On The Other Side

Chapter Thirteen: Wealthy Beyond Measure

I tuck loose strands of hair back into the bun at the nape of my neck, swipe the beads of sweat from my brow. On hands and knees, scrub brush in hand, I wonder if there’s more to life than cleaning up after wealthy people.

I look around the bathroom, our whole tenement room could fit in just this bathroom. The tub is pristine white porcelain, the golden claw feet glisten in the sunlight streaming through the window. The imported Italian marble floor is hard, cold, just like the owners of this house.

There’s no warmth or kindness in Mrs. Carmichael’s eyes, the cool blue of them always looking down on the world and those around her. It seems everyone lost everything when the market crashed, but not the Carmichael’s, their money wouldn’t dare disappear.

People living in their high towers have no idea how the other half live. They seem to think we’re poor on purpose, that it’s our own fault we live the way we live.

I puff a breath out, “Back to work, no more complaining,” I whisper aloud, I continue scrubbing the already pristine floor, humming under my breath, when a man comes stumbling into the bathroom.

I look at him, dumbfounded by his handsomeness. His eyes dark-chocolate brown, his hair the color of mink, he isn’t very tall, but he looks muscular under his collared shirt and navy-blue vest.
           
“Uh, sorry, um…” He turns around, flustered and confused. “I’m looking for the children’s school room? This appears to be, uh, the bathroom.” His face turns red in embarrassment. “I’m the new tutor, I guess I took a wrong turn somewhere.” His British accent is delightful, something I could listen to all day.

“A few wrong turns I would say, come on, I’ll take you to the school room.”

I lead the way, down the hall, then up the stairs to the third floor. Can’t have children on the lower levels where they can be heard.

We reach the door, before opening it, I say, “I’m Miriam, by the way.” I hold my hand out.

The man clears his throat, rubbing his palms down his tweed pants, “Professor, um, Mr. Harry Evans.”

He takes my outstretched hand, when our finger touch, he pauses, making eye contact for the first time, a crease appears between his dark slashing brows, “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Miriam.” He bows slightly at the waist, “Thank you for your help.”

I smile, “Good luck with the children.” I wink, opening the door to shrieks and mayhem.

The four Carmichael children, ranging in ages from 4 to 12, are throwing notebooks, tearing pages from books, jumping on furniture.

Mr. Evans looks appalled, not quite knowing what to do, “Like I said, good luck.” I turn and make my way back down the stairs, a wide smile on my face.

This Mr. Harry Evans is a nervous, bumbling, and quite handsome tutor. It’ll be something new and exciting, something to look forward to every day. Getting to know him a little will be a welcome distraction from all the cleaning and scrubbing.

           
I walk through the door, Corky and Aggie greeting me with their wide grins, their contagious laughter, “What fun things did you get to do today,” I ask them, amid their hugs and kisses. “Were you good for Auntie Milly?”

“They were little angels,” Milly says from across the room, mixing and cutting out dough for biscuits. “They practiced their numbers and Aggie read a little bit out of the Fun with Dick and Jane reader, these two always have so much fun together.” Milly smiles indulgently.

I hang up my threadbare coat, unwrap my red knitted scarf from around my neck, wash my hands to help Milly with dinner, “Where’s Claire and little Alex?” 
    
“Mamaí went to drop off biscuits for Dec and Crag’s supper.” Aggie grabs Corky’s hand, grinning slyly, “I bet Dec will sneak in some treats for us somehow, Cork.”