Mrs. Witam said, "A woman can be useful and still, well, men are men." Hannah picked up a plate. She had heard worse. Years ago, those words could ruin an entire day. Now they merely found the old bruise and pressed it.
She was 30. She knew exactly what she looked like. She wore brown broadcloth because it lasted. Her dark hair was pinned firmly at the back of her head because loose hair fell into soup pots. Her body was large enough that ready-made dresses almost never fit her through the waist and hips, so she altered nearly everything herself.
She did not need elk crossing to explain her own reflection. At 9, the breakfast rush was over. At 10:00, there was no rush at all. Edith stood behind the front desk with the account book open. Hannah was sweeping the dining room when she heard pages turn, then turn again, then stop.
She kept sweeping. Edith said, "Han." Hannah rested both hands on the broom handle. There were certain ways Edith said her name. This was the way she used when the roof leaked or a guest had skipped his bill. "What is it?" Edith looked toward the empty tables.
"We need to talk." Hannah set the broom against the wall. Her aunt had raised her since Hannah's mother died when she was 14. Edith had never been a soft woman, but she had been steady. She believed soup could cure most miseries, and unpaid bills could cure none. Now she tapped one finger against the ledger.
I owe Miller's Mercantile $23.40. The butcher's waiting on nine. Coal's gone up again, and I've got four rooms empty. Hannah pulled out a chair. How short?
Edith looked away. That told Hannah enough. How short? Enough. Silence settled between them.
From the kitchen came the slow tick of the cooling stove. Edith rubbed her thumb over the corner of the ledger page. I can feed you. You know that. Hannah said nothing.
I can keep your room. Still nothing but wages. Edith stopped. Hannah looked at the clean table between them. How long?
I don't know. A month. I don't know. Two. Hannah.
The word came out tired. Edith closed the book. I I can't pay you after Saturday. There it was. Plain.
Hannah nodded once. Edith's face tightened. Don't do that. Do what? Make it easy for me.
Hannah looked up. Her aunt's eyes were shining, which was somehow worse than if she had cried. I'm not making anything easy. I know what you do in this house. Then don't apologize.
I am going to apologize because I am your aunt and I am the one telling you there's no money. Hannah reached across the table and covered Edith's hand. Her own hand was larger. Work roughened warm. We'll manage.
Edith gave a short humorless laugh. That is what you always say. It keeps being true. But Hannah did not sleep much that night. Her room was at the rear of the second floor beneath the sloping roof.