*****Thanks to all who reviewed!!! I'm not one for shout-outs, but love
group hugs. =) Adding a couple of new characters here, I promise, no Mary
Sues here. Enjoy!*****
Climbing into Sheila's window, Emerson was careful not to stumble over the desk chair her friend never remembered to push back under the desk when she was finished studying. Forgetting, however, her shoes always seemed to be in the middle of the floor. Losing her footing as she tripped a bit, not being the most graceful person anyway, but catching herself just before falling onto the bed she silently cursed her clumsiness. In order to pull off plans running through her mind, Emerson would need to become a bit more catlike and a lot less bull-in-a-china-shop-like.
She sat on the edge of Sheila's bed, the mattress giving slightly under her weight. Sheila would probably not appreciate the late night wake up, but Emerson needed her help. Morning would be upon the city soon and she needed to be on with her plans before the sun fully rose. Daylight would not be her friend until she could find a way to straighten things out.
Funeral services for her parents the day before attracted a huge turnout. While the Lewis' were not high society folk, they did satisfactorily, well respected by many. John inherited a small fortune from a grandfather he had never met, which he was able to invest wisely enough. Being from a poor family himself, he felt it only right to share of bit of his good fortune with those less advantaged. His biggest cause had been children.
Until the Newsboy's strike last summer, John and Anna donated time and money to the House of Refuge. During the strike, it became public knowledge the warden pocketed government allocated funds as well as donated monies. Help from an old childhood friend, made John aware of the plight of the newsies. They needed help with lodging and food until the strike ended. Seeking out the lodging houses, he made sure they had a place to sleep with roof overhead, floor under feet, clean water and money for food to eat.
Emerson closed her eyes briefly and let out a heavy sigh, waking her friend would be no easy task. Known for being able to sleep through the heaviest of thunderstorms, Sheila never seemed to lack rest. Shaking her gently, Emerson decided to try a less aggressive approach. At the slight nudge, she let out a little snore and rolled over onto her other side, facing the wall.
"Psst..Sheila, wake up."
Seeing a faint hint of hope that Sheila heard her, as she mumbled a bit in her sleep, Emerson once again lightly gave her a nudge. What was the answer to her kindness? Nothing, her head gave not even the slightest twitch this time.
Deciding the friendly slant not working fully to her advantage, she gave a hearty shove nearly causing the other to fall between the bed and wall.
"What the.?" Groggily, Sheila rolled over to confront the person who had disturbed her peaceful slumber.
"Shhh, Sheila, it's me, Emerson, I need your help."
"How in the world, did you ever get in here without waking the whole house?"
"Not sure, maybe luck was on my side for a change." Emerson raised her left eyebrow and said with just a hint of sarcasm tinting her voice as she spoke. "Luck is something I could really use about now."
****A/N: Emerson was forty-nine years ahead of her time; she could have been the walking, talking poster child for Murphy's Law. Being the grandmother of Edward Murphy, it was not surprising fortune never seemed to be on her side.****
"You said you needed my help, you couldn't have waited until the sun came up?"
"No, and asking too many questions is not going to aid us in our cause. I need you to help me dye and cut my hair before morning."
"Without waking anyone up, are you crazy?"
"Sheila, please, you know I would not have come to you and woken you up at this hour if it were not important. The less you know right now, the better for you and your family."
Emerson was not in the habit of asking anyone for help with anything. As an only child, she learned to be independent. Always willing to lend a needed hand, but hardly taking one when offered, she was stubborn. Sheila knew whatever her problem it had to be huge.
"Where do we start?"
"Well, I know the slightest change can sometimes make the biggest difference so I'm thinking cutting a few inches off and wearing it a bit different will help lots."
"Stay here while I find Lila's shears."
While Sheila searched for her sister's scissors, Emerson looked at her reflection. Thought it was dark, the moon was full making it not impossible to see. Her father loved her hair long so she let it grow until it reached just above where she sat. It was light brown and full of wave similar to her mothers. Because of its distinct length and color, she was easy to notice. And being noticed was something she needed to avoid for awhile.
Sheila, carrying an oil lap, returned with the scissors. "I just learned I'm not the only one who sleeps like the dead in this house. Lila never moved when I opened her door and rummaged through her bag."
"Quick, we haven't much time." Emerson pulled the desk chair to the middle of the hardwood floor, knowing sweeping it up would be much easier than trying to shake out the rug.
"I have only watched Lila cut hair, I'm not sure."
"I trust you with my life, this is only hair."
"How much should I cut? Maybe it would be better to wake Lila."
"No, I cannot risk anyone else knowing. Cut the back to just above my shoulders and then a light cut in the front for some bangs."
"You're sure?"
Emerson nodded and closed her eyes tightly not wanting to watch as her hair fell to the floor around her. Sheila combed and cut for what seemed like an eternity. Fear of cutting it too short, she cut slowly, eyeing very carefully before doing so. Finally, she stepped back eyeing her work.
"Not bad, but you forgot that little swirl you have in the middle of your forehead. The hair will not lie flat."
Looking in the mirror for the first time caused Emerson to close her eyes quickly and take a second look. Sheila's haircutting skill rivaled that of her sisters.
"Now, it is time for a bottle of dye." Pulling a small bottle of the pungent dye from her bag, she handed it to her friend. "Make me beautiful, darling."
The smell was worse than either of them could imagine. Why would anyone, if not for life or death, choose to inhale this stuff? When enough time passed, Emerson stepped into Sheila's private bath to wash the dye from her hair. After washing it for a third time, the rinse water ran clear. Using a towel to dry her head she walked back into the bedroom.
"Well, what do you think?"
"Honestly, if I didn't know it was you, I well, wouldn't know it was you."
You like? Please review and let me know what you think so far. Thanks in advance!
Climbing into Sheila's window, Emerson was careful not to stumble over the desk chair her friend never remembered to push back under the desk when she was finished studying. Forgetting, however, her shoes always seemed to be in the middle of the floor. Losing her footing as she tripped a bit, not being the most graceful person anyway, but catching herself just before falling onto the bed she silently cursed her clumsiness. In order to pull off plans running through her mind, Emerson would need to become a bit more catlike and a lot less bull-in-a-china-shop-like.
She sat on the edge of Sheila's bed, the mattress giving slightly under her weight. Sheila would probably not appreciate the late night wake up, but Emerson needed her help. Morning would be upon the city soon and she needed to be on with her plans before the sun fully rose. Daylight would not be her friend until she could find a way to straighten things out.
Funeral services for her parents the day before attracted a huge turnout. While the Lewis' were not high society folk, they did satisfactorily, well respected by many. John inherited a small fortune from a grandfather he had never met, which he was able to invest wisely enough. Being from a poor family himself, he felt it only right to share of bit of his good fortune with those less advantaged. His biggest cause had been children.
Until the Newsboy's strike last summer, John and Anna donated time and money to the House of Refuge. During the strike, it became public knowledge the warden pocketed government allocated funds as well as donated monies. Help from an old childhood friend, made John aware of the plight of the newsies. They needed help with lodging and food until the strike ended. Seeking out the lodging houses, he made sure they had a place to sleep with roof overhead, floor under feet, clean water and money for food to eat.
Emerson closed her eyes briefly and let out a heavy sigh, waking her friend would be no easy task. Known for being able to sleep through the heaviest of thunderstorms, Sheila never seemed to lack rest. Shaking her gently, Emerson decided to try a less aggressive approach. At the slight nudge, she let out a little snore and rolled over onto her other side, facing the wall.
"Psst..Sheila, wake up."
Seeing a faint hint of hope that Sheila heard her, as she mumbled a bit in her sleep, Emerson once again lightly gave her a nudge. What was the answer to her kindness? Nothing, her head gave not even the slightest twitch this time.
Deciding the friendly slant not working fully to her advantage, she gave a hearty shove nearly causing the other to fall between the bed and wall.
"What the.?" Groggily, Sheila rolled over to confront the person who had disturbed her peaceful slumber.
"Shhh, Sheila, it's me, Emerson, I need your help."
"How in the world, did you ever get in here without waking the whole house?"
"Not sure, maybe luck was on my side for a change." Emerson raised her left eyebrow and said with just a hint of sarcasm tinting her voice as she spoke. "Luck is something I could really use about now."
****A/N: Emerson was forty-nine years ahead of her time; she could have been the walking, talking poster child for Murphy's Law. Being the grandmother of Edward Murphy, it was not surprising fortune never seemed to be on her side.****
"You said you needed my help, you couldn't have waited until the sun came up?"
"No, and asking too many questions is not going to aid us in our cause. I need you to help me dye and cut my hair before morning."
"Without waking anyone up, are you crazy?"
"Sheila, please, you know I would not have come to you and woken you up at this hour if it were not important. The less you know right now, the better for you and your family."
Emerson was not in the habit of asking anyone for help with anything. As an only child, she learned to be independent. Always willing to lend a needed hand, but hardly taking one when offered, she was stubborn. Sheila knew whatever her problem it had to be huge.
"Where do we start?"
"Well, I know the slightest change can sometimes make the biggest difference so I'm thinking cutting a few inches off and wearing it a bit different will help lots."
"Stay here while I find Lila's shears."
While Sheila searched for her sister's scissors, Emerson looked at her reflection. Thought it was dark, the moon was full making it not impossible to see. Her father loved her hair long so she let it grow until it reached just above where she sat. It was light brown and full of wave similar to her mothers. Because of its distinct length and color, she was easy to notice. And being noticed was something she needed to avoid for awhile.
Sheila, carrying an oil lap, returned with the scissors. "I just learned I'm not the only one who sleeps like the dead in this house. Lila never moved when I opened her door and rummaged through her bag."
"Quick, we haven't much time." Emerson pulled the desk chair to the middle of the hardwood floor, knowing sweeping it up would be much easier than trying to shake out the rug.
"I have only watched Lila cut hair, I'm not sure."
"I trust you with my life, this is only hair."
"How much should I cut? Maybe it would be better to wake Lila."
"No, I cannot risk anyone else knowing. Cut the back to just above my shoulders and then a light cut in the front for some bangs."
"You're sure?"
Emerson nodded and closed her eyes tightly not wanting to watch as her hair fell to the floor around her. Sheila combed and cut for what seemed like an eternity. Fear of cutting it too short, she cut slowly, eyeing very carefully before doing so. Finally, she stepped back eyeing her work.
"Not bad, but you forgot that little swirl you have in the middle of your forehead. The hair will not lie flat."
Looking in the mirror for the first time caused Emerson to close her eyes quickly and take a second look. Sheila's haircutting skill rivaled that of her sisters.
"Now, it is time for a bottle of dye." Pulling a small bottle of the pungent dye from her bag, she handed it to her friend. "Make me beautiful, darling."
The smell was worse than either of them could imagine. Why would anyone, if not for life or death, choose to inhale this stuff? When enough time passed, Emerson stepped into Sheila's private bath to wash the dye from her hair. After washing it for a third time, the rinse water ran clear. Using a towel to dry her head she walked back into the bedroom.
"Well, what do you think?"
"Honestly, if I didn't know it was you, I well, wouldn't know it was you."
You like? Please review and let me know what you think so far. Thanks in advance!