Even after fifteen years, Emily still found herself surprised by the space allowed her by everyone in the Five Points.
Those who were once her friends could only look at her with pity as if she were nothing more than the butcher's prisoner. Everyone else backed away when they saw her coming, for no good could come of upsetting Bill Cutting's prized jewel. Even looking at her in a way the butcher didn't like was an offense punishable by death or maiming.
There was only one person in the Points who didn't treat her like the Ark of the Covenant.
"Mrs. Cutting!" Jenny Everdeane waved with a smile, coming to walk beside her. She didn't take her arm, since even Jenny had felt the butcher's wrath for such an action.
"Jenny," Emily nodded, acknowledging her.
"What brings yeh out to the square?" Jenny asked in the same Irish drawl that Emily had gotten rid of so well, "I haven't seen yeh so long, I was afraid yeh'd died."
Emily chuckled. "Wouldn't that have been nice?"
Jenny laughed, tossing her head of red hair and squinting her blue eyes.
"No, I'm only out to get some air," Emily said simply, "The Lincoln-lovers are having their parade tonight and I want no part of it."
Sometimes Emily pretended so well, Jenny wasn't sure if she was pretending anymore or if she'd truly fooled herself into thinking like Bill.
"Well," Jenny said, "Don't be such a stranger. I'm always around."
The two of them shared a knowing glance. Jenny knew what it was like living under the butcher's roof, for she herself had done it for years at the request of Emily herself.
The look Jenny gave her was one of deepest sympathy. Emily smiled back to let her know she was fine.
Jenny curtsied and Emily nodded to her as she took her leave. Mrs. Cutting took one more turn about the square and made her way home. As she turned the street, a voice called out, "Morning, Mrs. Cutting!"
Emily was almost shocked to hear someone calling her, so much though that she stopped in her tracks. She looked and saw a familiar face.
Old Monk McGinn tipped his hat to her as he strode by. She only glared at him and sped up her pace. He had been the one rifling through her father's pockets as he lay dead in the square and she never forgave him. What he meant by greeting her as an old friend she had no idea.
Bill was there when she got home. He had his usual band of cronies sitting nearby as he butchered a large pig.
He turned his head and didn't smile when he saw her. "Emily, my love, where've you been?"
His group stood up and nodded to her murmuring her name before sitting back down.
"Oh, just getting some fresh air before the streets get filled up with the smell of Lincoln supporters," Emily said, removing her gloves.
The butcher laughed loudly but not genuinely, "There's my girl," he said as she approached him and ran her hand softly under his chin.
Emily looked toward their guests. "Gentlemen," she said softly as she left the room and headed upstairs to her room.