Breakfast
Maryann was hurrying as fast as she could without breaking into an entire run. She had her head up, but she knew the dust from the road was kicking up around her feet, leaving a film of dust on her black shoes. She would have to polish her boots quickly before starting her daily tasks. Maryann began to see the house on the horizon. A cute cottage with white walls and a thatched roof. A small wood fence was in the front, the tulips and daffodils in full bloom, adding color to the green grass. Smoke was coming out of the chimney.
Maryann jogged to the back of the house. As Maryann walked into the mudroom, she quickly grabbed a rag, wiped the dust from her shoes, and dusted the hem of her black skirt. It could be better, she thought, but it will do. Jessie, the cook, was busy near the woodstove. As Maryann pulled on her white apron and tied the back, Jessie barked, "Hurry! Take Mr. Hare his breakfast! He's a bundle of nerves as always." Yes, as always.
Maryann carefully placed the plates of food on the tray. Scrambled eggs in the middle. A small container of bacon is to the right. The English muffin with butter goes to the top left of the tray. In the top right, she places a small glass of orange juice. A small bowl of porridge goes in the bottom left. She squeezes the silverware folded into a napkin on the right side. As Maryann carefully lifts the tray, her stomach starts to rumble. She hasn't eaten anything this morning. Jessie allows Maryann to eat whatever Mr. Hare doesn't eat. Sometimes he doesn't eat any of it. On the rare occasions he does eat his breakfast, Maryann must go hungry until she gets a slice of bread and butter for lunch.
Maryann carefully balances this food tray as she travels through the house until she reaches Mr. Hare's office. She balances the tray with one arm and lightly taps on the open door, "Sir? I have your breakfast." Mr. Hare is in a frenzy again, searching for something. He barely glances up and waves at her to put the tray on his desk.
"Maryann, I lost my white gloves."
Maryann glances around as she sets down the tray. She spots them under the stack of papers that had spilled over. "Here, sir," Maryann says softly as she picks them up. Mr. Hare takes them wordlessly and puts them in his coat pocket. Mr. Hare is a tall man with white hair and a white mustache. His pale white skin is in stark contrast to the black suit he is wearing. Mr. Hare picks up a slice of bacon and chews it quickly. He gulps down the orange juice and eats half of the English muffin as he walks out the door. Maryann will get breakfast this morning.
Maryann follows him out in case he gives directions for the day. Mornings are stressful for him. Mr. Hare is the private secretary to Queen Hart. Maryann had never met her, and she was glad about it. The Queen is a bitter, short-tempered lady. Anytime someone went missing, rumors would swirl that the Queen had them executed. Maryann had yet to learn if that was true. Mr. Hare was always, as Jessie would say, a bundle of nerves in the morning. Then, in the evenings, when the day's stress is over, Mr. Hare would come home, quiet and withdrawn. He would then eat dinner, grab a liquor bottle, and sit in his favorite chair with a book. Maryann did not know what kind of person Mr. Hare was outside this job. The job was all-consuming, draining every ounce of energy Mr. Hare had, leaving nothing for himself.
This morning, he said nothing else as he walked out the door. Maryann turned around and saw Jessie in the doorway, knowing he hardly ate anything. Jessie looked at Maryann and said, "Hurry and eat. Then get started with the dishes. Then sweep the ashes from the stove and start your daily chores."
The food was cold, but Maryann was still grateful for it. It was more food than what her siblings got. Too many mouths to feed, her mom complained often. Maryann, at the age of 13, was the oldest and the only person working in the house. Her mom did try to take in other people's washing to earn extra money, but every woman did that. Mr. Hare allowed her mother to do the washing for him, but one man didn't have that much work, and Jessie expected Maryann to do that anyways. Maryann's father worked in a factory, but he fell off a ladder and broke his leg, and his leg never healed right. Papa has a terrible limp and complains of pain a lot. Maryann secretly wonders if it is an excuse to not work. More than the 4 shillings Maryann gets daily is needed, but at least it's something.
No comments:
Post a Comment