Chapter 10 May

10

MAY

The door closed, and she and Faith were left alone.

May threw her forearm across her eyes. The encounter with Mrs. Mendenhall had left her trembling. To be censured when she craved comfort! Her attacker’s fingers had seemed to close around her neck once again.

From outside came the squawks of sandhill cranes riding the thermals, heading south for the winter. The lawn party, fortunately, was winding down. The children’s matron called for the young ones to line up and return to the cottage.

Cold fingers took May’s arm, moving it aside to apply the damp cloth to her forehead. May opened her eyes to see Faith hovering, her delicate face crumpled in sympathy. It was strange: When she and Faith were apart, May had trouble picturing her. Her mind would assemble the features—dark hair, violet eyes, creamy complexion—but they would add up to nothing. Yet here Faith was, real and solid. A fair-faced girl with ordinary pale freckles and the tiniest wisp of dark hair on her upper lip.

May cleared her throat. Her voice box felt swollen and bruised. “I simply couldn’t tell her what happened.”

Faith’s lips twitched to the side. She nodded in understanding.

May shifted her quilt, exposing her neck down to the collarbone. She waited for Faith to flinch at the bruises, but the girl regarded her with steely eyes.

“It wasn’t…” Faith swallowed. “…him, was it?”

It took May a moment to realize Faith meant Hal. “Oh, no! Of course not. It was a stranger. A horrible, ugly man.” She described her assailant for Faith: his bulky physique, his broad, scraggly mustache, his pug-nosed face. Faith’s eyes widened, and she nodded as though she was familiar with this sort of person.

“He’s still out there,” May rasped. “He ran away. He said, ‘I’m sorry.’ And then he was gone.”

Faith’s brow wrinkled. “He apologized?”

Downstairs, the front doors banged open. Women’s voices, skittery from sugar and coffee, punctuated the air like the chatter of a dozen birds. Feet pounded up the stairs. May and Faith were due in the kitchen. May began to sit up, wincing, then froze. Her stomach dropped. She had been ordered to leave in three weeks.

“What am I going to do? Where can I go?” She preempted any question about Hal with a sweep of her hand. “He hasn’t asked me to marry him yet, and it’s not as if I can ask him.”

An idea came to her. Hal had just inquired whether she had family looking out for her, and one of her last thoughts, just before stars began to appear in front of her eyes, had been of her mother. Perhaps her mother could spare some help for her, especially if she hinted she was in danger. Then May could rent an apartment for a little while, maybe even one of the Ozark Flats. She handed the rag back to Faith and went to the desk for a scrap of paper.

“You bake well,” Faith said in her quiet way, squeezing the cloth over the washbasin. “The layers, in your biscuits…”

“Have you ever sent a telegram?” May asked. The inkwell was nearly dry. She blotted and dabbed the nib. “I can’t recall how many words you’re allowed before the price goes up.”

Faith shook her head no. “You could apply to bake bread somewhere. A hotel, perhaps.” Her voice was so soft. “Night work. But you’d rest in daytime.”

Night work. It sounded obscene. May paused and looked at what she’d written so far. “Let me concentrate, please.”

Faith obeyed, stayed still as a statue while May completed the note to be transcribed. She’d never sent one to her mother before, these few years she’d been in Minnesota. She had been waiting for an occasion to relay some good news.

“There,” she said. She read the message aloud, to make sure there were no errors.

Mother, In good health but suffered small injury at work. Seeking new job need money to stop gap. Love to all at home, Your Daughter.

“Twenty-five words,” she said, satisfied. When she looked up, Faith was staring at her. “My mother believes I still work at the woolen mill.” The very mention of the place brought back a scalded feeling to May’s hands and the sharp tang of lye. “Mother also thinks I live with my cousin Amelia, even though I left Amelia’s in summer of ’92. It’s better for everyone, including Amelia, if we let Mother keep believing that.”

The wary look on Faith’s face didn’t change. May crossed her arms. “I couldn’t have told her I was attacked while walking alone at night. Then she certainly wouldn’t send me any money.” She sniffed. “It’s not exactly a lie. I was injured at the woolen mill. More than once.”

Faith looked her up and down, from the bruises at her throat to the worn toes of her stockings. May’s palms went cold and sweaty. Why had she mentioned how long it had been since she’d left Amelia’s? Sensing a question brewing, May turned away and began stripping off last night’s clothes, the tartan blouse and dark skirt, her petticoat, all of which now smelled of smoke and whiskey, and which she’d be happy never to see again.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said over her shoulder, “I’d like some privacy.” She heard Faith set down the washcloth before their door opened and shut.

—

“Oh, my darling May, what horror has befallen you!”

To her delight, Hal had not only shown his face at church the next day, but he’d also searched for her ahead of the service. They sat in a pew together, which meant she’d been able to leave Pearl and the others behind, scowls on their faces. So much had happened to May in the last couple of days, and Hal’s solid form beside her, his thigh along hers, felt so distracting that she had trouble keeping still during the sermon. She’d left church wanting to burst.

And now, incredibly, he’d taken her to an upscale ice-cream saloon with a full menu, where she’d told him what happened to her on the way home from Gussie’s party.

“If only I’d walked you home,” he cried. “Why didn’t I remember that the streetcar stopped running at ten? It’s completely my fault.”

She tried not to smile. Had she wanted to make him feel guilty? Perhaps just a trifle. She’d worn her calico dress with the higher neckline, a shawl draped around her shoulders. She let it fall an inch or so, to give him a glimpse of her black-and-blue skin.

“Well,” she said, taking in the walls lined in gilt-framed mirrors, the burgundy tiled floor and tin ceiling, the ornate scrollwork around the cash register. “I am feeling much better now.”

“Thank heaven for that, darling.”

It was pleasantly warm in here, though May could feel a draft emanating through the fogged glass window beside her. She could just make out the huddled shapes of passersby, heads bent against the falling snow. Any other day, she’d be one of them. Today, she was here with Hal, and he’d ordered them a veritable feast: blue-point oysters; an omelet for her and Salisbury steak for himself; a plate of toast, butter, and chocolate; steaming mugs of coffee with cream and sugar. She lifted the shell of a broiled oyster to her lips and hesitated. Was it polite to slurp, or did one use the tiny fork? Hal slurped his, and she followed suit, savoring the briny flavor peppered with breadcrumbs, sharp cheese, and green onions.

He reached across the table for her fingertips, ducking his head charmingly so that he had to peer under his eyelashes at her. “What did your cousin Amelia say when you came home in such bad shape? I hope she won’t forbid you to see me again. That is, if she knows I exist.”

“Certainly, I’ve told her about you,” she replied, without thinking it through. He’d caught her off her guard. She hoped he couldn’t tell how slick her palm had become.

His eyes brightened. “Then she wouldn’t mind me coming to call on you? I love to visit Kenny. I’m sure her home is delightful.”

The skin on her collarbone began to itch, as it did whenever she lied. She scratched, trying not to be obvious. Her fingers brushed the wounds on her neck. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“Why? Do you think she’d disapprove?”

“No, but…her husband is away, and I don’t know if it would be proper. He’s inspecting livestock in the Dakotas.”

Hal squinted. “I thought you said he worked in railroads.”

She wet her lips. She had said that. Last she’d heard about Amelia’s husband, he’d been a Pillsbury boxcar loader. Now she’d gotten him mixed up with the stories she told about her father and uncle. “He did. He does. He’s there with Union Pacific, something to do with”—she waved her hand in the air—“freight.”

Hal slipped another oyster down his throat. “That must pay well.”

“I’m sure it does,” she murmured. Why were they stuck on Amelia’s husband? There were still three warm oysters on the copper platter in front of her, and she hesitated before reaching for one of them. She put it on her plate and looked at it.

“I’d like to see where you live,” she said, peeking up at him, then back at the oyster. She meant it; she longed to be alone with him, to sit on a soft divan or a mattress, instead of across from each other on these hard wooden benches. It made her squirmy, being so close to Hal and yet unable to touch him. Under the table she dug the heel of one boot into her other toe.

Hal looked through the window and took a sip of coffee. “I’m afraid you’d be sorely disappointed by the Ozark Flats. A dingy place. All manner of crime happening in and around those walls.”

Then why did he live there? The shellfish seemed to lodge in her throat, like glue.

“What about your parents?” Hal said abruptly.

“Pardon?” She tried washing the oyster down with water. “What about them?”

“Now that you’ve been attacked, what will they do to protect you? Why don’t they hire you a driver to take you around?”

The idea was so absurd that a hoarse laugh burst out of her. She pressed her fingers to her lips, embarrassed. If only he knew. She’d be grateful if her mother sent her five dollars.

She studied Hal as he ripped apart his bread. He’d always given off an air of aristocracy, and she’d assumed him well heeled, only to find he rented an apartment and dealt in counterfeit money. Everyone knew it was uncouth to comment on how much someone made, too, and here he’d done it about her cousin. Who was Hal, really, besides a handsome face? And who was he to pry about her family, when she’d already endured such scrutiny from Mrs. Mendenhall?

Her father had told her a story once, about a merchant who tried selling him faux-leather bootlaces. The man had taken his time in getting to know May’s father, George, flattering him about his craftsmanship, bringing trinkets for the children. He’d sold George real leather cord three times before passing him the imitation. The man was a masterful actor, according to May’s father. Nothing in his manner had betrayed anything suspicious about this lot.

“But I knew,” her father told her. “I knew from the moment he set foot in my workshop that I’d have to inspect anything he brought in with double the scrutiny I gave anyone else. Because all along he’d been selling me a hell of a lot more than leather.”

May slid out of the booth. Hal’s blue eyes widened in shock.

“I have to go,” she said, pulling her woolens on. “Thank you for lunch.”

The waitress nodded at her in approval on the way out, as Hal scrambled for his belongings and called after her to stay. The girl likely assumed May was playing coy for his affection when, in truth, she was tired. Tired of lying, weary of performing for the affection of someone she had begun to understand, deep in her soul, was only her best option, not the best of men.

“May!” Hal didn’t take long to catch up to her, even after paying the shopgirl. In green goods, or in real greenbacks? May’s lip curled at the thought.

He swung her around by the arm. His eyes searched her face. “What’s the matter?”

“I haven’t been honest with you,” she said. What did Miss Rhoades always say? Speak truth even when it’s difficult. She hadn’t done enough of that lately. “I don’t live with my cousin. I live in a boarding house.” She still couldn’t bring herself to tell him it was the Bethany Home. “I live with Leigh, and Dolly, and Pearl. I’m the same as them.”

His mouth fell open, pulling his mustache down at the corners. He let go of her arm and put his silk top hat on, slowly. She could nearly see the gears of realization turning inside his head. “How did you end up there?”

“My father died, and my family couldn’t afford to keep me.” She drew her shawl tighter, shielding herself from the damp. “I came here to work. I’ve worked in the woolen mill, and now I’m a cook. I have no fortune to my name. You needn’t lead me on if that’s what you’re after.”

Hal was quiet. The snow had turned to sleet, little nettles of ice that stung May’s cheeks. They hit Hal’s top hat and melted, leaving streaks of water in the silk. A gig clopped by, and he watched the driver swat the horse’s haunches.

Finally, he said, in a gravelly voice, “I’m sorry to hear about your father.”

“Thank you,” she said. Tears sprang to her eyes. Hal noticed her crying and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. He folded the corner into a triangle and dabbed at her gently. When she’d caught her breath and could look up at him, he was smiling. His face glowed under the brim of his hat. Something had shifted.

“May, darling, I’m so glad we can speak frankly with each other now.”

“You are?”

“Yes. You must have thought me a villain for using green goods. A terrible business, not something I’m proud of. But, you see, my family has fallen on hard times as well. Our home, my birthright, recently burned to the ground, and as it turned out, my parents had no insurance.”

“Oh,” she breathed, “how awful.”

He chuckled. “And here I was, worried you were after my money!” He slipped a bold, searching arm under her cloak and snaked it around her waist. She could feel the heat of his hand through his glove, through her clothes. Her body responded, her heart working to send blood to her groin. He’d never grabbed her like this before he learned she lived on her own. She decided she didn’t care. He drew her closer, his face tipped toward hers. The brims of their hats touched. He tilted his head to bring their lips closer. “I should have said something sooner, to make my station clear,” he said, his voice husky. “But you should have, too.”

She felt the bristles of his mustache first, tickling her upper lip, but then they gave way to his soft, wet mouth. Her lips parted under his. His mouth was warm. Her cold nose pressed against his cheek. The kiss lasted long enough for her to run her hands from his chest, up and around the smooth skin of his neck.

Kissing a man on the street! What would Mrs. Mendenhall think? May switched her nose to the other side of his and kissed him again, letting herself enjoy the feel of his slick mouth, the length of his body against hers. She wouldn’t be under Mrs. Mendenhall’s thumb much longer. She let her hands fall so that they rested on his slim hips and pulled him toward her. Wicked thoughts, scandalous, shameful thoughts, ran through her mind, and for the first time, she let them. She could imagine the whorl of hair that would begin at his navel and disappear into his trousers. His face hovering over hers, a drop of sweat falling from his forehead to her nose…

Hal was the one to break away first. He lifted a hand to her cheek, caressing her with the backs of his fingers. “I am fond of you, little rogue.”

“Don’t say that. I’m not a rogue.” The lower half of her body had turned to liquid.

“It’s all right, we can be a pair of rogues.” He tucked her arm into his, and they began to stroll. Perhaps she’d been too critical of him a moment ago. He was, as far as she could tell, a man who accepted her—or at least the parts she’d been willing to show him, which was more than she’d shown anyone else.

“Listen, May. I might come into some real money very soon. Won’t that be nice for us?”

They passed a shop that smelled of gingerbread, an enticing aroma. “I might get my hands on a few bucks as well,” May said, thinking of her mother.

“Good fortune, May. Forget what I said about hiring your own driver. How about a gun?”

“A gun?” May felt dizzy. The soles of her boots crunched on some thin ice. “What on earth do you mean?”

“Nothing unwieldy, just a lady’s pistol, one to tuck into your handbag. Your little secret, for the next time some cretin interferes with you.” He placed his gloved hand over hers, to keep it warm. “You’d have a nice surprise waiting for him.”

May looked up at the gray sky, its clouds oppressively thick. She imagined herself surprising that horrible man. Whipping a pistol at him, watching his expression turn from menace to abject fear. Just imagining it intoxicated her. Why, she wouldn’t even have to squeeze the trigger. She could fend him off just by scaring him.

Or maybe she would pull it. Maybe she’d want to.

“I might fancy that,” she told Hal.

He flashed her his brilliant white teeth, and her stomach fluttered in response. “I had a feeling you would.”