Chapter 2:
There were so many people.
The tight space of the Trade Market provided no privacy and no room to scoot past goats, pigs, hens, and geese. Over 1 hundred customers and market vendors were discussing, agreeing, disagreeing, arguing, negotiating and dealing. People rushing and scurrying here and there! Carrying balls of yarn, hauling bundles of wheat, rolling carts filled with milk glasses, transporting exotic foreign rugs, and swinging water pots. Each and every one of them, like a colorful kaleidoscope of bees buzzing and fussing! Business and Pleasure coursing through the veins of their new home like water through rocks. Valerie and Cesaire were pushed and shoved back and forth in this hive of people. Cesaire, holding her hand, guided their way through the sea of merchants.
"Papa where are we going!?" she asked, forced to raise her voice amongst the hundreds of other voices.
"To the Inn!" his voice shouted.
"An Inn?"
"I know a friend who owes me a favor!"
As her father guided her down the alley, Valerie smiled at everything she set her sights on. The city was glorious! Everything was so beautiful and alive with colors and assortments. The colorful paper kites hanging from a string for all to see! Baskets and baskets of beautiful scarves displayed in neat tucked rows displayed for all the young women to desire. The smell of fresh baked bread coming from somewhere excited her. On the opposite wall were cages and cages of beautiful exotic birds with little leather masks covering their eyes. Farmers were carrying their livestock across their shoulders. Sheep and pigs whined and squealed, kicking and crying. Valerie could also smell the scent of rotting meat readying to be cooked by the butcher. Shop after shop, Valerie became even more excited than she was.
"Come on," her father gently ushered. "Listen to me… You must forget your old life. We're in the city now. That means that things are going to change."
"Like what?"
"Everything. Our past. Our names. Where we come from."
Valerie nodded," Then… who am I?"
Cesaire gently pulled her from the daylight and hid them both beneath a cobblestone archway of an apartment building. From his shirt pocket he discreetly pulled out two bundles of paper. Citizen Papers. He pulled a string, unfolding them and giving one to her. No one was watching them. Valerie opened it to find a new name, an official Seal stamp, and an artificial signature from the City Governor. Gulping, she rolled her new name around in her mouth. Her fingers rolled the Certificates into a scroll and tucked it into her bodice.
"Papa, do we have to use new names?" she frowned, feeling she had lost her identity too easily. Her Papa and her name was all she had left. "You-You told me that Mama named me when I was born…"
His thumb caressed her bottom lip," I know, my sweet. I know. But Father Solomon is still alive. He's out there somewhere. And if he hears our names- then he'll hunt us down until we're both dead. And I can't let that happen. You're my only child. My one and only legacy. Until then, your name will be Charlotte."
He showed her his certificate," My name will be Carlisle. We moved here from the South country. Your mother died from childbirth and you're an only child. You've never had a sister. You were born on the 3rd of the 8th month 19 years ago."
Valerie lowered her eyes to his paper.
Their identities were forever changed.
She was no longer Valerie. She was Charlotte, the daughter of a factory worker.
"Okay, Papa…" she smiled, holding his hand again.
He smiled," That's my good girl."
Once more they delved into the market to find their new apartment home.
A few more turns and they found their destination. A rickety old wooden building supported with lumbar and black cobblestone. Stepping upon the entryway, her father knocked. The little window slid open. Two brown eyes revealed themselves looking at her and him. It slid shut and the owner unlatched the wooden panel swinging the door open. Her father gently pushed her forward into a room. A simple room connected to the room of an office with brazen keys hanging on the wall in little rows. On the other side of the room were small apartment mail boxes, stuffed with scrolls, papers, and little packages. The simple luxuries of Inn were open and welcoming to the middle class and only the middle class. A cleric man sat behind the desk. He was an elderly old man with white hair in the shape of a horseshoe upon his bald head.
His long stoic face looked up," Aww, can…I…help…you?"
"Yes, I'm here to claim my room. A month ago I made a reservation."
"Aww, I…don't…recall…ordering a block."
Valerie looked up to her father. He took out a piece of paper, sliding across the table. He squeezed her shoulder.
"I claimed a room here. For me and my daughter. We talked before. You must remember."
The old man's hand slid into his dirty shirt pocket, taking out his spectacles. His small raisin eyes became big wide blue eyes as he shifted the lens on his pointed nose, magnifying his vision. He held the paper an inch away from his face.
He narrowed his eyes and nodded.
"Aww…" he said.
Carefully he slid his spectacles back in his shirt pocket. On shaky legs he lifted himself from his stool chair. Taking his wooden cane in hand he wobbled to the hanging brazen keys. With his pointed nose he slowly scanned across looking for the right key. Huffing, he stretched his trembling hand as high as he could. Taking a key from its place. Panting, the old man hobbled back to his stool seat and fell, exhausted, on his stool chair.
"Aww… this….is…the…one."
Cesaire pocketed the key and his papers.
"Thank you," he nodded politely taking his daughter's hand and heading upstairs. Valerie followed him up the steps, reaching floor 1, reaching floor 2, reaching floor 3, reaching the 4th floor until they came to the 6th floor. He father lead her down the hall, creaking under their every step, until they came to a small door at the end. With his key he unlatched the lock stepping in and shutting the door.
"Stay here," he said.
In 3 long strides he crossed the length of the room lighting every candle. An orange glow spread giving light to their new home.
It small and discreet and all the windows were covered with sheets.
"Papa?" she stepped forward looking at the arrangements. "Is this where we'll live?"
"Yes. When I first came to the city I met a gambler, Patrick, who turned me to the Inn. He told me this was the best place to give shelter to those who…are like us. When I would bring you and your sister here with me, I already had everything we needed here. I have food, coats, clothes, blankets, candles and water buckets."
He smiled at her. Valerie looked at everything. She admired the room's small and comfortable atmosphere providing a seat to sit on, a dish to wash in, a window to look out, and two separate rooms to sleep in. No more and no less. Her room consisted of one chair, one bed, one window and rodent free.
"It's perfect," she smiled.
He sighed, happy to hear his daughter content and safe. Stepping forward he unwrapped her red cloak from her shoulders and gave her a maiden's laced hair bonnet. His fingers tied the lace. She helped him fidget, perfecting it and tucking her hair inside. He, too, buttoned his shirt and kicked off the mud from his boots.
"Come, we don't have a lot of time. We've successfully escaped the village and we're in the city. We have new names and its best we put them to use. Now we have to do something with more importance."
"What's that?"
"Getting work. We have to support ourselves somehow, honey."
Cesaire brushed back his hair and shrugged on his coat, taking his papers and his daughters hand out the door. Rushing out from the Inn they marched down the alley, shoving past vendors and merchants and customers. Instinctive, Cesaire hid his face from the City Marshalls marching in a soldier line amongst the civilians, proudly turning their heads showing their authority. He pulled her facing her to him pointing at a bakery shop.
"Here, go there and ask for Madame Alice. She'll teach you everything you need to know there. I will return at the end of the day to see you," he kissed her forehead.
Nervous now, Valerie straightens up and descends the steps, one by one. The delicious aroma of hot fresh bed with butter makes her belly grumble as she feels her mouth salivate in hunger. Curiosity fights with premonition and she feels the goosebumps on her slim bare arms, from being separated from her father. Her Papa disappeared into the market. It was a pleasant entry. It was an old wood storefront with carved trim and bay windows. She opens the shop door, a bell rings, and a red head walks out wearing a yellow scarf around her head. Her fiery red locks are like rope curling against the grace of her neck.
Valerie approaches, "Good afternoon. I'm here for… Madame Alice."
She nods returning to the back.
The heat inside is nearly making her wish there more windows to open. Fixing her eyes on a large brick oven to keep her anxiousness under control, she edges forward. The heavenly smell of bread reminds her of home. Daggorhorn. Mother and Lucy. Grandmother's house. All sorrows are less with bread. From behind the doors, a heavy woman walks with her hands swinging side to side. Her hair is caramel colored tied into a heavy bun with strands hanging down the sides of her face. Her large body shaped by her tight black bodice giving her a large and swelling girth. The jewels on her fingers look heavy and unpolished. The woman stops and stands with a welcoming grace. Valerie's courage swells.
"Madame Alice?" she asked.
"Aye…?"
"My father C-C-Carlisle sends me."
She is overwhelmed by a sense of being in her presence. Madame nods her head, completely understanding. Her plump hand takes hers and she leads her to the back, shoving past table tops, her loud footsteps announcing her presence. They've entered the kitchen. Valerie feels the heat more than ever. At one table she sees the girl she met earlier palming the dough with both hands using all her weight to squish and spread the powdery white dough. Her fiery red hair sticking to her forehead in strands.
"A'wright, Charlotte, this here is what we call a bakery shop. This where we press the dough, mix the dough, press the dough, roll the dough and put all that in the oven, hear me?" Madame Alice walks to the pantry.
Inside are sacks of flour, wheat, and barley. There are jars of golden honey and baskets of strawberries and blackberries.
"This is where we keep everything, hear me? W'you'll be doing is washing those dishes, fetchin' water, and making dough and do all o'that without making a FUSS. Those are my w'rules. You play the house w'rules or you don't play at all. No FUSS, no PAY, hear me?"
Valerie nods, confirming.
"Put up yer hands. Now here! Here!" she gives her a mop and a spoon. "You start today."
Madame sharply nods her chin.
She marches away, swinging her arms.
Chewing the inside of her lip, Valerie isn't sure what to do with a spoon and a mop. Madame Alice didn't seem to be a woman who tolerated insolence and disobedience, especially with new employees. There are several sheets of heavy dough strewn across the table, each covered with line after line of flour. The room is not silent. The fire within the oven roars. She can hear the crackling of the logs inside. The girl with the red hair clasps the metal latch and swings it open. An intense glow of orange shines on her skin and face! Her hand covers her face as she throws 3 more logs in. Sparks fly. Quickly, using a hand cloth, she slams the oven latch shut! Beads of sweat come running down.
