Sweeps Sorrow

That day. That cursed day changed my life. Changed my calling, changed my job. The day my parents died of fever, everything changed it seemed. I was made an adult far too soon, so they said. Maybe I was. I didn't know. It was normal to me, to all the sweeps. The older takes care of the younger. We all work to stay alive. We all clean the chimneys of London.

 "Emma, how much farther?" asked my brother Steven for the umpteenth time.

 Rather than answer I said, "We're almost there, Steven. Be patient." I truthfully didn't know where I was going. It was a searching day. I couldn't find any customers on the streets, so I looked for one on the roofs. It was summer though. No one used their fireplaces in the summer, except at night.

"Emma, it's hard to be patient, there's nothing to do, and I'm tired of walking." Steven complained.

"Then help me search.”

"What are we searching for?" I loved my little brother, but sometimes he asked too many questions. Rather than telling him what I was searching for, I gave him a more difficult task.

"Find a lady walking her dog," I told him. That ought to keep him busy, any madam of London worthy to be called a lady would be having tea about now. I checked yet another chimney. Nope, too clean.

Walking the ridgepole of a fairly steep roof, I checked one that was still warm. No, It must have been just cleaned. I heard a shout from Steven behind me and whirled around, afraid he had fallen.

 To my relief, he was balancing just fine, pointing at something in the street below. My eyes followed his finger and saw a well-clad woman strutting down the street with a very small dog.

"Found it, now what?" Steven asked impatiently.

“Now... find another sweep," This I actually wanted him to do, looking up at the horizon, I realized it was getting dark. We would have to find a place to sleep soon. I needed to find a sweep who knew the roofs around here to help us find a spot. We traveled along the ridgepoles for a long time. I finally called a halt, since the lamplighters were making their rounds below and my feet were too tired to stand. I settled Steven beside me and tried to sing him softly to sleep.

“I don't want to sleep... I'm hungry," Steven protested. I was hungry too, we had run out of supplies last night at supper, and we hadn't eaten since. I tried to ignore my stomach pains, but it was too hard, especially with Steven whining about his beside me.

There, at that very moment, I made a decision. I had always been taught not to steal. My parents told me it was wrong, the priest told me it was wrong, and the examples made of those who did it showed me it was wrong. For you, it may be a choice between stealing and not stealing, but for me, it was a choice between stealing and surviving. In a way, I had no choice.

           "Stay here," I told Steven. I slowly stood up, the weight of what I was about to do weighing me down, and then strode determinedly to the nearest chimney I could fit down. Sitting on top of it I dangled my legs down while tying my handkerchief around my mouth and nose. I took a few breaths of fresh air, and then started my decent. Jamming my feet in cracks in the sides and holding myself with my arms while switching feet.
          Finally, I touched bottom and was able to crawl out of the fireplace. I was black from head to toe, so I wiped my feet before treading on the plush carpet. I found my way to the kitchen, grabbed two bread rolls, then followed my tracks back to the fireplace. I was focusing so hard on my footprints, that I didn't notice the man in front of me until I bumped into his somewhat large belly and looked in alarm at his hard face.
          ”Filthy wretch!" He sneered at me, then noticing what I held in my hands, added. “And a stealing one at that!" Before I could move he grabbed my wrist and dragged me over to where a telephone hung on the wall. I squirmed, screamed and kicked, but then man had an iron grip on me as he called the police. After he hung up, he slapped me hard across the face. Stunned, I slumped silently to the floor.
          ”That’ll teach you!" He hissed, turning to face the door as we heard feet outside the door, which banged open to reveal to London constables. 
           They saw me and, seeing the ashes on my body, knew I was a chimney sweep. They didn't even talk to the man before one threw me over his shoulder and walked back into the street. "No, please!" I pleaded, but to no avail. I suddenly remembered Steven, huddling alone on the rooftop. "Steven! Steven, run!"
          His face, his innocent face, peered over the ledge of the roof. "Emma?" he asked. "Emma, where are they taking you? Emma, don't leave me, come back, please!"
          The constable carrying me was pushing me into a police carriage now, and I managed to scream one phrase before he shut the door and locked it. "I love you, Steven!"
          I still love him, and wonder about him, even locked up in the London jail. I wish more than ever that hunger had not driven me to that man's house, wish that I had paid attention and not got caught, and wish that I had been able to talk to Steven more before they took me. But I didn't, couldn't. I am Emma, a chimney sweep of London, and this is my life-long sorrow.