The boarding house is the color of yellowed glue with shots of red. Its walls are patchy in places and small shoots of weeds, some with dull yellow tops, push their way angrily from the sidewalks.  Lucy looks down at the scrap of paper she holds and checks the address again.

West Village, 45 Grove Street.

Lucy made her way cautiously up the stairs. The glass doors in front were closed but she could hear talking just inside. A little man appeared in the window with a large ginger mustache and a younger man with large voluminous eyes. The man with the mustache exclaimed with a smile, “Ah, lovely lady, come in come in.” he grasped the door and pulled it open with a flourish reaching for her hand. Lucy smiled hesitantly and stepped back.

The younger man bowed to the older gentleman saying, “Until tonight Mr. Bloomer.” Then he was out the door and sliding past Lucy.

“Hello Hello. I am Mr. Bloomer. And you?”

Lucy noticed his smile was infectious. And she smiled back though it did not reach her eyes. ”Lucille if it please you sir. Lucille Bell. I’m here about the room.”

“Ah yes yes. Come right in. My wife Mrs. Bloomer said you’d be by.” He held open the door and offered her his arm which she took gratefully. Her feet were weary in her small black leather heels, the buckle across the ankle tight. Once inside she removed her black felt hat and smoothed her dark curls. The foyer was large but dimly lit. Though looking up the stairs she could see the sunlight filtering gaily through more windows.  Mr. Bloomer led her up the staircase chattering like a hen all the while. The room was on the second floor and it was clean and bright. The white coverlet was soft upon the small single bed. There was a small matching table next to the bed with a tattered Bible and under the window a small chest of drawers and a desk overlooking the street. Lucy felt her heart swell. Tiredness or anxiety or simply relief. She knew not which. Mr. Bloomer was still talking.

“Do settle in Miss Bell and come down for tea later. I’m sure you’d like to see the other tenants. Like the man earlier, er, Mr. Crane. He’s an interesting chap.” Mr. Bloomer smiled and clapped his hands muttering to himself he left her.

Lucy stood silently for some moments after Mr. Bloomer had gone. There was a silence in the little room so profound she felt her eyes suddenly start to fill.

Sunlight filtered through faded and yellowed curtains stitched with delicate lavender thistles along the edges. The window was open and a cool breeze made its way into the room. The desk was battered but possessed a smooth surface for writing and there was a small sketch pad with intricately drawn birds at the top.

Lucy finally moved across the room and sank down in the wooden chair at the desk. She lay her small blue handbag with its smooth beads on the desk. It had been her sister’s, hastily shoved into her hands as she prepared for her journey to America. She sat very still letting the wind pass over her and with it the faint smell of blossoms from some unseen tree just outside the window.

Then like that the sounds of cars driving by on the street below was heard. And voices, laughter and the calling of a man to another man from somewhere further down.

Lucy let out a breath. It was still early in the day and after a polite tea with Mrs. Bloomer, a plump woman who smiled and chattered just as quickly as her husband did, she was walking down the narrow and busy streets in search of work.

Next Chapter: Lyllian Seattle, 2017