I pinch my eyes shut against my angry tears as clouds gather outside the car windows, shuttering the sun. A crackle of thunder splits the sky. By the time the cab reaches my boardinghouse, the clouds open, streaming rain, and I’ve made up my mind.
The following day, I pack a single suitcase and go downstairs to pay Mrs. Dunlop for my week of room and board. I don’t telegram to tellMarguerite’s staff I’m coming, nor do I tell Louise or anyone else in my family I’m leaving. I don’t want anyone to talk me out of this.
“Where you going?” Mrs. Dunlop asks, opening her door wide. Smoke trails from her fleshy lips. Her apartment smells of liver and onions.
“Arkansas.”
“You’re coming back, hmm? You know I have a waiting list.” She cocks a hip out and her floral-print robe slides open slightly, showing half a flaccid, white breast. “You ain’t back by next Thursday, I’ll be letting your room.”
On my fifteen-dollar-a-month allowance, I can no longer afford to live here without Ted’s help, but I’m not quite ready to let the room go. Not completely. “I’ll be back.”
“Sure, sure. This ain’t about that man, is it, sugar? You know we’ve had complaints. About the noise.”
“No,” I say with a crisp shake of my head. “You won’t be seeing him. Not anymore.”
“Good.” She pockets my money and turns back to her skillet of fried onions.
An hour later, I’m at Union Station, with the tickets for my journey to Eureka Springs clutched in my hand. I find the correct waiting room, sit on one of the long benches, and use my straw cloche as an ineffective fan. The train roars into the shed just as the heat becomes interminable. My head goes a bit woozy when I stand, and I clasp the arm of a well-dressed man to steady myself. He shrugs me away with indifference. Not pretty enough or young enough to warrant even the most common of courtesies anymore, it would seem.
Yes, I decide, I am quite done with men.
On the train, after some polite bargaining with a kind-faced woman traveling with her granddaughter, I manage to claim a window seat in our compartment. It’s not the view that interests me. The first leg of the journey, to Joplin, consists of nothing more than endless green pastures and small, nondescript towns, but I’ll be able to lean against thewindow and sleep. I caught only a scant hour or so of rest last night, too charged with spite at Louise’s words.
I think of Mama, and all the ways I’d failed her. Even though she tried to hide it, I know she was embarrassed over my affair with Ted. She raised me to be better and I disappointed her, time and again. I’d disappointed myself. Caring for Aunt Marguerite feels like a chance at redemption. A chance to start over. Mama would be proud of me for doing this—for honoring my family.
The conductor comes through to tear our tickets as the train begins its slow chug out of the shed. I close my eyes against the white-hot July sun, the carriage’s wood paneling cool against my cheek. Soon, I’m rocked into slumber. When I wake, the woman and the girl are gone and the sky outside the window is painted a seamless black.
My hunger rises, and I realize I’ve not had anything to eat since morning. I make my way to the club car. There isn’t much on offer this late, but I order a turkey sandwich and a Coca-Cola. There’s only one other person in the car—the same middle-aged man who brushed me aside at the station. In his double-breasted suit, he reminds me of Ted. I switch to the other side of the table, turning my back on him.
“How long to Joplin?” I ask the porter when he brings my food.
“Less than an hour,” he says. “That where you’re headed?”
“I have a connecting ticket to Eureka Springs.”
“It’s hotter than Satan’s swimming pool down there, miss. You ever been?”
I smile at the young man’s jovial tone. “It’s been a while since I visited. My great-aunt lives there. I remember the humidity, though.”
“Like that all through the South. Especially where I’m from. You let me know if you need anything else.” The porter hurries back to the kitchen, and I tuck into the dry sandwich, washing it down with the cola. Mama wouldn’t have approved of my hasty meal. She said food needed to be savored, not rushed. Our Sunday dinners together were always special occasions. If I’d been with her on the day she died, as Iusually was on Sundays, things might have turned out differently. She might still be here.
But I was with Ted that day. Ted, who lured me with his lust and put me up in Mrs. Dunlop’s flea-bitten boardinghouse, so he might have me whenever he pleased. I’ll never reclaim the time I gave to him.
I push my dire thoughts away, locking them into the tidy box to deal with later. When I’ve finished my meal, I leave some change on the table as a tip. The rude man glances up at me as I pass by. I don’t return his smile.
Chapter 2
July 17, 1925
I sit alone, outside the train depot in Eureka Springs, waiting for a car. A Duesenberg, according to the ticketing clerk, who phoned Marguerite’s housekeeper on my behalf.
Rain sheets down, dripping off the awning and cooling the stolid air. This early in the morning, it’s enough to send a chill through my thin summer frock and make me wish I’d packed a wrap. An hour or so later, the car—a fine thing painted a rich, deep green, with spoked tires and bronze fittings—splashes down the street and pulls to the curb. A tall, lanky man unfolds from the driver’s seat, his flatcap pulled low over his eyes. He’s dressed simply, in trousers with suspenders, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow. “You Miss Halloran?”
I rise, lifting my suitcase. “Yes, I am.”
“Well, come along, then.”
I scurry to the car, shielding my head with my free hand. My leather shoes soak through immediately when I step off the curb. The man takes my suitcase and places it in the back seat, next to a box of groceries. I notice the slight limp in his gait as he walks around the car, and wonder briefly whether he’s a veteran. It’s certainly possible. Many came home wounded from the war.
