by Debra Diaz
Philbert waited for the expected outburst, unconsciously steeling himself for her rage. But Genny merely sat and looked at him with that same peculiar expression. It infuriated him.
“Do you understand me, Virginia?”
“Perfectly.”
Philbert blinked. This was most unusual. His side whiskers wagged up and down as his head jerked with anger. But a long moment passed in silence, with Genny merely staring demurely at her folded hands, and his wrath dissipated into relief.
“Well, that’s all,” he said, turning his attention to his papers. “You may go, Virginia.”
She rose and glided out of the room, wraithlike, and Philbert stared at the closed door for a long moment. Something wasn’t right. He almost called her back to insist she tell him why she was acting so strangely. But then he thought, Perhaps she is growing up. There had been no tantrum, no protesting, just a docile acceptance of his command. Yes, that had to be it. For the first time in her life, Genny was behaving like an adult.
Philbert nodded to himself, and once again concentrated on his work.
* * * *
Genny’s mind was made up. Pampered and sheltered as she had been all her life, no one really loved her. She was certain of it. All her father ever thought about was his business, and of course, how he could arrange advantageous marriages for his children. Her mother was cold…there was no joy in her, no affection. And Genny had never been close to any of her brothers or sisters.
She would go somewhere far away and find employment. She would tell everyone that she was married and her husband had died. Posing as a poor widow would shield her from unwelcome masculine attention, at least for a while. She would never get married! Perhaps she would start her own business and become a financially independent woman! After all, it was 1877. The war was long over and times were changing, changing swiftly and irrevocably.
She waited several days, knowing that her father would be going on a business trip soon. It would be better if she left during his absence. She went (reluctantly) to the Grayson’s picnic, during which Lloyd added several specimens to his collection. He didn’t mention marriage or even courtship…she could see that he wasn’t going to rush into anything. Unless, she thought scornfully, it was with a net in his hand. Her bored comments were made with thinly-veiled sarcasm that seemed to go straight over Lloyd’s head. But thankfully there were no more invitations for a while.
She gave no more thought to the man in the carriage. It was best not to think of that. Surely he had left Knoxville by now.
Not given to waiting with fortitude, her temper became so irascible that Clarissa avoided their bedroom with diligence, leaving it as soon as she dressed and usually not reappearing until time for bed. Genny spent almost all her time there, pacing the floor and gritting her teeth against the delay. She tried to use the time to make plans, but aside from choosing her destination, she couldn’t imagine what her new life would be like.
She had decided on Nashville as her new place of residence. It was far enough away that she wouldn’t easily be found, but not so far that the people would seem strange to her. It was still the South, with the same customs, the same accents. Her good education seemed a guarantee that there would be no difficulty obtaining a job. In fact, she had heard Nashville was an excellent place to find work, for it was financially and commercially sound, and quite cultured and sophisticated. Gradually her resentment came to be replaced by a sense of adventure and excitement.
The day of her father’s departure arrived. Genny sat at the window and watched until Eli returned with the buggy. Then she carefully locked her bedroom door, dragged her large, leather valise out from under her bed, and began stuffing it with her clothes and shoes.
That accomplished, she left her room and sauntered idly about the house. A glance into the parlor revealed her mother irritably criticizing Clarissa’s sewing. Her brothers and Abigail were probably playing ball down the street, as they were nowhere to be seen. Abra was dusting downstairs, the cook was in the kitchen clattering pots and pans, and Pollard was repairing a loose shelf in the hall closet. The way seemed clear.
Genny returned to her room, picked up the heavy valise with both hands, and quietly made her way down the back stairs, exiting through the side door of the house. She walked purposefully into the carriage house and deposited the valise under the seat of the buggy. Then she went back to her bedroom, sat down at her writing desk, and pulled out a sheet of paper on which she’d already written:
Dear Mother and Father,
Thank you for making me go to so many balls and soirees, for during one of these I have met the very love of my life. However, he is not someone you would approve of, so I’m regretfully finding it necessary to elope with him. Please don’t worry about me. I will write soon.
Your dutiful daughter,
Virginia
Well, she thought as she read it, what a lot of drivel that is. She’d always thought of herself as an honest and forthright person. Why didn’t she just tell them the truth…that she didn’t want to be forced into marriage and she was tired of being used as a pawn in her father’s quest for greater prominence and power!
But that would only make him angry, and he would be determined to find her. Maybe this way he would accept that she was gone for good, married and living far away. A slightly sick feeling crept into her stomach. But they had forced her into this situation, and if she had to lie to escape them, it was their fault.
She tucked the note into the bodice of her dress just as a knock came on the door and Abra entered with her feather duster. “Is it all right if I clean the room now, Miss Genny?”
“Well, actually, Abra, there’s something else I want you to do first, if you don’t mind.” Genny had hesitated for a long time before arriving at this decision, but Abra seemed to be her only choice. “I have to go to town to pick up a new hat I ordered. I want you to go with me, please. Mother never lets me go alone, and I don’t want Clarissa tagging along.”
“Of course, I’ll just go change my dress.” Abra’s eyes were trusting and cheerful, and again Genny had a sick feeling of guilt.
While Abra changed her clothes, Genny scurried down the stairs and slipped into her father’s office. She had no trouble locating his stack of bank drafts. Copying his handwriting, she wrote herself a check for a thousand dollars and forged his signature.
Liar and thief, her conscience assailed her. But it couldn’t be helped. It was not a huge amount of money to the Romayne family, and besides, it belonged to all of them! She was really saving them money, she rationalized, because they would never have to support her again.
Eli had been advised by Abra of Genny’s plans, and after telling her mother she was going to pick up her new hat, Genny ran out the door to the waiting buggy. She had a moment of rare poignancy as she paused in the parlor doorway and looked at her mother and sister, knowing she was seeing them for the last time in a great while, perhaps forever. But the moment passed when Clarissa looked up and whined nasally, “What are you staring at, Genny?”
The stop at the bank didn’t take long. Everyone behaved very respectfully toward her, as the daughter of the president, and soon she had a thousand dollars tucked into her reticule.
“Are you going into business, Miss Romayne?” grinned Mr. Upjohn, the cashier.
“Oh, no.” Genny bestowed a winsome smile upon him. “I’m going on a trip.”
“Well, I certainly hope it is a safe and enjoyable one. We look forward to seeing you again.”
“Thank you, Mr. Upjohn. Goodbye.” (It never entered her mind that Mr. Upjohn was to suffer a severe tongue-lashing and a temporary demotion to clerk for allowing her to have the money.)
Heads turned as she swished her way across the marble floor, gaily swinging her reticule. The doorman hastened to open the heavy oak door for her. Genny smiled and thanked him as he followed her outside and helped her into the buggy.
“To the depot, Eli,” she said, and opened up her para
sol to twirl it over her head. She cast a sidewise glance at Abra, whose face began to register suspicion.
“You gonna meet somebody at the depot, Miss Genny?”
“Umhum.” She began to hum under her breath, trying not to show her nervous excitement.
The buggy clattered down the street. Pedestrians thronged the sidewalks in front of the stores — stores that she had frequented all her life. Now and then someone she knew looked up and waved. A faint, nebulous feeling of sadness crept over her. It was hard to leave behind an entire phase of one’s life…harder than she’d thought it would be. But she shook off the feeling. She was doing what she had to do.
“Here we are, Miss Genny.” Eli’s voice broke into her thoughts, and Genny became aware that they had stopped outside the train station, and that both the servants were regarding her with curiosity.
Genny took out the note she’d written to her parents, pressing it into Abra’s hands. Her own hands shook.
“Abra, I want you to give this to my mother. It will explain to her where I’ve gone.”
Before Abra could say anything, Genny began to pull the heavy valise from under the seat. Eli alighted from the buggy and helped her down, as he’d been trained to do…but his eyes were as big as Abra’s.
“Miss Genny!” Abra gasped. “What do you think you’re doin’?”
“I’m eloping.”
“Lord have mercy! Who with?”
“You don’t know him.”
“Oh, Miss Genny, your papa gonna throw one more fit when he finds out I let you run off this way!”
“No, he won’t.” Genny nodded at a porter, who stopped to take her valise inside the station. “Tell him that I tricked you. Tell him that I said I was going to meet someone at the depot and then got away from you before you realized what I was doing. That’s the truth, isn’t it?”
Genny began to walk away, saying over her shoulder, “Goodbye, Abra — I’ll miss you. Goodbye, Eli.”
“Goodbye, Miss Genny.” It was Abra who spoke. Eli looked scared to death.
The two servants watched Genny as she hurried away, her shoulders straight, her chin high, and her rapid gait very determined.
CHAPTER FOUR
She had already studied the train schedules in the newspaper, and once inside the station she consulted the board to find the line and train number. The clock over the board said three fifty-four; the Nashville train would leave at four o’clock. She had planned it this way, though the time factor had been a little too close for comfort; she’d known she wouldn’t be able to wait once Eli and Abra had gone and were on their way to report her unexpected departure.
She took out on old shawl and covered her hair and most of her face. No one would recognize her; no one would remember seeing her in this busy and crowded place. There had been some sort of convention here in the city and throngs of strangers hurried about. Several trains were leaving at about the same time; she could be going anywhere from Pensacola to New Orleans – even to Cincinnati! And once at one of those places she might have gotten off to go somewhere else. It wouldn’t be easy to find her.
It had been dark for some time when the train rolled into the Nashville station. An old man snored noisily beside her, his head dropping now and again on her shoulder. When she’d pushed him away for the fourth time, she noticed the train had rumbled to a stop, and there was activity around her indicating the end of the journey. Brushing past the slumbering occupant of the aisle seat, Genny grabbed her valise and plunged stiffly down the aisle.
A feeble moon dimly broke the darkness as she stood on the platform and halted for a moment in indecision. She didn’t know if it would be best to hire a driver and go to a hotel, or try to find a boardinghouse right away. Hotels were expensive, but the hour was late…
She went inside the brick building with its vast ceilings, dragging her valise. It seemed to grow heavier by the minute. A sleepy-looking young man sat behind one of the ticket counters, reading a book.
“Excuse me,” Genny said. The hubbub around her was rapidly dwindling as the passengers hired conveyances to take them where they wanted to go, or were met by friends or relatives. She wished with all her heart that she had somewhere to go!
The youth glanced at her and promptly got to his feet and straightened his cap. “Yes, ma’am?”
She made an effort to smile. “I’m new in town, sir, and I’m looking for permanent lodging. A nice, respectable place, of course. Could you recommend one?”
“A hotel?” The boy screwed up his face in concentration.
An elderly woman sitting patiently on top of her trunk leaned toward them and said, “Excuse me, dear — I couldn’t help overhearing. I shall be passing directly by a boarding house on my way home. It’s quite respectable. If you don’t mind waiting, you shall ride with me.”
“Oh,” Genny said, a wave of relief rushing over her. “Yes, indeed. Thank you, Mrs. — ”
“Maynard,” said the woman. “I’m waiting for my nephew.”
Mrs. Maynard took out some knitting and seemed to concentrate on it so fixedly that Genny didn’t feel the need to make conversation. She sat down on a bench. The attendant went back to reading his book, casting surreptitious glances toward Genny, which she ignored.
The station grew more deserted. Every sound seemed to echo through the huge building. Genny began to fidget. She got up and examined a shelf of pamphlets and advertisements. A man came by to purchase a ticket and was waited on without enthusiasm by the sleepy young man.
Finally, a solemn-looking man who looked as old as his aunt approached and spoke to her in a low voice. She tucked her knitting away into a bag. The nephew began to drag the trunk resoundingly across the room.
“Oh, my dear.” The woman turned as if just remembering Genny. “Come along. Our ride is here.”
Genny tugged at her valise and followed the pair outside to a rickety-looking buggy. The nephew wordlessly put the trunk and Genny’s bag into the back, then all three of them crowded into the front seat. Genny felt as if her presence were a great imposition, but the woman smiled at her and made friendly conversation about some relatives she’d been visiting at a place Genny had never heard of. The nephew never said a word.
At last she was let off in front of a large frame and brick building, which bore the sign: Mrs. Armstrong’s Boardinghouse for Young Ladies. She thanked her benefactors, and with some trepidation mounted the wide porch, dragging her bag up one step at a time. The place had a deserted appearance that confirmed her fears that no one would be up to let her in. She pulled the bell at the front door and waited several minutes, and pulled it again. The old woman and her taciturn relative had gone, leaving her alone in the pitch blackness of a place she’d never been before. Her knees began to quiver.
The door opened a crack, and the wavering light of a candle permeated the opening to dance across her face. The female voice portrayed considerable annoyance. “Who is it?”
“I’m terribly sorry to bother you,” Genny said, in her most humble way. “Are you Mrs. Armstrong?”
“Yes.” The door opened a bit further and now two bright brown eyes regarded her with some interest.
“My name is Genny Stuart. Mrs. Stuart. I’m looking for a room.”
“This time of night?”
“Yes, I’m so sorry, but my train just got in.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Mrs. Stuart, but I don’t just take anybody here. Have you got any references?”
“No, I — I don’t, but I assure you I can pay, Mrs. Armstrong.” Genny fought down a feeling of panic, and hoped the woman would be impressed by the smoothness of her refined, mellifluous voice. She’d been told it was one of her best assets.
The door opened wider, and now Genny saw a slight, middle-aged woman wearing a wrapper and a lace cap, beneath which escaped long tendrils of gray-streaked auburn hair. She had a sharp, beak-like nose and a thin, unsmiling mouth.
“Where is your husband, Mrs. Stuart?” she inquired, with
open skepticism.
Genny lowered her gaze. “I’m afraid my dear husband has passed away, Mrs. Armstrong. I’m all alone in the world. I don’t know a soul here. I don’t know what on earth I shall do.”
“Now, now, no need getting upset.” Mrs. Armstrong fluttered nervously as Genny dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “Well,” she said. “Come in.”
Genny smiled tremulously and picked up her valise, following the woman into the darkened house and up the narrow staircase. The flickering candlelight cast their grotesquely-shaped shadows on the faded wallpaper. The stairs creaked alarmingly. Mrs. Armstrong marched down a long corridor and stopped at a room near the end, on the left side of the hall. She went inside and lit an oil lamp with her candle, then stood back and regarded Genny with a raised eyebrow.
“How long do you intend to stay, Mrs. Stuart?”
“Oh, for quite some time, I expect, if I find it satisfactory.”
“Well, it’s eighteen dollars a month — in advance.”
Genny looked sharply at the woman, who steadily returned her gaze. She opened her reticule and withdrew the stated amount. Mrs. Armstrong counted it carefully, tucked it into a pocket of her wrapper, and started for the door.
“Does that include meals, Mrs. Armstrong?”
The woman looked over her shoulder. “Breakfast and supper…just breakfast on Sundays,” she said, closing the door behind her.
Left alone, Genny sighed and began unbuttoning her shirtwaist as she glanced about the small room. A lumpy four-poster bed occupied the center wall, and beside it was a bureau on which sat a chipped basin and pitcher. A small desk and chair stood on the left, and a rocking chair on the right, before a small fireplace. In a corner opposite the bed stood an old armoire, also scratched and chipped.