Bound and Chained to You
When it's my turn to use the bath water after my mother it's already lukewarm and almost cold. I strip out of my days clothes, letting them fall to the floor at my feet, then step into the tub, sloshing down into it.
I grip the edges with a sharp inhale at its mild warmth, my bare skin covering in goosebumps as I shudder. The waters already dirty, stained a light brown from my mother's hard day at work. I had already been born and was eight years old when my mother first went to work at the house of Mistress Lincoln.
My father Frank had passed away when I was four years old at the age of thirty eight, probably mainly due to a hard life that had been thrown at him.
Before he died, my mother stayed at home with me, educating me, teaching me the ways of the world while my father worked with a Master I can't remember the name of, doing laboring and yard duty. But then when my father died, my mother was forced to take his place and seek work for a Master or Mistress.
The first person to employ her due to her skills was Mistress Lincoln; I hadn't met her before but my mother described her as rather cold and superficial; A demanding woman in her early or late sixties. My mother had been working for her ever since, sometimes even coming home late so that she can earn some more money for us to get by but even then, her wage isn't too good.
We barely get by enough as it is. While my mother goes to work, I focus on my own duties and chores around the house; Cooking, the cleaning and dusting. Making the bed for us, hanging out the washing. Sometimes if I'm lucky and I get some time to myself, I like to read. But getting time to myself has become a rarity lately.
At the age of sixteen usually a young woman or man goes off to find themselves employment for a Master or Mistress. My birthday is in just a couple of days and I know it will be expected and required of me also.
It makes me nervous, the thought of starting my duties as a commodity to a Mistress or Master but this is something expected. There isn't much I can do about it.
Gripping the edge of the bathtub tightly with my hands, I slowly sink into the water, submerging myself straight in, letting my hair get wet. I keep my eyes open as I stare up at the cracked ceiling, listening to how the world sounds so muted and dull beneath water. Then I see my mother come into the room, changed into her nightclothes, her hair still damp. She folds up the towel she used neatly and puts it on the floor for me to use to dry myself next.
Seeing as my mother always works late and often comes home battered and bruised and worn to the bone, I figure its only fair I let her use the warmest water in the tub.
Glancing down at me, she smiles softly. Then she makes a gesture at me with her hand, coaxing me up out of the water so I can hear her. I lift myself up, the water dripping and splashing around me.
"How did everything go today?" Mom asks.
My mother sinks to her knees, plunging her hand deep into the bathtub. She finds the washcloth and starts to help me clean, wiping my back gently with the flannel cloth. She always does this and even although I'm older now I still find it relaxing. It always reminds me of her doing this for me when I was younger.
"I got everything done today," I tell her softly, allowing her to wash beneath my arms. "I got the washing done and also put some new bed sheets onto the bed."
"Thank you, honey," she whispers, and I look at her face as she wrings out the cloth of water, only to start using it to wash around my neck carefully.
I've always found my mother to be so beautiful; Even now, if she's tired with bags beneath her eyes, if she's got bruises and she's more wrinkled than she used to be she's still the most beautiful woman to me. And the most caring and hard working woman too. If it weren't for her finding work with Mistress Lincoln, even while she was upset and grieving the loss of my father, I'd hate to know what would happen to us.
She grasps my chin in her hand, slowly lifting my face up so she can wipe away and clean my skin.
"How was today at Mistress Lincoln's?" I ask her curiously, watching her face.
She sighs loudly. I can tell she's troubled. "Difficult. She's having a party at her house next week. Over three hundred guests are invited."
When I was younger I used to love hearing my mother tell me stories of how the Masters and Mistresses lived; They had always lived so extravagantly, so elegantly, throwing house parties, never having to go without anything. Food for the Masters and Mistresses was always plentiful; They never knew what it was like to go cold or hungry. Everything just seemed so easy and joyful to them- I think that was why I always enjoyed my mother's stories. They just lived such different lives than us. Lives that almost seemed unreal and like a dream.
"Three hundred guests?" I murmur back in shock, shivering as she drags the cloth over my forehead. Another thing I found interesting about Masters and Mistresses was the parties they held. Their parties always sounded so unnecessarily extravagant and wild.
"Yes, three hundred," my mother confirms back at me with a wince. "I'm not looking forward to it to be honest. All of this extra work and added stress..." As she goes to dab at the bottom of my chin with the washcloth, I notice for the first time the sore red mark near her right elbow. It hadn't been there yesterday.
"Mom, what happened to your arm?" I ask her nervously.
My mother pauses from her careful dabbing and wiping to drop her gaze to the mark in question herself. She sighs again with a dismissive shrug. "Mistress Lincoln was stressed today while filling out the invites to her party. According to her I hadn't put the invites into their assigned envelopes fast enough so she snapped at me. You remember how I told you how she often gets, don't you?"
I press my lips together tightly, my heart seizing for my mother.
It isn't the first time my mother has endured such horrid rough mistreatment from Mistress Lincoln. In fact, as my mother tells me, this sort of treatment is often given by the Masters and Mistresses that employ us.
In a Master or Mistresses employment, the rules are simple according to my mother and must be obliged very carefully:
Never talk back but if requested to answer a question always speak politely and softly.
Never look your Master or Mistress in the eye.
Follow and obey all rules.
And above all accept any chosen punishment given.
For doing all this my mother gets a weekly wage of $250.00. It's enough for us to go to the markets to purchase food to put onto the table and barely just enough to get by on other necessities.
The treatment is what I fear the most. When my birthday comes and I have to find employment of my own, I'm terrified of what will potentially happen to me despite knowing my mother would never allow any major harm to come to me.
My mother shies away strangely as I stare at her, her eyes welling up with tears. And then her face crumbles as she sniffs loudly. To my horror I think she's crying. My mother usually never lets herself cry in front of me if she can help it.
"Is it your arm, Mom?" I whisper, worried. "Does it hurt?"
"No, honey. It... it's fine." She wrings out the washcloth again, then places it on the tub to dry. "There's just something I need to speak to you about."
"Then tell me now," I plead. Seeing her like this, so defeated, it's heartbreaking.
"No, I... I don't think I will. How about you dry off and get dressed into your nightclothes." I can see she is trying to make her voice purposefully brighter as she slowly rises to her feet. "Then we can speak about this over our dinner, honey."
Her behavior is distressing but I let it go, getting to my knees. The water drips off me as she helps slip the towel over my damp shoulders. Then she leaves the room hurriedly, hiding her face from me. Something is clearly distressing her. I find out what it is once I get changed into my nightclothes.
Our dinner is a few slices of apple and some buttered bread I picked up earlier at the market. Ravenous seeing as we haven't barely eaten anything all day, we sit in silence for a while, picking at our food. I notice my mother won't look at me. Her fingers are trembling as she tears off pieces of bread to pop it into her mouth.
"Mom, what's wrong?" I ask nervously while stuffing a slice of apple into my mouth, chewing slowly.
She still refuses to look at me as she chews herself. "Mistress Lincoln requires more help for arranging the party," she explains softly, her eyes on her bruised apple slices. "She'll need more help to arrange the food and the celebratory decorations." My mother breathes in deeply as she says shakily, "I may have offered your services."
My esophagus seems to close over at her words to the point where I cannot swallow the chunk of stale bread I have chewed down. I slap a hand over my mouth, gagging, suddenly feeling ill and no longer hungry.
"I know, honey. I... I know it's early and you aren't quite of the expected age to seek employment yet from a Master or Mistress," my mother says soothingly, meeting my eyes quickly before glancing down again. "But there was not much else I could do. I... I hate to put you into this position. I truly do but-" She pauses to catch her breath- "But we do need the money."
Although it's hard and I feel sick I force the food down, swallowing it. I nod once at her words, my voice coming out hoarse, "I know that we do."
"She requested that you come along with me tomorrow so that she can meet you. She wants to meet you beforehand to decide on whether she will consent to your services or not."
Tomorrow? My eyes widen fearfully. Tomorrow is so early and I am not so sure I am prepared for it.
"I already have your outfit picked out," my mother continues weakly. "Similar to mine. We'll have to go by the usual transportation service for the help to get there." There are buses daily that get servants to and from their Master and Mistresses. My mother always wakes up on no later than six o'clock in the morning to get dressed and ready to leave. "I'll introduce you to Mistress Lincoln."
I am petrified at the thought of meeting this horrible woman who has been treating my mother so terribly. Only there is nothing I can do about it. I have no choice but to go with my mother tomorrow by bus and impress this woman so that she will hire me for my services to help out with the party she attends to hold.
I just really hope I do not disappoint my mother.
We wake at six o'clock in the morning on the dot to the sound of my mother's alarm. We share a bed together and we always have. Usually while my mother wakes to get ready, I'll wake as well at the same time to prepare a cup of tea for her. But this morning is different. I actually find myself waking up for a completely different reason.
I prop myself up onto my elbow with a yawn as my mother climbs out of bed, hurrying to set out our clothes. The standard uniform for servants of the Masters and Mistresses is a blouse and skirt with flat shoes. I see my mother grab my set of clothes from out of the closet; identical to hers. Without a word, I force myself up, getting changed along with her. I know if we arrive late it will not only leave a bad impression on my Mistress to be but my mother may suffer the consequences and could be punished.
I pull on the black skirt, then slide my arms into the white blouse as my mother does the same. Then she helps zip it up tightly at the back and stuffs the end of the blouse in so I look neat. I wonder if she can tell how shaky and queasy I am feeling. Clearly she can, because she holds me by the shoulders and squeezes down gently for a moment with her hands, as if to comfort me, before letting go.
"I think we should put your hair up, honey, gorgeous as it looks when you wear it down," she says to me.
I allow her to while I sit down on the bed. She brushes my long dark hair out, then fastens it up into a secure bun. Then it is my turn and she sits while I stand over her, assisting her with her own hair.
"Remember the rules," my mother says, her voice strained, as I fasten her hair up.
"Yes," I whisper. "No eye contact. No speaking unless directly spoken to first."
"And obey," my mother reminds me. "Obey every word and request Mistress Lincoln asks of you, no matter how difficult or degrading it is."
"Yes. That too." Once we both slip into our flat shoes, I rush out into the small kitchen to fix us tea as usual. I find it helps, acting as we normally do despite today being far different. Today, I meet my first Mistress. It's horrifying.
After we finish our cups of tea, we lock up and I follow my mother to the area where the bus picks us up. Already there is a large line of women waiting to be picked up- other servants. It occurs to me that we all look like clones; All of us dressed in immaculate blouses, skirts and flat shoes with no heel. I can't help fidgeting with my fingers nervously as we wait.
"You'll do great," my mother assures me softly. "Just try to follow the rules and be mindful of them."
"I will," I promise.
"Show that you are not only subservient but respectful."
"I will, Mom. I promise."
The bus rolls down the corner of the street and we all get into a neater line. I stand directly beside my mother as the bus comes to a halt. Everyone climbs on but we discover there isn't enough seats for everyone. Some are forced to stand while others have been fortunate enough to find places to sit. My mother and I are the unlucky ones, standing. My mother shows me where to hold on so I won't topple over as the bus starts moving and I obey her, clinging onto a pole with my hand as the bus gets even busier.
As we start to move, standing on the bus becomes unsteady and shaky. I am thankful for my mother's advice. Four times I accidentally bang into another woman's shoulder but she doesn't seem to notice.
"You know everything there is to know," my mother assures me, leaning closer to speak into my ear so we will not be overheard. "You know how to cook and clean. How to keep quiet when you need to be, and you are decently educated as well. I can't see any good reason why Mistress Lincoln would not find you a valuable asset to her."
I nod at her words while biting nervously on my lip, my shoulder bashing into another woman's as the bus turns a tight corner without warning.
"The next stop is ours," my mother explains, and it is now that my nerves truly settle.
I begin to feel nauseous. There is a lot resting on my shoulders, a lot of pressure. I need to show Mistress Lincoln I am a valuable asset to her- like my mother said. Yet at the same time, I am secretly praying she will not hire me. I feel terrified, not ready. My heart is hammering in my chest.
As the bus comes to a stop near a large house surrounded by miles and miles of green, well-maintained grass, my mother grabs onto my elbow, guiding me towards the exit of the bus. It's squashy and I begin to feel a hint of claustrophobia as I try to get through the sea of other servants. I can only be relieved that my mother is gripping onto my arm so tightly as not to lose me.
We push and pull our way to the door and my mother shoves us out of the bus onto the street.
My nerves increase as I peer up at the overwhelmingly large house across from us. Masters and Mistresses often have the best of everything compared to us, us that were not born wealthy and are forced to live a servant's life. I have never seen a house so large and extravagant before.
"Follow me and always stay close," my mother warns me quietly as we begin to walk and cut through the grass.
I spot a few servants in the distance working in the garden already, crouched down on all fours as they tend to the grass manually with scissors. It must take them days and days to cut the grass that way. Then again, no doubt that is probably Mistress Lincoln's intentional form of torture.
The closer we get to the house, the more I find it a struggle to breathe. I cannot believe this. Already being forced into employment when I am not completely of age. Yet I can have no anger or resentment over the fact. I have no choice and nor does my mother. This is for us and we need the extra money.
"Ana," I hear my mother mutter with a hint of gentle warning as we wade through the grass. "Put both hands behind your back to stop yourself fidgeting with your fingers so obviously. And keep your head angled low."
"Um, okay." I do as my mother says, bringing both hands behind my back and interlacing them while dropping my head. I keep my eyes fixed on the grass. I'm still so horrible nervous however. Inhaling, exhaling, it's so hard to even do something as natural as breathing right now.
What if I do something immediately wrong to upset Mistress Lincoln? What if she feels compelled to punish me right there on the spot? What if she hurts me in all the ways I know she hurts my mother; giving Mom bruises and nasty scratches? What if she does not hire me and we cannot get the extra money to make our live a bit easier? How disappointed will Mom be?
As we reach further along, a woman comes into view, not dressed like the servants. She wears a black headscarf wrapped around her head, holding her platinum blonde hair neatly in place. Her clothes are immaculate and clean; a white dress and long stiletto heels. She watches the servants tending to the garden closely; Her hands on her hips. The closer we get, it occurs to me that she's the Mistress Lincoln.
Although she does not look completely menacing in appearance, she terrifies me anyway. It's the knowing that she is a Mistress, that she makes all the rules and that she is the one capable of hurting my mother and punishing her that intimidates me the most. And then she turns her head and I see her face better. Her eyes are a cold, frosty blue that suddenly scrutinize both me and my mother.
I realize I am looking directly at her and I gasp, ducking and adverting my eyes quickly to show my submission. I tighten my fingers together behind my back.
"Ah, Steele, finally you are here," the Mistress says, addressing my mother. Her voice sounds every bit as daunting as her eyes had been; There is no real infliction or emotion in her tone, her voice careless and unfeeling. "Carry on your duties as yesterday." No please or thank you. But why am I expecting that? Masters and Mistresses do not need to degrade themselves by thanking their servants. It is us who apparently should be thanking them. "And who is this little mousy thing?" she speaks up, and I know she's addressing me now. My cheeks redden as she says "Yes, you may speak," to who I am assuming is my mother.
"This is my young daughter Ana, Mistress Lincoln," my mother says, her voice different than how it usually is at home. It startles me; The difference. I have never heard Mom sound so nervous and small before."The young daughter I spoke about yesterday, offering her services to you to help prepare for your big day."
"Leave us." I try to conceal my horror as she dismisses my mother aloofly and coldly. Being alone with this woman who is in so many ways unlike my mother, a woman cold and unfriendly... it's nerve-wracking. I swallow against a lump as I see my mother nod obediently then drift off to do her usual duties.
I want to beg my mother to please come back. To please don't leave me. If it were allowed, I would only it isn't. Instead I remain silent, my head low as my mother told me despite my throat burning, my heart beating with panic at the thought of us alone together.
"Follow me," Mistress Lincoln demands impassively, turning on her heels. Keeping my head low, I do.
Her heels clack against the pavement as she strides briskly around the house to the back, her slender arms swinging back and forth confidently. I try to hide my surprise and equal amazement as her backyard opens up to a large pool area, the sun glistening off it harshly. The way the Mistresses and Masters live, it's so extravagant and luxury, it makes me sick.
I haven't even dipped in a pool once before, my lowly working class upbringing preventing it.
"I have a cleansing ginseng kale smoothie that one of the servant girls prepared for me earlier over there," she mutters as she takes a seat on a large lounge chaise, crossing her legs. Her legs are slender and tanned, perfectly shaven. I wonder if she has servants that attend to her hygiene. She probably does. "Pour me a glass, add two ice cubes."
I stand for a moment, startled. Then I realize she's testing me. This is a demonstration, a test of my obedience, as well as my listening skills.
Snapping to it, I bring up my eyes to see a glistening stainless steel cart propped up near the wall. A clean tall glass is standing there near what appears to be a jug of thick green liquid. It's clearly her smoothie. Eager not to disappoint my mother, I move towards it, grabbing the handle on the jug. I pour it in, accidentally slopping some of the thick bubbly liquid onto the white linen tablecloth its sitting on.
"You soiled it, you silly girl," the Mistress observes, stunning me. She must have really good eyes to see that far away. Chastised, I forget myself, turning back to look at her in shame. "No!" she suddenly snaps abruptly, making me wince. "Do not look at me, girl! Wipe it up!" I dart around, trying to find something to wipe the mess I've made up with frantically. I can't find anything. I hear the Mistress sigh as if frustrated. "I thought your mother said you were well educated," she remarks with a huff. "No matter now. Bring my smoothie to me."
As I grab onto the glass and turn, shame-faced, my heart jolts as she exclaims loudly again, my cheeks burning.
"What were my instructions, you foolish girl?" I grit my teeth, blinking heavily at her outburst. No one has spoken to me in such a way before. "Did I not ask for two ice cubes as well?"
My mother will be so disappointed. Already, I'm failing her.
Turning back, I use the tongs near the tray of ice cubes I notice there to hurriedly drop two ice cubes into the disgusting liquid. It sloshes, some spilling into my arm in drops but to my relief, she doesn't seem to notice that. As I turn back, I see the Mistress has now grown bored of me. Her attention is to her fingernails on her right hand instead as she inspects them.
Coming closer reluctantly, I reach over to place the glass of her smoothie down onto the table next to her chaise, making sure there is no more spillage. She doesn't acknowledge it at all, instead still looking at her nails critically. Then she at last speaks again.
"I'm expecting a visitor in a couple of minutes. You will go answer the door and bring him to me once he arrives but you will not speak to him." Her voice is low and bored; She has clearly lost her patience with me.
I don't need to wait long for this visitor of hers. A car sounds in the distance and she gestures for me to go get him with a flick of her fingers, as if I'm a fly she is swatting away. Hurriedly, I move, dashing back around the house to meet her visitor.
Her supposed visitor isn't who or what I'm expecting. I slip up, lifting my gaze curiously as a well-dressed man holds open the back door of the car for another person. A man climbs out of the backseat, a man that appears only to be in his late twenties or early thirties.
I'm momentarily paralyzed by how good looking the man is. Dressed in a tailored light blue business suit, red tie and trousers, he appears to be some sort of businessman. His hair is unruly tousled, a copper reddish brown, his eyes a deep gray as he glances up to look back at me, regarding me. I can say honestly without exaggeration that I have not seen such a good looking man before in all my entire fifteen years of life. He stares into my eyes as he starts treading up the stairs slowly to meet me. Then it takes me a belated second to realize I'm breaking the rules.
I am not supposed to be maintaining contact with anyone or staring. And considering the way he is dressed, so immaculately and professionally, he's clearly a Master; A Master that should be regarded by servants with meekness and subservience. And obviously, that also means me. I am a servant. He is a Master. He employs people like my mother and also hopefully, me.
Even with my eyes now low, I still see him lift a long-fingered hand. He fixes up his red tie, straightening it so he appears more presentable. And then, before I know it, he's speaking to me. "I don't believe I've seen you before. Who are you?" he asks, in a demanding very-Masterful voice.
I open my mouth to answer, then force it shut again, reminding myself just in time. I really need to learn to get used to the rules and put them in practice.
Never speak unless spoken directly to first. My Mom's voice says to me inside my head, chiding me. Always wait for permission.
"Yes, go on." His voice is unlike any man's voice I have ever heard before; Although he sounds irritated and impatience, his voice also sounds rather nice. "Speak," he commands, and it takes me a moment to find my voice.
"I... I'm Ana," I mutter quietly, still keeping my head angled low, my eyes fixed on the pattern on his red tie.
"Well, Ana, pleasure as it is to meet you... where is Mrs Lincoln?"
Oh, crap. Mistress Lincoln. "This way please," I murmur, and I turn swiftly, my cheeks reddening.
He follows behind me as I show him the way back around the house. As I reach around the corner I see Mistress Lincoln is where she was before I left her still, lounging on her chaise, holding the glass of her green smoothie in one hand. She looks the epitome of relaxation.
I stop and he ignores me, striding straight past me to where the Mistress is. She laughs fondly up at him and pats his cheek as he greets her by bending down low, pressing a swift kiss to her cheek. I'm not sure what to do now that I've done as she requested. All I do is stand there, waiting to be dismissed, aware that my hands are shaking as I keep them firmly clasped behind my back while the two began talking about things I obviously have no understanding of.
"Are you well, darling?" Mistress Lincoln asks, shuffling her legs to the side. He helps himself, sitting next to her as they talk easily and comfortably. They are clearly good friends, although the Mistress looks far older than him in age and appearance.
"I'm good, Elena. Everything is good." I try to make it so it doesn't appear obvious that I'm eavesdropping yet it can't be helped. She hasn't exactly dismissed me as yet. "Business especially, is going extremely well. I know that you'll be pleased to hear that."
I lift my eyes cautiously, allowing a quick and brief glance at the pair from where they sit. The man brings up a hand to run it through his tousled hair as the Mistress resumes speaking, something about business things. The Mistress is patting his leg, I notice. She keeps stroking his kneecap with her fingers.
And then my stomach muscles spasm in panic as the man glances over at me without warning, his deep gray eyes bright and alight with something. They assess me, his eyes; Gliding from my face, straight down to my skirt, my flat shoes, then slowly back up again.
I drop my eyes and swallow against his inquisitive, searching gaze.
He must motion to me or ask a wordless question, because I hear the Mistress say dismissively, "Oh she's just the young daughter of one of the older servants here. Her mother suggested I may want to hire the mousy little thing for Wednesday's party although I'm undecided on whether I will do that or not." She speaks as if I'm not there or as if I can't possibly have the ability to hear her. "She's still young, obviously untrained. And would you look at that look on her face?" My cheeks redden at her tone. "Look at that insolent look on her face."
Insolent? I had no idea I was looking in anyway insolent?
"Anyway, moving onto more important matters, do you want something to drink?"
"I wouldn't mind something actually. Water."
"Girl," she calls, her voice raising. She's obviously speaking to me directly now. "Girl, get my friend a glass of water. Now." As I turn towards the tray again, I realize there isn't any water there. She sighs again. "God, is she capable of anything? Inside. Go get some water from inside. Bottled water, none of that contaminated tap water crap."
I slip up, glancing quickly in their direction again, noticing the man is still staring at me in a strange attentive way, as if he's curious about me or as if he's really studying me. One hand is on his knee, the other near his chin, his fingers stroking around it repetitively in a circular motion. My cheeks glow with heat as I hurriedly turn away, dropping my gaze. Then silently I follow her instructions although unsure of where to go, permitting myself entrance into her house.
Hi there. I had this idea where it's in a universe where there are Masters, Mistresses and slaves. Masters and Mistresses are the wealthy, while the slaves are the lesser wealthy. Not sure what anyone will think of this idea but I would love to know if it's something I should continue and expand on? Thank you.