The Price of Innocence (The Legacy Series) (5 page)

“I’m afraid you were right, Sister,” she said, the words embarrassingly seeping from her lips. “Someone took my things and stole my shoes.”

“My word, child! They stole your shoes?” She jumped to her feet and came to Suzette’s side for consolation. “I cannot understand what is wrong with some of the women we house. We give them the kindness of Christ, and they insist on acting like demons.” She lowered her head and looked at Suzette’s feet. “Well, at least they didn’t take your stockings,” she chuckled. “Come with me.”

She took Suzette gently by the hand and led the way down the hall to a locked door. Sister Mary took out a key ring from her pocket, found the right one, inserted it into the lock, and pushed open the door. Suzette followed her into a room filled with shoes, hats, clothing, and undergarments.

“These are all donations, I’m afraid. Nothing new here,” she spoke honestly. “But beggars can’t be choosers, Suzette.” She motioned over to a line of worn women’s shoes and encouraged Suzette to find a suitable pair.

“Help yourself. See if you can find something that fits.”

Suzette went through the shoes, trying to find a pair close to her size. After numerous attempts, nothing fit perfectly. Either they were all too large or small. Suzette wasn’t quite sure what size to pick. Only one pair felt fairly comfortable, and she opted for tight rather than loose, but later came to regret her choice.

“These will do, Sister Mary,” she said, shoving her toes into a pair of black pumps. Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.”

“Very good then. I’m happy to help. I’m sorry this happened to you, but you can’t say I didn’t warn you of the occasional riffraff finding shelter under our roof.”

After adjusting to her new footwear, Suzette saw a shawl and wondered if she could ask for one more item.

“They took my cloak too, Sister. Would you mind if I took a wrap to keep warm while out on the street?”

“Of course not!” she replied, handing her a shawl of loosely knit yarn.

Suzette grabbed the gift without complaint and followed Sister Mary. The door was relocked, and the key replaced in the nun’s pocket.

“Are you off to search for work, dear?”

“Yes, Sister.”

“The Lord be with you and give you favor.”

Suzette followed her back to her office and then proceeded to the front door of the charity house. The brisk morning air accosted her body through the thin cotton dress. She wrapped her shoulders in the thread-bare shawl to keep warm, hoping the sun would soon rise higher to warm the air.

Her stomach growled, and gnawing hunger pains reminded her that only one meal would be served later in the day. Thankfully, she had a few francs in her purse. She walked down the street, intent on finding a bakery and a piece of bread to silence the noise in her belly.

As she traversed the frightening streets once again, Suzette soon realized finding food would not be her only problem. The tight shoes she put on her feet minutes earlier, painfully squeezed her toes and rubbed her heels with each step that she took.

She wrinkled her nose again at the putrid smells in the gutter, as she began to limp along in pain. The awful sights of squalor and poverty filled her heart with fear. If she didn’t find work quickly, the outcome would be disastrous.

Finally, she arrived at the entrance of a small bakery shop. The aroma of fresh baked bread caused her mouth to water, and she quickly slipped inside. A few people stood in line before her, and Suzette glanced at the goods lined up in the glass bakery case. The cost of each item was scrawled with chalk on a board behind the counter.

As she studied the items for sale, her eyes picked up the movement of little weevils crawling around the loaves. The thought of eating a piece of bread where tiny worms crawled around made her want to vomit. No one else in the store seemed bothered by their existence.

Appalled, she spun around and ran out the door looking for a bakery shop in a better part of town. Even though she was hungry, homeless, and in a horrible position, she wasn’t about to eat bugs to appease her growling stomach. She had her limits, and this was certainly one of them.

Chapter Four

  Suzette wallowed in discouragement after her first day searching for a job. She returned in the late afternoon, just in time to eat her one meal for the day. By the time she made it to the dining hall, she could barely walk from the blisters on her feet. A sympathetic Sister Mary took her back to the locked closet, encouraging her to consider a larger pair of shoes.

“It’s better to flop down the street, dear, than limp in the presence of prospective employers.”

Suzette smiled at the nun’s humor and bobbing headpiece, which never failed to entertain her in the midst of hopelessness.

She ate her meal alone shunning the other women. It filled the emptiness of her stomach, but the food was bland and barely warm. Suzette decided to embrace solitude rather than choosing to befriend the thieves that had stolen the few items she possessed. They had taken what held value and discarded the remainder of her useless items. Her purse remained tied to her wrist, and Suzette refused to abandon it while in the presence of her roommates.

The second night in the dormitory afforded little sleep. The mattress was hard and reeked of stale body odor. She covered herself with the scratchy wool blanket and turned her face toward the wall. Secretly, she listened to the women in the dormitory spew their bitterness to one another. They complained about the food and the nuns asserting their religion. Everyone bemoaned their inability to find work.

Suzette on the other hand felt shy and angry in their company. She preferred to tuck her resentment in the recesses of her soul, rather than articulate it to a group of thieves. In her mind, there was no use complaining anyway. She only had one goal in life now, and that was to survive and stay off the streets.

After tuning out the bickering women, Suzette closed her eyes and thought of her father. She wanted to reminisce over his loving presence in the midst of her struggles. She tried to find strength in his spirit, but recognized it was his careless ways with money that had placed her in such a difficult situation. “Oh, Papa,” she whispered, trying to forgive him.

Her aching feet reminded her of her tiring day. She had limped from store to store looking for work. Even though Suzette considered herself an articulate, young woman, she now knew that her life had been too sheltered. Obviously, her father had protected her far too much. She wasn’t prepared to face the world on her own.

After the death of her mother, he provided for a governess. She had been bred to be a wife and caretaker of a home. Suzette learned skills to embroider, entertain, run a household, and remain faithful to God and her husband. Her stature was not one of high society, but her father had been a well-respected professor at the university. He held high hopes for her future nuptials.

Tomorrow will be a new day
, she thought. She mumbled her first desperate prayer in weeks, asking God to provide for her needs. The heaviness of her eyes ushered Suzette into blissful sleep. At least for a few hours, she would find a reprieve from the challenges that threatened to destroy her life.

* * *

Relieved that the spring rains were abating, Suzette was greeted by another glorious morning filled with sunshine. Determined to find work, so she could find housing, she took the time to bathe and dressed as neatly as possible. Rather than limping into prospective places of employment with tight shoes, she would flop down the cobblestone walkways in shoes that were too large for her feet. She learned that stuffing paper into the toes helped to close the gap.

After finding a small bakery along the way, which was weevil free, Suzette purchased a croissant and a cup of tea from the last bit of funds given to her by Monsieur Pelletier. She handed over the coins to the clerk feeling as if she were saying goodbye to her last friend—a silver franc. The morning tea and fluffy pastry brought satisfaction, and Suzette left the café intent on making it to her destination as soon as possible.

She made her way across town to the dress shops along the Champs-Élysées. The avenue, choked with busy shoppers, excited her senses as she passed by stores and restaurants of all varieties. Already her imagination pictured herself renting a furnished room inside a boarding house, after she received her first pay. Nothing would dash her hopes of finding work.

Nevertheless, her dreams quickly faded after hours of rejection. Store by store turned her away, giving every possible excuse. It was obvious that her plain dress, which showed years of wear and frayed seams, ruined her chances. All she received were the contemptible glances of shopkeepers and clerks, eyeing her up and down. She had been repeatedly shooed away like a fly, which fueled Suzette’s anger over her stolen clothes. No doubt the thief had donned her best dress and found work.

By late afternoon, her stomach growled, and she worried about making it back to the shelter in time for her daily meal. After receiving the last shunning glance from a store clerk, she turned and walked across town as quickly as possible. Frustrated over the flopping shoes, which impeded her progress, she removed them and began walking in her stocking feet.

By the time she arrived, they were torn to shreds, but she had arrived in time for her portion of food. After eating another bland meal all alone, Suzette retreated to her bunk bed. She only wanted to hide beneath the covers again and find the strength to face another day.

* * *

Depressed and despondent after days of searching for work, Suzette felt pressured. Her search for employment was no better than most of the girls in the shelter. Bakeries, tailor shops, restaurants, and whatever else she could think of, turned her away one after the other.

Sister Mary warned the shelter residents that St. Vincent de Paul was at capacity and had been turning away other needy women. When housing became scarce, the shelter requested longtime residents to leave in order to make room for the incoming poor. Almshouses elsewhere in Paris were filled to the brim. An appalling number of homeless citizens wandered the streets, contributing to the crime and filth that Suzette witnessed daily outside the charity doors.

To make matters worse, the Parisian government conducted routine sweeps of the city streets, gathering homeless vagabonds and deporting them to remote, rural areas. In response to the aristocracy and bourgeoisie’s request to rid beautiful Paris of what they termed the “scum of the earth,” a new order had been released for roundups to begin within the next week. Suzette knew if she were unsuccessful in finding work, she would eventually be among those taken to the countryside and dumped like garbage without food and shelter.

Sister Mary recognized Suzette’s good-hearted nature and took a liking to her. When she received word that a local washhouse had just a job opening, she told Suzette first before posting it on the board.

“Why don’t you try to get a job as a laundress? One of the local blanchisseries is looking for a female employee. They will provide housing too.”

Suzette had shunned the known sweat houses of Paris, mostly from fear and disgust. Becoming a laundress was a less-than-desirable occupation. Social stigma, long hours, and low pay—none of which sounded appealing—discouraged her from the thought. As Sister Mary wrote down the name of the washhouse and address on a piece of paper, Suzette caught the concerned expression on her face. Even she recognized that the prospects of finding work elsewhere were bleak. Suzette’s options were dwindling.

“I suppose I can apply,” she said, with resignation.

“It may be only temporary, Suzette, but it will at least provide you a place to sleep, work, and food for your tummy. We will only be able to keep you for another week, because there are others who desperately need our charity.”

The announcement did not surprise Suzette. The benevolence of the order had done all they could for her. One door closed, and another appeared to be opening. Though Suzette thought bitterly of her choice, it was time to move on.

* * *

“Monsieur Brouchard,” Suzette called over the noise of the washroom. She tried to get the attention of a tall, thin, gangly-looking man with greasy, shoulder-length hair. When he heard Suzette’s voice, he swung around and looked disdainfully at her, sending a chill down her spine. Suzette was not pleased with the rude gawk.

“Yes? What is it?” He voice barked at her like an angry dog.

Taken aback by his abrupt response, Suzette hesitated a moment before speaking. “I am Suzette Rousseau. The Daughters of Charity said you are looking for workers,” she screamed at him, over the noisy washroom.

His eyes squinted at her, as if he could barely see her standing a few feet away. Suzette raised her voice even louder.

“I’m here to apply for a job!” Her whole body shook as her exclamation carried throughout the room. Everyone heard her announcement, as workers bent over steaming washbasins lifted their heads to look in their direction.

He glared back at her and eyed her from top to bottom. “Very well then. Follow me.”

He opened the door into a cluttered office and made his way to a small desk pushed up against a brick wall. His chair creaked when he sat down, and he growled his next request.

“Close the door, damn it! I can’t hear a word over that cackling racket out there.”

Suzette’s heart raced over his brazen demands, but she dutifully closed the door. She turned around and approached the front of his desk. No chairs were available. She nervously clutched her purse like it possessed some magical power to protect her in that terrifying moment.

“So, you want a job as a laundress, do you?” He picked up a cigar, bit off the tip, and spit into a nearby trashcan filled to the brim with paper and rotting food. He lit the cigar with a match and blew a few puffs, while he continued to look at the size of her waist and breasts. His lingering gaze at her bosom caused Suzette to blush in embarrassment.

“Frankly, after seeing your stature, I don’t think you can do the job.” He took rapid puffs on his cigar, and then blew the smoke into the air above his head. For the remainder of the conversation, the cigar dangled from between his lips.