The Lilac Tunnel: My Journey with Samantha

I nod yes. I am definitely on my own. Elsa snorts loudly, arms crossed, they didn’t ask for an orphan. Wait, do they think I’m an orphan? That’s not what I meant, but it’s too late now, everything moving too fast to correct.

Elsa blurts sharply that I should be sent back, they wanted a servant, not a parentless child to care for. Samantha steps beside me, takes my hand, and fixes Elsa with a steely look much like her grandmother’s: it’s not my fault I’m an orphan.

Mrs. Edwards raises a firm hand to silence the retort. Enough. I’ve suffered misfortune, but I’m not to be blamed for it, and she’s sure I’ll work hard.

Samantha releases my hand, whispering she’ll see me soon, while Elsa leads me out with a sharp look, through the warm kitchen, up a long curving staircase that leaves my legs aching, then a narrower one to the third floor, moving fast as if hoping to lose me around a bend.

Elsa points out two doors, hers and the seamstress Jessie’s, before starting up one final, steeper, narrower staircase. Out of breath, I follow her into what must be the tower I spotted from the backyard: a small, sunny room lined with windows, the bare floorboards entirely empty of furniture. Clearly Mrs. Edwards wasn’t expecting me, or the real Ruby, anytime soon. Elsa plants her hands on her hips: listen close. Mrs. Edwards is counting on her to make sure I earn my keep, and I’ll need to prove I can work hard or be sent back. Do I understand? When I stay silent, she lifts my chin firmly to force eye contact and asks again.

I try to nod, then just say yes. Ma’am, she corrects sternly, we’ll need to work on my manners. She tells me to wait here quietly while she finds proper clothes.

Alone in the empty, sunny room, my first instinct is to pull out the pendant and go home. But I remember Samantha standing by me, admitting how lonely this big house feels, and think of my own lonely room at Dad’s. I’d rather stay here with my new friend. Grumpy Elsa I can handle, with Samantha at my side. I fasten the locket firmly around my neck, tucking it beneath my collar.

Elsa returns quickly with blankets and a drab gray dress and apron, insisting I change immediately, her patience already thin. The rough material chafes like burlap, but she decides it’ll have to do. Have I ever worked as a wash girl? I think of the one time Mom let me do laundry and wonder if that counts, and when I hesitate too long, she scoffs, deciding they’ll find some other use for me. There’s a dinner party tonight, and the table must be perfect. Table settings first, or napkin folding?