Edith Shay, Chapter 5

Katherine Lunden's hands are addicted to ink. Growing up in the 1860s in the woods of Wisconsin, she read every newspaper she can find and dreams of one day experiencing life outside of her small logging town. Then one day she sees a chance and grabs it. Catching a train to Chicago with nothing more than her satchel and abandoned suitcase bearing the name "Edith Shay," Katherine sets off on the adventure of a lifetime.

Transcript

Hello,

This is Alexandre Lefebvre of Silvanosidae.

I'm going to share Chapter 5 of Ixche,

Onward.

I spent the next week in a haze of words,

Rewriting the letter to my parents,

Over and over in my mind,

Until my senses began to collapse onto themselves,

And I no longer knew what I had written in the first place.

Then I started cursing myself for not sending a telegram.

It would have cost me a penny a word,

But then,

Maybe,

They would have telegraphed back.

I wouldn't have to wait for their answer.

Oh,

But perhaps I was better off not knowing what they had to say.

I tormented myself,

Until I started throwing stitches over my fingers and pulling them right into the hemlines.

When she caught me doing it,

Ellie'd shout,

Do you have your head in a coal bin?

Keep your mind on your work.

For the first time,

I was grateful for Ellie's taskmaster ways.

She got me focused on my work,

And I was able to pull my mind away from my family troubles.

I was thankful to Ellie,

But it was Aslan who reminded me of my real intentions in going to Chicago.

I was there to find the means to see the entire country,

To experience everything I'd read about firsthand.

One day,

I would see the ocean.

Perhaps from a ship,

I would climb a mountain,

Explore a cave larger than a city,

Touch a window of the White House.

Chicago was a fine start,

But I had to go farther,

See more,

Which I couldn't do without money or a husband.

The Graymoor Hotel was the solution to my problem with money.

They had an advertisement in the paper every other week,

Looking for kitchen help,

And I took a job there and worked in the evenings after the shop closed.

Aslan would never know the difference.

It was bound to be like a ride through a sawmill,

But I needed the money.

Mrs.

Hessmuller didn't even recognize me when I approached her about the job.

I decided not to refresh her memory,

Just in case.

Who knows,

I might have left a bitter taste in her mouth by leaving so quickly the last time.

Fortunately,

I was not put on the night duty again.

This time,

I was hired as an assistant cook on the evening shift.

In a week's time,

I discovered just how many muscles the human body contains.

I spent the entire day bent over my sewing.

My neck was stretched tighter than a pig bed or balloon.

My shoulders felt like I was wearing a cast-iron shawl,

And my legs needed the walk to the hotel to wake up.

It wasn't just my body that came alive in that cool evening air.

My mind woke up.

One evening,

As I passed a man carrying a newspaper under his arm,

I realized I hadn't read a word in print for a week.

Me,

The girl who had ink-stained hands for most of her life,

Hadn't had a paper or a book in my hands for close to a month.

There was no time for it with my two jobs,

So I started reading signs on the broadside pasted up on the buildings,

A shave and a bath for twenty-five cents.

For one night only at the Oriental Saloon,

Jimmy Black-Eyed Diggs will fight Marshall Crusher Dibs.

Come one,

Come all,

Bring your bed and money.

I dreamed of that bath,

Loosening my tired muscles,

And heard the shouting and screaming of men cheering on the fighters.

I couldn't stand the sight of blood,

But I longed for words that brought another part of the world alive for me.

I felt so closed off and worn out by both my jobs that my words had power to send me on a flight of fancy,

But that wasn't an option in my work at the Greymoor.

As an assistant cook,

I was responsible for everything the cook didn't have time to do,

So I stood in the kitchen for hours at a time,

Putting ridges into the frosting on cakes,

Cutting shapes into pie crusts,

Whipping cream into froth,

And slicing the meat selection for the evening.

The work pulled the knots out of my shoulders and moved them into my arms,

My feet blistered and my legs filled with rocks.

By the time I walked home,

I could feel every muscle in my body move.

It was the first time in my life I didn't dream.

Eventually my reading day dreams disappeared,

And I found my mind wandering through time-saving devices for basting stitches,

Hemming,

Frosting,

And cutting.

Working was the only thing I had to think about.

I cut out the chatter of my co-workers and kept to myself.

I even found myself rushing Gillian along.

I often answered questions in a clipped word or two,

And annoyed her altogether when she talked about school.

My goal was to save $25,

More than enough for tickets and traveling expenses for quite some time.

I was sure I could raise a reasonable sum in a few months.

One Sunday evening,

I entered the dining room with a platter of roast beef.

My foot caught on a runter they put down to keep the carpet from wearing out.

I fell full body onto the platter,

Splattering gravy all over myself,

The buffet table,

And the cream-colored gown of one of the hotel patrons.

The guests just gawked at me.

The cook picked me up off the floor and herded me into the kitchen,

Apologizing profusely to the guests.

Go clean yourself up,

Miss Shea.

We need somebody to cut the cake.

The cook leaned into the hallway as I stumbled to the water closet.

Harriet,

Get to the dining room.

Miss Shea has gracefully deposited the main course on the floor.

The shards of the platter had cut into my hands and my chest.

I was streaked with blood,

And it felt like I had been sprinkled with hot ash.

I was shaking so much I could barely keep a towel under the spigot to wet it.

Miss Hessmuller burst in as I tried to wipe myself off.

We will pay for this,

Young lady.

The guests have lost their appetite.

Three of them have left the table.

Shaking a finger in my face,

She yelled,

And don't come back until those cuts have healed.

I won't have the guests seeing them.

I went home to nurse my wounds.

I was covered with tiny cuts.

They hurt,

But the biggest damage was to my savings.

Miss Hessmuller sent over a bill the next morning.

It arrived before the Dyer sisters did.

I was charged $8.

70 for the price of the meat,

The platter,

Cleaning the cream gown,

And the money the hotel lost because of the reduced customer spending.

I was muttering to myself over the loss of money when Louise and Opal arrived.

I heard them gasp.

Looking up,

I saw them frozen like deer when you catch them in a clearing.

What on earth happened to you,

Child?

Opal rushed to sit at my side.

I fell with a plate in my hand.

It's nothing,

Really.

I pulled away when she tried to examine my bandaged hand.

Heavens,

Louise went to their bench but didn't take her eyes off me.

You need to take care of yourself.

Opal and I were just talking about the other night.

I looked to Opal.

She said,

That's right.

Sister and I worry about you.

If you were to fall and hurt yourself,

No one would be here to help you.

Young women shouldn't live alone,

Louise added,

Inspecting the work she'd done the day before.

That's right,

Opal patted my shoulder as she stood up.

A young woman like yourself should at least have someone around to look after her.

I can take care of myself,

Louise pointed at my hand.

We can see that,

Miss Shea.

In fact,

I'd say it's painfully clear.

Those women had me tied into knots by the time Ellie showed up,

Taking a raft while she asked,

What's the cuss?

Miss Shea heard herself.

It's no surprise with the way she goes running around.

Let's get to work.

It was the first time I was glad that Ellie didn't tolerate much idle chatter.

We all set to work,

And I could have forgotten about the whole embarrassing incident,

If only I didn't have the bill to pay,

And my fingers weren't so stiff.

Azen saw the cuts that afternoon when I brought her the colours I had finished.

Is everything all right,

Edith?

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye,

As if she didn't want to bry.

Just fine.

Good,

She smiled.

Just a little accident then?

Yes,

Ma'am.

Good,

She patted my hand.

Mother would have cursed me for being so clumsy,

And cleaned out all the cuts with soap and water before bandaging them.

Not another word would be said about it.

I longed for her.

While my cuts healed,

I had my evenings to myself again.

As I lay on the bed,

Hearing the sounds of the street below,

I realised how much space there was between me and the next person in the world.

Even if I went out into the street and introduced myself,

People wouldn't know me.

They certainly wouldn't understand me.

Heavens,

Even my own parents were angry at me for being myself.

I wondered about Edith Shea.

The real Edith Shea.

She had been travelling,

Probably alone.

Her beat-up old suitcase said she didn't have much money.

I opened the suitcase to take in the sour,

Sweet,

Musty smell of Edith's dress,

And finger her packages to guess their contents.

I'd done this so much over the weeks.

The brown paper had soaked up the oil from my probing fingers,

And turned dark brown.

Each time I examined them,

I thought to open them,

But it didn't seem right.

The proper thing to do would be to return all her things in the best condition.

By holding the dress against me,

I could see Edith was a smaller woman.

The hem only came to my knees.

I searched for any clues that would build an identity out of the contents in the suitcase.

But beyond her choice of clothing,

Her home address,

And my guesses as to the contents of her packages,

She was an empty picture frame in my head.

In my loneliness,

I constructed a new picture of the type of person I longed for her to be.

In my mind now,

Edith was all the people I needed to keep me going,

To hold me up,

And push me forward,

To become something more than myself.

She was an excuse to dip inside my own imagination,

And develop a sense of independence.

In a way,

Edith became my family.

Without my family,

Friends became quite important.

Jillian was the only friend I had close to my own age,

But she saw me as an adult.

One evening,

I was disassembling the sewing machine to remove the thread wound around the interior spools.

My hair kept separating itself from the bun on the top of my head,

So I had to tuck it back in.

I sat up to redo my hair and stretch the muscles in my back,

Only to see Jillian coiling her hair on top of her head.

She didn't see me watching,

So I continued to do so.

She pulled straight pins out of the cushion on Ellie's work table,

And started thrusting them into her makeshift bun.

Jillian,

You'll be putting holes in your head before you hold any hair in place,

I said,

As I approached her.

She was the only one there,

So I felt safe enough to be myself.

She dropped her hair,

Sending pins tinkling across the floor.

Sorry,

Miss Shea,

I wasn't stealing.

I was going to put them back.

Who said anything about stealing?

I pulled a bobby pin out of my hair and held it out.

You need these to keep your hair up.

I've seen those in the stores,

Jillian pointed.

My mom has a little wire cage she puts over her hair.

You aren't far from the mark,

I smiled.

This is chicken wire.

Chicken wire?

Yes.

It's fencing to keep chickens in the yard.

They keep chickens behind fences?

When you live in the woods,

You have to keep them penned up,

Or they get lost in the trees and live off pine nuts.

Next thing you know,

Your neighbors are dining on your chickens.

My mother says I have to wait until I pass the diploma test before I can wear my hair up like everyone here does.

My sister Marie didn't pass the test until she was 21 years old,

And she was pregnant.

Her husband had to bring her all the way from Wheaton so she could take the test.

He was hotter than a canning jar fresh out of the pot over the whole thing.

Like Papa,

He sees no need for womenfolk to be reading and writing.

They have no time for it once they start a family.

Mrs.

O'Dell reads every day on her lunch break.

No offense,

Miss Shea,

But Mrs.

O'Dell doesn't have any children.

Right you are,

I nodded.

Say,

How about I put your hair up for you when you're through here?

That would be fine.

I'm not due back home until six,

And I have most everything bundled already.

All right,

I'll finish with the sewing machine,

And we can go up to my room.

Julian leaned into my room as if it were a dark,

Forbidding cave.

I've never been in here before.

The old man who used to own this place lived up here.

Some say he died in his sleep,

And he haunts the place because he hates Irish people like the O'Dells.

Nonsense.

I walked past her and pulled up the shades to let in the evening sun.

The only things up here are me and the dust.

You going somewhere,

Miss Shea?

Julian fingered the cracked leather on the suitcase at the end of the bed.

No.

I just don't like keeping it under the bed.

It's too dusty.

I went to the bureau for my brush and pens.

Edith Shea,

1919 Fillmore Lane,

Richmond,

Virginia.

Julian read the tag on the suitcase aloud.

Miss Shea,

Are you going home for Christmas?

The question hit me like a snowball square in the face.

I could feel the melting ice and snow run down my back.

Christmas was a time of year that filled our house so thick with good smells,

Singing,

Laughter,

And gifts we had to open the windows a crack to breathe.

It was such a natural part of my life.

I had never thought about being without it.

To keep my mind from dwelling on the subject,

I answered as quickly as possible.

No.

I don't have the money.

That was true enough,

But it wasn't the reason I couldn't spend the holidays with my family.

My father's letter rang in my ears as I brushed Julian's hair into a bun.

I write this letter because your mother refuses.

I had sinned against my mother by stepping outside her sacred Wisconsin.

She didn't even want to address me in person.

You were glad to leave us.

My family believed that I wanted to leave them behind,

But they didn't know how much I missed them.

They hadn't watched me follow strangers down the street because of their resemblance to those I loved.

The trip to Michigan should have shown you what a separation from your family really means.

Separation from my family meant not sitting at the kitchen table on Christmas Eve with Grandma London,

Sealing the presents for my small cousins with hot wax,

The house filled with noises that kept my hands moving for fear we'd get caught.

Everyone came to our house for the holiday,

And it was filled from floor to outhouse with people.

My cousins had to bed down on the floor,

And they often rolled in their sleep.

Grandpa London and his oldest son Earl were sure to have a snoring duel before the rising of the Christmas sun.

Mother and her sister Fran travelled around the room,

Filling the stockings hung from the walls.

They whispered to each other to keep their sibling secrets.

I wouldn't be there to sew another patch on the Christmas quilt that had been in the London family for seventy-five years.

Grandma London had been there for forty-nine of those years as Grandpa's wife,

And she was bound and determined to see the backing put on before she was placed in the ground to rest.

It took twelve months to choose the right patch of fabric.

When Jillian spoke,

She startled me into listening.

She said,

We go to my grandma's house in Michigan every year.

Father works at a store packing Christmas boxes to be sent in the mail so he can pay for the trip.

I wonder if they got any more jobs like that,

So you can have one.

Father says there are two women who address the packages.

Really?

I said.

Yes,

Ma'am.

She nodded,

Pulling away to have a look at the finished product.

I could ask my father if you like.

No,

But thank you,

Jillian.

I fell back into my thoughts of Wisconsin and didn't hear Jillian leave.

I wanted to hear my mother sing Silent Night.

I longed for the off-key squeal in her voice when she tried to hit the high notes,

But I knew I couldn't go home for the holidays.

I had to make do where I was.

I soon discovered I was doing a little better than making do.

In early November,

After I started back at the Greymoor,

I worked every day on a dress.

And with the chill of fall that began to sneak into the lake winds,

I stayed up after my shift at the hotel to sew a coat.

I started with a wool blanket from a neighborhood mercantile and scraps from the shop.

A sure way to keep warm and save money.

Aslan was going to sell the dress to the Mertels if I did good enough job.

Sewing a dress was a long way from the sheets I'd started out repairing only months earlier.

The coat was no mending job either.

To tell the truth,

I didn't know a coat pattern from a pea soup recipe,

But I had certainly made a dress before.

In fact,

I'd sewn my first one with Grandma Margaret when I was ten.

Still,

This dress was more than that.

It was a gown.

The fabric I had chose was deep green,

The color of the spread in my parents' bed.

I sewed black sequins onto the bodice in large,

Flourishes.

Collar and cuffs I lined with a stiff black lace that had to be fastened without visible seams.

The train quickly consumed seven yards of a fine,

Polished cotton.

After three failed attempts,

I was able to complete the bow,

Which rested on the bustle.

I even learned a thing or two about making a coat from the dress pattern.

My collar was laceless,

But a pretty fine copy of the one I had made for the gown.

And if I had a coat with a bustle for the first time in my life,

I even used fabric from the dress to line it.

It looked like a coat made from a blanket,

Even with a bustle.

But it was warm,

And I didn't have to run around the city with a bed quilt over my shoulders.

When I was finished with the dress,

Aislinn took it from me.

She leaned over it,

Examined each seam as if she were looking for flecks of gold,

Turning it inside out.

She continued her search until she finally came to the last piece of the bottom hem,

And she dropped it into her lap and sighed.

A masterpiece.

She smiled.

Really?

I felt so good.

I was glad Ellie wasn't there to add her opinion.

The Mertez was set before the smell of her sweat leaves the fabric.

That was the 7th of December,

And on the 17th,

Charlotte and Rachel Mertel came waltzing into the shop,

All rustling ruffles and powdered smiles,

With the announcement that Mrs.

Roberta Babcock,

Wife of Ellison Babcock,

One of the most prominent men in the Chicago shipping business,

Had purchased my dress.

Aislinn stood behind me.

She was happy.

She kept squeezing my arm and laughing,

Saying,

You did it,

Lass.

You did it.

Indeed,

I did.

I suddenly understood why the shop meant so much to Aislinn.

She was so proud.

She invited me to her house for dinner that night.

I knew I'd have the chance to see what life in Chicago could lead to.

Aislinn held the door open for me.

I'll give the key to Jillian.

She's a fine girl.

She'll look up.

Jillian agreed to do just that.

Then Mr.

O'Dell arrived to escort us to their home.

He didn't grip my hand like the handle of an axe,

As my brother Thomas always did.

Instead,

He stiffened his wrist and pressed my fingers onto his so that I could use his arm to pull myself into the wagon.

It was a gesture of respect and independence I rather enjoyed.

You look quite fine,

Miss Shee.

He nodded in my direction with a smile as he signaled the horses to go.

I blushed.

The O'Dell house,

Which stood in a street that curved around a small pond,

Was everything I ever dreamed of in a family home.

When I stood on the front lawn,

It looked tall enough to rival the pines which surrounded our plank house in Wisconsin.

Their house had shingles painted a faint shade of blue,

Not shaved planks with moldy green spots caused by rain.

The front door had an oval window of etched glass.

As I entered the front room,

I half expected to find Edie Shee resting in a high back rocking chair with knitting in her lap.

We had dinner in a room set aside for the long,

Polished table.

Aslan covered it with a white macrame tablecloth.

The meal was served on glass plates rimmed with silver.

They captured the light from the gas lamps on the wall in tiny stars of reflection.

My water was as clear as the crystal glass that contained it.

There were so many things to see,

I barely found time to eat.

Aslan noticed my preoccupation and smiled.

Not like your own home?

No,

Ma'am.

Everything in our home's rough-hewn.

Nothing has a shine like your things do,

Except of course the windows,

After good spring cleaning and my grandfather's watch.

Aslan bowed her head for a moment.

Before she looked at me again,

She exclaimed,

Exchanged glances with her husband,

Who motioned with his fork to encourage her to speak.

My parents weren't well,

Did you?

I grew up on a house no larger than this one.

Half of it was taken up by our shop.

I couldn't keep the shop from filling my face with heat.

I brought my napkin to my lips to hide it,

But wasn't successful.

Aslan continued,

Don't act so surprised,

Edith.

You wait and see.

In a chapter,

Man,

Like my Ethan.

She gripped her husband's hand.

He'd buy you all this and more.

Was that why I was looking for a husband?

To buy me things?

To take me places?

I felt small.

Anyway,

That wasn't why Aslan was with Ethan.

As Aslan served the salad,

Ethan said,

The world is changing so quickly.

You'll have much more than we do.

Really?

I nodded,

Seeing Aslan pick up the small fork with three tines to eat her salad.

Indeed,

She knew what that was for.

There was wine chilling in a silver bucket.

I thought they called it terrine,

Or was that for soup?

I was hopeless to try and remember all of these things.

I looked into the parlor through the doorway.

I could see the hanging plants,

The fine furniture.

My Edith was no more than a shadow of Aslan.

I felt so daft for retreating into my own fantasy when there was a real woman right in front of me who could teach me so much.

What's this for?

I asked,

Holding up the fork farthest from the plate.

Dessert,

Aslan said,

Smiling.

At least that's what they call it here.

Back home,

It was sputum.

After dinner,

We went into the parlor.

I was amazed at all the wood in the room.

Wood panelling,

Wood floors,

Wood fireplace,

Wood furniture.

I imagined I'd turn to wood if I stayed here too long.

We opened an atlas on the floor and selected places we wanted to go.

Aslan picked the Gulf Coast of Africa because she'd heard it was once the centre of the grandest kingdom of the continent.

That's,

Of course,

Before the high and mightiness of Europe saw fit to destroy everything in their path.

Ethan pretended to shiver.

Don't get her started on the empires of Europe.

She'll turn into Rob Roy before our eyes.

The Roy was a damn Scot.

And your great grandfather wasn't?

Aye,

Tar feathers.

Forget I said a word.

It was wonderful to see them argue.

It made me think of Grandma Margaret yelling at Grandpa Jacob for voting for Stephen Douglas.

Whereas Mr.

O'Dell drove me home,

I couldn't help but think Aslan would be in Chicago forever.

But there was nothing stopping me from leaving,

Then returning someday.

After all,

Aslan herself said life should be lived in the open,

Amongst the people,

Seeing the world.

I had to leave Chicago,

And soon.

If I didn't,

I'd stay forever.

I'd disappear right into Aslan's life,

With the fancy dresses,

The gorgeous houses,

The dreams of travel that never get lived.

I'd had enough of dreams.

So I agreed to work at the Greymore Christmas Eve when Mrs.

Hess-Meeler offered me an extra 15 cents an hour.

Aslan and Ethan had invited me to their home,

But I lied to them and said I was spending the weekend with a friend I had met at the library and her family.

That night,

The sound of carolers rose up from the street as I stirred the plum pudding to be served at the Christmas banquet,

Attended for a price higher than my weekly salary.

I served the meal with a smile on my face for fear Mrs.

Hess-Meeler wouldn't duck my wages.

But I felt hollow.

It was almost as if I were a ghost of myself,

Floating around the table.

I don't remember cleaning the kitchen that night,

But I knew it had to be spotless before Mrs.

Hess-Meeler let me leave.

I heard the carolers singing Joy to the World as I stepped outside into the frigid air.

The night was clear,

The stars bright,

The sky blue like the velvet in the case for the London Family Bible.

I found the carolers as they crossed into the park and followed them until they wound past the shop.

Then I went in.

From my window,

I watched them move slowly down the street.

I thought of home and the tart smell of pine and snow on her front porch.

I took out my father's letter and read it again.

I had to force myself to believe Aslan.

They would ask me to come again some day,

In the hope that they would do.

They would do it,

And soon.

I wrote them a letter,

Sprawled out onto the floor of the paper before me,

The pencil in my hand.

I couldn't help recalling all of the times I had lain like that in the attic,

Looking at the newspaper.

December 24th,

1869.

Dear family,

I cannot let this day pass without telling you just how I feel.

I am alone in my room,

Imagining all of you gathered around the Christmas tree,

Singing carols.

Mother,

I can hear you singing Silent Night.

I know Father has polished up his harmonica,

And Thomas is snapping along with him on a set of Mother's good silver spoons.

Grandpa Jacob,

I bet you're telling them all about the Christmas you and your brother Quentin got caught in the snowstorm on the way back from Milestone.

And the young ones thought you were white bears come to eat them.

Grandma Margaret,

We're a square closer this year.

That quilt will be done before your day comes,

Or we'll bury you in it.

If Aunt Fran is there,

Please ask her to forgive me.

I did not mean to abandon her.

I hope that Uncle Charles is well and giving piggyback rides to all the young ones.

He's the only one tall enough to get them up to a height where they can hang the mistletoe from the rafters.

God bless you all.

I miss you.

Please forgive me.

Love,

Catherine.

As I wrote the letter,

I imagined myself sitting in the parlor with my family.

As I put it in the envelope,

I thought about what my family would do when they received it.

Mrs.

Beaufield would walk it over to the mill where Thomas worked.

He'd rush home shouting,

A letter from Catherine.

Mother would grab it and read it quickly to herself.

Father would take it as the family gathered in the parlor.

He would read it out loud and comment on everything I said.

With fondness,

Grandpa Jacob would hear Quentin's name and lean back in remembrance,

Saying,

Oh,

That night,

It was so bitter cold.

Grandma would have to squeeze his knee to keep him from telling the entire story.

Mother would snicker at the suggestion that we'd bury Grandma Margaret in the quilt,

Saying,

Not a chance,

Mother London.

That quilt's going to be my daughter's wedding bed.

The truth of the matter was that they might not even read the letter since they no longer considered me a welcome member of the family.

But I felt a strong connection to them just for writing it.

I knew I could never stop sending them letters.

So I had to pray they would read them and find something within my words that would let me come back home.

I felt so alone,

So afraid I'd never see them again.

I prayed to God that he would carry me back to Wisconsin that very night.

Dropping onto the bed,

I started to cry.

Then I realized it had been my choice to go to Chicago.

I decided to stay even after my parents sent me that letter.

I declined the invitation from Aslan and Ethan,

So I had to make my own Christmas.

I emptied the suitcase onto my bed.

I picked up my favorite package.

I decided that I deserved a present for keeping the suitcase so long on Edith's behalf.

I knew just the one I wanted.

I knew it had a book inside.

The outline of the grooves in the binding was permanently pressed into the paper because I'd fondled it so much.

Whoever she was,

Edie Shea loved someone enough to buy them a book,

A thick paper slice of another world.

That someone was without the present I held in my hand.

I silently promised him or her I'd replace the book before I returned the suitcase.

It was a leather-bound volume of a novel called English Orphan by Louise White.

The leather was a deep red like wine I'd served at dinner.

There was a picture of the main character,

Daphne,

In a straw bonnet with a blue ribbon hand-pasted on the front cover.

I started to read.

Daphne was an orphan from England who'd come to America to seek out an aunt who'd left England when Daphne was still a small child.

Reading was usually my key to another world,

But with each new page,

I found myself walking along this lay-rutted road to our own house.

I could see the wreath on the door,

Hear my family singing inside.

I could even see myself opening the door,

Everyone turning to see who it was.

But would they be happy?

I fell asleep praying that they would.

I dreamed of a house,

But it wasn't my family's.

When I crested the hill that overlooked our house,

It wasn't there.

I was staring down into a rich green valley.

All I could see were fields lined with wooden fences.

Then I turned and saw a grand old house with full-length porches set back from the road.

Black shutters accented the multi-pane windows.

The road leading up to the house was lined by maple trees leaning over the gravel.

Somehow I knew the house I stared at belonged to the Shea family of Richmond,

Virginia.

Children played in the front yard,

Their laughter bouncing off the walls of the house and drifting out toward the road.

Lanterns lit several windows open to the street and the sweet Virginia air.

In my dream,

I approached on bare feet,

But the gravel didn't hurt.

The flagstone of the front porch was as cool as river ice without the bite.

The smoke rippling out of the twin chimneys was black,

The exhaust of a good coal fire.

My dream ended just as someone,

Probably Edith,

Was opening the door.

I only saw the outer edge of pale grey wool.

Waking up alone with father's letter open on the bedside table convinced me I couldn't go home.

I suddenly knew that waiting for their letter in Chicago meant I was letting them hold me down.

Aslan told me I shouldn't let them do it.

She said life was meant to be lived out in the open.

What was open about a stuffy,

Dark seamstress shop yet,

Indeed,

I would see the world.

I jumped off the bed,

My feet hitting the floor with a thud because I hadn't even taken off my boots.

Laughing at myself,

I shouted,

I'll be off.

But to where,

I thought,

Minneapolis,

Nebraska?

How long would my money last if all I did was travel?

I started to pace,

Knowing I was fast on my way to convincing myself that travel was a foolish dream.

Then I saw Edith's suitcase open at the end of my bed.

Edith had traveled halfway across the country with nothing more than a change of clothes and some kiss.

She'd done it.

I could do it.

Heavens,

She could tell me all about traveling.

I could learn all the secrets of touring the world from her.

The least I could do was give her back her suitcase.

At that moment,

I felt guilty for not arranging to return her things earlier.

I worked myself up to the point that I thought it was my duty to place that suitcase in her hands face to face.

To do that,

I had to go to Richmond,

Virginia.

I was a fool to think I could just waltz onto a train and ride comfortably down to Virginia to hand over a wrinkled old suitcase to some stranger.

But I thought I was doing the right thing.

I was putting Edith before myself and returning the thing that was rightfully hers.

I'd coveted them for so long.

I kept the most important facts tucked deeply into the folds in the back of my hat.

It would have been simpler to send her a letter and tell her I had her suitcase.

With a little more effort,

I could have sent the suitcase in the mail.

But I needed something physical,

Something real that could pull me forward to explore the world I'd read about in the papers.

I was foolish enough to think that somewhere I'd find a place I'd read about just as I had imagined them to be.

The first thing I did on the 26th was going straight to the Fifth Street station.

The ticket clerk at the first window was pulling loose threads out of his vest.

I know a good seamstress who could fix that for you,

I offered.

My wife's a darn good seamstress,

Thank you very much,

He insisted,

The wrinkles around his purplish lips increasing as he closed his mouth.

I didn't know how to respond,

So I stayed silent.

Did you need something or were you just trying to advertise for some tailor shop?

I know how much it would cost for a ticket to Richmond,

Virginia.

You can't get there from here.

Besides,

What do you want to go to rebel country for?

There are no trains going to Richmond?

Sure,

Seven trains.

They didn't want Union-made tracks,

So they laid their own.

And just like their army,

Their rail isn't built right.

It's as thick as their heads.

No Union trains can go down there.

Can I take a Southern train?

If you can get to a big city close enough to the Mason-Dixon line,

Like Washington,

But our line only goes as far as Philadelphia,

You'll have to switch over to a different rail company down there.

The ticket to Philadelphia is $6 one way.

Train leaves every day at 4 p.

M.

And reaches Philadelphia three days later at 6 a.

M.

,

Chicago time.

Thank you,

Sir.

I wanted to buy a ticket,

But then I thought of Aslan.

I owed it to her to tell her before I did.

Changed your mind,

Did you?

Smart girl.

I spent the night trying to find a groove in my mattress deep enough to disappear into.

Faces kept sneaking into my head and repeating themselves over and over.

There was the woody old man from the Michigan train station who was sure I needed a handout.

The powder-faced Martel sisters who could only see me as a child with unremarkable hair.

And the prune-lipped ticket clerk who kept rattling off the reasons I couldn't go to Richmond.

By morning,

I was convinced I had to go to Virginia,

Just to prove it could be done.

Returning Edith's belongings and meeting her face-to-face would make it all worthwhile.

My biggest obstacle was telling Aslan I was leaving.

I felt as if I was betraying her by going.

She had been so kind to me,

Giving me a job,

A place to stay,

The prettiest dress I'd ever owned.

Each night,

As my co-workers left one by one with half-hearted farewells because they knew they would return in the morning,

I tried to get up the courage to tell Aslan.

But I never uttered a word except goodbye,

As Ethan tapped at the door to take her home.

Accustomed to living in a house filled with people,

I always felt as if I shrank inside when the others left,

Especially the Dyer sisters.

I never really developed a strong relationship with them.

It just hurt in a melancholy sort of way to see the bond between them,

The way they'd stand at the door straightening each other's clothing,

Buttoning each other's coats,

Doing everything to make sure that the other was ready to face the winter cold.

They walked shoulder to shoulder down the boardwalk and tipped their heads in unison to the people passing by.

I wanted someone to look after me that way.

After everyone had gone,

The shop was slowly filled with a sense of loneliness.

Any moment would make me think someone was returning because they had forgotten something.

When I convinced myself no one was coming back,

I started to see people in the things around me.

The Dyer sisters were creating matching dresses for the Martells to wear to the New Year's ball.

That gala event was sponsored by Potter Palmer to christen his new hotel on State Monroe.

The sewing forms in the room cast shadowy figures across the floor,

Making it appear as though the sisters were walking hand in hand across the sewing room.

One night Aslyn stayed late to finish the edges on the buttonholes of a pink dress with pearl white applique on the bodice.

With a thread wrapped around her finger to keep it taut,

She kept her eyes fixed on her work.

It seemed like just the right time to tell her I was leaving.

She was so involved in her work she might not even think about my words until I was safely inside my room where I couldn't see the pain in her eyes.

Mrs.

O'Dell,

I said as I stared at the shoes she'd given me.

It's Mrs.

Now,

Is it?

She didn't look up.

Yes.

I felt as if someone had sat on my chest,

But I kept talking for fear I'd never have the courage to do it again.

I have to put in my notice,

Ma'am.

Do you not?

She made it sound as if we were discussing the right stitch to use when finishing off a preacher's collar on a wool coat.

Yes,

Ma'am.

When will you be leaving?

The end of this month,

Ma'am.

But I'll be sure to finish that curtain order for the Grace Brothers Hotel.

That's good.

She turned the fabric over in her hand to examine her work.

Then,

Then,

I didn't even know what I was trying to ask her.

She finally looked up.

Her eyes were glassy with tears.

You think I haven't seen the way you skulk around here each day,

Or the dark circles under your eyes?

You've been working two jobs to save up,

Haven't you?

Yes.

I was crying too.

As you shall,

Titus.

You're a good wild heart in you,

You dear.

And wild hearts should roam.

She took a deep breath.

I just wish I could go roaming with you.

We both smiled.

Thank you.

I squeezed her hand.

Huh.

She shook my hand away.

Off with you.

Get to wherever you got to go at night.

You're making me cry.

I kissed her on top of the head and ran out the door.

As I made my way down a side street,

I felt as if I could run for miles.

I was really going.

Really leaving.

Amen.

For Catherine London,

Aka Edith,

This part of the journey is probably one of the hardest.

I mean,

She'd met wonderful people in Chicago.

And now she had to ask herself,

Did she keep going to prove she could see the world as an independent woman?

Or did she stay with the wonderful Odell's and all the people who have made her life more interesting,

If not quite challenging?

In the wonderful city she'd always dreamed of visiting,

The pre-fire Chicago of 1869.

I know I'm the author of this story,

But sometimes I wonder,

What would have happened if Catherine had stayed?

Would she have survived the fire?

Hmm.

I wonder what happened to the Odell's,

And Ellie,

And the Dyer sisters.

You know,

A lot of what this book is about is deciding what the next chapter of your life is really about.

The truth is,

If Catherine had stayed in Chicago or pursued her dream and kept going,

She would have learned something from each choice.

She would have gained something from each path.

Is there one true path through life?

Or are there many?

And do each of them teach us something new,

Make us grow in a way we wouldn't have?

The truth is,

Each choice we make contains a present,

Like those nicely wrapped packages in Edushe's suitcase.

For so long,

We search them and consider them,

Not really sure if we should open them.

And then we decide,

We move forward,

And we open that package to see what holds for us,

What we can learn from it,

How we can use it,

How it can teach us to be a better person.

Sometimes we dive into those choices without thinking about them and are shocked by the results.

Sometimes we contemplate them for so long,

We're too exhausted to even reap the benefits.

No matter what,

Each choice we make unfolds an opportunity for us to learn and grow.

And I thank you for taking the opportunity to listen to this chapter of Edushe.

And I hope you will join me again for another chapter.

This is A.

Lafaye of Silvanosity,

Thanking you once again.

Bye for now.

Reviews

I'm 72.
This story calls up feelings from when I was a young adult making my way with the enormous cohort of baby boomers. You've captured that time of urgency.

Happy to hear another chapter of this, I’ve missed your stories!