By the Bay

Author's note: I know, I know. It's been a darn long while. But I'm still writing my ass of whenever I get the time! This is the newest story that I'm working on (amongst countless others). It's different, yes, but I hope you'll give it a chance. Don't forget to rate and comment once you're done(: Thank you!

© Lillian K. Rockmore

Translations:

Amma – Mother

Akka – Sister

Ma – endearment

Anna – Brother

Thatha – Grandfather

Background: Temasek, olden-day Singapore, had been an 'official' colony of the British since 1819.

Chapter One:

Temasek, South-East Asia

June, 1915

"Is Amma going to be all right?" Ameera, with all the innocence of a nine-year-old, asked as she poked her head through a slit in the cane door. She watched as her older sister calmly dabbed at their mother's sweating forehead, almost as if she were in a trance. Anita's cobalt-blue eyes were fixed on a spot in the corner of the room, but her hands were still swiping the wet cloth across mother's forehead.

"Akka?" the little girl quipped again, and Anita started, having not heard her sister enter the small kampong house. She'd been so deep in thought... about their future, her sister's education, their mother.

With a sigh, Anita folded the cloth and put it away. She gestured for Meera to meet her outside before sliding from the cot and padding over to a basin of fresh water. Sluicing the water over her arms and face, she made sure that her skin was clean of the disease her mother carried for she did not want to accidentally pass the illness on to her kid sister.

When she finally went outside, she found Meera seated on the small expanse of a veranda, swinging her legs into the open space beneath the house. The young girl's golden-brown curls glowed in the evening light, making her seem like an angel. Anita could not help but smile at the thought as she tucked the ends of her sari securely against her midsection and joined her sister.

Before them stretched the dirt road towards the Richards' household – the family that Anita and her mother had worked for, for over twelve years. The large, Victorian gates were sealed shut, secured with a padlock the size of Anita's fist, and the garden which used to be gloriously full of color, was now empty and brown.

"Is Amma going to be all right?" the little girl asked again, her eyes not moving from the colonial house in the distance.

"I hope so."

"What's wrong with her? She's been sick since the Richards' left," Meera stated perceptively.

Anita glanced at her sister, wondering yet again if the girl knew. Nothing in her relaxed countenance gave it away, but Anita had always had the feeling that somehow, her younger sister knew.

As to the girl's question, Anita didn't know how to answer it. It would hurt Meera's feelings if she said that their mother didn't have any reason to live anymore, and wasn't fighting the disease; she was too young to understand the self-centeredness of the world. And yet, it was unfair to Meera if Anita were to lie to her.

She kept silent for a long while, until Meera was forced to speak again.

"Is she going to die?"

There was no emotion behind the words; it was calm a statement. The girl looked undisturbed by the fact, and that chilled Anita. Granted, their mother had showed them little affection, but she'd made sure that they had at least one good meal everyday. That, at least, had to warrant some kind of warmth from Meera towards their mother.

"She's very sick," Anita said, reaching out to play with the young girl's hair. They were pretty curls that twined themselves around her fingers. Anita's hair was drab in comparison.

"Will she get better?"

"If she wants to, she will."

The girl seemed to expect the answer, and nodded solemnly. The wan expression on Meera's face would have been comical, were it not real.

"Is she sick because John Richards left?"

"Now, Meera -."

"Is she?"

"Meera -."

"You can't keep this from me forever, Akka!"

"I won't. You're too young to understand right now, ma. Please -."

"I'm not too young. Tell me, please. I need to know."

Anita took a deep breath, unnerved by the maturity she saw in the young girl's eyes.

"Yes. She is sick because John Richards left."

Meera nodded once, her fingers curling into fists. Her dark eyes lost their light, and she promptly crumpled into tears.

"I didn't want you to ever know about this," Anita said as she gathered the girl into her arms. Meera's nose had turned red, and her tears were wetting the old cotton blouse that she wore. Guilt for telling her sister what should never have been told made Anita hug her sister tighter, cradling her against her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, ma. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Meera said, sniffling. "It's not ever your fault. You've done so much for me, more than she ever has. Why couldn't she have just told me?"

"It's not something that our people take lightly. That's why we don't discuss it." Anita didn't even bother to deny that their mother had shown very little care for them over the years. She didn't want to lie to her sister any longer.

"But she lied to me about my own father! How could she do that, 'Ka? How?"

"I think she didn't want you to think badly about her."

"That's not fair! Didn't she know that I'll figure it out when I look so different from the other children? Do you know that they call me half-breed?"

Yes, Anita knew. And she'd threatened whoever she'd heard say it. In a way, Anita was blessed. Only her eyes and unusual freckles gave away the fact that she was not a full-blooded Indian. Her skin was dark, and she blended in with the others. Meera, however, had skin the color of golden biscuits and hair that was just a shade darker than her skin. Everyone around town knew whose bastard she was. And Anita had tried her best to protect her from hurtful comments... but obviously, she'd failed.

"I wish, with all my heart, that you hadn't heard that."

Meera's tears were drying, and she hiccupped once, twice, rubbing her reddened nose. Anita kissed the girl's forehead gingerly, wishing she could switch places with the girl. She did not like her sister feeling such pain. Young ones shouldn't be exposed to such ridicule.

Meera swiped at her eyes and pulled herself away. She stared up at her older sister, seeing that tears had also run down her cheeks. She reached up and wiped them away, feeling gratitude like none other to her sister. Without her, Meera was not sure that her mother would have sent her to school or even remembered she was alive. She wished that she could repay her sister somehow.

"Now," Anita said, clearing her throat. "Have you finished your homework?"

"Yes. Mrs. Druberry asked us to read a book, but I've already read it, so I don't have homework."

"All right. So where are you going?"

Meera had loped off the veranda and was walking away from the house.

"To Mae's house. Her dog gave birth to six puppies."

Anita watched her sister walk away, her step not as light as it used to be. She sighed, leaning against the pillar of the veranda, enjoying the warm breeze as it played with her hair. Her eyelids drifted closed, both from the tiredness of having slept little the night before, and from crying. Her mother's illness, too, did not help lighten the burden on her shoulders.

In her mind's eye she saw herself as she'd been yesterday, walking up to the medicine man and spending almost all the household's money on medicine for their mother. Then she envisioned the meager amount of rice and potato left in the kitchen. She sighed yet again, thanking whatever forces were at play that she'd at least paid Mrs. Druberry for the month. It was one worry less out of the handful that she already had.

The five cents that was leftover for the month burned right through the pouch she'd tied it into with her sari. It reminded her that since the Richards had left, they had to find somewhere else to work – if her mother recovered enough to work at all. They did need to eat for the next month, and it would be almost impossible to make ends meet with only one woman's salary. She would have to talk to brother Raju and see if anyone was hiring a housekeeper or even a coolie worker.

Perhaps if she worked for the generous British households again, she'd be able to save up enough money to send Meera to one of the elite schools when she turned twelve. Meera would love that, if only Anita could afford it.

*

The Indian Ocean,

January 1924

War-roughened hands had a death grip on a gold-tipped pen, dotting an empty sheet of paper with frustrated, furiously-paced ink splotches. Edward James Haydes, Duke Shackleton of King George's court, groaned and rested his head on an upturned palm. Words were clogging his throat, a myriad of them, but they would not arrange themselves in the form of prose. Every word seemed mismatched, misplaced. Years and years before, when he'd produced writing of the finest quality, words had flowed from his pen as naturally as was breathing. Now, he couldn't even come up with a proper metaphor for the word 'war' after hours of musing. He was beginning to wonder if he'd ever written fiction before. Perhaps

that

had only been his imagination.

Resignedly, he put the pen away and slid the paper into a drawer. He would try again later.

Leaning back in his chair, he rested his hands on his chest and closed his eyes. Two days, the captain had said. Two days 'til they reached the port that he'd been longing to see for several years. It was the perfect place to forget propriety and immerse oneself in one's imagination. He would have no obligations, no appearances to keep up. He would have no stranger coming up to him and offering condolences for his loss, and no one asking him on his take on the war. All he had to do was relax in the balcony that overlooked the ocean and concentrate on his writing. Nothing could be more perfect.

His drawn-out sigh of contentment nearly extinguished the fat candle that stood on the table. He smiled to no one in particular, thinking of the good days that lay ahead. There would be no more complications in his life, no more commitments. And then, possibly, he'd be able to stop dreaming of the screams of men writhing on the killing field with their limbs missing.

*

"Don't you ever touch me again, you low-down dog!" Enraged to the point of exerting bodily violence, Meera screamed at the lecherous man's wriggling body. He was on the floor, wailing loudly as he grabbed his appendage with both his hands. For good measure, Meera added another kick to his rear and considered revenge taken when he was reduced to whimpers.

Men! She hated them. They were not to be trusted, and only wanted a woman for her body. They had no feelings, no emphatic emotions. They just assumed that if a woman was poor, that she'll spread her legs for them. Well, they were

wrong

!

She turned away from the pathetic man, still seething as she walked home quickly for dinner. It was getting dark and she hoped she could reach home before full darkness fell. There wasn't telling how many of these kinds of men lay in wait for an unsuspecting female.

She let out a long sigh as the small kampong house came into view. Anita was waiting outside, her hair bound in a loose bun, no doubt waiting for Meera. She'd have to apologize to her sister for being late. She'd just gotten caught up with writing, and with the town's main bell spoilt, it was hard to tell the time. She smiled when she realized that she'd gotten two chapters of her story written that day. She'd never written so much in a day before. The feeling of satisfaction was incredible, and even her brief encounter with the bastard could not stifle it.

"Oh, heavens! What took you so long?" Anita breathed a sigh of relief as she finally caught sight of Meera trudging along the dirt road. "I was beginning to worry."

"Sorry, 'Ka. Got caught up writing," Meera said in way of an apology.

To that, Anita just rolled her eyes and told her that food was ready.

"Mmm. Porridge and onions. I can't wait!" The younger girl regretted her words in the next second when her sister's eyes grew sad.

"I didn't mean it that way, 'Ka. I was just funning around..."

"No, no. It's ok. I get tired of it, too," Anita acknowledged with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "So how was school?"

Meera shrugged. "All right, I suppose. Though I don't understand why I've to study math and science. I could live on English alone."

"Really? I used to love English, too, until Thatha died and Amma took me out of school. I used to love reading the short stories they'll have in class, with those illustrations to help us understand."

Meera stared at her sister as she poured the watery liquid of porridge into two bowls. She couldn't believe that Anita had sacrificed so much just to make her receive an education in a society that believed that women shouldn't be educated in the first place. She owed her sister more than she could repay her for.

She didn't bother asking why Anita hadn't gone back to school. If she'd done so, there would have been no one to work for the family, especially since their mother had died five years ago.

"Raju Anna said that there's a new British family coming over in a week. Do you know the old Shackleton house near the bay?" At Meera's nod, Anita continued. "They're opening it up again. Raju Anna thinks that they might be looking for some help, so I'll be going down there tomorrow. I think a job in that house might pay at least twice as much as carrying mounds of cement up and down four flights of stairs would."

Meera felt a pang of guilt as Anita described her job. The only reason Anita worked such a grueling job was because of her. But it was no use telling Anita not to. She was set on seeing that Meera was able to stand on her own to feet.

"That's great, 'Ka. Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, no, that's all right. School's more important, ma."

"Just thought that you might need a confidence boost," Meera said with a cheeky smile that brought out the tiny dimple on her chin. Anita sighed, thinking that Meera had become too beautiful for her own good. She attracted too much attention, and thus far, Anita had received three proposals of marriage for her sister. The girl had yet to be eighteen, for god's sake!

She was the complete opposite of her sister, however. At twenty-three, she'd never had any man develop an interest in her. Maybe it was because in contrast to her sister, she was dark and ugly, with hair that was limp and straggly. If she had to put it bluntly, she was

nothing

standing next to her sister. But Anita didn't mind it. She was proud of her sister.

After their meager but filling dinner, Meera retired to her side of the small room to thumb through a book she'd borrowed from Mrs. Druberry's library. Anita grabbed her sewing pouch and an old sari, and sat by her blanket, trying to repair the frays in the old cotton. After repairing the third split in the seam, Anita felt close to crying. She finally admitted to herself how important this next job would be to her. Working as a coolie wasn't what she wanted to do. She loved to serve tea and make sure that all the linens were clean. She didn't want to be stuck hefting five kilograms of sand and cement anymore. It was a torturous job, especially under the tropical sunlight.

Anita took a deep breath, calming her nerves. She would not fall apart, not after so many years of being on her own. She had to be strong.

It was for that reason that when she curled up on her blanket later that night, Anita offered a prayer up to the gods – for strength, and for luck. She feared she would need both.

*

"We need someone plain. Not ugly, but not very attractive either," Madam Ruth, former mistress of the infamous Lord Cain, told her right-hand-man. Madam Ruth ran an employment agency downtown, and a few days ago, had received news that the Duke of Shackleton was arriving in a weeks' time. She had been instructed to find appropriate help to run the house, and she bristled that she'd only been given a week to train them properly. She hoped she could find locals who could adapt quickly, else her firm's name would be in danger.

"Why so, Madam?" Charles asked curiously.

"Because, dear boy, from what the letter said, only the Duke is visiting the island. God knows what would happen should he have an exotic young thing running around in his household. We do not need to complicate the bloodline, do we?" She snapped her blood-red fan open and flicked it repeatedly to cool herself.

"Of course not, Madam," Charles said agreeably, wondering if her explanation had stemmed from a past experience. "A plain young girl it will be."

"Not too young, though," she warned again. "I'll be in the sitting room. Send the girls in if they meet the criteria."

She turned away from him, only to stop and call over her shoulder: "Oh, and Charles, don't forget the tea."

*

The house was larger than the Richards'. Anita looked up at the looming white structure and counted nearly eight rooms on the second floor itself. There were many more on the first and third floors. If she was hired today, she'd have a lot of work in store for her before the Duke and his family came to visit.

Drawing a shaky breath to quell the trembling of her tummy, she started up the short staircase to the first floor.

This is it

, she thought as she pushed the door open quietly.

The next few minutes will determine my future.

"Hello?" she called out skeptically. Perhaps she'd gotten the wrong house.

"In here," a masculine voice called out. Anita pulled her sari around her more securely and followed the voice.

A man was seated behind a small wooden table in the foyer, his eyes raking her shrewdly as she turned a corner and spotted him. He was very fair, with blonde hair and light blue eyes. She disliked him instantly.

"Good morning, sir," she said quietly, averting her eyes so that she did not have to look at him.

He didn't greet her, but asked for her name.

"Anita, do you have an appointment with Madam Ruth?"

She shook her head slowly. He sighed heavily.

"Do you have any experience in housekeeping, at least?"

"Yes, I do, sir," she said, not lifting her eyes. "I worked in the Richards household for over ten years."

"Richards household? John Richards?" Charles rubbed his forehead in thought. What was it about John Richards that he'd heard about all those years ago?

Anita nodded, keeping silent.

The man thought for a very long time, staring at her all the while. She began to feel acutely uncomfortable. But before she could voice a question, he told her that she could go in to the sitting room for an interview with Madam Ruth.

Anita gratefully moved away from the man's view, leaving behind his probing eyes. She was suddenly nervous again as she saw a woman reclining in the sitting room, an empty teacup in front of her. Gingerly, she knocked on the door before stepping in. The woman's blonde head turned towards her, her large eyes raking her from head to foot, just as the man had done. But this woman smiled at her, and asked her to take a seat on the padded chair opposite her.

"Come, sit, my dear. Don't hover near the doorway. It's unseemly. Now, I take it that you've prior experience in housekeeping? Charles would not have sent you to see me if you had none."

Anita nodded, for she had nothing to add to the lady's statement.

The next few minutes were spent on discussing the duties Anita had fulfilled in the Richards' house. The lady seemed impressed with the amount of work she'd done, and the experience she had. To test her knowledge, the Madam began to ask her specific questions like 'how much soap should be used to wash one bucket of clothes' or 'how many times a week should linen be washed'. Anita answered the questions as best as she could, feeling sweat pool at the base of her sari blouse. She was so nervous that her hands were trembling. What if she answered the questions wrongly? What if she couldn't impress the lady?