Steward trained every new hire under my supervision, so naturally I knew each one inside and out.
Watching the people I'd personally trained walk out from under my wing into the easiest assignments—pulling salaries several times what I earned—how was anyone supposed to feel good about that?
Every payday, I'd quietly broach the subject with Steward, hinting that I wanted to apply for a raise. After all, the $3,000 had been agreed upon as a probationary wage.
But every single time, he'd dodge the question, hemming and hawing until the moment passed.
"Effie, I'll mention your concerns to the family, but don't get your hopes up too quickly."
"The Dickersons have so many staff, and Mr. and Mrs. Dickerson are so busy—it's only natural they can't attend to everything right away."
And so I waited. One year, then another. And what I got for my patience was the word greedy.
Of all the staff in the Dickerson household, I was the only one who genuinely wanted the family to thrive. I was the only one who treated every task in that house as if it were my own home, handling everything personally.
They kept saying they were afraid of feeding my appetite? Fine. Let them see whose appetite was really the problem.
I packed my things in silence, not letting myself think about it anymore.
I was only halfway through when Mrs. Dickerson found me.
She must have just gotten home from work and heard Steward's report.
I glanced at her but didn't speak. In all these years, this was the first time she'd ever lowered herself to set foot in my quarters.
"Effie, Steward tells me you want to resign?"
When I still didn't respond, a flicker of displeasure crossed her face. She reined it in and pressed me again.
I nodded, my voice steady and unhurried.
"Yes, ma'am. I've already packed. I'll be leaving shortly."
"Effie, the holidays are right around the corner. Don't you think walking out now is a bit impulsive?"
A rare flash of surprise crossed her face.
"From what Steward was implying, it sounds like you think your pay is too low—is that why you want to leave?"
I shook my head.
"No, ma'am. I simply don't want to do this anymore. It's a personal decision."
"Effie—and I don't mean this unkindly—but at your age, if you choose to leave now, it'll be very hard to find another position like this one. Unless someone's already poached you?"
Under the weight of her scrutinizing gaze, I laughed bitterly to myself.
"No one has."
That was when Mrs. Dickerson's composure finally cracked. She stared at me, something close to disbelief in her eyes.
"If none of those are the reason, Effie, don't tell me you're leaving because you have some kind of grievance with me?"
"I know you're capable, but housekeepers are a dime a dozen out there. If it weren't for my mother-in-law's sake, I could replace you any time I wanted—with someone younger, someone quicker on her feet."
By the end, her tone carried an unmistakable edge of threat.
I let out a long breath. A bone-deep weariness settled over me.
What was left to say?
"Ma'am, do you even know what I do every day?"
I asked her the same question I'd asked Steward.
This time, it was Mrs. Dickerson who went still.
I gave her a small smile, said nothing more, and turned back to my packing.
She'd said it herself—anyone could replace me. So what was the point of staying where I wasn't wanted?
I finished gathering my things. When I walked out, it happened to be exactly when the household staff clocked off for the evening.
I looked back at the Dickerson estate, its windows glowing warm against the dark.
My nose stung.
In three years, this was the first time I'd ever left the moment my shift was over.
