Violet didn’t move. Hyacinth seemed to have stopped breathing. Was her sister waiting, like she was, for their father to declare that the proposal was ridiculous and he would neversubject his daughters to that kind of work, especially because he was responsible for his problems?
But why would Father take responsibility for his debts now after years of having Mother fix his financial woes?
“Listen, Marvin.” Claude’s voice cut through the stillness of the night. “I heard you got fired from the bank.”
Fired? Violet’s heartbeat came to an abrupt halt. Father had told them he’d taken a leave from the bank to grieve for Mother. He hadn’t mentioned anything about losing his job. Was that why he’d telegrammed for them to return? He’d said he missed them, wanted to be a family again, and promised to take care of them. But what if he’d hoped enough of Mother’s inheritance remained to get him out of his newest trouble?
Violet’s shoulders sank, and she lowered her head. She already knew the answer to her own question. Father was a liar. He always had been and always would be.
“Give me your daughters to work in the dancehall,” Claude said, “and I’ll let you rent a room from me and dock it from their pay.”
Of course, without Father’s job at the bank, they would no longer be eligible to live in their house. They would have to move. But with Father unemployed and penniless, where would they go? And how would they survive?
They would figure out something.
Violet expelled a tight breath. She wasn’t as strong as Mother, and she wasn’t as resourceful. However, she would assure Father that they could get through this together, that somehow they would find a way to survive.
“I don’t know, Claude.” Father’s voice was laced with defeat. “Can I have some time to think about the offer?”
Don’t know? Think about the offer? What in heaven’s name was Father saying?
Anger began to burn along Violet’s nerves. There was no thinking about it. She and Hyacinth would never ever resort to becoming dancehall girls, not for any reason—not to survive and most certainly not to help their father repay his debts.
There was more low conversation, likely between Claude and his companion—Tiny.
“You’ve had all the time you’re going to get.” This time Claude’s tone was hard. “Either pay me the money tonight, or give me your word that your daughters will work for me.”
“But, Claude—”
“Your money or your daughters.”
Father didn’t respond.
Violet swallowed hard past a sudden lump in her throat. Father loved them. He wouldn’t hand them over to Claude.
Hyacinth sat up now too, her body stiff.
The silence stretched.
“Well?” Claude asked irritably.
“You’ll treat them respectfully?” Their father’s voice held resignation.
The anger inside Violet fanned hotter. Was he really giving in to Claude’s demand? What kind of Father would do such a thing? Even if he was desperate.
“Bring them over tomorrow,” said Claude as the front door squealed open.
“I’ll try.”
“If you don’t bring them, I’ll send Tiny to fetch them.”
A second later, the front door closed, and the house fell silent.
“Violet?” Hyacinth huffed out a breath loaded with frustration. “What should we do?”
“We’re not working as dancing girls. That’s for sure.”
“I would rather die.”
