The train slowed. Its break with momentum pushed her forward in her seat. She put her hand on the seat in front of her and braced herself. With a sudden screech of wheels, the joints of the eight cars banged together and the iron horse came to a full stop. White steam puffed out and engulfed the immediate area around the train. Once it dissipated a crowd of people suddenly came into view. Several exchanged hugs or handshakes and then lugged their baggage through the train station, where she suspected the carriages were parked on the other side.
She sighed deeply. She didn’t recognize a soul and hadn’t expected to. Her gut felt hollow with the uncertainty of what was to come.
She waited for the majority of people to depart before she took hold of her bag and left her seat. She took one last futile glance into the next car, searching for Betty, and stepped down onto solid ground.
Horses neighed, people yelled to one another, and dogs barked. The train puffed slowly as if recovering from a long run. The noise and commotion were nearly overwhelming. The smells of coal, horse manure, unwashed bodies, and the ever-present dust, mingled in the air. Not knowing what else to do, she sat down on a bench located near the ticket booth. From that vantage point, she hoped to catch the eye of whoever was supposed to be her porter.
Things eventually quieted as the crowd dispersed. They took their horses and dogs with them and an eerie silence settled around her. She looked around and realized she was one of only six people, and four of them were railroad workers wordlessly readying the train to continue on toward who knew where.
The men carried shovels to what looked like a short railroad car filled with coal. It was identical to the one she’d seen in Chicago except this one was attached to a hand-cranked platform so it could be moved from train to train, she suspected. In unison the men started shoveling coal into the car attached to the train.
This station was a little larger than the one in Chicago. Two other steam engines, each black and silently imposing, faced different directions on separate tracks. She briefly wondered if any of them could take her to a better place than where she was headed. She hated not knowing the plans Father had arranged for her. He could’ve at least told her where she was going and what she’d be doing. He’d been angry with her. There was no doubt about that. But it hardly warranted sending her this far away. She thought her parents had loved her. Apparently they loved their reputation and family name more so and had no room for a daughter they perceived as a disgrace.
“This is ridiculous. Someone must have been notified I’d be coming today.” She took the suitcase by the handle and gruffly stood up. She spotted a shadowy movement in the ticket office and decided getting information from there might be her best bet.
She strode to the counter and waited a few moments. No one appeared promptly, and she knocked on the window. “Excuse me. Could somebody please help me?”
Footsteps signaled the approach of someone.
“Can I help you, young lady?” A man whom she assumed was the ticket agent, had a lean face, pitted and scarred, with very thick eyebrows. A light growth of whiskers shadowed his face. He wore a spindly pair of round wire glasses that accentuated the deep grainy circles of black under his eyes.
“I hope so. I’ve just arrived on this train and it appears there’s no one here to meet me.”
“Do you know who was supposed to greet you?”
She let out an impatient snort and crossed her arms over her chest. “I wish I did.” At this point she couldn’t hide her frustration, nor did she care.
He stared at her for a moment. “May I ask what your business is here?”
“I wish I knew that too. My father just handed me the ticket and didn’t tell me anything.” She didn’t trust her mood. Another wave of irritation flowed through her. What difference did it make anyway? She felt like reaching in, grabbing the man by the shirt collar, and shaking him. But it was hardly his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, except her own for ignoring the school headmaster’s demands. She cast her eyes downward. The past continued to sneak through the back door of her thoughts. If she’d only listened she wouldn’t be in this predicament. She was alone and without a single thought of where to go or what to do.
“If you walk all the way through town, you’ll find a white-washed two-story house on the left. There’s a sign out front that says Waywards. I’m pretty sure that’s where you’re supposed to go. Mrs. Randall runs the place. Tell her I sent you.”
“Mrs. Randall? I don’t understand. How can you be certain?” She blinked and shook her head slightly. She glanced around to see if there was someone else she could ask.
“Young lady, you’re not the first to get off a train and not know where to go. There’s been dozens of girls just like you. Now do as I say. Mrs. Randall will take good care of you.” He slid the window closed and disappeared deeper into the office.
She bit her lip and gave in to the futility of it all. She needed someplace to stay. There was no getting around that fact while she figured out what she was going to do. Hopefully this Mrs. Randall would take her in.
With suitcase in hand, she walked through the station, past the hitching posts, and out onto the now deserted road. To the left was nothing but vast hummocks covered in silver prairie grass. The breeze dawdled through the stems and lazily swayed them to and fro. Large shadows moved across the steppe as clouds scudded over the blazing sun. Thermals undulated above the horizon causing a mirage-like image.
A short distance away and to the right, a row of buildings lined both sides of the road. Trees peppered the little oasis of a town, giving a green tinge against the gray sidings of the structures. She shrugged and pointed her feet in that direction. Each step raised a tiny cloud of dust that followed her. Every once in a while, the wind swirled the dust up into her nose and made her sneeze.
She stopped near the edge of where the settlement began and gathered her bearings. At first glance it seemed nearly every building had a sign in front of, or attached to it. There was a hotel on the corner and a church immediately opposite it across the street, a mercantile, saloon, livery, doctor’s office, another church with a very high steeple and various houses interspersed along the street. The bawling of cattle drew her eyes to a stockade near the livery. People with indiscernible faces walked along the rutted road like ants on a mission, dodging men atop horses and numerous wagons of all sizes.
“Here goes nothing. Welcome to my future.” She stiffened her shoulders, gathered her resolve, and became one of the ants.
Chapter Four
SHE ENTERED THE town and quickly scrambled to the right side of the road to avoid getting trampled by a horse. Many had the same idea and she found herself hopelessly surrounded and shuffled along at the speed of the crowd. She tried in vain to avoid colliding with shoulders and elbows, but as soon as she moved one way, she ended up bumping into another set.
She was finally deposited in front of another church as the multitude jostled her to the far edge of the street. She set her suitcase down beside her and took a deep refreshing breath, relieved to be free of the mob. The shade of the tree she found herself under was a welcome reprieve from the sun. The branches drooped to just above her head, effectively blocking out everything but the wooden cross that was shoved into the ground near her.
“Good Lord. How many churches does this place have?” She giggled and then shuddered with the thought that Father may have made arrangements to enter her into a convent. “Oh no. That’s not happening.” As if being too close to the church would make it so, she grabbed the suitcase and trotted across the street. She saw the Wayward sign just up the street.
The house was big and dazzling white where the afternoon sun touched it. But the roof was flat as if someone had shaved off the sharpest part of the peak. A big chimney protruded from the far end. Three long four-paned windows looked out onto the street. The drapes that fluttered out the open casements were yellowed with age. A small wood-planked porch flattered the front of the house around w
hich an unkempt flower garden grew. Small nondescript weeds peeked up among the roses and marigolds. A gangly lilac bush stood proudly on the half-shaded edge of the grass.
She climbed the two steps to the threshold and set her suitcase next to the door. Hesitating briefly with her hand in the air, she adjusted her stance and knocked.
She waited what seemed an interminable amount of time before a skinny girl with fiery, chopped off red hair swung the door open. The girl wordlessly swaggered onto the porch and stopped dead still with her hands cocked on her hips. Her face was flat and rather plain. A network of freckles spanned her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were squinty and green. They moved swiftly over her, scrutinizing and sizing her up.
“Hello. I was told to see Mrs. Randall. Is she available?”
The girl sneered and squinted her eyes. “Wha fer?” Her voice was nasally and annoying even having said only two words.
“I need a place to stay.”
The girl’s eyes bore into Mayme like daggers. It took everything she had not to say “the hell with it,” and walk away. But she needed lodging and hopefully food to go along with it.
“Don’ ga no room. Y’un best gick on yer way.”
“Annie? Who are you talking to? Do we have a visitor?” A woman’s voice echoed from deep in the house. The hollow clunk of heels on the floorboards signaled her approach.
The redhead’s eyes darted toward the entry. “Go on, now. Gick,” she said quickly.
Mayme ignored the girl and focused on the woman who stood in the doorway.
“I thought I’d heard you talking to someone, Annie. Hello, I’m Mrs. Randall. Who do we have here?” She had a robust frame, was squared shouldered and strong limbed. She wasn’t tall, and though stout, she was far from obese. Her face was somewhat large with a strong jaw. Her light eyebrows matched her nearly flaxen hair, which was loosely drawn into a ponytail.
Annie glared at Mayme. “I gung col ’er we gock no room an’ coo be on ’er way.”
Mrs. Randall took two steps toward Annie, put a hand on her shoulder and clucked. “Please forgive Annie. She’s a bit mistrusting of strangers, but once she knows you, she’s very loyal.” She offered a reassuring smile. “I assume you’ve just got off the train and Mr. Heyburn sent you here.”
“Yes, ma’am. I thought there’d be someone to meet me at the station, but it seems my father made that part up.”
“Oh, child. I’m sorry. That happens more than I’d like to think. You need a place to stay then.”
“If you have a room and it’s no trouble.”
Mrs. Randall slid her arm around Annie’s shoulders. “Annie, please make sure the room next to yours has clean sheets and fresh water in the basin. I suspect, um, I’m sorry, I didn’t ask your name.”
“Mayme. Mayme Watson.”
“All right, Mayme, let’s get you settled. Annie, please do as I say.”
Annie lowered her eyes and nodded. She walked between Mayme and Mrs. Randall and disappeared into the house.
“Would you like something to eat or drink? Annie will be busy for a few minutes. It’ll give us some time to get to know each other a little.”
“Thank you.” She was beginning to feel more at ease despite having to acknowledge the fact that Father had essentially sent her off and abandoned her. Beneath her anger was fear. She realized then that she’d have to face it or get in touch with her fear so she’d be able to control her anger. One thing was for sure. She could not easily forgive her parents for what they’d done to her in order to save the family reputation.
She took hold of her suitcase and followed Mrs. Randall into the house. They passed a rising stairway on the right and continued down a short, dark hallway, which emptied into small but quaint kitchen.
“Please sit down. Can I get you coffee? Tea?”
“Just water would be fine.” She took a seat at a square, well-used table. A vase of daisies decorated the center of the table. There was a hint of baked bread and pot roast in the air.
While Mrs. Randall poured water from a pitcher, Mayme scanned the room. An open fireplace occupied the entire back wall. Two black round-bottom pots hung above it, suspended on a long steel rod. Several pots sat on the hearth above. A wooden bench took up the majority of the adjoining wall. Sacks of flour, sugar, coffee, and other dry goods occupied one end. A rolling pin and a few hammered tin bowls were stacked nearby. A hand-cranked water pump emptied into a small sink. A collection of clean dishes dried on the bench beneath a window. She looked with curiosity at a small ladder hanging from the ceiling by twisted rope. Clumps of herbs and flowers hung upside down from it.
“Thank you,” she said before taking a long swallow of water.
“You’re very welcome. I see you’ve noticed the drying rack. The girls and I are trying our hands at an herb and vegetable garden.”
“It’s very unique. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She turned to gaze at it again.
Mrs. Randall laughed. “I think you’ll find there’s a lot of things about my home that even the locals have never laid eyes on.”
She raised her eyebrows and offered a questioning gaze. “Should I worry about that?”
“Not at all. Personally, I think you’ll fit right in.”
She swallowed nervously and fidgeted in her chair. “Fit into what?” Thoughts of being forced to work in a brothel or having to submit to an arranged marriage raced through her mind.
“Don’t look so worried. It’s nothing like you think. And before you start believing I’m a mind reader, I could tell by the look of panic on your face. I’m here to assist you in finding a life suited to a young woman such as yourself.”
Mayme breathed a sigh of relief and licked her lip with cautious hope. Help was exactly what she needed. She’d landed in a foreign land, didn’t know a soul, and up until now, hadn’t had a smidgen of hope that things would turn out in her favor. Now she had reason to believe that everything might be all right. A sense of calm flowed over her like a silk sheet.
“What do I have to do? Whatever it is, I promise to work hard so I can prove to you I’m worth the trouble. I got good grades in school, I’m healthy and—”
Mrs. Randall laid a hand over hers. “What I want to know is what you’d like to do with your life. Would you like to earn a wage for a while before you marry? If so, what would you like to do? There are quite a few opportunities in the area at the moment such as sewing, laundry, house cleaning, and the like. Over the next couple days, while you settle in here, I want you to think about that. Then we’ll talk. In the meantime, you can help Annie with house chores. She’ll show you the routine.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Although none of the things Mrs. Randall mentioned appealed to her in the least, she knew she might not have a choice in the matter.
“Y’un kin emmee chammer pocks,” Annie announced when she entered the kitchen.
“Annie, you can’t expect Mayme to clean chamber pots her first week here.” Mrs. Randall patted Mayme’s hand in reassurance. “Don’t worry. She tries to hand that off to every newcomer.”
Annie folded her arms over her flat chest and stomped her foot. “Ick ock fair. I aw ’ays haff ca goo ick.”
“Yes, and you will continue to do so until you find work outside this house.”
Mayme watched this exchange with some amusement. What better incentive to get a job? She wasn’t sure what she’d end up doing, but she was sure Mrs. Randall would advise her on that when the time came.
“Annie, please show Mayme to her room. Breakfast and supper are both at six o’clock. There’s usually no one around at lunchtime, so it’s up to you to scrounge something up for yourself. If you have any questions, just come find me.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Randall.”
With suitcase in hand, Mayme followed Annie down the hall and up the flight of stairs. A cool breeze caressed her ankles as she climbed, but the air was noticeably warmer than downstairs.
They reached the landing and Annie pause
d at the top and pointed to a door to the left of the stairs. A warning of “keep owt” was chalked in large letters. “Gacks mine.”
Mayme looked around and counted four more doors before her focus turned to the room Annie had walked into.
“Yers.” Annie’s eyes scanned the room. Then she turned on her heel and walked out.
Mayme heard a door slam behind her and assumed Annie had retreated into her own room. She stood at the entry and surveyed her accommodations. It was a clean but unadorned space with a small round rug next to a single bed. She lifted her suitcase onto it and sat down next to it. The mattress was thin and cotton-stuffed, and was covered by a thinner plain, gray woolen blanket. A chest of drawers stood against the wall. A washbasin, oil lamp, and pitcher sat on the scarred surface. A slight breeze shoved aside the flimsy curtain and allowed a ray of light to flutter in before it was blocked again.
She suddenly felt very alone. And tired. Her mind wandered back east to her parents. Are they thinking about me? Do they even miss me? She considered writing a letter to let them know she’d arrived safely and had found a nice caretaker. Then her anger and disappointment with what they’d done resurfaced. She hoped they felt guilty and worried about what’d happened to her. Whatever befell her, they’d not find out from her.
She removed the food parcels from her bodice and placed them on the dresser. She then opened her suitcase and unpacked. She refolded her clothes and slid them into the drawers. After sliding the suitcase under the bed, she sat down once again with the book in her hand. She flipped through the pages haphazardly. She’d read it twice on the train and never tired of it. She lay down on the bed and opened it to the first page to start it again. Robinson Crusoe had made the best of his situation. His life had become an adventure. And why couldn’t she allow herself the same fate? She made a silent vow to do the same. Crusoe had not only survived the storm that had sunk his ship, but had discovered how to thrive despite all that had besieged him. She would find happiness somehow, somewhere. She made a promise that after a time she’d be dancing in the rain.
After a Time Page 3