Beloved Enemy, The (House of Winslow Book #30)

by Gilbert, Morris

  Kefira lunged away, and he stumbled and fell, but he struggled to his feet again. He was between her and the door, and Kefira began to scream, “Leave me alone!”

  “Come here!” he yelled.

  Kefira was petrified, knowing what he had in mind for her. Her eyes fell on the poker in front of the coal stove, and she reached out and grabbed it. Holding it with both hands, she said, “Leave me alone or I’ll hit you!”

  Kurtz paid no attention. He was either too drunk or did not care. He lunged forward, and Kefira swung the poker. It struck him on the forearm, and he yelled with pain, but still he came forward. She swung the poker again, and this time it caught him on the forehead over his left eye. He hesitated, grunting, and she struck him again. This time he fell loosely to the floor as if he had no bones.

  Kefira could hardly catch her breath. The scene had terrified her. She dropped the poker and stared down at Kurtz. His face was bleeding, and she wondered if she had killed him. Leaning forward, she saw that there was a twitching in his jaw, and she could tell his chest was heaving.

  He’s not dead, she thought, but he’ll have me arrested. She dashed out of the office, grabbed her coat and shawl, and exited the building. She saw a policeman and made herself walk by. “You’re working late, miss. I’d get off the streets.”

  “Yes, sir, I will,” Kefira whispered. She moved on by, expecting him to stop her at any moment. When she was out of his sight, she ran like a frightened deer. Her mind was fragmented, but she knew Kurtz would come after her as soon as he could.

  She got to her apartment completely out of breath. She had a pain in her side, but she charged up the steps two at a time. Running inside the apartment, she slammed the door behind her and locked it, grabbed her carpetbag, and began stuffing what few clothes she could into it. She had given Mrs. Simmons most of the pictures, but she threw a few remaining things into the bag, including her father’s Bible, and then added some scraps from the larder—a puny apple and some thin sandwiches made from the last of her bread and cheese. Going to the door, she stopped and looked around. She knew that she had to get away, but she felt like giving up and just weeping. Kefira straightened up, and her eyes lit on the book that she had read the night before. “If Buck can do it, I can too,” she said aloud. “I’ll survive no matter what.” Her words stirred the silence, and grabbing the book that was her inspiration and shoving it into the bag, she turned and left the apartment.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A Desperate Prayer

  The cold air cut through Kefira like a knife, and from time to time a lone snowflake bit at her face like liquid fire. The weight of the heavy carpetbag dragged her to the side, but she paid little attention to it. Now panic had seized her, filling her so full she had no rational thoughts left. All she knew was that she had to get away.

  Once again she passed a policeman, so filled with apprehension that she was certain he would see her pale face and arrest her on the spot. She moved to the other side of the street to avoid him, watching him furtively until he disappeared around the corner. The snow fell intermittently, swirling and dancing in the cone-shaped light of the streetlamps, sifting a thin white glaze upon the city streets.

  There was a ghostly atmosphere about New York at this time of the night, especially with the snow drifting down from the opaque heavens. There was no moon, and only the greenish glow of the streetlights illuminated her way as she struggled onward. She knew little of New York City beyond the Lower East Side, but she knew where to find Pennsylvania Station, from where she could get connections south of the city. She knew she wanted to head away from the cold weather. She could see the massive terminal building ahead of her as she suddenly realized that she had in her pocket only the few dollars Adolph Kurtz had just paid her. The thought of Kurtz ran through her, and she saw again in her mind’s eye his bloody face as he lay on the floor of his office. What if he died? she wailed inwardly. She forced herself to remember the rising and falling of his chest and the blood flowing from his forehead. Dead men do not bleed, do they?

  Traffic was light, but now and again a lumbering, heavily laden truck or a single automobile would move along the streets, the lights flickering faintly through the darkness, their engines breaking the silence. Almost no one was walking, for which Kefira was deeply thankful.

  She reached the station and stepped inside the enormous building. The warmth rushed to meet her as her eyes sought out the ticket sellers’ windows. There were numerous windows in a row, but only one of them was open. Three people stood in line, and Kefira moved forward to take her place, pushing the heavy bag along the floor beside her. Even as she stood there, she suddenly asked herself, Where am I going? And she realized with a start that she had no idea. She had no friends, no relatives anywhere. The line moved forward until only one person was at the window ahead of her, and her thoughts flickered in her mind like a bat trapped in a closed room. She still had not decided on her destination when the man in front of her took his ticket and stepped away. She hesitated, and the sharp-faced clerk behind the grill said, “Yes, miss, where to?”

  Frantically Kefira tried to think, and her eye lit on a board that gave a list of arrivals and departures of the trains. The first one was an incoming train from Florida, and she said, “How much is a ticket to Florida?”

  “Coach or Pullman?”

  “The cheapest.”

  “That’ll be coach.” The clerk opened his book, glanced at it, and looked up at her. “Fourteen dollars and thirty-eight cents.”

  Kefira counted out her money. She had barely twelve dollars. “How far could I go with seven dollars, sir?” She lowered her eyes while he searched in his book, embarrassed at having to ask the question.

  “Washington, D.C., ma’am,” the clerk answered curtly. “One way, of course.”

  “Of course,” she mumbled, sliding seven dollars under the window and taking her ticket without meeting his glance. She turned and walked away, feeling the eyes of the clerk boring into her back. She crossed the enormous waiting room and came to a bench, where she sat down and rested her arm. She rubbed it and felt her face begin to grow warm with the heat. Across from her, a couple wearing expensive apparel sat together and seemed to be watching her. It made her nervous, and although there was no reason for them to stare at her, for they could know nothing about her, she got up and made her way to the tracks.

  Following the signs down several hallways and sets of stairs, she came to the tracks, read her ticket again, and found track number 15: Newark, Philadelphia, Trenton, Wilmington, Baltimore, Washington. Moving along, she watched until a train pulled in, hissing steam and giving one short blast on its whistle. It eased to a stop, and she heard the sounds of people getting off and the conductor calling out, “Pennsylvania Station!”

  She wasn’t sure that Washington was where she wanted to go, but one thing she knew for certain was that she wanted to head south. She was tired of freezing weather, and the farther she got away from New York City the better. After the few passengers on this nighttime train emptied out, she boarded it and found a seat. Stowing her heavy bag and settling herself, she suddenly thought of Chaim, and her stomach churned wildly. I won’t be there next visiting day. And if I write him, the police will be able to find where I am. She struggled with the thought and wondered what she should do. She almost got out of the car with the intention of going back and turning herself in to the police, but instead she remained frozen in her seat as a few passengers took widely scattered seats. Before long, she heard a clanging up ahead and a whistle, and she handed her ticket to a conductor who was making his way up the aisle. Like it or not, she was on her way now. There was no turning back, she thought as the train pulled out of the station, slicing through the dark tunnels under Manhattan and the Hudson River before emerging into the open and heading south. She allowed herself the luxury of leaning her head back and closing her eyes, and before she knew it, the rhythmic swaying of the train had lulled her fast asleep.

  ***
*

  She awoke hours later with a start as the conductor tapped her on the shoulder and said, “This is your stop, miss. Washington, D.C.”

  He pulled her bag down from the overhead compartment and helped her off the train onto the platform. She stood looking around, confused, dazed, and wondering, What now? There was no point in buying another ticket, for her money was already dangerously low. No, from here, she would have to travel by her wits.

  It was daybreak now, and as she stood in the gathering light, she remembered reading a news story of how homeless men had begun to be a real problem for the railroad. They were called hobos, and they hid in the empty boxcars. The article had said, as best as she could remember, that special railroad detectives had been hired to roust the men out.

  She moved along the line of tracks, walking parallel with them away from the station itself. As she walked, she saw that there were many trains there and wondered which of them would be headed south. No one seemed to be watching her, and as she moved farther down the line, she spied some trains a few tracks over that appeared to be freight trains. Checking all around to be sure she hadn’t been spotted and that no train was coming, she threw her bag down on the tracks, lowered herself onto the tracks, and made her way as quickly as she could toward the waiting freight trains. The closest one consisted of one boxcar after another, and on the side of one, she could barely make out the faded words ATLANTIC COAST FREIGHT. She thought grimly, I hope you’re going south, because if I can get in, I’m going with you. She moved down the line of cars and checked each of the doors. She was disappointed for a time, for every door was locked shut, but finally she found one that was open about six inches. Putting her bag down, she shoved at the door, and her heart leaped when it opened. She picked up her bag, furtively looked around, then threw it inside. She pulled herself up inside with a grunt and sprawled on the floor.

  The smell of the boxcar was rank, and the floor was covered with dirt, but she was inside. She left the door open a crack so she could stare out, then sat down cross-legged. Depressing thoughts came to her and fear mingled with them. She had almost no money. She knew that the world was full of men like Adolph Kurtz and that she would be absolutely at their mercy if one of them found her in this boxcar. She had no way of knowing how she would live, but she could not go back.

  Her heart nearly stopped at a clanging sound far up ahead, and then it came closer. Suddenly the car gave a tremendous jolt forward, almost throwing her flat. She grabbed for the door, held on, and stood to her feet. The car moved forward slowly and then picked up speed. She had the urge to jump from the car, for it was still moving slowly enough she didn’t think she’d be hurt, but she did not. What would that accomplish? She could not go back now, and finally she sat down with her back against the door. The cold air was whistling through it, so she closed it and sat down in the darkness. For a time the train picked up speed, and soon the wheels were making a clickety-clack sound on the rails beneath. She sat there feeling as lost as she had ever felt in her life.

  ****

  Kefira had been almost stiffened by the cold. Shivering in the dark boxcar, she pulled out all three changes of underwear she had brought and put them on, quickly pulling on most of her clothes over them. Bundled up as she was, her hands were still freezing, and she longed for a pair of warm mittens. She had been riding for hours, and she knew it must be midday by now. The train had stopped twice, and once she had heard a man’s voice faintly, but no one had disturbed the car door.

  Now she stood up and bent over to ease her aching muscles, balancing against the motion of the train. Groping around, she felt for the bag and pulled out her water bottle. By touch alone she located the bag of food, pulled out one of the sandwiches, and ate it slowly. She wanted to bolt it, but she knew it might be a long time between meals, so she savored every bite, chewing carefully until it was almost dissolved. When she had finished one sandwich, she drank a few swallows of water and stowed the water bottle back in the bag.

  There was absolutely nothing to do, so she stood to her feet, leaning against the car. The side was not as cold as the floor, and she wished she had brought a blanket with her to wrap up in. As the train made its clickety-clack, clickety-clack over the rails, she thought back over the scene in Kurtz’s office. She knew she had escaped being violated only by a stroke of fortune. If he had not been drunk, or if she had not been able to get her hands on the poker, she knew she would have been ruined, and she felt a sudden burst of gratitude. Her father and her mother both had taught her, ingrained in her from earliest girlhood, that a woman must keep herself pure for her husband, and although Kefira had little religious faith, she had enough, at least, to be grateful that she was still chaste.

  Unlike the passenger train to Washington, this train seemed to stop every few minutes, sometimes backing up to attach more cars, or take on more loads or water. She wasn’t sure what was happening at all these stops, but time passed slowly and she realized she was not getting anywhere very fast. When her inner clock told her it must be past noon, she cracked open the door and saw that the train was in open country, passing through a heavily wooded area. She hoped that as the afternoon wore on, the sun would verify that she was indeed heading south. The air did not seem to be quite as cold as when she had boarded in Washington, so that was a good sign.

  It won’t be long now before I’ll be warm, she thought happily. She remembered seeing pictures of people in Florida on the sunny beaches. There had been a story in the paper about how women’s bathing suits had grown steadily more daring, and she had seen a picture of the Miss America contest, where bathing beauties competed for a prize. She had never seen a beach, not even Coney Island, but on one rare occasion she had gone to a movie, where she had seen people bathing in the ocean. Even in the black-and-white film, the sands looked as white as sugar, and the dark waves curled softly upward with sparkling white caps. Kefira shivered in the still cold boxcar and longed for the warm breezes, but she had no idea how far away Florida was.

  ****

  The day passed, and the train inched steadily south, continuing to make frequent stops at every small town and intersection, it seemed. Around suppertime, she ate her other sandwich and drank a few sips of water, making sure to leave about half of it. She knew she would have to get off soon and find something to drink, but she hoped she could last until they were in warmer country.

  She stood at the slit of the door and stared out at the towns, which fascinated her. Once they passed through a large city, where the train did some complicated maneuvering. She became fearful at the thought that they might leave this car behind as they had others, but it remained linked to the train, and after several hours, she felt the southward journey begin again.

  The sun was going down now, and the shadows were lengthening over the earth when the train stopped again. She glanced out and saw far down the line that the engine had halted at a water stop. She could see one of the crew moving about and knew they would soon be on their way again. There was no town that she could see, and no buildings, so she had no apprehension.

  Suddenly she heard running footsteps. Alarmed, she grabbed her bag and moved back into the shadows at the end of the car. She held her breath in dread as the door rumbled open. Light flooded the car, and a blanket rolled in a sausage shape came sailing in. A man heaved himself into the car after it and lay flat for a moment. She could hear his raspy breathing and fear assailed her. He sat up with a grunt and stayed there until his breathing became more regular. Mumbling to himself, he reached around and untied the blanket. Kefira watched as he pulled out a bottle, took several swallows, and gasped, “Ahhh!” Then he capped the bottle and stuck it back in the blanket. He did not close the door, so she could see him fairly well in the fading light. He was a large man in a tattered blue coat. A misshapen felt hat was pulled down over his head, but as he turned, the light caught him, and she saw that he was unshaven and had a broad, bulky face.

  For a time she sat as quietly as she poss
ibly could, hardly daring to breathe. But then the straw on the floor began to make her nose itch. She felt a sneeze coming on and quickly covered her face with her hands to try to muffle the sound. The man must have had ears like a fox, for he whirled at once and called out roughly, “Who’s back there? Who are you?”

  Kefira did not answer but tried to push her back farther into the wall. She watched as he advanced, and then he was standing over her. “What’s your name, boy?” he said hoarsely.

  When she did not answer, he reached down and grabbed her, saying, “Answer me when I talk to you!”

  Kefira felt the power of his grip and smelled the raw alcohol. He dragged her to the middle of the car, then suddenly stopped and stared at her with bald surprise. “Wot’s this! A woman!” He laughed rawly and said, “Well, lady, I’m glad to meet ya. My name’s George. Wot’s yours?”

  Kefira was terrified. She seemed to be reliving her nightmare in Kurtz’s office. “My … my name’s Kefira.”

  “Well. Kefira. Ain’t that a pretty name?” He reached up and jerked her shawl back so that her black hair spilled free. “Now, ain’t you a pretty one. I’ll say!” He held her arm with one hand and put his other on her cheek. “Smooth as a baby’s tukus,” he said, grinning. She tried to get away, but he grabbed her by the hair and said, “Now, don’t be shy with old George.” He laughed roughly. “I ain’t had me a lady friend in some time now. You and me’s gonna be real friendly.”

  And then Kefira knew she had little hope. The train had started moving, and her only escape lay in throwing herself out the door. She made a wild lunge and jerked free from his hand, but before she got to the door, he took a quick step and caught her. The train was picking up speed, and the hobo swayed. He was drunk, and there was a brutality in his features that told Kefira she could expect no mercy. The thought came to her, Oh, God, why did you let me get away from one man just to let another one get me? She began to scream, and he cuffed her on the face. “Now then, I likes a little spirit in a gal. You fight all you want. It’ll be all right.”