Go Away Home

by Carol Bodensteiner

  Later on, when she saw him leave to stand alone outside the barn, she joined him.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I couldn’t listen to one more discussion of corn harvests or settlin’ a cow.” He affected an irritating twang.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you’d enjoy coming with me.”

  “I’m having a fine time,” he insisted.

  You couldn’t prove it by me, she thought. She didn’t say that, however, because he was her guest and she would not be rude. Even if she thought he was.

  Littmann’s boredom disappeared as soon as they’d returned to town. In fact, he’d later professed to have had a good time that weekend and seemed surprised when she questioned him about it. She had decided he had simply had an off night.

  Liddie looked at her plate, then at Minnie. “I don’t fault him for that. He didn’t know the people or the dances. It was too different.”

  “If he cared for you, he’d at least have acted like he was enjoying himself.”

  “You’re too hard on him.”

  “Maybe.” Minnie shrugged. “But he could have tried.”

  Minnie studied her plate, and Liddie knew there was something else on her mind. “What else?” she prodded.

  “Oh, Liddie. I don’t want to be negative.”

  “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.”

  Minnie looked doubtful. “I’ve mentioned this before. How he can’t seem to say something nice without hanging crepe on it. Like when he said Mrs. Tinker could easily find someone else to do what you do. That anyone can run a sewing machine.”

  “That was one time.”

  “Well, it made me mad. Besides, it was more than once. He always has some comment about how New York or anywhere he’s been or anyone he knows is better than anyone here. And it’s not just what he says; it’s how he says it. Don’t you see that?”

  “He has been places and seen things I can’t even imagine. It’s not bragging if it’s the truth.” Liddie felt defensive. It was true, wasn’t it?

  “I suppose that’s right.” Minnie smiled and reached over to take Liddie’s plate and fork. “Look at that! You’d have thought we were starving the way we polished off that cake.” She headed for the kitchen. “Are you going to stay for supper? I can easily set another plate.”

  “I really have to get back to town. When’s Mama coming home? I wanted her to see that the world didn’t come to an end because I came out to the farm by myself.”

  “She worries about you.”

  “I know, but I’m so glad she finally agreed to let me hire a buggy at the livery. Waiting for Vern every time I wanted to come home was truly inconvenient.”

  “The ladies must have gotten into a deep discussion at church. She said she’d only be an hour or so.”

  “The ladies can’t get together for only an hour! Tell her I’m sorry I missed her, but I’ll be home again soon. We’ll catch up then.”

  “I wanted her to be here,” Minnie said. “There’s something I want to tell you both when you’re together.”

  “What is it?”

  “I wasn’t going to say anything. I promised myself I wouldn’t if you weren’t both here. But I can’t let you get away.” Minnie grinned.

  “What? Tell me.”

  “All right.” Minnie lowered her voice, speaking like a child with a secret. “I’m in the family way!”

  “Oh, Minnie! Are you sure?”

  “It’s still early. But I’m certain.”

  “Does Vern know?”

  “He does,” Minnie said.

  “I’m so happy for you! You look wonderful.”

  “I feel wonderful.”

  “Now I really wish I could see Mama’s face when you tell her. She will be so pleased. A grandchild right here for her to dote on.”

  “I know.” Minnie glowed.

  “I’m going to make a dress for the baby.”

  “You have plenty of time for that.” Minnie laughed. “Now you better get going, the sun’s already low. Vern says it’s going to snow.” She hugged Liddie. “The pictures are superb. I’ll talk with Vern. I’m sure we’ll work something out.”

  April 23, 1916

  Dear Amelia,

  It is spring, yet I feel so low. I’m sure Mama told you Minnie lost the baby. Mama says it’s better not to even talk about being pregnant until you start to show. No use getting hopes up. I made a dress for Minnie using fabric the colors of peonies. I hope it cheered her, even a little.

  Aunt Kate took us by surprise. She is taking a position at a school in Columbus, Ohio. Mama is upset her sister is moving so far away. I know how she feels. I wish you were closer.

  How are you getting along? Did Fred have time to till a garden plot for you? I’m sure you can do it yourself, but it seems like a little thing.

  Mrs. Tinker is giving her annual May Day garden party. You should see the little girls in tissue-paper dresses dancing around the maypole! We’ll hope for warmer days by then. Mr. Littmann will accompany me. It is easier to have an escort for these things, though we go our separate ways once we arrive. Not so different than the married couples, really. The women want to talk about dresses and recipes; the men want to talk about war.

  Be sure to tell me what the women are saying about the election this year. Some boys around here are going to Europe to fight. Are you seeing that? Joe says many Canadian men are volunteering. Of course, Canadians are British subjects. Write soon. I so enjoy your letters.

  With much love, Liddie

  Chapter 27

  “Aunt Kate!” Liddie hugged her aunt after she stepped off the train in Maquoketa.

  “It’s so good to see you, Liddie.” Kate held her niece at arm’s length. “My, how grown up you are!”

  “You say that every time!” Liddie laughed. “You’re embarrassing me.” She saw Littmann watching her, an amused look on his face.

  Kate extended her hand to him. “Good day, Mr. Littmann. Thank you for coming with Liddie to meet me.”

  “Pleased to be of service, Miss Farrell.” Littmann bowed. “May I take your bag?”

  “I’m sorry to trouble you for such a short visit.” Kate handed him her traveling case as she scanned the platform. “Your mother isn’t here yet?”

  “Mama and Vern will meet us at the Decker House.” Liddie linked elbows with her aunt for the walk to the hotel. “I can’t believe you’re leaving Iowa. You and Mama have never lived more than twenty miles apart your entire lives.”

  “Never lived out of Iowa?” Littmann interjected. “How provincial.”

  Kate stopped abruptly. “Do you think so?”

  Liddie’s eyes darted between Littmann and her aunt. His comment was the type she’d come to overlook, but the shift in Kate’s tone suggested her aunt would not let it pass.

  “Someone as accomplished as you?” Littmann asked. “I would have expected more. The world is too large to waste it in one place.”

  “You make an assumption, sir, that is not accurate. Living one’s life in one place does not show a lack of interest or involvement in the world, nor does it indicate that one has lived a less fulfilling life.”

  “But doing so means missing a great deal. Take Liddie, here. Think how she would benefit if she traveled to the great cities of the world.”

  Liddie tugged at her aunt’s arm. The conversation wasn’t going in a good direction. Kate ignored the tug.

  “Mr. Littmann, you know a great deal about photography, but I fear you underestimate my niece. Recognizing an artist’s name or seeing a painting does not guarantee that one will ‘know’ art. Visiting a city does not guarantee a broad-minded outlook. Having such experiences is wonderful, of course. But are they essential to Liddie’s success as a human being? I cannot agree.”

  “I am simply saying that yo
ur niece could be more successful with the right opportunities. Most of them outside this rural area.”

  “And yet you stay,” Kate said.

  “And yet you’re leaving,” Littmann responded.

  Liddie couldn’t believe the two of them were talking as though she was not standing right there.

  “Oh, look,” she interrupted. “There’s Mama.”

  June 25, 1916

  Dear Joe,

  Aunt Kate left for Ohio, and I miss her already. I asked Littmann to join us at a good-bye lunch in Maquoketa. Afterward, I wished I had not. Aunt Kate took offense at his comment that if you live in one place you waste your life. They launched into one of those debates such as she and Papa used to have, except that it was about me. I wanted to crawl under a rock.

  From his perspective, having seen so much, I’m sure his comment was true. However, Aunt Kate believed he was disparaging me. You’ve asked why I feel I need to keep chasing after every artist he mentions. I suppose sometimes it does seem as though he holds all he knows over me, but I’m so eager to take in everything the world has to offer.

  How are your crops looking? I hope your wheat yields well again this year.

  I think of you often. Wishing we could talk face to face.

  Affectionately, Liddie

  Liddie sat under an oak tree, the letter she’d just received from Aunt Kate in her lap. The exchange with Littmann had embarrassed Liddie but apparently roused her aunt’s spirit in quite a different way.

  The goal should not be a career, Kate had written. The goal ought to be a good life. Experiences may be wonderful, but only if they help you to be a better person.

  Leave it to her aunt to parse Littmann’s comments so finely. Liddie wiped perspiration from her forehead. The July heat reached her even in the shade. As her father used to point out, Kate had her ideas, but what mattered was what Liddie thought. These ideas were no easier to tease apart than tangled thread.

  Originally, her desire centered on escaping the monotony she visualized as the lot of a farmwife to pursue the far more exciting world of travel and adventure. Her love of sewing provided a vehicle for that move. Adventure for the sake of adventure. Travel for the sake of travel. Sewing as a way to support herself. She did not see any of these as bad things. How could she know what she’d find until she did it?

  In truth, until Mrs. Tinker had encouraged her, she hadn’t imagined that being a dressmaker, possibly even a designer, could be a reality, a true career.

  Discovering photography had broadened how she thought about things. Another activity she loved to do. Another vehicle to carry her forward into an exciting future.

  What she learned about sewing and photography helped her to be more, to do more. As far as she could see, a career was a means to a good life.

  Kate wrote, Where you live is not the issue. Who you are as a person is what matters.

  Liddie agreed that where she lived was not the issue. But if she could choose New York or Chicago instead of a farm, why wouldn’t she? She thought she was a good person. She certainly hoped that to be true whether she lived on a farm, in Maquoketa, or someplace else.

  As far as she could see, she was on a good path. She couldn’t say whether Mr. Littmann valued things over people. But what if he did? He was her employer, not her husband.

  Chapter 28

  Liddie settled into a forward-facing seat. As the train began to move, she looked out the window and waved one last time to her family standing on the platform. She could hardly believe her good fortune. Her long-held dream of traveling alone had come true.

  When Mrs. Tinker twisted her ankle less than a week before the trip and the doctor said she’d be off her feet for weeks, Liddie saw the much-anticipated buying trip to Chicago slipping away. Joining Mrs. Tinker on her annual buying trips to Chicago had become a tradition she looked forward to all year. Even worse, if she couldn’t go, she’d miss her opportunity to meet Janette Langston, a dressmaker and Mrs. Tinker’s longtime acquaintance. When Liddie suggested that she could make the trip alone, she was not surprised that Mrs. Tinker’s first response was no. Her concerns were many—from the dangers of a young girl traveling alone to the critical importance of buying fabric. Yet seeing no viable alternative, she finally agreed.

  Liddie’s mother was mollified once she understood that Mrs. Langston would chaperone Liddie in the city. Mrs. Langston would be waiting for her at Union Station, but for these hours on the train, Liddie was traveling on her own to a real city. A laugh swelled in her throat.

  “May I join you?”

  A familiar voice interrupted her thoughts, and as she looked up, shock punctured her bubble of laughter.

  “Mr. Littmann!”

  “I thought I might surprise you.” He placed his hat and satchel in the overhead rack and took the seat facing her.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Last-minute business. I’m seeing a photographer friend.”

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  “You were so busy with your plans.”

  “But the studio?”

  “I closed up. Bank holiday, you might say. Your trip to Chicago seemed the perfect opportunity to show you the sights.”

  “This isn’t a vacation, Mr. Littmann.” She scanned the car for familiar faces. The women in town couldn’t stop speculating about the fact that Littmann escorted her to various events. The gossip that she was traveling unchaperoned to Chicago with him would spread like a wind-driven fire and could do greater damage.

  “Oh, come now. Surely it won’t require much time to buy a few sewing baubles. In any case, I was concerned about you traveling alone.”

  “Mr. Littmann . . .”

  “Thomas.”

  “Mr. Littmann. I appreciate your concern for my safety, but I can manage.” She tilted her chin at what she hoped was a confident angle.

  “It seems I misgauged your reaction. Would you prefer I took another seat? Or shall I sit here while we pretend we don’t know each other?”

  “Joke if you wish.” She turned her shoulder toward him, stared out the window, and fumed. This trip, her first big trip on her own, had been an idea as sweet as chocolate pie. Now he’d spoiled it.

  He gave her less than ten minutes to think before he spoke. “Miss Treadway?”

  She inclined her head, acknowledging him without speaking.

  “Let me at least escort you safely to the Palmer House.”

  “It’s not necessary. Mrs. Langston is meeting me at the station.” She fixed her gaze out the window, pretending serious interest in the landscape. Then she looked at him. “How did you know I was staying at the Palmer House?”

  “You told me yourself. Almost a dozen times.”

  Recognizing the truth, she laughed. “I have been excited about this trip.”

  “I know. And I hoped to make your experience even better. The Art Institute is only a few blocks from the hotel. Do you think you’d have time in your busy schedule to join me?”

  She exhaled in resignation. “I’ve been rude. Do you really have business in Chicago?”

  “I do. At the Tribune.” He spoke loudly enough for the couple across the aisle to hear him, then leaned in close and lowered his voice. “Appearances. Right, Miss Treadway? Even more, though, I hoped to spend time with you.”

  “Oh.” She blushed and quelled her disappointment at not having this experience to herself, for herself. This would simply be a different adventure than she’d thought.

  She told him the schedule she needed to keep to fulfill her responsibilities for Mrs. Tinker and to meet with Mrs. Langston—and the times she was free. She had already planned to visit the Art Institute because he’d spoken so highly of it. Having him accompany her would be like having her own tour guide.

  It seemed hardly any time at all had passed when the conductor ca
me through the car alerting them that they were arriving at Union Station.

  “It was a pleasure talking with you,” Littmann said, standing to retrieve his hat and satchel as the train braked to a halt. “I hope you enjoy a productive visit to the city.” He leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

  A butterfly flitted through Liddie’s stomach.

  “Miss Treadway.” Littmann greeted her as the maître d’hôtel seated her at his table, which overlooked the Chicago streets. “I’d begun to think you would not join me after all.”

  “I apologize. Everything took longer than I anticipated.” As she settled into her chair, Liddie relished the opulence of the ornate dining room: the candlelight reflecting in the cut-glass crystal, the bone china with its gold edging, the silver service with a multitude of pieces she always had to remind herself to use. “When I sit at a table like this, I half expect King George to be here, too.”

  “You won’t see anything like it in Maquoketa,” Littmann agreed.

  “Will the lady be having wine?” the waiter asked.

  “Yes,” Littmann answered for her, gesturing for his own glass to be refilled.

  “I seldom drink,” she said. The glass of sherry she and Mrs. Tinker each enjoyed on these trips made her feel worldly; wine was even more cosmopolitan.

  “This is a special occasion. We are celebrating.” Littmann nodded at the waiter as he lifted his glass toward Liddie.

  “We are?” she asked.

  “To the wonders of the city!” He clinked his glass against hers. “And to us.”

  She took a sip. To us? She noticed a slur in his speech.

  “Tell me about your day,” he said once they’d ordered.

  She struggled to answer. The day had been very different than she’d anticipated.

  “I brought my portfolio to show Mrs. Langston.”

  “What did she think of the photographs?”