The Explorer's Apprentice

39:The Thing About Class....

Abby Bronte

“You won’t ever do that to me again, ya hear?” her father bellows in her ear the moment they’ve clambered down the stairs.  He’s still yanking hard at her wrist, and she resists the urge to cry.  She wants to scream out, call the authorities, and beg somebody to take her away from him.  Maybe, in another time, she would.  But in 1912, when the words came from a woman, nobody would care.

At the very least Abby wants to hit him across the face and run away.  She wants to run across the boat, hide somewhere he would never find her, and when it docked she’d get off with Eli and start a new life.  She’d start Abby’s life, so she wouldn’t have to deal with everything Charlotte had created.  Even a few harsh words would do in a situation like this.  It would make her feel at least a bit better.  A very, very big part of Abby wants to do this.

But somehow, that small part of her mumbles, “Of course,” like she should be ashamed that she doesn’t want to give herself to a random filthy man.  That she should want to provide money to her lazy, good for nothing father.

Because I owe him, Charlotte thinks quietly.

Abby shakes her head, refusing to let Charlotte believe something as stupid as that.

I was a mistake, Charlotte continues. I’m unwanted.  If it weren’t for me, he’d be fine right now.  Mother would be fine.  They gave up their whole life for me, and I need to repay them.

Charlotte’s father continues to drag her up the stairs, refusing to use the elevators.  She’s not sure if it’s because he doesn’t know where they are, or if he simply takes pleasure of dragging her down flights of stairs as she fumbles over her dress.  Abby almost trips and falls head long down the stairs numerous times.  Each time her father spits something vile at her.  “Yer as uncoordinated as you are dumb!” he says with a laugh. “Yer balance’ll need some improving if you’re planning on working for me!”

Rude, demeaning lies continue to bombard her.  Her walls fall down, and each one of those foul comments hits Charlotte straight through the heart.  Before long she feels useless, and likethis terribly life of prostitution is more than she deserves.  She’s ugly, and she’s lucky to get any business.  She’s stupid, and would die in the real world, with no real way to make her money.  There’s nothing spectacular about her, and she’s going to die alone.  “Even tha’ boy,” her father spits, “He’ll leave you when he sees what he’s really in for.  When he realizes that you’re a waste of space, an untalented, common, ungrateful prostitute, he’ll be gone too.  And then you’ll only ‘ave me.  So you better get used to it.”

Eli wouldn’t do that, Abby protests, but it’s hard.  It’s hard not to let all of the insecure doubts become very real, and before long she feels so terrible about herself that she just wants to give up.

Her father finally jerks to a stop in front of an unspectacular off white door.  There’s no light shining under the doorway, or voices chatting happily.  Abby’s sure what she’s going to find on the other side.  All of them look the same to her; unshaved, disgusting in a way that can’t be washed off, with smiles are so counterfeit that even a child could tell how wrong they are.  They make Abby absolutely sick, even before she thinks of what she’ll have to do with them.

“Remember,” her father spits as he places his hand on the golden handle.  His dark, beady eyes narrow in an all too familiar way.  “Get the money first. This ones givin' ya more than ever”

With a simple twist of the handle, the door opens just a crack.  The reek of alcohol and sickeningly strong cologne comes rushing out and, with a sick smile playing on his lips; her father gives her a harsh prod on the back.  She stumbles in, and the door swings closed behind her.