Bitter Memories

Spring was the perfect time to stroll the streets of Boston. The bright blue sky and shining sun rivaled Christmas Day itself in brightening the world’s demeanor. Perhaps the only thing more beautiful than the chirping birds and flower blossoms on the trees was Miss Addie May, named, of course, after the most enchanting month of the year. If you asked any child in Boston, they would tell you that Addie May was a princess. There could be no other explanation, with her shining, brown hair pinned perfectly in a bun, and the strands that had gotten loose falling about her rosy cheeks; her striking blue eyes glistening in the sun, and her trim figure silhouetted perfectly by the finest middle-class clothes. And, of course, no princess is complete without utter kindness and compassion toward everyone she meets.

There were some, however, who looked down upon the innocent young woman. Those with dark secrets can do nothing but bring to light the troubles of others, and Addie May certainly had many in her lifetime.

Addie May Davenport was born in a tight apartment above a factory on the edge of the city. Though her parents were not well-off financially, they gave her all the love a child could ask for, and in that, she was one of the richest children in all of Boston. Here and now, nearly twenty-four years later, the unconditional love of her late parents was at the forefront of her mind, aside from the warm sun and laughter of nearby children.

The sprightly girl loved the city. She’d never known anything else. She had read fairy tales about cottages and farms, filled with livestock and crops, but there was nothing quite like the hustle and bustle of the noisy city streets, carved out of the finest brick. As she passed by the buildings lining the streets, both old and new, some brick and some stone, she imagined what kind of people lived in each one.

When she rounded the corner, she froze, for she was drawing near to the cafe, only a few blocks from her home. The quaint corner building, which was actually famous for dark-roast coffee, always wafted the rich scent of its brews into the air, enticing anyone who walked past to enter in for a cup of the near-black liquid. Most people thought nothing of a simple cup of coffee, but for Addie May, a simple coffee bean surfaced her most unhappy memories. The corners of her lips subconsciously fell, and the color drained from her cheeks as a dark image flashed through her mind, although she’d been trying to rid herself of it for years- scratched, fading bricks, broken windows with soot smeared across each one, split wooden steps that lacked structural integrity. The image of what was once a very frugal coffee factory, run by the toughest businessman in Boston, James T. Montague, a man whose renown rivaled any other in the small state, but to Addie May, the man’s fame came from a hateful place. Most young ladies thought quite highly of their uncles, but how does one think highly of a man who, behind closed doors, only befriends bottles; one who possesses a hot-tempered nature that is only quenched by inflicting harm on another human being. And heaven forbid he take his anger out on his wife. People would surely talk. So instead, at nine years old, having only been an orphan for a few years, little Addie May wore her hair down, with long sleeves and a floor-length skirt, in order that anyone who cared to look might not see the treachery of the famed businessman.

Dear Aunt Cecilia. Now there was a woman who knew her way around any social circle. To the fine ladies she met, she exuded grace and poise. Her dresses were always pressed and extravagant. But behind the curtain of her heart, she held even darker secrets than those of her husband. She was a connoisseur of gossip and had the dirty secrets of every “upstanding” woman in Massachusetts filed away in the back of her mind, no doubt prepared to blackmail somebody at all times. Addie May was sure that’s where half their fortune came from. Anyone who knew her well kept their distance, for fear they, too, would be at the mercy of the wretched woman. And to her niece, she had nothing but nasty words directed at the girl’s looks, dress, and level of intelligence. Day after day, the woman berated her, despite Addie May’s best efforts to make her proud. She should be grateful, Addie May often told herself, for she was enrolled in the finest schools and classes, was provided the most elegant wardrobe, and was given anything her heart desired. Except, of course, the one thing that every child yearns for- love.

But why? Why did an innocent, sweet girl have to endure such a tragic life? Simply because she was alone.

Arthur Davenport was a gentle man who never made a fuss. He was a hard worker and always gave people the benefit of the doubt, which was probably why he was in debt. It had been a hard time for him and his feeble wife. With a baby on the way, and none of his talents producing enough money to live on, he had no choice but to accept his brother-in-law’s charity. A tiny, one-room apartment above the factory with holes in the ceiling and cracks in the walls hardly constituted being paid half-wages in the factory below, especially since it was hot, back-breaking work, his shifts often lasting up to fifteen hours. Though only thirty-nine years old, his body couldn’t handle the torment inflicted, and after mere months of soul-crushing work, died of a heart attack, leaving his mother and three-year-old daughter alone in the world.

Rosetta Davenport was a beautiful woman. Surely, the most enchanting woman in the whole world, Addie May thought, as did anyone who gazed upon her. She herself had gotten her mother’s round eyes and soft pink skin. But life often played cruel tricks on the most beautiful, and Rosetta’s fate was sealed with many an illness. She came down with something every few months, constantly keeping her from her duties as her in-laws’ maid, which was forced upon her at the time of her husband’s death, when she hadn’t a penny to her name. James and Cecilia were quite put off by the peaked woman until the day Addie May turned six years old. She sat at her mother’s bedside on what should have been a joyous day. Instead, it was the day her mother would be ill for the final time, leaving the child with her aunt and uncle as her only living relatives, who didn’t allow her to grieve her precious mother, instead scolding her anytime a tear sparkled in her eyes.

Addie May was condemned to be subject to the pair until she was old enough to go her own way. But there was one who kept the spark of hope lit in the little girl’s heart- Solomon Grundy, a humble servant in the home of the Montagues. His dark hair was peppered with white, as he was in his fifties. Her horrid uncle would say he was darker than the coffee beans, but Addie May thought his skin tone was perfect. Servants were often thought of as less important than their employers, but Solomon thought nothing of the sort. He was proud to have any job, and he did that job to the best of his ability. He was the wisest and most caring man Addie May had ever met. Perhaps he was named after King Solomon, Addie May had thought. His heart ached for the young girl, so he resolved to be a comfort to her. She would often sneak into his room at night. The two would talk, or she would sit on his lap, and he’d stroke her hair while she sobbed, missing her late mother. Addie May was sure that she never could have survived if Solomon hadn’t been there for her.

And now, she was repaying the favor. With her aunt and uncle both dead since the turn of the century a few years back, she was able to keep the promise she had made to the kind, old man- to stay by his side and care for him until the day he died. So, here she was: with a job as a housemaid, a profession she admired more than any other, she came every day to this cafe, for it was Solomon’s favorite, and bought a pair of scones for the man to enjoy with his afternoon coffee. She herself opted to drink tea to this day, for coffee still produced horrid memories in her mind, but she would not begrudge the man an afternoon brew if that was his preference. It was the least she could do after all these years.

Here again, she squared her shoulders and entered the cafe, trying hard to think only of her parents' love, which she missed dearly, and her best friend’s love that she treasured above all else.