Chapter 7: Grace
Grace walks out of the pub into the summer sun and for a moment, she’s slightly blinded. The weather is warm and beautiful, and Grace resents it for the time being. This was supposed to be such an amazing time for her father and for their family. She can’t believe she trusted that little Harriet, who promised Arthur Wexley would help. Was this a joke? Maybe this is Harriet’s cruel game. Bring someone in with a larger-than-life story to listen to, turn down and then have a drink and a chuckle!
But no one seemed to be poking fun at her at the table and Arthur Wexley was not as accommodating or approachable as others had indicated. Maybe her story was too disjointed. Maybe the man at the dock was warning her that the dock was dangerous and that she shouldn’t come down there as a woman hanging around. There are a lot of people who like to tell women where they should and shouldn’t be.
Still, she thought Harriet would stand up for her. Why was she just sitting there like a pouting child? That was not the confident woman Grace met a couple days ago.
Grace heads home, as she walks she’s deep in her head going over the details of the last few weeks paying little attention to the people around her. Maybe she’s not a lawyer, but there is something else going on. The little girls words, they took us, still in her head. That is not something a little girl would just say. Who is ‘us’, if it wasn’t more than just her? She would have said me if there weren’t more. Curse her own failure to stop that man and ask more questions.
It’s quite a walk from the North End to Boylston, and while Grace really wants to walk off her frustration, her shoes do not. She stops and summons a carriage for hire on Cross Street to take her the rest of the way. When she gets home, the house is quiet. Her father is downstairs in his shop where he will be for the remainder of the day. The shop is at the garden level of their home and the two stories above is the house.
Grace takes a seat in the front room. It’s a warm day and her feet are hot from the walking. She really the meeting would take more time, so now with an afternoon free and her mind racing, she really doesn’t know what to do. She heads upstairs to her room. While she’s deciding, she will remove some of her clothes and let any breeze come through to cool her.
-
Grace stirs in her bed. She blinks her eyes and begins to look around. The light through the window indicated the sun is much lower in the shy than when she came up. She dozed off on her bed. Apparently, getting yourself all worked up can make you sleepy, she thought to herself. And then the pit of her belly reminded her why she was laying there. How her lunch appointment was a failure and how her uncle and his family might be living a fate worse than death.
As Grace puts her garment back on, she starts to get herself worked up again. As the time is passing, she’s getting more frustrated at Harriet. Big, promising Harriet and the version that arrived today that was meek and quiet. That was quite a show she put on the other day promising help and delivering a waste of time. Grace will not have it.
Grace was introduced through Harriet through her friend Enid at the hospital. Apparently, Harriet (Enid calls her Harry) helped to figure out and issue with her landlord and Enid learned about Harriet through another friend who had a more pressing legal issue. They all spoke highly of the help, so why is Grace’s issue so burdensome?
To meet Harriet, Grace had to send word through the Quincy Market which will be closing soon. She took a piece of paper from the desk, wrote a quick message, folded it and slipped it in her pocket. She fastened her hat and made for the door. It wasn’t too bad of a walk and the afternoon air had cooled a bit, so the walk was helpful to revive her from her nap. Grace wasn’t really sure this meeting is going to accomplish anything, but at least she can get some of her frustrations out. Maybe Harriet will offer a suggestion of who else to approach for help.
The Quincy Market was winding down, but still lively. People milled around looking at the produce and meat over ice. The floors were a puddle of water and blood and anything else getting cleaned. Sea and sweat filled the air punctuated with tobacco smoke. The people here were all business as they were trying to help as many people as possible to not have any leftover product. Some of the booths had already sold all their product for the day and packed up. Hopefully, the booth Grace needs hasn’t left for the day.
She heads down the main row and about halfway down turns left. The vendor is all the way down at the end. She sees him moving about his booth. He’s a man with brown skin and black hair from the West Indies. He had kind features and a pleasant voice and when he speaks he finishes his sentences with a high-note so he always comes off very pleasant, even if he’s saying something serious. His booth sells spices, and their aroma radiates well beyond the borders of their booth. As she approaches, she takes in all the colors of the spices he has displayed. The glass canisters allow the colors to shine through while protecting the contents from the wind. Each jar labeled with his crude handwriting: cinnamon, salt, clove and more exotic spices like the vibrant yellows of turmeric and curry or the red chilis.
He watches her approach and smiles, a little more hesitantly than the other day. ‘You come back…for spices I hope?’
‘I would like to order a special blend,’ she says as she hands him the folded piece of paper.
He takes the paper and opens it. Looks up at her and nods. ‘I don’t have everything here today. Come back tomorrow and I will have it ready.’ He puts the paper in his pocket and turns away from her.
‘What time tomorrow?’ Grace asks.
‘Afternoon.’ He replies without turning around.
‘Thank you,’ she says almost too quietly for him to hear.
She turns around and starts to take a few steps and then it dawns on her. She’s a child of a purveyor. She turns back around, ‘May I also get a few things today?’
He turns around and perks up, ‘Of course! Amir, will be happy to help the lady!’ He begins to show her around his booth and makes suggestions. Fortunately, Grace does like to cook, so she is more informed with speaking to flavors and leaves with some new spices to try and ideas on how to use them.
She decides to do a little shopping while she’s at the market and also, Amir suggested some pairings that she thought she might try. After she finds her few items, she begins to head home with her parcels.
The evening air begins to pick up and Grace is feeling a little more clearheaded. She may not know what to do next, but she’s not letting Harriet off the hook without figuring out her next step.
As she approaches the house, she notices a potato sack on the porch with a string tied around it. Odd, she wondered. Her arms were full, but as she walked up the stairs, she saw a piece of paper pinned to the sack with her name written on it. She opened the door and set her items on the table, came back out and unpinned the note turning it over in her hands. There was nothing else written, just her name. She picked up the sack by its tied end. It was mostly empty and whatever was inside wasn’t very heavy. Grace didn’t remember ordering anything. Especially anything that would have been delivered in such a crude way.
As she made her way inside she brought everything into the kitchen to put away. Her curiosity had her open the sack first and when she peered inside she clapped her hands over her mouth in shock muffling the noise.
Inside was a dead seagull stiff and grey, it’s eyes open with to look of horror in them and feet curled under. Wrapped around his beak, was a piece of twine covered in blood.
