Then they were gone. Some gentleman sat in their emptied place and rattled open a newspaper.
Alice turned her gaze to the massive single arch that formed the ornate ceiling, its perfect pattern of decorative squares inviting her attention. They were perfectly aligned in each direction, each the perfect depth and dimension. It was not their decorative interiors that mesmerized her so much as their double precision: each one perfectly matched all the others, but a difference that did not call great attention to itself was evident in the manner in which each fit perfectly into the curve of the ceiling. How is that humanly possible? she wondered. How are men able to fashion such precision? She thought of the grandeur she had so recently been exposed to. Who were all those workmen who had realized some architect’s vision? Where were they now? All those nameless craftsmen whose names would not be listed beside that of the architect.
She thought of herself, the endless garments she had created or altered or repaired. Who would know her name? It might be remembered for a week by some, but ultimately, the garments would be sent to charity. These ladies, returning now, did they know the name of the somewhat undesirable seamstress? The one who would sew on their trims and fit their fancy garments? Would the ball gown for this strange festivity ever be worn a second time? And what would become of the skill and talent of the nameless, forgotten seamstress who had created it?
Alice rose and fell into line behind the mother-daughter pair, now chattering about which men from which krewe—what was that?—were the most desirable of the available gentlemen and why. Alice wondered if any of them were capable of creating a square as complex as those overhead, let alone one that would fit in just one precise place in the curve of that arch.
*
On the overnight train from Chicago to Memphis, Alice had economized with only a standard seat instead of a berth. She had packed four sandwiches of ham on rye bread, which would not spoil and would last with care if she doled them out in small bits until past her arrival, since she had no idea how long it might take her to find a room she could afford. Or how long after that to find Howard or his mother. But the fall had shaken her into action. Another day in the Chicago cold, fighting the ice and the wind, was not in her. At least Memphis would be milder, and Howard had to know. His mother had to know. He would be a father again, and he would have to support her. His mother had never known baby Jonathan. She would surely want to know this only grandchild.
It seemed so long now, half her life, since Howard had disappeared, evaporated into thin air, as the landlord had said to her. The police had paid so little heed to her. They must have thought from the first that he had simply left her and covered his tracks, as that boorish one had pronounced at the station. Alice had believed, indeed with a degree of fear, they would find him. She had not given up until she had no other choice. She had gone back to the White Way one more time, returning the honeymoon skirt for Miss Caruthers, the satin cape, and the one pair of trousers she’d hemmed, along with the garments left untouched, and presenting Mr. White, who had been kind to her, with reasons of her mother’s health as to why she must leave so suddenly.
No one would report her missing or make any attempt to trace her. Few neighbors in the building she trudged to every night even knew her name. They would scarcely realize they had not seen her in a while. If they did, it would be a passing thought. The landlord, of course, had his master key and would miss her eventually, when the rent came due.
CHAPTER 16
Though her feet pained her as they swelled in her boots and her bruised elbow throbbed, her back refused to relax against the hard seat of the train. Yet its steady rocking soothed her tired bones into sleep. When her head jerked, she saw a male passenger across the aisle eyeing her. Pulling her hat low on her cheek against his gaze, Alice averted her face and shifted away from him. With her back and shoulder to shield her from him, she rested her face against the hard green padding and closed her eyes.
When she woke again, it was dark. But she could see he was gone. She turned her shoulders and stretched out her hands one at a time, the throbbing elbow not coming straight, and sat up. Moonlight shone white across snow-covered fields. The rolling undulations of land sped past, the peak of a barn showing now and then, a window alight in a farmhouse. Someone with a sick child perhaps. She said a small prayer to the night.
Asleep once more, Alice felt herself lulled. In her dream, she was rocking a child, an infant boy, and crooning a lullaby. She lifted the edge of the soft blanket, one she knew. She had stitched it herself by hand. No machine had touched it. As the corner came away, the infant opened his eyes, blue as clear water. Indeed, the eyes were water and overflowed the banks of the tiny lids. Began to fill the space she occupied with the child, as if there were no boundaries or limits to it. The child’s mouth opened in a silent wail, and water poured from it, rose, and covered the little face, openmouthed and struggling, the streaming eyes staring at Alice in terror. Alice’s arms were paralyzed; she could not raise the child. She struggled to her feet, but they would not move against the pressure of the pouring water. The baby’s mouth began to pucker like a fish, open and closed. The skin on his cheeks was turning to scales, and green algae enveloped them both. Alice struggled for breath.
She woke to a firm touch on her shoulder. A bit of a shake. Alice opened her eyes and pulled herself upright. She shook her head, and her eyes roved the scene around her before she focused on the conductor, who stood before her, his uniform slightly dingy and a bit wrinkled. He bent toward her, his eyes searching and kind. She lifted her hand and nodded thanks. He hesitated only a moment, straightened, and moved off down the aisle.
In great gulps, Alice drank in her breath. Though she had slept soundly of late, could she ever again trust the oblivion of dreamless sleep? She lifted her painful elbow across her forehead, straightened her back against the seat. The outlines of the passing countryside, dark still but free of snow, emerged in the growing light. She sighed, dropped her arm, and watched as life pressed in on her, a life as unknown now as the passing barns and fences.
*
As the train neared Memphis, houses began to crowd out the barns, then streets with streetlamps still lit. As they passed, she noticed the moment some went from lit to not lit, and she thought how unaware she had once been, how unaware most people lived, oblivious to that brief moment between life and death, just there, like that, then gone.
Larger buildings began to crowd out the houses, to rise high into the air, towering over the slowing train. Alice rose, stretched, reached up to the shelf overhead to retrieve her cumbersome bag. As she struggled to lift it and free it from the overhead shelf, the conductor reappeared. He touched her sleeve and waited for her to turn.
“That seems rather heavy for such a lady,” he said. “Do you need something from it?”
“I was just taking it down.”
“Sorry,” he said. “Don’t know why I was under the impression you were with us all the way to New Orleans. Let me help you here.”
“You are very kind,” she said.