Shattered (Watty Awards 2011!)

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

My story does not start excitedly; nor does it start in an interesting fashion. In my story, there are no dashing heroes or heroines, no gallant knights or lovely ladies, and no castles or magical kingdoms. My story starts simply. Just a simple search of job listings and knocks on the doors of those I had made appointments with.

So here I stand, on a city street, surrounded by the homes of those with more money than I would ever know what to do with, with a list of addresses in one hand, and a small purse in the other. Taking a deep breath, I straitened my blouse and stepped forward to the first stately mansion.

I rapped on the door, then stood back, taking another deep breath. The sound of a dog barking deep within the confines of the house got louder and louder until it coupled with the footsteps of the answerer.

A woman in her mid-fifties opened the door, muttering to herself about this and that.

"Yes, Miss?"

"Hello, I'm here to look in about the job printed in yesterday's paper."

"Oh, of course. Do come in."

I stepped inside as she swung the door open, taking in the lush surroundings. A dark red carpet stretched out, thinning to run along the grand staircase that spiraled above my head. To the left of me was a beautifully ornate coat rack, and on the right was a set of just as ornate double doors.

The maid led me up the staircase. I glanced at my surroundings, falling behind slightly. I was usually attentive, but everything here was stunning. These people must be richer than all the families in the rest of the country put together.

"Miss! DO keep up, you are NOT the only person who wishes to apply this morning."

"I'm so sorry. Lead on." I managed a quick smile before I continued walking at a slightly faster pace than before.

Eventually, at the second landing we had reached, she stopped and led over to a set of frosted glass French doors. Pulling open the golden handles, she waved me in, and announced my arrival to a woman occupied by patting a cat and reading a novel.

"A young lady about the job, Mrs Dinsmoore."

The lady, looking quite lovely with her dark curls and deep purple attire, rose to grasp my hand. "Welcome to our home, miss..."

I smiled my most professional looking smile at the woman. "My name is Emma Butler, Mrs Dinsmoore, and it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Please, have a seat," she gestured to the settee behind me. Turning to the maid, she waved her hand. "Leave us now, Darla." Darla nodded and stepped out, closing the doors behind her.

"Now then, Miss Butler. Have you any experience with housekeeping?"

"About three years."

"Right. And any experience for caring for those with... disabilities?"

"Roughly a year and a half, but it was full-time."

"I see. It seems you are quite experienced for your years."

"Well, I suppose I have been occupied so much with it that it's hard not to be." I smiled, hoping to make the best impression possible.

"Well Miss Butler, I am pleased with your references to a large extent. It would seem you are perfect for the job. I think... that I shall give it to you."

"Mrs Dinsmoore," I sputtered, "are you quite certain?"

"Indeed, I am. Are you? Are you able to live in?"

I nodded. It had been listed with the other requirements in the paper. I had decided that this was what I'd do, but go home on weekends to see my sister.

The elegant woman rose from her seat, extending her hand once again. "Miss Butler," she spoke with a smile, "you are quite perfect for this job, and I do so hope you will enjoy it. Will you be ready to start come Wednesday?"

"Oh yes, that would be perfect Mrs Dinsmoore! Thank you so very much."

She nodded, grasping my hand, and leading me towards the glass doors. She quoted my salary to me, and my heart leapt slightly. I hadn't ever earned even half as much!

"Mrs Dinsmoore, who shall I be caring for?"

"My son."

"How old is your son?" I expected a younger child - perhaps a polio confined young boy of nine or ten.

Mrs Dinsmoore glanced sideways at me before offering a short answer.

"My son is 23, Miss Butler."