There was no honeymoon. The travel demands of Howard’s job with the cotton brokerage did not allow for extra days away. Nothing about this union aligned with Alice’s fantasies of marriage or, she was sure, with her mother’s hopes. She wore no white or lace, but a simple pale blue dress of summer chambray, cinched tightly over her corset, with wide lace standing tight around her thin neck. Neither was her wedding night what she might have hoped for. After a rather filling dinner at a small German restaurant, Howard hailed a cab to escort her to her new residence.
Her first glimpse of the Chicago gray stone building astonished her. Never had she imagined living in something so stately, with its long entrance stairway, recessed porch, high bay windows, and roofline rising like King Arthur’s crown above. Howard laughed when she turned to him, her mouth still agape.
“It’s not all mine, you know,” he said. “Only a small one-bedroom on the second floor.”
If the exterior had awed her, Alice was truly unprepared for the interior: the entrance hall with polished wainscot, the ornate spindle work and molding below the ceiling to create the impression of an open arbor, the dark turned balustrade and railing as Howard led her to the second floor and inserted his key into the second door. When he stood back for her to enter the apartment, she was pleased to find it less ornate, more simple and homelike. His leather armchair sat close by the window; a smaller, straighter lady’s chair was on the other side of a spindled table, with an angled bookshelf beneath. Hmm, like a trough for books, she thought and tried not to laugh. She barely had a glimpse of the small kitchen before he took her hand and whisked her into the bedroom, where he deposited her small bag and said, “I will be with you shortly. Knock on the door when you are ready.”
The bed was dark mahogany, with a simply carved rectangular back, and more elegant than any she had ever seen. The linens were smooth and very white. Alice ran her hand over them and touched her face. Then she took the tucked muslin nightdress from her bag, a new one with ruffles she had sat up late to stitch at its high neckline and on the edges of its billowing sleeves. She might have saved her work and her small splurge on the lace. When Howard responded to her quiet knock, the gown remained almost undisturbed, except that he raised it, not even to her waist in the back, gripped her buttocks, and took her hard and fast. She might as well have been one of the horses back on the plains of her upbringing.
Alice did not sleep, but Howard drifted off almost immediately, without a word. In the morning he dressed hurriedly, drank a cup of coffee, spoke briefly to her of his train schedule, and announced that he had arranged for a Negro porter to assist her in moving her things into his flat. She noticed that he did not use the word our. Before he closed the door, he kissed her on the cheek, looked into her eyes as if assessing that she was really there, kissed the other cheek, and left.
With the help of the porter—a kind, respectful man of middle age, heavily muscled and equipped with a medium-sized handcart—Alice moved her meager possessions into Howard’s far more spacious flat on Kildare Street. She was now a resident of what had come to be known as K-Town, that plethora of streets running north and south, each street beginning with the letter K, the eleventh letter of the alphabet, as a location indicator. The Chicago streets were alphabetized by distance from Indiana. Alice could now always be sure she was eleven miles from the state border. The Kildare flat was a relatively spacious unit, far closer to the ground than she had become accustomed. Certainly, the heating here would be more reliable during Chicago’s bitter winter than hers had been, but summer heat was summer heat, and simply to be endured wherever one lived in the city. Even as she endured it now.
CHAPTER 5
When the bedroom door closed behind Analee, Constance thrust the valise under the bed, but only barely, as the bed skirt caught on one of its corners. She hadn’t time to deal with it.
At her dressing table, Constance inhaled and let the breath out slowly, counting the seconds as she patted her damp face and dusted it with powder. She would have to recover herself and that right quickly. She would manage to chair this committee for the orphanage. She would reassure her girls. She would behave as if she were not the only mother to have an infant son who had died. She would act as if she were not the only woman who had stood and watched her husband plunge backward from a moving train. She would act as if all might be well, though it never would.
And act she did, light and unconcerned about anything other than the list of needs for the orphanage and how to meet them: if and how additional committee members might be recruited, who would handle which items, how soon they might be procured and delivered. The donated parcels she had collected were divided among the group according to each member’s interest in sorting and arranging.
“Lillian,” Constance said to a woman across the room, “I wonder if you would be so kind as to take charge at this point of organizing a group visit to the children in the home, with treats and refreshments. We will need volunteers for the various tasks, ladies, so please don’t be shy. Darlene, your tea cakes would be a certain delight.”
Determined efficiency was her ally and her weapon against the weariness of shock that weighed her down. She must see this meeting finished before everything in her failed. At last, all decisions made, the ladies closed their fans and adjourned to the dining room, where they helped themselves, with appropriate compliments to Analee’s unfailingly delicious cake and cookies. As expected, there were plenty left for the children, and then more to spare. Enough even to send to the orphanage.
As the ladies finally departed in pairs and threesomes, Glenda Rawlings tarried a moment. “Are you all right, my dear? You look quite pale.”
“Oh, Glenda, I’m merely tired. And this unbearable heat will do me in, I do believe.”
“Are you expecting Benton home tonight?”
Constance froze, unable to speak. His flailing arms seemed suddenly as if they might hit her in the face. She flinched but then found her voice. “No. I believe he said this trip would be at least a week, possibly more.”
“Then you must join us for dinner. I don’t believe you have yet made the acquaintance of Janette and Paul Leroux, who will be joining us. Welcoming the newcomers, you know. She well may be a valuable and generous supporter of the orphanage. Other endeavors, as well, but the orphanage first.”
“That’s very kind of you, Glenda, and of course, I look forward to meeting our newcomers.” Will I ever look forward to anything new again? Will I even survive? “However, it has been a long day, and I truly am unusually tired.” She could hardly imagine feeling anything normal again. “This stifling heat, perhaps. I believe I will even have Analee put the girls to bed. Indulge myself in a cool soak and retire early.” She opened the door a bit wider. Will she leave? Surely, she will leave. “Give my best to the Lerouxes and convey my eagerness to meet them some other time in the near future, if you will.”
Sensing her friend’s concern, Constance leaned forward to give her a peck on the cheek before she closed the door and collapsed against it with her departure. Analee came down the wide staircase and took her by the hand.
“You best come sit, Miss Constance. I’ll fetch you some supper. You need a mite more sustenance than tea cakes and sweets.”
“No, Analee. Just take care of the girls, please. I have something of a raging headache. I’m going to put a cold cloth on my forehead and lie down. I will see you in the morning. Kiss the girls for me and tell them I love them.”
Constance knew Analee watched from below as she pulled herself up the stairs by the handrail, one slow step at a time. She had to wonder if Analee was taken in by her ruse. No one else had ever known her so well.
*