36

The next morning, Rosemary sat between Curt and Faith as they traveled toward the station. She appreciated that he drove past Second Street before turning south, so they wouldn’t pass Elijah’s office.

Another new beginning. When she came to Noble Springs, she’d had Curt. In St. Louis, she’d have Alice, and maybe Cassie, depending on Mrs. Bingham’s current standing at her brother-in-law’s. Rosemary tried not to think too far ahead. Take therefore no thought for the morrow.

Curt stopped the buggy in front of the station and then helped her and Faith to the ground. A team and wagon, along with another horse, were tied to the hitching rail.

“We’ll wait here while you buy your ticket. Looks like you have plenty of time. I can’t see the smoke yet.”

She adjusted her green paisley shawl over her shoulders. “I shouldn’t be long.” Chin held high, she marched inside the boxlike station. An unoccupied wooden bench sat against the wall opposite the ticket counter. Sunlight streaked through the windows, highlighting the dusty plank floor. Save for the railway clerk, the room was empty. The wagon outside must belong to a teamster who waited up the street in the hotel.

The hotel. Her breath caught. Was Miss Mason there right now? Or was she spending time with Elijah at his office? She sucked in air and held it until her lungs ached. The train couldn’t leave soon enough. Once she was in St. Louis, she’d be away from both of them.

“You wanting a ticket?” The clerk peered at her over round-rimmed glasses. He pushed them up on his nose. “One-way or round-trip?”

“Round-trip, please.”

The train rocked from side to side as it rolled eastward toward St. Louis. The iron wheels seemed to mock her decision. “Running away. Running away. Running away.”

Rosemary covered her ears. She was making a necessary change. Not running away at all.

She shifted on the seat, glancing around the car at her fellow passengers. Across the aisle, a gray-haired woman plied knitting needles around strands of brown wool. While she worked, a stocking took shape under her fingers. Her busy hands reminded Rosemary of Cassie and her tatting.

She patted her handbag, feeling the crisp sheet of paper inside. She’d copied Cassie’s address next to Alice’s, planning to visit her friend at the first opportunity. If Cassie had never left Noble Springs, perhaps her companionship would have made remaining in town tolerable.

Rosemary blew out a weary breath. No matter how often she considered her situation, she reached the same conclusion. She needed to leave.

The woman across the aisle tucked her knitting into a tapestry bag. Holding one of the supports that rose between seat backs and storage space overhead, she stood and peered over her spectacles at Rosemary.

“Excuse me, miss. Do you have any idea when we’ll arrive in St. Louis?” Rays of wrinkles framed her kind blue eyes. A net covered a coil of braids at the back of her head. Something about her expression reminded Rosemary of times when her mother would join her while she sat reading in the library of her childhood home. They’d sit together and discuss whatever book Rosemary held in her hand. She blinked to dislodge the memory and turned to her questioner.

“We should be there soon.” She pointed out the window at sunbeams sketching charcoal shadows over the landscape. “Before dark, the stationmaster in Noble Springs said.”

“I’m so glad.” The woman’s cheeks rounded when she smiled. “I’m going to visit my daughter. I miss her since she moved to the city.”

“I expect she misses you too.” She knew the words were true of herself. In her situation, many girls would run home to their mothers. But she could not.

The woman reached over and patted her shoulder. “Thank you, dear.” She returned to her seat, leaving Rosemary alone to stare out at lengthening shadows.

Within another thirty minutes, the train chugged into the Pacific Railroad depot. The wooden building glowed persimmon orange in what remained of the daylight. On the cobblestone streets, carts and covered vehicles awaited freight or passengers.

Rosemary descended to the platform carrying her valise. The distance from the downtown depot to the address Alice had given her was close enough that she could walk, but a glance around at several men loitering near the station sent her in the direction of a parked cab.

“Take you to a lodging house, missy? There’s a clean place for ladies not far from here.” The driver removed his cap, revealing close-cropped black curls. His eyebrows bristled in an almost-straight line across his forehead.

“Thank you, but I’m going to visit a friend.” She consulted the paper she’d brought. “Her home is at the corner of Twelfth and Jardine streets.”

“Have you there in a trice.” He took her valise and plopped it on the floor of the cab, then offered his hand. “Up you go.”

The carriage rattled over the cobblestones, past lamplighters illuminating the city for the night. She leaned back and watched the streets roll by until they turned on Twelfth and traveled toward Jardine. Here, the houses were closer together and modest in stature, some in need of paint or fence repair.

The driver stopped the carriage in front of the address she’d given him. The building had apparently been divided into two dwellings, since there were two front doors a few feet apart. Lights glowed from the windows on the left side.

After tying the horse to a hitching post, he again offered his hand and helped her down, then put her valise at her feet. “Want me to wait?” He cocked his head.

She looked at the dark windows on the right, surveyed the neighborhood, then turned her gaze to the cabdriver’s questioning face. “Perhaps you’d better.” She hoped the cost wouldn’t be too high.

After mounting the steps, she turned to her left and rapped on the door. In a moment, a man responded, buttoning a wrinkled shirt over baggy gray trousers. His sandy hair appeared rumpled, as if she’d awakened him from a nap. Could he be Alice’s brother or father? She squinted through the gloom, unable to decide how old he might be.

“If you’re selling something, I don’t want it.” He started to close the door.

She motioned for him to wait. “Is this Miss Broadbent’s home? I’m a friend from out of town.”

He pointed at the darkened half of the building. “She ain’t Miss Broadbent no more. Got married last Saturday. Her and her man went on one of them wedding trips. To Niagara Falls, up in New York, if you can credit that.” He shook his head. “Lived here quiet-like for a couple of years. Now all of a sudden she’s a traveler.”

The collar on Rosemary’s bodice suddenly felt too tight. She should never have counted on Alice as the answer to her difficulties—at least not without contacting her first.

She arranged her face in a polite smile. “Thank you for the information. I apologize for bothering you.”

“Pretty lady like you ain’t no bother.” He opened the door wider. “Care to rest yourself before you leave?”

“I have a cab waiting. Good evening.” She backed toward the edge of the porch, thanking the Lord she’d asked the driver to linger.

The driver met her at the foot of the stairs. “Your friend’s not home?”

“No. She’s traveling.” Fatigue threatened to buckle her knees. She’d get a night’s sleep, then consider her next step. “Would you please take me to the lodging house you mentioned?”

“Right away.”

She handed him her valise and followed him to the street. He walked with a rolling gait, favoring his right leg.

“You’re hurt. Did you sprain an ankle?”

He tossed her bag inside the carriage. “No, missy. I was in the cavalry during the war. My horse fell on me down at Sikeston. Busted my ankle all to—” He bit back whatever he’d been about to say. “. . . pieces. Time the doc got to me, I was lucky they didn’t cut off my foot.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Could be worse. I made it back. Lots of ’em didn’t.”

During the trip to the lodging house, she wondered if Elijah had been one of the surgeons at Sikeston, then chastised herself for allowing him to enter her mind. Gas lamps threw circles of flickering yellow flame over the corners as they retraced their path to the depot and traveled on south. Soon after the driver crossed Chouteau Avenue, he stopped the cab in front of a two-story house. Light glowed from several of the windows.

“Miz Kenyon will see to your comfort, missy.” He stepped down from the driver’s seat to help her to the boardwalk. “I’ll carry your bag.”

She smoothed her skirt as she walked along the brick pathway behind him, praying there’d be a room she could rent. After a long day’s travel, she didn’t think she could face a second disappointment.

A sign next to the door read KENYON’S LODGING FOR LADIES. A woman who must have been Mrs. Kenyon opened the door at the driver’s knock.

“Joseph. How good to see you.” A wide smile softened her angular face.

“You too, ma’am.” He placed Rosemary’s valise in front of the threshold. “This lady’s in need of lodging.”

The woman swung the door wider. “Fortunately, I have space right now. Please come in.” Sconces on the walls brightened a spotless white apron tied over Mrs. Kenyon’s dark blue calico dress.

Rosemary paused before entering to hand the driver the fare. “Thank you for watching over me.”

“Glad to help.” He tipped his cap and limped back to the cab.

Once in the entry hall, she dropped her bag and blew out a heavy sigh.

“I’m Mrs. Kenyon, but you probably guessed that.” The landlady held out her hand, and Rosemary clasped warm fingers.

“I’m Miss Saxon. Rosemary.” She glanced around the entry, noticing a wide flight of stairs to her left. A worn rug covered the center of the polished wood floor.

“Well, come on upstairs, Rosemary, and I’ll show you your room.” She lifted a lighted candle from a nearby table. “Then if you’re hungry, we’ll see what’s left from supper.”

Tears threatened at the kindness in her tone. “Thank you.” She tried to keep her voice from wobbling.

A hallway divided the second floor into halves, with three doors on each side. Mrs. Kenyon stopped at the first doorway on the right. “This will be your room.” She took a ring of keys from her apron pocket and fitted one of them into the lock.

A narrow bed, covered with a white spread, stood against a wall opposite the entrance. The washstand held a pitcher and bowl. White-painted hooks halfway up another wall lined one side of the space, and an upholstered slipper chair filled a corner.

Mrs. Kenyon crossed to the window, drawing ruffled curtains closed against the darkness outside. “I charge a dollar and a quarter per night. That includes breakfast and supper, of course. I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”

Rosemary reached into her handbag, trying to hide her dismay at the cost of the room. Holding up her hand, Mrs. Kenyon said, “No need to pay me now. I can see you’re exhausted. Tomorrow morning will be fine.” She paused at the doorway. “Can I bring you a tray from the kitchen?”

At that moment, the thought of food was more than Rosemary could bear. She wanted to crawl into bed and pull the blankets over her head.

“No, thank you. I’m afraid I’m not hungry.” This time she knew her voice wavered.