Cassie watched as he rummaged around and finally pulled what he was looking for from behind a row of jelly jars. He shuffled back to his chair and sat down; the jar full of clear liquid in his hand.
“What are you doing with that?” she cried. Her father had taken to being in his cups since her mother passed, but she thought he had stopped drinking.
He rotated the jar and unscrewed the top. Taking a large swig. Cassie could see the liquid escape the jar as he chugged and collect at the corner of his mouth.
“I can’t believe you have been hiding that swill in this house.” There was a group of men that made hard liquor from potatoes in the courtyard on Mondays. While everyone else was at the factories, they were making poison that separated hard working men from the money they earned.
“Don't you worry none, girlie,” he said. “We’ll get it all figured out.”
“Figured out?” Cassie was confused. Her father tilted his head back and polished off the rest of the jar in one swig. He wiped his mouth on the back of his arm, the fabric catching any drops of liquor on his chin.
Cassie gave a little yelp as he threw the jar against the far wall and watched it shatter into many pieces before landing on the floor.
“Shouldn't you be at work, girlie?” Her father said, looking at her with a grimace. “Mr. Weston isn’t going to appreciate you taking a break if you aren’t finished for the day.” He then mumbled something under his breath.
“I didn’t catch what you said. You said Mr. Weston, would what?” Cassie wiped her fingers against her skirt. It wouldn’t do to provoke her father, but she just couldn’t help herself.
Her father looked up at her, his anger replaced by a different emotion. He just looked sad. “I said Weston wouldn’t be pleased if you don’t get those buttons finished.”
“After that,” she insisted. “I thought I heard you say it wouldn’t matter anyhow.”
Her father wouldn’t meet her gaze. “I’m tired, girl. Leave me alone.” Cassie headed back to her room. The next words were so light that Cassie almost missed them.
“Westonsacked me today,” her father said, leaning back on the chair.
Cassie stopped. A heat flared up in her belly and rose straight to her chest. She felt the rise and fall as she tried to suck in air. She felt she was suffocating. Mr. Weston couldn’t have fired her father. They couldn’t afford the full rent share.
“Maybe it was a mistake.” She quickly knelt by the side of her father’s chair and took one of his hands in her own. It felt so frail and so cold. “Perhaps you can tell him that whatever happened was a misunderstanding.” Her voice started to rise. “You need to go back and get your job.”
Her father yanked his hand back and waved her off. “He’s promoting that Harris character. I guess he doesn’t need a cripple like me anymore.” Her father’s head started to nod. “Too old. I’m just too old, Cassandra.”
He never called Cassie by her name. It was always girl or girlie. Cassie watched her father sleep in the chair. He had one suit that he wore to work every day. Cassie hadn’t noticed how frayed it had become. The fabric was so thin at the elbows, Cassie could see his undershirt peek out through the weave.
She decided to complete her work in the living room so she could watch her father. Cassie returned to her room and gathered up the basket of suit jackets and her sewing kit. She settled herself on the sofa and picked up the next jacket in her pile. She had three more to get done tonight. That would be 60 cents in her pocket once she was done.
She realized that she didn’t get paid much at all. Most places wouldn’t take on a woman if there was a man available to do the same job.
However, she was grateful to have it, even if she did come by being hired through her father. It was a blessing to be able to stay at home when people, like Mrs. Graham took in laundry and sold penny apples on the corner.
She pulled out her button box and searched to find seven buttons that were similar enough in size and color. The Weston factory made its own wooden buttons. They didn’t use fancy ones made of abalone or mother of pearl. Wood was very functional and cost less.
When she found the buttons, she tacked the first one in place. The sound of the thread pulling through the fabric gave her solace. Whatever had caused her father to be fired, he wasn’t prepared to talk about it.
Cassie had just completed the last button when Charles came bursting through the door. His eyes were a little wild as he looked around the room. “Has he been here?” Charles asked.
“Who?” Cassie asked. She placed the jacket back in the basket and lifted the basket onto the settee.
“Weston. Has Weston stopped by?”
“No. I’ve not seen him. Why?”
Charles breathed a sigh of relief. “I need to get out of here.”
“Charles, what is going on?” Cassie demanded. “First, Father comes home and drinks, and now you are acting strangely.”
Charles disappeared into the bedroom and returned carrying a carpet bag and a stack of clothes. He placed them on the table and started shoving the clothes in the bag. Cassie went to stand beside him. “Charles, what are you doing?” She picked up a pair of pants from the table and started to fold them. She hadn’t seen them before. The fabric was very fine. Much finer than they could afford on their pittance of a salary.
“Where did you get these, Charles?” she asked, holding up the trousers. Before he could answer, she heard a knock at the door. Cassie turned towards the door when she felt Charles’ fingers wrap around her arm.
