Moving on, she wandered down the boardwalk, past the bath house and the surveyor’s office. A faint glow shone through a window of a building a few doors away. Picking up her pace, she hurried toward it. Maybe whoever lived there would be charitable enough to give her a chunk of bread at least.

She stopped in front of the window, squinting as she read the fading words on the glass – The Lucky Star Hotel. Proprietor: William A. Johnson. Through the muslin curtains, she could see a shadow moving about inside. She crossed to the door. Then she saw the piece of cardboard leaning against the window, the words “Help Wanted” in bold print.

She grinned. It was a sign. She just knew it. Everything was going to turn out fine. All she had to do was get the job, whatever it was.

She looked a sight. She knew that. Even in the faint light glowing from the lanterns inside, she could see the smudges of dirt on her skirt, the three-cornered tear on the sleeve of her blouse. She couldn’t even imagine what her hair must look like since it hadn’t been brushed in three days. Then there were the bruises …