Free Empire Girls by Suzanne Hayes Page B

miss. This place is for people who got nowhere and no one. Then, we try to make a safe place for each other. Only the truth is, safe in’t a word that means much.”
    “You are a wise little one, aren’t you.”
    “I just came up to grab an apron,” she said and went to the little bed area I’d seen before.
    “Are you comfortable there, Claudia?”
    “Yes, Nell gives it to me for my work. It’s not much, I know, but better than sleepin’ on the street.”
    “Where are your parents?”
    “Gone.”
    “Where is your family?”
    “Got none.”
    “Who takes care of you?”
    “I do.”
    She retrieved a clean apron and came back near me. She took my hand, walked me to the bed and sat me down. She unloosed my hair, and for some reason, I let her.
    “You got grand hair like Mary Pickford. You seen a moving picture? Sometimes they still play the flickers for ten cents down at Washington Theatre. Don’t cut it, miss. It’s so pretty.”
    “I won’t, Claudia.”
    She picked up my book. “What’s this about?” she asked.
    “Oh, you’d like it! It’s about a little girl your age, who comes to a school for girls. When she arrives, she’s very rich. But when her father dies in the war, she has no money and she’s forced to live in the attic and clean the house.”
    “Does it have a happy ending?”
    “Why don’t you read it? You may borrow it if you’d like.”
    “I can’t read.”
    “You can’t read?”
    “A little, maybe.”
    “Would you like to learn?”
    “Oh, yes! Would you teach me?”
    “I’d be honored,” I said, going to my trunk and taking out my pens, paper and ink. “Let’s start with that alphabet.”
    Just then we heard “CLAUDIA!” from downstairs.
    “I gotta go back down or Nell will slap me silly.” She looked at the fabric on the floor. “You sew?”
    “Yes, I do. But I need a sewing machine.”
    “Over on the other side of my bed I have a trunk. I keep things people left behind—you know, trinkets and such. I nabbed Daisy’s sewing machine. You could have it. It’s takin’ up too much space anyhow. There’s some spools of thread in there, too.”
    “Thank you,” I said. “She left her sewing machine behind? What made her leave that way, Claudia? Do you know?”
    Claudia shrugged her shoulders noncommittally and looked all around the room, trying to avoid my gaze. But it was such an exaggerated effort that I couldn’t help but laugh.
    “What’s so funny?”
    “You are,” I said.
    She laughed with me. “Daisy was a nice lady. Don’t let anyone tell you any different, miss,” she said.
    She smiled then hopped down the stairs, counting to herself.
    I went to the trunk she spoke of. It was a large steamer trunk with the top slightly open because of the size of the sewing machine. I lifted it out, heavy though it was, and brought it over to my bed knocking over the ink and paper I’d taken out to write down an alphabet for Claudia. If I cursed, I would have cursed then. I looked around to find something to mop up the ink, but couldn’t find anything so I picked up the bottle and the ink began to spill over my hands.
    I flew down the stairs with the ink and went into the washroom, throwing the bottle out in the small wastebasket next to the tub.
    Ink was everywhere. On my hands, a bit on my cheek and all over the front of my dress. The more I tried to scrub it off, the more the stains spread. Old-fashioned though it was, it was the most modern dress I had, and I’d already seen enough to know I’d need a less-modest dress to blend in. I would have nothing suitable at all to wear in the morning.
    I washed the ink off my hands and face and went back to the penthouse. Orange chiffon would be ugly, but at least it would be something.
    I pulled off my stained dress and sorted through my things I’d brought along, finding a long white nightdress that had once belonged to my mother. I loved that one; it looked and smelled like home. I pulled it over my head and