Alias Mrs Jones

by Kate McLachlan

“I said in a minute. Take him back—”

  She was interrupted by a loud thud from the ceiling, followed by stomping footsteps and the crash of a door banging open. “God damn it!” an enraged male voice roared from above. “Shut that damn kid up. Don’t make me come down there and do it, I’m warning you!”

  We all froze, even Teddy. I felt my own heart speed up at the angry tones, though I wasn’t the target of his wrath. Carrie and her mother exchanged distressed looks that I understood all too well. The door above slammed shut again and the steps crossed back across the floor.

  The woman looked at me. “He works nights. He needs his sleep.” Her eyes pleaded with me to understand, and I nodded to show that I did. She glanced at my lip, and a grim smile crossed her face. We understood each other. Teddy began to fuss again, and the woman sprang into action.

  “Take care of her,” she said to Carrie, nodding her head at me. She snatched the baby from the girl’s arms and disappeared into the back.

  The girl moved to stand behind the counter. She was barely tall enough to see over it, but her demeanor was that of an adult. “What would you like, ma’am?”

  “I would like a quarter pound of fudge,” I said. “No, I’d like a whole pound. And a quarter. Can you make it in two packages? A pound in one and a quarter pound in the other.” Fudge would make a nice gift for the Dunns.

  I watched Carrie measure and wrap the fudge. She was a fair skinned girl with light brown hair pulled back into two limp braids tied together at the end with a thin ribbon. She didn’t seem to be any older than Guy, and I wondered why she wasn’t in school. She placed my packages on the counter and said, “It’s seventy-four cents, ma’am.”

  I handed her a dollar. As she made my change, the door behind me opened and the bell above it tinkled. I turned to see who had entered—and reeled as I found myself face to face with Mr. Stanfield.

  His face lit up when he saw me. “Mrs. Jones! What are you doing here? I thought you were in Seattle by now.”

  I shook my head, my heart in my throat. I knew I risked running into Mr. Stanfield at some point, but I hadn’t really thought it likely, and I certainly didn’t expect it to occur so soon. “No, no, you’re mistaken. I’m not Mrs. Jones.”

  He gave me a look of disbelief. “Come now, I’m not mistaken. I know you too well.”

  “No, you’re wrong, sir.” I was acutely aware of Carrie listening to every word we said. “I am the new s—”

  But he had stopped listening. He stared over my shoulder, and his expression grew as shocked as I felt.

  “Hester!” he said, his voice mostly air.

  I turned. Carrie’s mother stood in the doorway, her face white. She held onto the doorjambs as if to keep herself from falling.

  Carrie rushed to her. “Mother, are you all right?”

  Mr. Stanfield again said, “Hester,” and took a step forward.

  I did not stay to hear more. I took advantage of his distraction to escape with my fudge.

  I lost interest in seeing the school. I had been carrying the package with my shirtwaist, along with my purse, in my left hand. Now with the addition of two packages of fudge, my purchases had become cumbersome. I turned my steps toward the Dunns’ home. I longed for nothing more than a quiet evening in the privacy of my new rooms at Mrs. Higgins’ boarding house.

  It was bad luck running into Mr. Stanfield, but it needn’t be a problem, I decided. He didn’t know I was in Hillyard as Miss Chumley. He would think my behavior odd, certainly, and rude, but not anything worth pursuing. I could avoid Hennessey’s Confectionary in the future as well as the railroad offices where Mr. Stanfield would most likely be found. I need not see him or Carrie or Carrie’s mother—Hester?—ever again, and no one would discover that Mrs. Jones and Miss Chumley were one and the same. I would be more careful, I decided, and everything would be all right.

  I gave Mrs. Dunn the larger package of fudge and informed her that I had rented rooms. “I can move in tonight, if I can get some assistance with my things.”

  “So soon? Nonsense. There’s no need for you to leave until you’re ready, Miss Chumley.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “You’re very gracious, but I am ready. I’m eager to get settled.”

  “You should wait until tomorrow at least. When Mr. Dunn returns from his office and we’ve all had some dinner, we’ll discuss it.”

  “I really am most eager to move to my new rooms tonight. Perhaps I could take my satchel over now, and Mr. Dunn could bring the books tonight, or tomorrow even.”

  “Absolutely not. You must at least have one last dinner with us. People will think we refused to feed you, and the children will want to say goodbye.” She smiled still, but there was an edge to her voice.

  I was being rude. If I continued to press, I thought I might receive an instruction on my manners as Guy had the night before. I smiled, nodded, and went upstairs to pack.

  Guy was lively at dinner, but he was the only one who was.

  “Teacher, teacher go away, Saturday’s a day for play!” he chanted as soon as I sat down.

  “Guy!” Mr. Dunn shouted. “You apologize to Miss Chumley this instant.”

  Guy’s face turned red, and he blinked back surprised tears, but he didn’t apologize. “It’s just a song, Dad,” he said. “All the kids say it.”

  Mr. Dunn’s fist hit the table. “I said apologize. No dinner for you, young man—”

  “No!” Guy wailed.

  Mrs. Dunn laid a hand on Mr. Dunn’s arm. “Don’t, Angel,” she said. “The children do sing it every Friday. He didn’t mean to insult Miss Chumley.”

  Mr. Dunn turned his frown toward his wife and it immediately lost its fierceness. His shoulders slumped and he seemed to shake himself. A moment later he shot me a half smile. “I suppose I’m the one who owes you an apology, Miss Chumley. I’m sorry. I’m tired today, that’s my excuse. Guy, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right, Dad,” Guy said, but his voice was small. “I’m sorry, Miss Chumley. I didn’t mean for you to go away. It was just for fun because tomorrow’s Saturday.”

  I smiled at him. “It’s funny, really, because I am going away. I’ll see you at school on Monday, but I’m leaving this house to my own rooms. Tonight, if Mr. Dunn will take me?”

  “What?” It was Fannie’s turn to raise her voice. “That’s not fair!”

  “Whatever do you mean, Fannie?” Mrs. Dunn asked. “How could it be unfair to you that Miss Chumley moves to her own lodgings?”

  Fannie glared at me. I worried for a moment that she might betray our “friendship” so soon, but she only shrugged and clamped her lips together. Our agreement remained. Fannie wouldn’t tell my secrets because she didn’t want me to tell hers.

  Chapter Seven

  I ARRIVED AT the boarding house too late to meet the other boarders. They’d all eaten and either retired for the night or gone out for the evening. I didn’t mind. I was delighted when Ida Mae gave me the key to my room and left me. I turned the lock on the door and experienced the feeling of being truly alone for the first time in my life.

  I grinned. Robert could not disturb my sleep that night. Fannie would not barge in. I could remove all my clothes and dance naked in the middle of the room if I chose. I could paint my face or smoke a cigarette or wear trousers, and nobody would even know. I had no face paint or cigarettes or trousers, of course. I didn’t even have a book to read. I did have some reading material, though.

  Moments later I lay sprawled across the bed comfortably dressed in only my vest and drawers, steam heat wafting from the radiator nearby, with a stack of seventh grade essays spread out before me. I selected the first paper. It was crumpled and smudged with ink. After a brief struggle, I was able to make out the words.

  Tranporation by Dewey Murphy

  You can take a troly to spokane that is transpotation. I have never took a traly into spokane but on time I climed little boldy with some author fellos and we sall spokane in the dis-tins. it was
a in spring site.

  Good heavens! I couldn’t even read it. I set the paper aside and reached with some apprehension for the next. Were they all that bad?

  Transportation

  By

  Russell Gordon Walker

  Transportation is taking people and things to other areas. It is mostly done by things on wheels like trains and carriages. Also, people can walk on their feet and carry things and ride on horses and bicycles. They can take a ship.

  Someday they will fly in the air.

  Transportation is faster than it used to be. This is good for our country because it helped to settle this vast land. Once people had to walk everywhere they went and carry everything on their backs. Then it took a long time to settle any land. If that’s the way it still was then I think our country wouldn’t be settled yet.

  Some people have automobiles, mostly rich ones. They’re more reliable all the time, but we need better roads.

  Well, Russell Gordon Walker seemed to have a firm grasp on the subject of transportation. I didn’t know if I could have addressed the topic so thoroughly myself, and I was greatly relieved that Dewey Murphy’s writing was not representative of the entire class. I read on. The remaining essays were much the same. All were better written than Dewey’s, but few were spelled as well as Russell Gordon Walker’s. Only two other essays stood out.

  TRANSPORTATION

  By

  Guy Dunn

  Transportation can be done by a lot of things like trains and ships and wagons but best of all is automobiles. My dad is going to get an automobile someday maybe a Haynes Runabout. Its the best kind I think. Someday I will get an automobile too. I will get a sturdy one for long trips. My dad says someday there will be roads all the way to New York. When that happens I will drive my automobile to New York to watch the Giants play.

  Some people say that only rich people buy automobiles because they’re snobs. My dad is rich but he is not a snob and neighther am I.

  When I get my automobile I will be a good driver and not danger peoples lives and I will transport my mother and my sister to town.

  I laughed out loud. The last line was squeezed into the bottom of the page, no doubt added when Guy remembered that his mother would be reading his essay. The other essay that caught my attention was not an essay at all, but a poem.

  TRANSPORTATION

  by Carrie Hennessey

  A tiny child learns to crawl,

  then to walk and not to fall.

  Later he will learn to run

  and jump and play in rain and sun.

  He’ll pull a wagon and a sled

  and try not to fall on his head.

  He’ll ride in buggies pulled of course

  by the greatest beast of all, the horse.

  He’ll ride them too but that’s not all,

  he’ll ride a bicycle and probably fall.

  Someday he’ll take a boat on water

  with a girl, somebody’s daughter.

  When he reaches a greater age

  he might drive a horseless carriage.

  When going long distances in the rain

  he’ll ride the splendid big black train.

  Someday he might fly in the air

  when traveling from here to there.

  When it’s time to take his final trip

  he’ll fly on wings with golden tips.

  I felt a chill when I read it. I was astounded that the young girl I’d seen at Hennessey’s Confectionary, the girl with the squalling brother and the angry father and the limp ribbons, was able to think about transportation in such a broad, sweeping context, let alone put it to rhyme. But that was not what chilled me.

  I would not be able to avoid Carrie after all. Would she remember, when she met me as Miss Chumley at school on Monday, that Mr. Stanfield had called me Mrs. Jones?

  I crawled under the covers and looked around my brand new cozy bedroom. I should leave. I should take the trolley into Spokane and from there catch a train somewhere far away, not in the direction of Seattle, somewhere the Great Pacific Railroad did not go. It would be no tragedy if Miss Chumley did not arrive at the school on Monday morning. Her father would be notified of her disappearance; he would likely assume she had run off with Floyd, which was only the truth. I had money. I could create a new alias and go somewhere I was not known as Miss Chumley or Mrs. Jones or, most importantly, myself. I could go where there was no Mr. Stanfield or troublesome Fannie or Carrie Hennessey. I could start fresh somewhere else.

  The problem was I didn’t want to.

  I liked the people I had met so far. I liked Mr. and Mrs. Dunn, Mrs. Higgins, and Dr. Keating. I liked Hillyard, and I loved my rooms. I liked Guy, and I wanted to meet Dewey Murphy and Russell Gordon Walker and the other students whose essays I had read. Fannie was a bit of a problem, but I thought I could handle her, now that she couldn’t barge in on me in my room anymore.

  I wrestled with the problem long into the night until I finally fell asleep. When I awoke, I saw things in a different light. Carrie might not have heard Mr. Stanfield call me Mrs. Jones at all. If she did, she would also have heard me deny it. Unless Mr. Stanfield discussed me with her, which was unlikely, she would have no reason to disbelieve me. What child doubts her teacher?

  In any case, I need not leave immediately. I would not see Carrie until Monday at school, if I chose to stay. That gave me two days to decide whether I ought to stay or leave, and I intended to enjoy them.

  I met my fellow boarders at breakfast, where conversation was dominated by Grace Shupe, a stout woman in her fifties with loose jowls that wobbled when she talked, and by Jane, the two-year-old daughter of Cora Williams, who joined us at the table in a highchair. Miss Shupe seemed quite interested in me, but since her interest lay more in telling me about myself than asking me questions, I was not bothered by her. “You’ll make a good teacher,” she said upon being introduced. “You’ll be firm with them, I have no doubt, and accept no nonsense. It’s too bad about your hand, there. You’ll need to get help when it comes time to paddle them. Spare the rod and spoil the child, I say.”

  “No!” shouted Jane from her wooden high chair. “No want oats!”

  “You can save yourself a nickel by getting what you need for your rooms right here in Hillyard,” Miss Shupe said. “There’s no need to go into Spokane for them. You won’t want to take a trolley, and the prices are too high there anyway. I saw some fine pillows at Pemberton Department store. You’ll want to look there.”

  “More jam!” said Jane.

  Miss Shupe shared rooms with Trissie Lombard, a plump little woman who did not speak at all except to say, “How do you do?” upon being introduced, which perhaps accounted for their compatibility. Cora Williams was a pretty girl, no older than twenty, who complacently granted each of Jane’s demands. Fred Mapes was the only other boarder, and the lone occupant so far of the third floor of the boarding house. He was tall and thin with a narrow mustache and spectacles. He barely looked up as he ate his meal.

  “What are your plans for today, Mabel?” Ida Mae asked when Miss Shupe paused to eat her sausage.

  I had thought to take a trolley into Spokane, actually, where I could spend money freely without anyone wondering where I got it. “I need some items for my rooms,” I said vaguely. “Stationery and such.”

  “You’ll find the best stationery at Graham’s in Spokane,” Miss Shupe said, “but there’s fine stuff as well at Minthorn’s Drug Store, where Fred here works. Fred will show you. You’ll want a little rug for your feet to put beside your bed, too. Trissie got two of them for a dollar at Tuppin’s Dry Goods over by Luke’s Livery Stable.”

  “I’d be happy to show you the shops,” Mrs. Williams said, “if someone will watch Jane.”

  “Let her do her own shopping, Cora,” Ida Mae said. “You know how it is when you move into a new place. You want everything just to your liking.”

  I was able to slip out of the house without Cora Williams or Fred and with
out letting Grace Shupe know which direction I was headed. When I got to the trolley stop, though, a rough looking man with sandy hair stopped me.

  “Here, miss, where are you going? Don’t you know there’s a trolley strike going on?”

  “I—yes, I heard that, but I need—”

  “Didn’t you hear? Somebody’s taking shots at the trolleys these days. You want to get shot?”

  “No, I just thought—”

  “Look, miss, riding the trolley right now is like taking food outta my babies’ mouths and feeding it to the lousy rich fellas that own the line. Is that what you want to do?”

  “No.” I backed away. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

  I scurried back to downtown Hillyard. Spokane was five miles away, too far to walk, especially with packages. I would have to spread my shopping out and pretend to pinch my pennies.

  In the end, I might as well have taken Grace Shupe with me, since I ended up following her advice to the letter. I bought stationery at Minthorn’s, where Fred directed me to the correct shelf. I bought a little rug at Tuppin’s Dry Goods and two lovely pillows at Pemberton’s. I also bought bath salts and new drawers and cotton stockings and a bottle of Jergens hand lotion. It was too much to carry. I had much of it delivered, but I carried the last package with me as I headed back home. I was tired but satisfied and looking forward to brightening up my rooms with my purchases.