Page 1 of Papa's Little Bride
Chapter One
2689, the region formerly known as the United States of America.
600 years after the lights went out.
Faith
The frigid windpelts my face. Clouds hover low in the sky, and the trees lining the roadsway in tune with the harsh gusts. The clean crispness of the swirling air, along with the overcast day, promise impending snowfall. I clutch my cloak tighter around my trembling body. Inside my worn leather slippers, my toes have already gone numb.
I climb the steps of the Ashlor Estate, an intimidating brick mansion that’s situated on the most affluent street in Gerrardsville. My heartdoes a nervous flip as I stare at the golden door knocker. I smooth down my skirt and tuck errant locks behind my ears. After retrieving my letter of recommendation from my pocket, I lift the knocker to rap on the door.Boom boom boom. The noise seems to echo outward from within the house, an eerie sound that sends a chill down my spine.
A blast of welcome heat hits me seconds later. Thesmartly dressed butler glares down at me and clears his throat in an impatient manner. In my nervousness, I clamor to find my voice.
“Good afternoon, sir,” I finally say. “My name is Faith, and I’m here about the maid position. I have a letter of recommendation from Mrs. Hawthorne.”
The butler’s critical gaze sweeps up and down my body. My stomach twists in a knot. I need this job.Badly. I must vacate my bed at the orphanage in a week. Whenever the orphanage becomes too crowded, the oldest girls are asked to leave. Well, not really asked. More like kicked out on the street.
At least I had the good fortune to live there until the age of twenty. Thanks to my petite stature and a well-intentioned fib I told years ago, Mrs. Hawthorne and the other ladies who run theorphanage believe I’m much younger than my twenty years, and I’ve been smart enough not to give them cause to think otherwise.
“I don’t believe you’re what we’re looking for, miss.” He starts to shut me out, but I’m quick to wedge my foot between the door and the frame.
“I have a letter of recommendation,” I repeat firmly. “You can at least allow me to interview with the master ofthe house.”
He sighs and rolls his eyes, but he steps back and opens the door wide, while gesturing for me to pass the threshold with exaggerated movements. I eagerly walk inside, and it’s all I can do to stifle a gasp. Bold colored oriental rugs are strewn all over the floors, expensive looking paintings decorate the walls, stylish furniture is placed throughout the open floorplan, anda massive chandelier hangs from a high ceiling.
I’ve never felt more out of place in my life.
For a moment, my step falters, and I freeze in the foyer.
The butler gives me another dirty glance, his eyes narrowing in disapproval. But the urge to prove myself lends me the strength to lift my chin and follow him further into the house. He leads me into a large study. The faintscent of cigar smoke tickles my nose.
Thousands of books line the shelves, and my heart leaps at the sight. What I wouldn’t give to borrow a few. But I push such thoughts aside because I’m here for an interview. If I don’t secure this job, my only other prospect for employment and housing—working in a house of ill-repute—makes my stomach turn.
“Wait here,” the butler says in a clippedtone.
I stand in front of the large polished desk, marveling at how neat and clean everything looks. And how pleasantly quiet it is compared to the orphanage. There’s no yelling or crying. No murmur of voices at all. Aside from the cigar smoke, there are no foul stenches, either. I shut my eyes and imagine I’m living in this house, with my own little bed in the servants’ quarters. I picturemyself donning a crisp black maid’s uniform with a pressed white apron, my hair drawn up in a neat twist.
A sense of longing reverberates in my chest. I want this. I haven’t met the master or lady of the house yet, but I want this job more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. This house represents all the calm and safety I’ve longed for my whole life.
Footsteps resound in thehallway. I grow tense and run my hands through my hair, hoping the master of the house deems me acceptable.
“Turn around, young lady.” The shrill, feminine voice catches me off-guard.
I obey, slowing turning to stare at a dour-faced middle-aged woman, who I deduce is the lady of the house. She’s wearing pearls and a purple silk gown, her hair in an elegant up-do. She appears as ifshe’s on her way to a fancy dinner party, or perhaps a ball. I offer her a polite smile, but to my dismay, she does not return it.
Even worse, her eyes harden with more disapproval than the butler’s. I open my mouth and take a breath, preparing to introduce myself and offer my coveted letter of recommendation, but before I can utter a word, she holds up a bejeweled hand to silence me. Istare at the glittering rings on her fingers, fearing her next words.
“No, no, no.” She shakes her head, and the scent of her heavy floral perfume wafts toward me. “Absolutely not. You must leave at once. We are looking for a more experienced maid. Someone…older.” Her gaze flickers with sadness for the briefest instant, then she blinks hard and steps aside, motioning for me to exit thestudy.
Crestfallen and a bit confounded by the woman’s overt emotional reaction, I tuck the letter into the pocket of my raggedy dress and attempt to depart the room with as much dignity as I can muster. But deep down I’m hurting and scared. I’d pinned all my hopes on this job and this house, and now I don’t know what the future holds. I have a place to rest my head for one more week beforeI’m out on the streets.
Alone. With winter fast approaching. Only weeks before Christmas.
What will I do and where will I go?
I don’t know of any other available jobs, as this is currently the only suitable job posted in the town square. The other advertised positions are for hard labor or factory jobs, and those are reserved solely for the men of Gerrardsville.
AsI approach the foyer, a male voice booms down from the landing above.
