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“Farrow?”
Recognizing the madam’s voice, I jarred to a halt. Madam owned the brothel. I wanted to remain in her good graces, as she’d kicked out a working lady and her daughter only last week for costing too much to feed anymore. Instinctively, I knew she’d do the same to me and my mother if I stopped being useful.
Respectfully giving her my attention, I turned back. “Ma’am?”
“Were you assisting with Mattie’s birthing just now?”
I nodded, hoping that wouldn’t get me into trouble for some reason. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And?” she prodded, lifting an expectant eyebrow.
Pity filled my chest. I held out the bundle in my arms, offering it to her. “The babe didn’t make it,” I reported. “What should I do with ’em?”
She reared back, wrinkling her nose in revulsion and turned her face to the side. “Dear Lord, throw it out with the rest of the scraps. I don’t care; just get it out of my face. I was inquiring about Mattie. Did the whore perish as well?”
I shook my head. “No, ma’am. She made it, or at least she was still alive when I left the room.”
The madam relaxed. “Good then.” She patted my head. “That’s a good boy, Farrow. Run along and get rid of that.” She motioned toward the dead child in my arms. “Then go visit your mother. She’s been asking for you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I followed her orders and took the baby outside.
The scraps of food that didn’t get eaten in the brothel were always tossed to the pigs who lived out back in a pen. And then, the pigs would be eaten at the end of every year. But I didn’t like the idea of pigs eating the dead baby.
So I found a shovel in the barn and dug a hole under a tree. It took longer than I thought it should, and the hole ended up being shallower than I intended, but then I figured it was better than being eaten by a pig.
I silently named the baby Roark as I shoved dirt over him. It seemed like everyone should at least get a name.
“Rest in peace, Roark,” I whispered, wondering if he was actually the lucky one of the two of us. He wouldn’t have to grow up, just an errand boy in a brothel.
Afterward, I hurried inside to find my mother. She’d been sick and bedridden for almost a week now. But she wasn’t going to have another baby, like Mattie had today. No, her illness caused her to cough up blood.
I knocked softly at her chamber, afraid a loud noise would hurt her sensitive hearing. She didn’t answer, but I opened the door anyway. “Hullo?” My voice was nervous as I approached the bed, afraid she’d passed on too, like little Roark.
But her eyes fluttered open weakly, and she lifted a limp hand toward me, beckoning me forward.
“Farrow,” she croaked from dry, cracked lips. “Come, boy.”
“You called for me, ma’am?” I asked timidly. I referred to every woman here at the brothel as ma’am, but this was the woman who’d actually given birth to me.
“Listen to me now,” she said, taking my hand with a burst of strength I hadn’t guessed she could possess. “The time has come for you to move on and leave this place.”
As I stared at her with no idea how to respond, cold, slippery coils of dread wound drunkenly around my throat, choking me.
“W-we’re getting kicked out?” I guessed.
She shook her head slowly. “No. Only you will go.”
“But…” Growing scared and desperate and lost, I blurted, “I thought I was useful here. I work hard every day. I just helped—”
“You’re a male,” she cut in, her voice growing stronger. Harder. “The madam has been gracious to let you stay this long. But no more. I can no longer earn my own bread, let alone yours. You must go.”
I hiccupped, beginning to breathe erratically. “But I want to stay with you.”
“Well, you can’t,” she snapped, only to be seized by a coughing fit.
I rushed to get her a cloth and cup of water. She dabbed the blood from her lips, then accepted the drink. When she was done, I set the drink aside.
