The Lilac Tunnel: My Journey with Samantha

I try to focus on the question at hand. I slowly say to Samantha that my family is in the city. And I tell Mrs. Edwards that a dollar a week sounds fine. Mrs. Edwards nods and signals Elsa to take me to my room. Elsa purses her lips and doesn’t say a word as she leads me up several flights of stairs, each narrower than the former, to a tiny room. Is this the tower room I noticed in the yard outside? Elsa tells me to wait while she gathers some clothing for me and I’m happy to. I need a minute to try to figure out if I made the right decision.

I think of Samantha, who seems so eager to have a friend to spend time with. Wasn’t I just hoping for the same thing, sitting at my dad’s, missing my friend Stella? If I stay here for a while, maybe Samantha can help me with the laundry and we’ll have time left over to have fun together. Besides, I can go home anytime I want.

When Elsa returns, she hands me a drab gray dress and apron. I can tell by looking at it that the dress is too big, but Elsa doesn’t seem to notice. She tells me to try it on. I take off my capris and t-shirt and step into the dress, feeling the rough material scratch against my skin. Elsa inspects the dress, which comes almost to my ankles. She says it’ll have to do. She instructs me to fold my bloomers so we can get to work.

I fold my clothes and leave them in a neat pile on the floor. I’m about to leave the room when I remember my locket. I hurry back to my clothes, reach into the folded pants, and slide my hand into the pocket. I breathe the side of relief when I feel the heart-shaped pendant. I slip the chain around my neck, trying to ignore the impatient look on Elsa’s face. Then I hurry to rejoin her on the stairs.

I expect to be shown a washing machine in the basement. But instead, Elsa leads me to the backyard where clothes are soaking in a big tub. She tells me to soak the clothes and scrub them on the washboard. She hands me a long metal tray with ridges. She lays a piece of white clothing on the washboard, showing me how to squeeze and rub the clothing against the ridged tray. She says that they’re Mrs. Edwards’ dresses, so I must make sure I get them clean, but carefully.

The dresses are dark and heavy with water. Are there stains on the clothing? I can’t tell, so I do my best to scrub every inch. One by one, I scrub the dresses and move them to a second tub, which Elsa refills now and then with hot water from the stove in the kitchen. She continues to check up on me, as if she thinks I’m going to mess it up. When I’m done with the washing, I’m thrilled. I’m exhausted, my shoulders ache, and I’m hungry. But now she says it’s time to rinse the clothes and hang them out to dry.

Elsa teaches me how to crank the wet clothes through a wringer, and then how to hang the still-damp clothing on the clothesline when the porch swings open and out pops Samantha. She asks if she can help. I nod eagerly. This is what I was hoping for. She hums as she lifts a dress in the washtub. She says it will be fun to work together. She doesn’t have any chores of her own to do. No chores? Even at my dad’s house, I have chores to do. I picture the chore chart taped to his refrigerator. I wasn’t happy when I first saw it, but Dad said I’m a part of the family, so I need to pitch in, too. I look at Samantha’s face as she helps me with the wash. She looks like she’s having fun. Maybe after a while, you get bored with servants doing all your work for you. I have a feeling Elsa won’t let me get bored today. I reach for another piece of clothing.

A few minutes later, annoying Eddie from next door appears in the hole in the hedge. He asks what Samantha’s doing helping the servant girl. Eddie says the word “servant” as if it’s a bad thing. I’m not really a servant, but if I was, I wouldn’t want to be treated this way. My face grows hot. Samantha lifts her chin and reaches for another piece of clothing. She says my name is Ruby. And he should worry about himself. She addresses him by his full name, Eddie Ryland.

Eddie doesn’t respond, but he sits down cross-legged beside the hedge and watches us. When I lean forward to take more laundry from the tub, my locket dangles before me, catching Eddie’s eye. He asks where I got the necklace. Did I steal it? This boy is out of control. I tell him that I didn’t steal anything. This necklace was a gift from my… I was going to say stepmom, but would it be easier to just call her my mother? I must pause too long, and Eddie takes my hesitation as proof that I’m a thief.

He says that I stole it and points his finger at me. He says no ragbag like me would have a necklace as nice as that. A hot wave of anger brings tears to my eyes, but there’s no way I’m going to let this kid see me cry. My fingers tighten on the wet shirt in my hands.