History Lessons (3 page)

Missy looked doubtful. "Alright," she said in a tone that clearly indicated it wasn't. "Just don't get caught."

Lucy smirked. "Don't worry," she said, her voice brimming with forced bravado. "I won't. Besides. I'm not afraid of Mr. Ellis. Not in the least."

* * *

The bayberry bushes were loaded, and Lucy relished the chance for her and Missy to get out from under the attentions of Mr. Ellis and some of the other staff members who were clearly already seeking to ingratiate themselves into his favor.

Mrs. Steelman had been so painfully lenient that everyone had gotten in the habit of doing what they pleased, but Mr. Ellis' management style spawned both order and fear. She could already see the effects of that fear as her co-workers began watching each other, hoping to observe some infraction they could use to deflect attention from themselves should they be caught in violation of his growing list of rules.

Missy wasn't as thrilled with their assignment. "This is ridiculous," she grumbled. "If the colonists wanted candles why didn't they just buy them like normal people."

Lucy grinned and shook her head. "They couldn't just run to Wal-Mart, remember?"

"I can't believe how many buries he wants us to pick. We have to fill this whole basket!" Missy indicated the large round basket at her side.

"It takes something like eight pounds of berries to make a pound of wax," Lucy replied by way of explanation.

"Couldn't we just buy the wax from a supplier?" Missy asked and Lucy sighed. She adored her friend, but sometimes her whining became tedious.

"I think watching re-enactors dump a block of wax in a pot wouldn't be quite as instructive as watching them skim wax made from real berries," Lucy replied.

Missy was about to say something else when Lucy stopped her. In her pocket, the phone was vibrating.

"Hold on," she said, and took it out and looked down at the screen. It was the daycare center.

"Hello," she answered.

It was Kegan's teacher, reminding her that the next day was picture day and that she'd need to dress her son in something nice. The center was good about keeping in touch with parents, realizing that they sometimes forgot to look at the monthly calendar or that kids sometimes forgot to bring home the reminders. Lucy asked the teacher how much the photos would be, since parents were required to pay up front, and was told she'd get back to her as soon as she found out.

Lucy thanked the teacher and put the phone back in her pocket.

"You ladies having fun?" She turned to see Flora Nesbitt, standing behind them. "Mr. Ellis sent me out here to help you pick."

Lucy and Missy glanced at each other. Neither liked Flora, whom Missy had termed "a total suck-up" to Mrs. Steelman until her dismissal. Afterwards Flora practically fell all over herself to criticize their former boss.

"I could have told you how this would end up," she said to Lucy and Missy in obvious earshot of Warren Ellis. "Mrs. Steelman never should have been hired in the first place. Thank God we now have a consummate professional to restore this house to its proper status."

Then she'd turned her saccharine smile on the new director as her companions had rolled their eyes in disgust.

"This is so exciting," she prattled on now. "Making real candles out of bayberry wax. That Mr. Ellis is an absolute genius, even if he is a bit hard on the slackers." She glanced at Lucy, the implication obvious.

"Better a slacker than a backstabbing gossip," Nancy muttered.

"What?" The older woman stood up and looked at her, hands on her hips.

"You know, Flora, we've about stripped this bush," Nancy said bluntly. "But there are some over there that are loaded. It doesn't make a lot of sense to all pick from one bush."

She and Missy regarded her, sending the silent message that her presence was neither welcome nor appreciated.

"She'll hate us now," Missy said as the woman stalked off.

"I don't care if she does," Lucy said, sucking on a finger she'd stuck on the spiky end of a branch. "It's like Mr. Ellis said. 'You're here to work. Not to make friends.'"

Missy smirked. They'd heard him make the comment several times whenever he'd seen a gaggle of women socializing instead of working.

Fifteen minutes later Flora was moving back to the house with her basket half full of berries.

"I guess she got tired of picking," Lucy said and continued to pick, going further into the woods with her friend.

Their baskets slowly filled as they talked and Lucy was just thinking how heavy it had become when she felt the vibration of her phone again. Putting the basket down, she reached into her pocket.

"It's probably Kegan's teacher again," she said, remembering that she'd promised to call her back. Without looking, she flipped open the phone.

"Hello?"

"I'm surprised you can get cell phone reception out there in the berry patch."

The voice was male, and slightly angry.

"In the...how do you know where I am? Who is this?" But no sooner had the words escaped her mouth than Lucy figured it out for herself.

"I think you probably know," Warren Ellis said. "When one of your co-workers told me you were on the phone, I was sure they were mistaken given our little talk yesterday. I can't tell you how disappointed I am," he said. "But you'll now soon enough. I'd like you to come to my office after work."

"My son..." she said.

"Make arrangements for him. You obviously still have your phone so that shouldn't be hard to do," he replied. "If you don't keep this appointment you don't keep your job."

Lucy heard the line click and knew he'd hung up and for a moment she just stood there, her feelings swaying between fury at Flora Nesibitt and fear over the prospect of facing Mr. Ellis.

"What's wrong?" Missy asked.

"Everything," Lucy replied numbly. "Everything."

* * *

The daycare center had after-hour cares, for an hourly fee. Lucy muttered that she'd pay it when she picked him up after her appointment.

She sighed as she looked in the bathroom mirror where she'd just washed her face as if that could cleanse it of the worried expression that still stared back at her.

"You're toast," she said to the girl in the mirror. "By this time tomorrow you'll have spent much of the day filling out applications for crap jobs that can't pay the rent. You and Kegan will have to beg on the streets if you don't end up in debtors prison first."

Of course, that was silly. There was no debtor's prison anymore and Lucy glibly thought that perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to get away from this time warp of a job if, of course, she had a backup job to go to. Which, of course, she did not.

She could hear the cars in the back lot leaving the grounds of Hartford House down the back employee entrance road. Hers would be the only one left now, hers and Warren Ellis'. Unless, as she suspected, he rode a horse to work.

The house was quiet as she re-entered after leaving the detached building that housed the restrooms. She'd never been inside when it was this empty, and it felt strange and eerie to her to imagine all the people who'd once lived in the rooms, who'd sat and slept on the furnishings that now stood as curious testaments to a bygone way of life.

"Miss Primm?" Lucy jumped and turned to see Mr. Ellis, still in his period outfit, standing behind her. She'd always found the colonial garb of men effeminate, but had to begrudgingly admit that the historical fashion did not at all detract from her boss' masculinity.

He was holding his office door open, his hand gesturing for her to enter. She walked, head down, past him, and into the office.

She barely recognized the place now; it looked nothing like it had when Bea Steelman had occupied it. Gone were the cutesy cartoon plaques, gaudy curtains and modern office equipment. She imagined the computer - if he had one - was housed in the reproduction bureau she'd never seen before. It certainly wasn't on his desk, which now contained a few books, a tablet and a quill and inkwell. A table topped with a hammered metal pitcher and mug stood in place of the water cooler. A glass cabinet, which looked to be a genuine antique, held a treasure trove of books, some old and some new, covering all things historical.

"You've done a lot of work," she said.

She heard the door click, then his voice. "Yes, Miss Primm. I have. Honoring a place's tradition is a labor of love. I have no patience for people who make a mockery of it by flouting their crass modernity within its bounds."

Was he talking about her or the former director? Lucy couldn't tell. And she didn't want to ask so she just stood there, wondering whether he was going to offer her a seat.

"I can't begin to tell you how disappointed I was when I realized you'd violated my rule about cell phones," he said.

"You're lucky to have so many spies in your camp," Lucy shot back. "I suppose historical accuracy is far more important than morale."

She knew the comment was reckless, but figured if he were going to fire her the least she could do would be to let him know what she thought of the atmosphere he was fostering.

"I suppose Flora Nesbitt has positioned herself nicely in your good graces after blabbing to you that she saw me talking to my son's preschool teacher. Unlike everyone else here, I have a child and refuse to rely on some half-witted receptionist to contact me if he has some sort of accident or gets sick. That's why I kept my cell phone. And although I'm sure this doesn't matter, I had put it on vibrate." She paused. "In keeping with historical accuracy."

"Are you finished?" he asked quietly.

She nodded, semi-satisfied with herself for her pointed diatribe.

"Then I'd like you to come here with me to the window."

Lucy walked over, wondering what he wanted and watched as he pointed to the woods. From his window she could see the banks of bayberry bushes that edged the forest.

"Mrs. Nesbitt didn't tell me you were on the phone," he said. "I saw you."

Lucy suddenly wished she could fall through the floor.

"Furthermore," he continued, his voice still quiet and level, "Had you bother to explain your reasons for needing your phone then perhaps I would have made an exception. At the very least I would have personally impressed upon our reception the importance I placed in your getting any message as regarded your child."

Lucy didn't know what to say. She felt the heat of shame creep into her face as she stood there, feeling his eyes on her.

"So what do you have to say for yourself, Miss Primm?"

What could she say.

"Are you going to fire me?" She looked up at him, the reality of her situation hitting her like a brick. "If your removing my demerit was conditional and I'm getting two more then I suppose I'm out of a job."

"That's up to you."

"How is it up to me?" she asked. "You're the boss, remember?"

"Oh, I haven't forgotten," he said. "And as you know, I take great pride in running Hartford House as it was run when it as built by Jackson Hartford. Do you know how he would have handled an impertinent servant who insisted on defying him twice in one week?"

Lucy shook her head. She knew little about the man whose portrait hung in the parlor other than he had white hair and dark, piercing eyes.

"Come now," he prompted. "I think you do. In fact, Miss Primm, I believe I heard you discussing with your co-worker - Missy Curtis I believe - exactly what appropriate punishment you could expect from the head of household."

Lucy's mind raced back to the conversation she'd had with Missy during lunch - the conversation she'd later worried that Mr. Ellis had overheard. They'd joked that Mr. Ellis might handle things the old-fashioned way, with a trip to the woodshed.

"People don't do that anymore," she said, a knot of fear and something else undefined turning in her belly.

"I do," he said.

"You can't," Lucy said, her tone as definitive as she could make it.

"Very well then," he said and walked to his desk. "You're fired."

Lucy felt a surge of panic. Fired. How would she make it. What would she do? She had just enough cash on hand to last her a week. And after that, with the job market being so depressed and no way to move...

"I can't lose my job," Lucy said.

He didn't look up, but merely busied himself by writing something in his address book.

"Didn't you hear me?" Lucy asked, her voice quaking now. "Mr. Ellis, I have a son who depends on me. I'm not like these spoiled little interns who consider work here some sort of hobby or some kind of summer craft camp. I need this job."

"Do you?" he asked and looked up at her.

A tear slipped from her eye. "Yes," she said. "So pl...please don't fire me."

He put the quill down.

"If you want to keep your job, you'll have to agree to another type of penalty. I think you know what that is."

Lucy couldn't believe this was happening, even as he motioned to the cane leaning against the wall by the door.

"If you want to keep your job, Miss Primm, you'll fetch that cane, hand it to me, position yourself over the desk and submit - sans theatrics - to six strokes. Afterwards, of course, I expect you to be discreet about our arrangement. I wouldn't extend this chance to everyone, but you are otherwise a good employee and I'm not without sympathy for your plight as a single mother."

"You're serious," she said.

"I am." He looked up at her. "And now you must decide if you want to keep your job. You have three minutes."

Three minutes? Three minutes to decide between an uncertain future for herself and her son or a few taps on the bottom through her skirts? How bad could it hurt? True, it was an awkward choice nonetheless, but it wasn't hard.

"Six?" she asked.

He was looking down at the book again. Six.

"Over my skirts?" she asked.

"Not that I'm negotiating, but yes. Over your skirts. It is your first offense, after all."

Six. Over her skirts. Lucy turned and took a deep breath as she picked up the cane. Returning to the desk, she handed it to Mr. Ellis as he stood. He looked much taller now.