Was that all she needed to say to get the sort of job she could manage?

She is good at taking care of chickens and dogs, she added.  She was not sure why it seemed the thing to do.  The Sinclairs had never kept either a henhouse or a dog, but Aurelia thought she was sure to be good at such work, and might as well try to find it, while she was at it.  And has had some work helping car for a baby.

“Will you sign this letter of character for me, ma’am?  I am going to go to Providence, I believe.”

“A holiday?  Going on a holiday?”  Mrs. Sinclair asked cheerfully, and expression of genuine interest coloring her papery cheeks for the first time in weeks.

“Going away, ma’am.  I need to go somewhere different.  To work.”  If Aurelia thought Mrs. Sinclair would not understand what was happening, she guessed wrong.

“But you’re my girl!  Who will bring me my tea?  Who will sing for me on Sundays when it’s too hot to go to church? 

“Mrs. Blanchefleur will engage someone,” Aurelia said, feeling a slab of guilt.

“No, no, she’s not as good as Prentice, you know.  Prentice always gave me baked beans on Saturday, with molasses.  Prentice gave me cherry pie every Tuesday.”

“I know, ma’am.  But I need to go away.  I’m too old to stay with you now.”

“Nonsense.  You’re a lovely little girl.  What will E. Hancock say?”

“He’ll say Mrs. Blanchefleur will engage someone.”

“Oh. Oh, yes.” Carefully, Mrs. Sinclair wrote her name, Mercy Starbuck Sinclair, and admired the effect.  “There.  Have you a postage stamp to send it?  Take some pocket money from my purse, dear.  Take five dollars.  No, take ten dollars.  Get yourself some nice gloves, if you’re going on a holiday.  There might be dancing, you know.  Such a dear little thing.  You always did carry on about the chickens.”

Aurelia suddenly felt broken inside. 

“Thank you, ma’am.  Thank you.  You have been very kind to me.  I won’t forget.”

Aurelia backed out of the room.  She did not wish to linger until Mr. E. Hancock sought her out. 

But it was he was lingering, in the upstairs hall.  As she went back up to her room, he suddenly stepped out of a storage closet – and waved her locket under her nose.  Mama’s locket, which had been in the blue chest.  Aurelia knew he thought she would do as he liked, as long as he had it.  “If you don’t come see me, you saucy thing,” he said.  I’ll come find you.  Someone will have to have that wine punch!”

She did not dare try to seize the locket, lest he discover the letter of characters she held hidden behind her back.  Then, as he passed her, he made a show of patting her cheek.  She looked into his face for one instant and saw there that this was no clumsy, mistaken move on his part, not even some awkward affection.  She shuddered, and a dark glint kindled in his eyes.  She could see that he knew he was frightening her, and that he liked thinking she was afraid of him.  And now he had her most treasured possession.

Aurelia put her little blue wooden trunk, with her initials – her locket’s initials – A.S., inscribed inside the lid, into an unbleached cotton rice sack.  She carried this over her shoulder.  It wasn’t very heavy – all it held was her nightdress, her Sunday frock, her other drawers and good stockings, and her little Bible.  She toted it outside, and then downtown, to the workroom occupied by the Daughters of Martha.  They didn’t help orphans, like Family Aid; they helped working women and the missions. Mr. E. Hancock did not patronize their cause, so far as Aurelia knew.

Aurelia had never had to plan ahead, except when she was sewing or cooking.  It was something of a relief to push her feelings out of her mind and concentrate on orderly thinking.  She reckoned if the placement service could find her work in Providence, that employer could telegraph funds for her to make the journey.  It was only noon – she might be there by nightfall.  She wished again that she had Mrs. Prentice’s street address.  Even if Mrs. Prentice’s daughter did not need a maid, someone she knew might.

But then it occurred to her that Mr. E. Hancock would look for her first of all with Mrs. Prentice.  She could not go to Providence yet.  Not until she was sure he was not looking for her.  She wanted never to think of him again. She did not think she could ever, ever explain to anyone – not even Mrs. Prentice – the humiliating reason she had left poor Mrs. Sinclair so abruptly, with no one to bring dinner to the old woman.