were three very drunk men. As I looked on, I detected a strained note to their hilarity. One of the girls, a friendly, rotund woman named Henrietta, attempted to smooth the tension by cranking up the player piano. The cheerful tinny banging of ragtime filled the air. A joke was made and everyone laughed.
But the scene was interrupted when the front door opened again and slapped shut. I caught a flash of Cora going up the stairs, with Flossie following close at her heels. I made a quick dash to the staircase and followed suit.
I found them in Cora’s room.
“What’s wrong?” I begged Flossie.
Both of them looked a little worse for the wear. Their rouge had streaked down their faces in rivulets that suggested dried perspiration. Cora’s eyes looked red, either with anger or tears; I couldn’t tell which.
“What’s wrong?” I repeated. “Who are those men downstairs?”
At this, Cora’s eyes flashed in my direction, green and angry as a cat’s. She ripped the black velvet ribbon from her neck and threw it in my direction.
“Get out, Violet!” she snapped at me.
I was stung. Cora had never spoken to me with such hatred. Flossie hurried to take my arm and usher me out. Once we were in the hallway, she dropped her voice.
“She’s . . . well, she’s disappointed. She wants to leave,” Flossie confided.
“Shall I get my things?” I asked, thinking of the meager bundle of trinkets I had hidden in the kitchen alcove.
Flossie shook her head. “We can’t leave, Violet. We owe Tackett a week’s worth of rent. He made it clear he won’t be kind about it, and we have no money yet. Besides, where else can we go?”
“You mean we’re trapped?”
“Shhh!” Flossie urged, her eyes darting in the direction of Cora’s room. “Don’t rub it in; she’s liable to go mad.” Flossie paused. She sighed and put a hand on my shoulder. “For now, we need to survive, Violet, until we can think of something better.”
I was silent a moment.
“Let Cora alone tonight,” Flossie said finally, patting my shoulder. She sighed again, looking tired and discouraged herself. “I’ll come check on you before I go to bed.”
With that, she disappeared back into Cora’s room. The door clattered shut. I stared after her, my mind reeling.
* * *
—
I went back downstairs, anxious for something to do. The sun would come up soon, and I decided to peel and dice potatoes for breakfast; if I was clever, I could combine them with yesterday’s corned beef and make a hash.
I stood at the kitchen counter, peeling until I was lost in a trance.
In the front parlor the men’s voices thundered over the music of the piano.
We can’t leave, Flossie had said. Besides, where else can we go?
I felt a warm, slippery moisture forming in my palm. I looked down and, to my astonishment, realized I had not only picked up one of the kitchen carving knives but was squeezing it by the blade. I had felt nothing as the blade bit into my skin.
I gasped and yelped, throwing the knife down immediately. It clattered against the dingy tile, and I cast about desperately for something to clean and bind my hand.
“Violet!”
Flossie had come to check on me as promised. Upon hearing my yelp, she rushed in.
“Oh, Violet,” she said. “You’re bleeding!”
Still trembling, I was making a mess. Flossie took over. She led me back to the counter and began to rummage for supplies. She found a bottle of whiskey and doused my wound. I winced.
“What happened?” she asked, cinching a scrap of cloth into a bandage and snipping away the excess with a pair of sewing scissors.
I stared at my hand in disbelief and took a breath but couldn’t find any words.
“It was one of your spells,” Flossie quietly deduced.
She looked my bandage over one last time, gave it a gentle pat, then led me to my alcove and helped me crawl into bed. “This isn’t exactly what any of us imagined. But for now, Violet, just rest.”