Forgive me for not writing for a few days but I feared that if I puked on my book it would reek and they would make me throw it overboard.
The morning of ‘shoving off’ I awoke with a start, as soon as we left the port. My stomach is psychic.
I ran onto deck and startled everyone– but I suppose a greenish ghostlike creature emerging from below is quite a startling sight. I was directed to the bow where I hung over the side for at least three aching hours.
I am not a seaman. Or, rather, seawoman.
Finally after three days of three hour vomiting episodes a midwife’s husband stepped forward and offered a few herbal cures. And as far as I can tell they have helped enormously, for I am braving even the welfare of my book. But I did happen to ask the midwife’s,
“Why the blazes didn’t you come forth before?!?”
He shrugged and said, “Was afraid if you weren’t throwing up your insides you might be somewhat of a bother. And I was right.”
That definitely huffed me up a good bit so I decided to sit on the poop deck and write. No one has talked to me all day. I feel as desolate as a lily in February.
This is what I see: The captain smoking a long green pipe (inhaling as if it were a beautiful flower), three crewmen struggling with the sails, and one crewman in the crow’s nest with a funny looking pair of things he is holding up to his eyes. Let me see if I can describe it accurately. There are two wooden tubes with black glass at the ends, and I can see the crewman’s eyes when he blinks. It’s rather frightening, in my professional opinion. And, oh, he is directing them to me. I think he can see my writing the book. I’ll shut it in his face.
“Why were you spying on me?” I asked the crow’s nest spy, who came down out of his nest.
“What else is there to look at?”
Of course he had a point. There was nothing around for miles and miles, or at least as far as I could see. Can I see miles?
The spy was a rather short fellow with extremely curly brown hair that fell out and about like funny noodles. He was very outgoing with a teasing personality and a silly, boyish smile.
“So you don’t like people reading over ‘yer shoulder, ay?” He grinned hugely.
“If you can call it over my shoulder. You’re correct, sir.”
He gave an abrupt laugh, as if I were startlingly funny. “Ay, and if you can call me sir.”
I stared at him blank-facedly for a moment, wondering what he meant.
I rose and offered him my hand. He seemed to find this amusing too. “I am Sharlotte– I do suppose we are on a first name basis. You may call me Lottey, if you do prefer so.”
He took my hand, thoroughly amusedly pleased. “And I am Ivanm, your highness.” He grinned even bigger, if at all possible.
My smiling eyes went flat and I dropped his hand. “I don’t like mockery.”
Ivanm swung his hair back and laughed quietly. It was a queer laugh; his regular talking voice is so high and loud, and then he laughed– deep and low and very quiet. “I apologize,” he said.
Then someone on the other side of the ship called, “Your highness!” to finish his sentence.
I scowled fiercely.
“I suppose I’ve started something, I have.” He drops his H’s. I’m not quite sure how to explain it on paper.
“Thank you,” I said through my teeth.
He bowed lowly, his hand over his waist, which is where he bent from. It looked painful, almost. “I’m somewhat of a high-top ‘n fancy person myself, really. ‘Pologize again, ma’am, I’m sure we could get along if you knew what I was about.”
I must have looked confused, for the captain said, “He doesn’t know seriousness. Doesn’t exist in his world.”
And then I apprehended the situation. But, contrarily, he didn’t apprehend mine. No one would even believe me if I told them. So I didn’t attempt it. “How pleasant,” I frowned. “I don’t believe she likes the idea,” said Ivanm, referring to me in the third person although I was standing right in front of him, and he was looking straight at me. He frowned back.
“I’m sorry,” I wrapped my fingers around the side of my skirt, thinking of something intelligent to say. “I don’t think I’ve known anything but seriousness.” That made me sound like a genius.
“You’ll most likely learn otherwise during this journey. Nothing else is sufficiently occupying.” He had flipped his frown back around already. “I always dream I’m a wealthy earl on a five-hundred acre spot with a mansion. But what a lonely earl am I, with no Lady to escort to supper.” When he frowned this time, it was pretend.
“I shall be happy to oblige,” I said, though not sounding as eager as he’d probably had hoped. Just as he said: there as nothing else to do.
He offered his arm, but I receded shrinkingly.
“Is it that time already?” I asked with a woven brow.
He drew back his arm and said with a true frown, “Don’t look too unhappy.”
Because I did. “I’m sorry but I only just met you, and–”
He cut me off with his odd laugh. He laughed it for about twenty seconds. “No offense taken, hun’. And you’re right, it isn’t time yet. I was only testin’ ya,” he winked.
I nodded slowly with a forced smile.
He laughed again, mixed with clearing his throat. “I’d better be off to work before Geroge has my head,” he made a suffocating noise.
Well, I did wish for human being company, and I suppose I got it. I should like to bite myself for jumping so quickly at the first flattery dropped at my feet.
I will never ask why hard tack is called hard tack or salt pork is called salt pork. Their names shine the truth. And just guess what I am forced to eat the whole time I am on this wretched, horrid, floating tree with bed sheet stuck on the end if long poles?
Hard tack and salt pork.
I thought at first that maybe it was rationed out between weeks, the hard and salty food this week and something a little bit yummier next week. But here it is next week nothing has changed.
Is there nothing else aboard this ship???
I suppose not. But what can I do? I can describe last night’s dinner, firstly, I guess.
I was below deck tucking my book away and trying to do something to help my hair, but that was hopeless. I look like Meme.
Ivanm found me, rather abruptly, actually. He jumped down the wooden stairs, skipping most of the steps, and giving me quite a fright.
“Hidy, duchess,” he said.
I dropped the hairs I had my fingers entangled in, slightly in shock. “Hi, uh,” I said. I wasn’t sure what to say.
“Dinner bell will ring in exactly,” he took out his pocket watch, “Ah.” He stuck his finger in the air, cueing the bell.
“Lovely,” I droned, trying to sound delighted, but absolutely failing.
“Let us move, to get a warm meal.” He stuck out his arm for me.
He must have been daydreaming again, about a warm meal. There was no such thing on this hunk of floating wood.
“Up,” he said, as if directing us as we walked up the stairs.
It was an awkward situation. I was the same height as him, if not a little taller. He pulled me along jubilantly, and I almost felt as if I were being toted by a younger brother. But I doubted his intentions were little brother-like.
The dining hall, which is more like a hall than a room, was filling with rank crewmen and the few ill-looking passengers. Ivanm sat me by him, and I spotted Ryse across the room (hall). He didn’t seem to notice me, or he was trying hard not to notice me. He was talking to some pictured-up crewman. You know, the picture like thing that Ryse has on his arm that he showed Geroge? The man had those all over his body. I’ll make a note to ask what exactly those are.
Note: Ask Ryse what those funny picture things are.
Then our food was brought out– if in fact one can call it food. Then I unexpectedly lost my appetite when I saw it and smelled it as I held it to my mouth. And suddenly everyone
was looking at me. Their eyes said, “Isn’t simply delicious?” So I popped the piece of hard tack in my mouth and smiled. I wanted to excuse myself to the deck.
“Duchess, how did you come to be on such a depleted and defiled ship such as this one?” A man asked me, from across the table
I curled back my top lip, wondering if I were being mocked again. So I said flatly, “I was banished.”
Someone along our long table– I shall describe the tables quickly: there are three of them, and each of them seat at least seventeen people, and they are always crowded. Everyone sits nearly on top of each other, and it smells very bad. Not a very appetizing place to eat.
Someone along our table slapped his hand on the wood really hard, and shook the water in everyone’s tin mug. “That’s what happened to Ivy, too, bet.”
Ivanm took a drink and set his mug down gallantly. “Don’t remember. Memory was wiped. Someone gave me a swig of something nasty, and everything was gone.”
I sniffed lightly. “If your memory was wiped by the potion, how can you remember that it was the potion that wiped it?” I reasoned.
He shrugged. “I just know.”
Everyone laughed howlingly, and it hurt my ears.
So, Ivanm’s nickname was Ivy. A growing, attaching plant. “Um,” I said, my brain not functioning fast enough. I couldn’t remember what I was going to say. But it didn’t matter, because no one heard me.
Watching these rambunctious sailors, one would think they had ale in their mugs.
I stood up gracefully. “I think I’ll retire.”
Ivy turned to me, chewing with his mouth open. “Retire from what?”
I scowled, he laughed, and then they all laughed. And I left.
I went down below to get my book to write about horrid hard tack and salt pork. Now that I’m finished, I think I shall put my book back so I can enjoy the fresh ocean air before all the sailors come back out and pollute it all again.
When I went back up onto the deck I found Ryse doing exactly what I planned to do, and I decided this was a good of time as any to pounce on him with my question.
As I walked, the breeze blew back my hair, and made it easier to breathe.
“Ryse,” I said, approaching him.
He turned from his ocean view to glance at me for a second. “Yep,” he said slowly, confidently, and for once he didn’t sound annoyed.
“I have a question.”
“Great.”
“Don’t worry; it’s one you can answer.” I sat down at his feet. He was sitting on the side of the ship, the rail that guarded clumsy people from the ocean.
Ryse was whittling a piece of wood, throwing the shavings into the water.
“What are you making?” I asked.
He looked at me funny. “That’s your question?”
“No!” I exclaimed, but realizing it was my mistake.
“I’m not making anything, really. I’ll be whittling this stick till it’s gone.”
I wrinkled my nose. “That doesn’t sound sensible.”
“Not to you, of course.”
I watched him brush the shavings off of himself. “What is that picture thing you have on your arm?”
“I can only answer one question per day.” He continued working.
“Ryse!” I screeched.
He chuckled.
“I saw a man with them all over his body– and it doesn’t look very natural.”
“It’s not, Your Brilliance.”
Great, a new title.
“What are they?”
“They’re called tattoos.”
“Tattoos?” I repeated. “Why do you have a tattoos on your arm?”
At this he really laughed. I don’t know why. “Geroge gave it to me when I was young.”
That was how Geroge knew who he was. “Did it hurt?”
“Yeah.”
“Does that?” I pointed to Ryse’s finger. He had cut himself with his little knife.
“Yes,” he said crossly, putting it to his mouth. “Don’t rejoice, I didn’t hit a major blood vessel.”
I crossed my eyes. He was impeaching and aggravated now. I knew his good mood with me wouldn’t last.
“When do you think we’ll see land again?”
Ryse grimaced. “Have you no appreciation for the ocean?”
“I’m sorry, but everything you think clashes with everything I think,” I said haughtily.
Suddenly he smirked. “I think Ivy’s a nut.”
What was he accusing me of? I assumed he assumed something that was not assumable. I jumped up, nearly enraged. “Yes, well I think he’s a smelly carcass! There, that’s the opposite of a nut!”
Ryse shook his head, laughing. “He’s hardly a smelly carcass. He’s the best smelling fellow besides me on this ship.”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “You smell good, do you?”
“Do you?” He grinned now. Grinned.
“Why does everyone have to make fun of me?” I bawled, throwing my hands up.
“Because it’s so much fun, darling. No one else reacts the way you do.”
I gasped. “I will never speak to you again.”
I don’t think he took me seriously.
And I am not sure how serious I was, but it seemed like the best thing to say at the moment.
And only my father is allowed to call me darling! And now that I do not even know who that is, I suppose no one is allowed to call me anything but my name.
I’m tired now. So tired. This day has been exhausting.
Geroge says we’ll be having a storm tomorrow night. That frightens me. I asked him, “Will we survive?” and he thought that was funny. I talked to him for a long time yesterday, passing the dreadful hours.
“How come no one ever calls you captain, Geroge? Captain Geroge sounds fine.”
Geroge was at the wheel, clasping its wooden knobs with caressing fingers. All of the crew and people who belonged to the ship seemed to worship it and the ocean, or at least love them both an awful lot.
“I don’t like it. Makes me sound old.” He spit to the side.
One always had to be careful of small puddles of gooey stuff while on the deck.
“How old are you?” I inquired.
He scowled good-naturedly. “You ask as if I’m older than your imagination. I’m forty-three, if you must know.”
I smiled pleasantly. “No, not older than my imagination, just older than I expected.”
He liked that. His scowl vanished. “Are you getting to like the sea better than you thought you would?”
“Well…” I really didn’t want to disappoint my captain. I had his good side around my pinky, and it was rather pleasant. The only thing I could do was lie. “I think so… after so many weeks, one forgets about anything else.”
“Aye,” he agreed. “That’s how I and my boys get. Not many women can appreciate that. You’re special,” he tugged on my ear playfully.
“I know…” I trailed off, looking around me. It was such a wet mess. How could they love it as they did?
I sat watching Geroge as he steered, and I found myself saying, “You look so valiant.” He thanked me with gusto, his dark hair flowing in his ponytail behind him. He has dark whiskers, but I had never seen him with a beard or mustache. He has a dashing smile, and looks quite good for his age. And he is pleasant to be around, on top of all that.
“What is there to do on a ship for a female?” I asked him distraughtly.
Geroge looked out into the distance, and then at me. “Females usually talk to each other.”
I then realized I wasn’t the only woman on board. Oh, I knew it before, I just never realized it. He was referring to Meme, who was sitting in a corner, sewing something. I sighed, but I knew I was being extremely impolite by ignoring her. So I nodded slowly, stood up slowly, and began walking to her… slowly.
“How are you faring, miss…?” I watched as she looked up, and suddenly got an eager look on her face. She tucked her s
ewing under one arm and stood, taking my hand.
“Miss Kering, but you can call me Meme.”
Her eyes only got bigger.
“Oh, how nice, Meme. I am Sharlotte Marish Rose Devingrole, but you may call me Lottey.”
Meme stopped smiling, taken aback a bit think. I suppose I should’ve simply said Sharlotte Rose. Marish and Devingrole were both names referring to my… previous life.
“What are you making?” I tried to pick up a conversation.
“Oh,” she said, smiling and unfolding the little pair of breeches that were under her arm. “They are for my son, who is waiting for me in ParKesh. I had to leave him last year. But now,” she sighed happily, “I can finally have him back.”
It turns out that Meme is very talkative, and attentive, and has a heart nearly as big as her eyes. Our hair just about matches now; mine is nearly as tangled. She doesn’t seem traumatized while I’m talking to her, only when I’m not. She is sort of shaky and gets excited easily, but over all I really enjoy her company. I look forward to having some more feminine endeavors.
Would you believe that I walk in my sleep? Me?!? Well, at least they say I do. ‘They’ being Ryse, Ivy, and a few other sailors who have claimed to stayed up drinking rum. They tried to describe what I did, and it’s embarrassing, and I could hardly remember it to write it down. Ryse has kindly– which I write bitterly– offered to write it down in my book for me. I did hesitate, but I think it will be okay. I shall watch him from a distance the whole time he has my book.
Hello dear Lottey, this is your very best friend in the world, Ryse. I would sign my whole name except for I don’t know it. You know that.
Now for your story.
The boys and I were out on deck that smothering night, drinking and telling tales about our boring pasts, and how we hope our future to be. I won’t bother describe that because you wouldn’t bother to read it. It was about the time that Ivy said he’d never had any better– well, then you came out of the stairwell and scared us half out of our wits. Maybe it was your hair that looked the most frightening, but whatever it was that did the trick, we all jumped and didn’t dare to go near you, or whatever we thought you were.
“Aowwoooo!” You said, running fast towards us.
As you approached, we realized what you were: A sleepwalking Lottey with her eyes closed and determination set.
Guess what you did?
You ran and dove over the side of the ship.
And me, I caught you just in time; by the ankle, in fact. Your skirts went up and over your head, and that was hilarious. We stopped shying and started laughing. Ivy helped me to yank you back over the side and put you back into your hammock. We decided that waking you up wasn’t the best idea; you might claw our eyes out and accuse us of something we didn’t–
Sorry, dropped the book off my knee. Didn’t mean to make that nasty mark across the page.
But anyway, we all think that that was your true self last night. You are really mad inside and are just waiting to get your chance to jump overboard. Nice chatting with you, this was probably the nicest conversation we’ll ever have; because you didn’t talk back.
Have fun reading, darling, and tell me what you think of my storytelling.
Oh!!!! Don’t worry about me, I punished him for that. No one calls me darling, and no one looks up my skirt; not even my own father.
“I don’t believe yooooooou!” I said, running at him, wanting to rip his neck off.
He sat there with his chums, all smiley and everything, waiting for me. “You don’t have to believe me, luv.”
And that did it. “OH,” I said disgustedly. Rather, I spit the word out. “Enough with all these names you call me!! You make me sick and now I fear for my safety aboard this horrid ship! I won’t be able to sleep at night, now. I don’t know how I ever have slept, since the day filthy girl came to my house and took my place–” I tried to continue flinging bad names at him, but he kept smiling, and I broke down into sobs. I sunk to my knees and covered my face. It was part melodrama, but mostly not.
Ryse bent down and petted my head, but I recoiled and screamed, “Don’t touch me!!!” Yes, I know, but it was the most intelligent thing to say that I could think of at the moment.
So he stopped, and if I were him I’d be offended, but he didn’t seem to be. His eyes locked away from me, annoyed once more, and feeling like my baby-sitter again. And I– I am a whining child who misses her mother, but her mother doesn’t miss her.
Oh, if only everyone knew the truth. But do I even know the truth? I don’t know what I know.
I’m going to go to Geroge for sympathy.
Oh, by the way, while I was watching Ryse write in my book, he dropped it and pretended to flip through the pages, looking for his spot. But I think he was reading it. I wonder what he was looking for?
The days won’t go by fast enough. It seems that it was years ago when I first saw this ship. I want to scream, “It’s consuming me!!” But everyone would look at me funny.
It’s been a month since I’ve written. I misplaced the book somewhere, but I found it this morning.
Geroge says that we have made such good time that we could hit land in a week or two. We’ve gotten to be quite good friends. I think he’s quite fond of me.
Ivy says I haven’t sleepwalked again, and Ryse has ignored me an awful lot these past weeks.
There really isn’t much I can write; most every day is the same. Wake up with a queasy feeling, sit on the deck for an hour trying to wake up, talk with Meme (she’s giving me sewing lessons) for a while, and dawdle my way to dinner. Which is never different. I had thought I had lost weight when I was at the Perr Mansion– now, oh my. I am near skin and bones, I do believe. Though I am not the one to judge my own weight. The only one that could tell me how much weight I have lost since I came to the Perr Mansion would be Ryse, and talking to him right now would be very brave. But have nothing to do, and nothing to write about; perhaps something exciting will happen when I ask him a question.
“Ryse, we need to talk.”
“Do we?”
“We do.” I sat down next to him. I’m not sure exactly what he was doing.
“About what.” He asked me the question, but he forgot he did then next second.
“About a few things.”
“What?” He looked at me suddenly, as if I had just appeared out of thin air.
I asked, “Are you alright?” I wanted to knock on his head and see how hollow it was, but he’d probably twist my arm off.
He smiled halfway, and it looked kind of funny.“Ah,” I figure out. “You’re terribly excited about getting to ParKesh finally.” I crossed my arms. This would be a tough conversation.
“Terribly…” he said. “That’s one of your favorite words. Honored to be using it.”
Oh, the adrenaline that surged through my body– for a split second I had the strength to pick him up over my head and thrown him a mile. “What do you mean?” I said slowly, my arms unfolding, and feeling as if I were growing taller by the second.
He looked at me, all smug and proud and conceited– my teeth started gnashing as my ears rang.
“Why couldn’t I find my book for nearly a month?” My voice was rather loud. I think the whole ship was listening.
“I’ve looked over your shoulder a few times, remember…” He grinned solemnly, as if pleading innocent. He looked innocent. But I was smarter than that.
“You’re lucky I don’t rip everyone one of your hairs off one by one!!!!!” I can’t put enough exclamation marks.
“You’d have to start with my back.” He looked very happy.
“Ew,” I said, and for a second I forgot why I was angry. His back was hairy?
“You’re disgusting!”
“What are you accusing me of?” His happiness seemed to be fading.
“You’re a thief,” I was whispering now. Playing up my emotions a bit. I was actually more angry than hurt, but I was also female; bei
ng hurt stirs the sympathy. “I should have stayed and been whipped to death.”
“It would’ve hurt,” he had a green pipe, like the one I always see Geroge with. He put it in his mouth and lighted it.
I gasped. “You don’t take anything I say seriously!” I smacked the pipe form his mouth. It bounced across the wooden deck.
“I think someone needs to walk the plank,” I heard Geroge coming up behind me.
“Yes! Him!” I screamed. That would have been the most pleasant sight I’d see for days: poking Ryse with a sword as he walked with his hands tied behind his back, pushing him off into the water. I’d holler, “So long!” gleefully, and everyone would cheer.
“No, you, little girl. You need to calm down.” Geroge put his hands on my shoulders, stilling my quivering and sweltering body.
“But he–” I yelped, but Geroge cut me off in mid-sentence. I think that is extremely rude.
“Yes, I know about the whole thing.”
“You do?!?” Ryse and I said at exactly the same time. Wow, something we had in common? We both glared at each other.
“Ryse wanted to know your past, and why you act the way you do. Can you blame him?” Geroge stood incredibly straight in the whipping wind.
I looked at Ryse, and he was staring straight at me. He looked hopeless, exposed, and something else– not sure what– I couldn’t say… embarrassed. Ryse was never embarrassed. But as he stared at me, I began to wonder.
“Now, would you ever in a million years let him lay hand on the book to read it?” Geroge asked, but I ignored him.
I took flight and dove below deck, trying to comfort myself in my hammock. This was so– strange, so unexpected, I still don’t know what to think, and…
How I want something fresh to eat.
Ivy spotted land this morning. And, my, did he make sure that everyone knew.
“Land!” Is what he called out, but it sounded more like, “LAAAAAAAANNNNDDDDD!!!!!!”
I shot up and ran onto deck. I found that most everyone else had done the same thing. Ryse was there, across the way, looking pleased. When I look at him I have to try hard to forget that he knows almost everything about my whole life. And I know almost nothing of his.
I talked to him later, for we had to discuss what I was to do when we docked. It would still be a day before we got into port, but I still needed to know. I am a ball of frantic, panicky worry.
“I told you I’d take you this far,” he told me. “And I have. What else do you want?”
I wasn’t sure what to ask for. But I didn’t know what to do with myself once we got there. I had never completely taken care of myself before. So I just didn’t say anything.
He put a hand on my shoulder. “I’d love to say it’s been absolute bliss traveling with you,” he didn’t finish his sentence.
So I did. “But it hasn’t.” I put on a pout.
“Oh, girl, don’t look glum.” He sighed, and then left me.
Disheartened, I ran to Geroge. “He hates me and he left me and said that I have to figure everything out by myself and I don’t know what to do Geroge you have to–”
I stopped sputtering when he started chuckling.
“Slow down. I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”
I sighed very loudly, and lengthily. “Ryse.” Who else would I be talking about? Some people need to think before they speak.
“He doesn’t hate you, luv.” He looked sympathizing, his eyebrows like two frowns.
“You wouldn’t know that. And he does. He said he’s had a terribly horrible time with me and he’s done everything he said he would. What else could come of saying all of that?” I was still pouting, and didn’t plan on stopping presently.
“I’ll take care of you; see that you find a place to work.” And just like that, he dropped the matter, as if it didn’t matter.
But I could hear something I my head: But, Lottey, you hated him first. What does it really matter?
We have hit land. The sky is peevish and gray looking. That is about the way I feel. Maybe my mood affects the weather?
Today is over and I am at my new ‘situation’. It is a boardinghouse on a muddy street where a lot of foreigners come and go.
I don’t really understand. The wonderfulness of ParKesh is reflected in every little tree leaf and butterfly, but the place I am at is so dreary and desolate you would never guess it were part of the same place. It is called, ‘ParKeshan Branch’. So very original, I know.
I will write of what I saw when I first arrived in ParKesh.
When we docked and everyone departed the ship, we had to go through this line of strange and smelly people where a person called a doctor puts hollow sticks in your ears and looks through them to make sure you don’t have any termites. I, of course, being the naturally healthy person I was, didn’t have any, and the doctor stamped something in red ink across my forehead. I think they do this to people who are in ParKesh for the first time to make sure no illnesses are spread around the city.
And then I saw the city– it was grand, tall snow white buildings that were shiny and looked a little bit like icicles were sprung up all over the place. People were being transported by donkeys with wings, which they call Peagasses I think. They are like stubborn butterflies on which you ride.
Geroge took me to the palace where I was made a citizen of ParKesh– so now I am a ParKeshan?– so I could be employed. Then he took me to ParKeshan Branch and dropped me off. We said goodbye. I was tearful, he looked confronted and uncomfortable. I don’t think he is used to strong emotions.
The woman who runs this place is named Priscillia. She is four feet tall but absolutely beautiful. She has long, dark hair that reaches past her waist. Her lips are so red it looks as if she had just drunk a jug of cherry juice. Her skin is perfectly olive, which I have never seen before, but although it’s different it is very becoming on her. It isn’t the sun tanned color that one gets from working out in the dirt all day. It’s different.
She is very nice to me; she doesn’t have anyone else working in the boardinghouse with her except for the cook, who is a fat woman having a hard time getting around. Her name is Cook.
“Cook? No, I mean her given name.”
“Given? Well, that name was given to her by her first employer,” Priscillia looked a little confused.
All of these people here are ignorant. But I suppose I can forgive them, and educate them where they need it.
“It’s mostly men who board here; they work at the docks, catching fish and repairing boats, and sometimes sailors stay here too.”
I wonder if I told anyone who I really was– or used to be– if they’d believe me or laugh in my face?
“You will stay in the room next to mine. It’s hidden away from where our boarders stay, don’t worry.”
So it’s me, Priscillia, and Cook. I suppose they have a stable boy? Or is that my job too?