“Why did you cut Miss Chumley’s meat for her?” Guy asked.
An awkward moment of silence followed the question that only I could answer. “I injured my wrist,” I finally said. “I fell. On the train. There was a sudden stop. Sheep on the tracks, I believe.”
“Is that how you hurt your mouth too?” Guy asked.
“Yes.” I glanced at Fannie. If she were going to tell about the bruise on my side, now would be the time to do it. She said nothing but gave me a sly look. My secrets were safe with her, it said, as long as her secrets were safe with me.
“Your questions are impolite, Guy,” Mrs. Dunn said. “A gentleman doesn’t notice a lady’s appearance except to compliment it.”
Guy lowered his head, chastened. “You look very nice, Miss Chumley.”
In the parlor after dinner, Mrs. Dunn showed me the lessons she had been preparing for the students. “These lessons are for the third graders,” she said. “You’ll have them for most of the day. They leave at 2:30, and then you’ll teach seventh grade geography to end the day. That’s Guy’s class.”
“Oh.” It seemed like a lot of teaching for one person. “When am I expected to start?”
Mrs. Dunn hesitated. I had the impression she wanted to say tomorrow. Mabel and Floyd had the wrong idea about who was doing a favor for whom, I realized. Hillyard really did need a schoolteacher. “Today is Thursday,” Mrs. Dunn said. “Shall we say Monday? That should give you enough time to find a place and get settled.”
“Thank you. I’m sure it will.”
“Meanwhile, you’ll want to read these essays written by the seventh graders.” She handed me a stack of papers. “It will help you get to know the students a bit before you meet them.”
“Thank you.”
A bell chimed at the front door. “That will be Dr. Keating,” Mrs. Dunn said. “He’s come to look at your arm.”
“What? Oh no, I don’t need—”
“Come now, Miss Chumley, if you can’t even cut your own meat, you can’t very well handle books and chalk and forty children all at once, can you? Where is Mrs. Elsey?” She moved to the door and opened it. “Oh! I expected Dr. Keating.”
A woman laughed. “I am Dr. Keating too, Emily, don’t forget. My uncle has been called away, and one Dr. Keating is as good as another, I assure you.”
Mrs. Dunn stepped back from the door. “Of course. Here is your patient, then. Miss Chumley, you’ll be seen by young Dr. Keating, it seems. Miss Chumley is our new schoolteacher. Oh, Mrs. Elsey, there you are. Please take Dr. Keating’s coat and dry it in the kitchen.”
The doctor shrugged out of a rubberized slicker and handed it, dripping with slush, to Mrs. Elsey. “I’m sorry about your floor, Emily. Here, Mrs. Elsey, you’d best take the hat too. And let me remove my rubbers. I can’t ride without them in this weather, or my feet turn to blocks of ice, but I don’t need to tromp around your house in them.”
“Surely you didn’t ride your bicycle in this weather,” Mrs. Dunn said.
“I did,” the doctor said cheerfully. “It’s faster than hitching up the horse, and easier on the poor beast too. She doesn’t like getting wet.”
I rose when the doctor entered and held my arms behind my back with a vague idea of resisting an examination, but the first thing she did was extend her hand to me in greeting. “Miss Chumley, is it?”
The gesture surprised me into bringing forth my right hand, but I pulled it back when I realized how painful it would be to have it shaken.
She raised a brow and dropped her hand. “Emily is kind enough to call me Young Dr. Keating. Most people call me the lady doctor. Some call me Adelaide. My uncle calls me addled, but only in fun, I hope.”
“Miss Chumley’s right arm is the reason we called you,” Mrs. Dunn explained. “Oh?” Dr. Keating looked directly into my eyes, her expression open and inquiring. “What happened?” Dr. Lyme, Robert’s doctor, was so uncomfortable around women he wouldn’t even meet my eyes, and he never commented about the cause of my various injuries except to warn me never to refuse Robert’s advances. The few times I bothered to lie to him, he accepted what I said without a blink.
I glanced at Mrs. Dunn. “I...I fell.”
“I see.” Dr. Keating tugged at a wide belt at her waist and pulled around a black bag that had been resting on her backside like a bustle. She slid the bag from the belt and placed it on the table. “Emily, do you think you could get me a fresh cup of coffee? I just had dinner with the Finches. I think they only make coffee on Saturday night and they drink from the same pot all week long. Don’t let Mrs. Elsey make it. Her coffee is no better than mine.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Dunn said. The doctor had given her no polite way to refuse the servant’s errand.
As soon as Mrs. Dunn left, Dr. Keating pulled her vacated chair close, sat down, and looked up at me. “Will you let me take a look at your arm now, Miss Chumley?”
She had ginger hair, a wide face with cheeks still ruddy from her ride in the snow, and friendly eyes the color of cinnamon. She was unlike any doctor I had ever seen. I sat, unfolded the cuff of my right sleeve, and tackled the buttons.
I was too slow. Dr. Keating took my arm, unbuttoned the cuff, and folded back the sleeve. She turned my wrist gently to examine all angles.
“It was a twist like this?” She made a motion with her hands that made me wince, though she didn’t touch me.
I nodded.
She placed her hand in mine. “Clasp my fingers.”
I wrapped my fingers around her hand, but did not squeeze.
“There’s no obvious break,” she said. “It’s impossible to know for sure, of course. You may have a slight fracture, or it may just be a bad sprain. I’ll wrap it up for you. If it’s a sprain, it should get better soon, as long as you’re gentle with it. Now, what happened here?” She raised her fingers to my lip and tugged gently so she could look inside. Her face was no more than two inches from mine. She smelled of sweat and snow. “I might have stitched that if I’d seen it sooner, but it’s too late now. No matter. Mouth wounds heal quickly. Were any teeth loosened?”
“No.”
She sat back and met my eyes again, her expression serious but good-natured. “Anything else?”
“No, nothing.” The bruise on my side was ugly, but my ribs were uninjured. I was familiar enough with broken ribs to know that.
“Mm. Mrs. Elsey,” she called out. Her voice was as loud as a man’s, and I jumped. “Mrs. Elsey! Oh, there you are. Will you bring me some flannel? Cut into strips if you can, a couple yards long.”
“I have it here,” Mrs. Elsey said, handing a bundle to the doctor.
“Aren’t you the clever one?” Dr. Keating asked. “Thank you. You can leave us alone now.” She put my arm in her lap and wrapped the flannel snugly around my hand, wrist, and forearm. “How does that feel?”
I wriggled the fingers. “Better.” I had limited use of my fingers, but my wrist felt supported and secure.
“The wrap will come loose. It always does. I’ll come see you again in a day or two and wrap it up again. Are you staying here?”
“No. Yes. I mean, I’m staying here tonight. After that, I, uh—”
“She will stay with us until she finds a place of her own,” Mrs. Dunn said, entering the room. She placed a tray with a pot of coffee and one mug on the table. “I doubt it will take long. After being with children all day, she’ll long for a peaceful evening, and she won’t find that here, with Guy running about all the time.”
“Well, the town isn’t large,” Dr. Keating said. “Emily will tell me where you’re staying and I’ll stop in and check on you.” She stood and threaded her bag back onto her belt, which she latched around her waist. “Sorry about the coffee, Emily, but I forgot I have to check on Mrs. Dawson. She goes to bed early. If I keep her waiting up for me, I won’t get paid until next year and Uncle will have my hide.”
“Thank you so much for coming.” Mrs. Dunn was too clever not to have
deduced that the coffee was a ruse to get her out of the room, but she revealed no irritation. “I’ll get your coat.”
Dr. Keating moved to the door and bent to pull her rubbers over her shoes. “You should go to bed early as well, Miss Chumley. You’ve had a long day.”
“I will.” It had indeed been a long day, I reflected, and a lot had happened. Fewer than twenty hours ago, I had never even heard of Miss Chumley. Now I was Miss Chumley.
Chapter Six
DESPITE MY FATIGUE, I didn’t sleep well. The bed was soft, but noises kept me awake. Trains ran through town continuously, even at night. I heard busy shouts coming from the rail yards, where apparently the work never stopped. Inside the house it was also noisy. Guy ran up and down the stairs multiple times. Fannie knocked on my door and even called my name, but I pretended to be asleep. Late that night I heard the front door below me open and close more than once, and the sleigh creaked beneath my window. I’d learned the Mrs. Elsey didn’t live in, but did she leave so late? Perhaps Mr. Dunn gave her a ride home.
I finally fell into a deep sleep in the early hours of the morning, and when I woke I was fresh and filled with optimism. I looked forward to my first full day of being Mabel Chumley. I wandered downstairs and found only Mrs. Elsey in the house. Mrs. Dunn and the children were at school, and Mr. Dunn was at work.
“You work long hours, Mrs. Elsey,” I said. “I think I heard you leave last night.”
“It wasn’t too late. Here, this is for you. Mr. Dunn asked me to give it to you.”
It was a list of boarding houses, a carefully sketched map of Hillyard, and a twenty-dollar advance in my pay.
“How kind of him,” I said. “He didn’t have to do that.”
“He’s a good man,” Mrs. Elsey said.
My first task of the day, I decided, was to buy a new shirtwaist. Wherever I found to live would be my home, I hoped, for some time, and I wanted to make a good first impression. I stepped off the front porch of the Dunn’s home and turned left toward the downtown area I had seen the night before.
My spirits were high. Most of the snow had melted. A mere half inch remained on the ground, but it was fresh and shone like a crystal carpet in the unexpected sunlight. A fresh, narrow track of a bicycle tire ran along the edge of the road. I wondered if it was Dr. Keating riding by. The air was cold, but the blue sky and bright sun made it feel warmer. I almost felt like skipping. I had not felt so free in years.
I reached the Crystal Theater, so gay and glittering the night before, but it was dark and abandoned in the morning. A sign on the side of the building advertised a contortionist, a ventriloquist, and a trio of female singers “of amazing proportions!” A smaller sign, higher up, announced “The Virginian” as a coming attraction.
I entered the little downtown proper and passed a bank, a cigar store, a café, a real estate office, a meat market, and a liquor store all on one block. In the window of each establishment was a placard urging citizens to “Vote NO on Incorporation — Keep Railroad Jobs in Our Town!” or “Vote YES for Incorporating Hillyard — Ensure Fire and Police Protection for YOUR Family!” Men and women bustled about, shopping and conducting their business in an efficient manner. The snow in the street was churned into dirt forming half-frozen mud that crunched when stepped on, but wooden sidewalks in front of the stores protected shoppers from the worst of it.
I found Pemberton Department Store. Twenty minutes later I emerged three dollars poorer but wearing a new linen shirtwaist, carrying my old one in a box under my arm. The blouse fit almost perfectly. I was ready. I consulted my list and prepared to meet the first landlord.
Mr. Dunn had apparently designed the list with my future salary in mind. He didn’t know about my extra funds, of course, and had directed me to boarding houses that were within a schoolteacher’s financial reach. The result was depressing. The rooms shown to me were small and poorly furnished. Some had disturbing, unidentifiable odors. Others had even more disturbing odors that were all too easily identified. Only one clean, well-furnished room was shown to me, and I was even offered a discount, but I didn’t like the way the landlord smiled at me when he offered “this room right here next to mine.” I declined.
Finally, when I was nearly ready to give up, I passed a large, square house that was not on my list. It was three stories tall and looked as if it had been recently constructed. Two signs were propped in the front window with dark flourishing letters reading “Rooms for Rent” and “Cook Wanted.” I ascended the steps and knocked on the door.
“Rooms or Cook?” the woman asked sharply as she opened the door. She was skinny and old, at least seventy, with white hair that was cut short and stuck out in messy angles from her head. She looked like a character in the Little Nemo newspaper comic. Her lips nearly disappeared in a thin line in her face, and the cords in her neck stuck out like telegraph wires. Smudges of flour caked one side of her face, the backs of her hands, and the front of a large apron that wrapped around her like a sheet. Her eyes were dark, bright, and intelligent, and they sized me up immediately. “You want a room.”
“I’d like to see it,” I said.
She sighed and stepped back, opening the door wider to let me step into the hall. “Well, come in then. They’re good rooms, but I really need a cook.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. The entry was small. A set of double doors on the right was closed. On the left were stairs, beyond which I could see a public parlor crowded with gleaming new furniture.
“Doesn’t matter. I need boarders too. Follow me.”
The polished stairs were free of scuff marks, and the delicately flowered yellow wallpaper had no smudges or finger marks. There were no unpleasant odors.
“Is your house new?” I asked as we turned on the landing and continued up.
“Yup. Only been here two months, and I already lost two cooks. Didn’t want to take the trolley, of course, with all that’s been happening. My name’s Ida Mae Higgins, by the way. If you take the room, you can call me Ida Mae. I put ladies on the second floor and gents on the third. Mrs. Lombard and Miss Shupe share the big rooms on this side. Mrs. Williams and her little girl have this first room. There’s the bathroom for the ladies at the end of the hall, and this here’s your room.”
It was two rooms, actually, both of them small but charming. Two chairs and two small tables formed a cozy circle in the sitting room. There was no fireplace, but an accordion-shaped steam radiator assured me of heat. A door in the back of the room led to the bedroom, which had a narrow bed pushed along one wall, a dresser with a mirror angled to the right of the bed, and a built-in closet was opposite it. All the furnishings were new and matched the rooms.
“Eighteen dollars a month, breakfast and dinner included. No cooking in the rooms of course. Laundry’s extra, once a week. Pay in advance.”
The rent was steep, more than Mr. Dunn had told me to pay, but it didn’t matter. I’d never had a home of my own. I coveted those rooms with an almost physical urgency. And after all, I wasn’t exactly limited for funds. I opened my handbag.
MR. DUNN’S MAP showed that the school was just four blocks from the boarding house in a northwesterly direction. I decided to familiarize myself with the route. As I headed west toward Market I passed a vacant lot with a large sign hammered into the ground with thick wooden posts. The urgent print on the sign made me stop to read it.
FUTURE SITE OF
HILLYARD CITY HALL, JAIL AND FIRE DEPARTMENT!
VOTE FOR INCORPORATION MARCH 16TH 1902
I wondered if Mr. Stanfield was having any success convincing the townspeople to incorporate without including the railroad.
The mud on Market Street had softened as the sun rose higher. I passed the same businesses I’d seen earlier, and I found myself taking a proprietary interest in them. This was my home now. That would be my drug store, my bakery, my bank. I was already familiar with Pemberton’s Department Store, and soon I would be familiar with the other businesses. The people t
oo, I thought, as I exchanged a cautious smile with a woman who passed me on the sidewalk. Some of these people would become my friends, and I played a game with myself trying to guess which ones they were.
I stopped in front of Hennessey’s Confectionary. Through the window I could see long gleaming wood and glass cases filled with treats. I opened the door. The smells that greeted me made my mouth water: hard candies, licorice, toffees, caramels, popcorn, chewing gum, and chocolate. It was as well stocked as any New York candy store.
“May I help you?”
“Yes,” I said. “I need some chocolate.”
The woman behind the counter laughed. “You need it?”
“Yes.” I moved toward her. “I most certainly need some chocolate.”
“You are a genuine chocolate lover then.” The woman’s smile deepened and gained warmth. “The imposters only want it.”
I scanned the selections, and she waited in silence. I was the only customer in the shop, but I could hear a baby crying in the back. The woman seemed oblivious to the noise, but a moment later a young girl appeared in the open doorway with a damp, squalling toddler in her arms.
“Mother, he wants you. I can’t make him stop crying.”
I felt sorry for the girl. She wasn’t big, and she could barely hold onto the thrashing child.
“In a minute, Carrie,” the woman said in a hushed but perfectly audible voice. “Can’t you see I’m with a customer?”
A look of exasperation crossed the girl’s face. “I can take care of her, Mother, but I can’t take care of Teddy. He wants you.”
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