Eden
The driver of the Minnesota car that stopped for Eden was, thankfully, a stranger. A woman.
“I am so grateful,” Eden said as she climbed in.
The woman looked her over. “Where you headed?”
“Fort Madison.”
“No problem. I’m driving back to Minnesota.”
“Thank you.”
“You live there? In Fort Madison?” The woman was older, with short iron-gray hair, lots of wrinkles, and glasses. Her chin was pronounced, as if declaring she would take no bullshit from anyone. But her face had an animated expression, and her eyes seemed to take everything in at once. She wore a lumberjack shirt and jeans.
“No. I—um—work there.”
“You hitch to work every day?”
“No ma’am. Our pickup’s in the shop. I didn’t think one day would be a problem.” She pointed upwards. “Didn’t figure the Lord thought otherwise.”
The woman chuckled. “I’m Cherry. What’s your name?”
“Nice to meet you. I’m—um—Patsy.” She winced after she said it. Porter knew her birth name. He’d be asking around. Why hadn’t she thought up a new one?
The ride across the Mississippi to Fort Madison wasn’t more than twenty minutes. That was both good and bad. She would make the ten thirty to Chicago with plenty of time to spare, but she didn’t want to hang around—someone might recognize her. Porter was known around these parts as well as Nauvoo.
When they reached town, Eden said, “You can drop me anywhere along Avenue H.” It was one of the main streets in Fort Madison.
Cherry nodded and navigated to downtown where a series of small shops crowded together. “You work in one of those stores?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Eden opened the passenger door. The rain was still pounding the ground, but she couldn’t think of an excuse to keep riding with Cherry. “Thank you again. Hope you reach home safely.” She hoisted the backpack on her shoulder.
“Good luck to you, dear,” Cherry said. “I have a feeling you’re gonna need it.”
Eden stared at her. Did she know something? Did Eden look like a runaway? She nodded briefly and closed the car door. Cherry took off. Eden trotted to a pharmacy tucked between a hair salon and a hardware store and ducked inside to dry off. She needed to do something about her appearance. Apparently, despite hiding her hair and wearing inconspicuous clothes, Cherry knew she’d been lying. Was it the kids’ backpack? Something else?
She was strolling up the hair care aisle when the brainstorm came. She backtracked and studied the products. Lots of hair dye. Good. She chose a dark brown color and read the directions. It would work. Then she picked out a plain navy backpack, a pair of scissors, some granola bars, and a cheap set of sunglasses.
She was glad she’d hitched into Fort Madison, but her hope of catching the ten thirty train dimmed. She should dye her hair before she boarded. And she hadn’t planned on spending this much money. If she was smart, she’d get another $100 from an ATM before Porter closed it down. He’d go ballistic once he saw she’d taken out three hundred dollars and wasn’t coming home. But she didn’t have a choice. She withdrew the money and set off on foot to the train station.
The rain eased to a shower, but Eden kept to the curbs, again avoiding passing drivers. When she reached the station, she bought a ticket for Chicago. An elderly woman looked her over, a knowing expression on her face. Did this woman know who she was? Eden was sure she’d never seen the woman before, so she was probably just paranoid. Still, she checked the clock on the station wall. If the train was on time, it should arrive in twenty minutes. It would take at least an hour to cut and dye her hair. She didn’t want to be seen in public for twenty minutes, but she didn’t have a choice. She’d have to dye her hair on the train.
She sat on a bench and counted her money. Two hundred fifty dollars and change. She only had enough for one night at a cheap Chicago hotel. She couldn’t tell her parents where she was. Quincy was the first place Porter would look. In fact, he might force them to tell him where she was. He might even hurt them. She realized now she’d put them at risk. Should she warn them? No. Safer for them to know nothing. It would be the truth.
She’d heard rumors about runaway Fundamentalist wives who suddenly showed up again, battered and bruised, with stories about muggers and other assailants who attacked them on city streets. Even though she wasn’t sure she believed them—they might have been coached to make up the stories to keep other wives from bolting—she shivered and pushed the thought out of her mind.
At last, the train pulled into the station. She hopped up the steps and, keeping her head down, found a seat. Once the train lumbered out of Fort Madison and was well east of the Mississippi, she got up and went to the lavatory.
Before she opened the package, she stood in front of the bathroom mirror. The mirror was wavy and smudged, but it still showed her long, thick, blond hair. To be honest, that was the feature she was most proud of. She’d seen the envious glances from other women at church, the lascivious stares of the men. How Porter loved showing up with Eden on his arm. It was proof of his stature in the community. Who else had such a beautiful wife? The envy, jealousy, and yes, even the lust of other men, was always the high point of his week. He owned this creature. She belonged to him, and he could do as he pleased with her. He could never resist a smug smile at church.
She turned from the mirror, grabbed the scissors, and started in on her hair. The train swayed from side to side, which made it impossible for her to cut it evenly on both sides. She did the best she could. In a few minutes, long blond tresses covered the floor of the lavatory, and she was left with a short, shaggy haircut that barely reached her ears. If she put on the ball cap, she suspected she could pass for a boy.
But she wasn’t done. She picked up the hair dye. That was more difficult. She would miss her blond hair that sometimes glinted in the summer sun. She consoled herself by saying it was just temporary. When this was over, and she had the children, and they were free from Porter, she would dye it back to blond. As she rinsed the dye out of her hair, she recalled reading a news story about a Catholic church that provided sanctuary to an undocumented immigrant a few years earlier. The woman had lived inside a church in Chicago for over a month. She wondered whether they would accept a wayward Mormon wife.