The Legacy of Jane - Part One: If You Are Gone

Chapter Seven

I walk away, only to barely get away when a group of old ladies corner me into conversation.

"My word! If it isn't our very own Jane Evans!" Says a frail old woman, "It has been so long. I blink and this little girl has grown into a beautiful young lady!"

I smile, remembering that she has said the same exact thing to me last week, and the week before.

"Bore da, Ms McLendon. I trust you are well?" I smile.

"Oh, yes," she answers, "I expect to travel to Portugal next week! I have my itinerary and my bags packed."

"Ach, Phyllis," says a slightly younger woman, "You have been saying that every day for two years."

"Well, I am going next week, Ada," She nods triumphantly, "you wait and see."

"And how is it with you, Jane?" another asks, "I haven't seen your parents in quite a few weeks, I hope they've been well."

"Thank you, Mrs Johansen," I answer. I think for a moment before saying, "But Father has been quite busy at work and Mother has been under the weather. She still insists that Dinah takes us to church."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear it," Mrs Johansen consoles, "be sure to send them our love."

"Thank you," I say abruptly, "if you'll excuse me I must... go."

I walk away rather quickly. I wish that I could send my parents their love. But I don't know if they would receive it alive or dead. I get to the large front doors of the church, and whip around to see all of the children with their mothers and fathers. Everything seems to go quiet, as if everything is underwater. My heart pounds. I turn around, rush out the door, and slam it behind me onto the bustling city street. I stand on the sidewalk, and yank off my hat. I clutch the hat in my hand, feeling part of the brim being crushed in my hand. I frantically turn around, over and over again, not even knowing what I am looking for. The little strength I had left to stay together completely leaves me and tears start spilling down my face.

I see Dinah emerge from the front doors, her face falling when she sees me in my rather upset state.

I chuckle, "you escaped the conversation, then?"

"It wasn't easy, wait until people start asking you about that matter." She pauses, then asks, "Has it been a hard day?"

"Yes," I answer, "I just..." I trail off, not even knowing what to say.

"I know. It's alright." She consoles, "we better get going, you have to work this evening."

We say our goodbyes to our congregation, and go home. I change into my work clothes, and hesitantly go to the sweatshop that I call my prison.

***

It has been about six hours, and I have been sitting in the same place, the whole time sewing the same seam over and over again. The rapid movement of the needle and the sound of the machine feels almost hypnotic. Or rather, it would be, if it wasn't covered by the noise of other machinery and the supervisor yelling with his wretched pipe. My feet push the large petal, up and down, up and down, nonstop. I feel like I could fall asleep like this. But no, I have to keep moving.

"Maria," I whisper to her, "how long have you been here?"

"I think it's been about eight hours for me," she answers, "I should hopefully be let off soon."

Maeve approaches the girl that sits on my other side, and says in her small voice, "Mr. Saunders says that your shift is done. I can take over."

The girl looks relieved, gets out of her chair and leaves. Maeve sits down and says nothing.