Seven Till Seven Was A Good Day | Freewrite: 10/22/22 | Prompt: A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

Margaret fished the last of Friday's laundry from the pool of dingy water. Overcast skies threatened to ruin the hours of effort in tackling the large blankets. Creaking sounds from the cast iron gate leading from the french duplex apartment doors diverted her attention. Sprinkles danced on her arms. A reminder to watch her movements as the slippery pavement was unforgiving. Finally, assistance arrived. A pair of twenty-year-old hands would certainly lessen the task, she thought.

Returning to her chore, she looked out over the small, narrow man-made water outlet situated between the two rows of opposite apartment houses that ran the length of the neighborhood. It trickled along slowly, eventually emptying into the channel. Her eyes traveled along its path. Sixty years were marked off by the crosswalks placed at intervals.

She wiped her wet brow, careful not to disturb her glasses. At least the water flowed to unknown territory. It encountered another adventure along its path. Unlike me, she thought. But as a girl, she remembered numerous fatal incidents along its path.

She shouldn't have, but jumped at the sound of the crackling, high-pitched familiar voice behind her.

"Molly, you've received a letter!" her mistress, Agnes Thistlewood shouted, then continued, "you can read it as soon as you finish the day's wash." Agnes Thistlewood believed that only what was deemed important to her household was required to be taken care of first.

Charissa peeked over the clothes line, and the two maids exchanged a knowing glance.

Without warning, a short, plump body hurled itself forward. Piercing screams filled the air.

Margaret stepped to the right while her Mistress desperately attempted to catch hold of any person or object that would stop her advancing toward the water. The rope was her last resort. The hand-made contraption was, at best, unsteady but the only way to help secure the laundry while in the water. Not a wise decision. But she grasped at it with all her might.

This wasn't the first time a rope from another house was seen floating down the inlet.

Her Mistress slid off the concrete and landed face up in the water. Margaret watched as she floundered about continuing to scream, and blowing water bubbles as the expensive white billowing evening dress soaked up the dirty water.

The last image Margaret saw was her Mistress floating down the inlet.

She remembered leaving the lye soap next to the gate. She also remembered her boss discussing an unpleasant childhood experience that left her fearful of water.

You must be careful of your surroundings, especially at your own home, Margaret thought, as she again looked back at Charissa, smiled and wrung the water as best she could from the last blanket.

"Yes, Mistress. As you wish. The letter isn't important. I'll read it later," Margaret replied in a low polite voice.

That night, Margaret's back and knees were throbbing something fierce. Liniment from her Mistress' medicinal cabinet should help. She paused to examine large circles forming under her eyes. Weariness, she thought, then remembered her letter. The perfect opportunity to inquire about it as she prepared her boss' nightly migraine remedy.

"No need to bother with reading at this late hour. Tomorrow will be fine. Sit in the parlor and assist with the arrangements for my party next week." The season had started. Margaret knew the first to offer a soiree would be highly commended.

She sat staring at the letter tray for three more hours. Her last correspondence was received two years ago. It couldn't be from her daughter, she thought, since she'd moved away and left no forwarding address.

Her day began at seven that morning. With a headache of her own, she was glad she'd finally finished addressing the last invitation. She prided herself on her penmanship, although her Mistress wouldn't acknowledge it.

It was now ten o'clock in the evening. But she desperately wanted to read her letter.

In a few days she'd privately celebrate her 61st birthday. She knew she couldn't continue the twelve hours days she'd endured for the past ten years. She didn't know if it was the weariness, headache, or just finally feed up with her situation that she stood and walked over to the letter tray.

Sifting through the mail, she retrieved her letter and placed it in her apron. Then, slowly, she turned to walk away.

"Where are you going and what possessed you to rummage through my mail?

"To bed. I'm tired and was only interested in what's mine. I have no concern about anything else."

Agnes Thistlewood knew something wasn't quite right. Of late, she detected a change in Margaret's tone and posture. She knew something was coming. She just didn't want to acknowledge the underlying reason for the change. If she did, she'd have to address the other staff. If you let one slide, then they'll all think you're weak and can make demands, she reasoned.

She waited. That is, until she realized she'd forgotten how stubborn this particular maid was. She also knew that Margaret was a private person and wouldn't divulge the content of her letter unless forced to.

"Sit. Let's read your letter." Agnes Thistlewood looked sternly at her employee.

Margaret stared at her employer, then clinched her fist. She returned to her seat and silently read her letter. Controlling her emotions, she merely smiled.

"Well, what's so amusing?" Agnes demanded.

"Just as I figured all those years. My suspicions were correct. I've been denied my monthly pension. All these years working for you, and I have nothing to show for it. Seems you haven't paid taxes into the system on my behalf. And if you haven't paid for me, you surely haven't paid for other staff. Although we all know you can well afford it."

"That's a lie! Who's spreading that vicious rumor?" Agnes was now on her feet.

She rung her hands together. Perspiration beaded up and fell profusely from the thick makeup on her face.

"Twenty years I've worked for pennies. You also knew of my disability when you hired me. But I felt sorry for you being a widow and was fooled into thinking you were without resources."

Both women were now facing each other.

"Felt sorry for me! You're ungrateful. That's what we get for trying to lift you all up out of your station."

"Lift us up! From the pennies you dole out, we're even required to pay for our own food after toiling all day preparing it for you. Not to mention having to pay for our uniforms."

Margaret was on a roll and couldn't stop. She was now livid and didn't realize her headache had ceased.

"And another thing. Someone from staff is going to be seriously injured or die if you don't provide an adequate means to wash laundry."

"If I didn't have to pay all those staffers, you'd have more to line your own pockets. But NO! You complain all these years you can't do this, or you can't do that. Didn't you realize extra staff would cut your pay? If you were so miserable, you should have resigned." Agnes pretended outrage, but attempted to control her voice, less the other staff eavesdrop.

"Is that why you haven't paid in our taxes for when we can no longer work? Yes, I should have left years ago, but all positions were filled and should have reported your deceit then."

She looked her employer squarely in the face.

Margaret could feel her chest begin to swell. Shaking her head, the red freckles on her cheeks seemed to grow wider. Her eyes squinted as shoulders heaved. She didn't mind so much the mistreatment. But the younger staff with families was downright disgraceful. It wasn't for lack of money. At least not in the last ten years after Mr. Thistlewood passed away.

Ten years of her Mistress paying exorbitant amounts in an attempt to salvage her beauty hadn't produced any new suitors, let alone a wealthy husband this time around in an effort to save her previous fortune.

And the hurt part about it was that she hadn't even bothered to pay her share of taxes on her workers' behalf. Staff had no retirement stored up. Margaret imagined her Mistress' circle of friends covertly did the same. However, she'd heard rumors their staffs were treated considerably better.

The fact was that Margaret discovered this years ago. Afterward, she vowed to save every penny so she could leave at the right time.

And the time was right.

Calmer now with the information from her letter, she continued. "My daughter needs me and is coming to take me from this indentured service. And, if Charissa wants to leave, she can come with me."

"I don't believe you, Molly," Agnes hissed back.

Margaret filled her chest cavity to the brim, then exhaled. Making her way across the room, she grabbed the large, antique vase from the mantle, held it high, then shouted so the other staff could hear.

"I'm taking wages due me for the past ten years. Wages you won't miss from your Miscellaneous Fund. Wages horded from us five staff. I'm going to distribute them fairly. Then, I'm going to my room and pack my luggage. In the morning, I'm alerting the taxing authorities, then leaving this house, never to return."

Shocked and speechless, Agnes Thistlewood stood watching the turn of events as her maid held out her hand in a gesture of friendship.

"AND, my name is Margaret."

^{Image used with permission of contest owner}

Welcome back to my freewrite prompt story for this week. The photo that is the subject of the story spoke to me about a person :

Describe what you see.

In the daylight, an older woman is washing clothes in the water either behind or in front of some homes. A clothes line can be seen. A second woman who appears to be barefoot is behind the clothes line. Perhaps at a washing station. The older woman is dipping the clothes in the water. It looks to be a city street. Why would there be water behind the home. She wears a scarf around her head, a collar around her neck, and a long apron. The apron includes pockets attached. The water is where she's washing her clothes.

No one else is passing by. Perhaps this is the back of the house. There seems to be a long cord or rope hanging from the clothes line.

Describe what you feel.

I feel the lady is a domestic worker by the look of her outfit. In the background, I can see through the window a beautifully decorated room. I don't think this is the woman's home. Perhaps the clothes are tied to the end of the cord holding the dirty clothes in place. That way, she can just pull them from the water. This feels like the old fashioned way of accomplishing housework with manual labor.

Write a story or poem about what you think is going on. I leave with you my story for: A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words - 10/22/22.