October 1927
Chicago
The man didn’t tell Cecily his name. He just told the taxi driver to take them to Union Station and settled into his own corner of the back seat, reading a newspaper in front of his face.
Cecily hadn’t been off the grounds of the Home since her arrival there almost three years earlier—nor had she ever been in a car, let alone a taxi. Soon, she was craning her neck to try to take in everything they were driving past, even as she wiped hot tears from her face. First, row upon row of small houses; frost-coated lawns in the early morning light; street upon street lined with young, autumn-tinged trees. Then, brick storefronts, the shades being raised to open for the day. Pedestrians, rushing in and out. And then, taller buildings—six, seven, eight rows of windows high. The sidewalks grew more and more crowded with people, and, as the taxi lurched and bumped along, Cecily read the signs above the doors and painted on the walls. p.a. green & son. 40% off. wrigley’s the flavor lasts. red hot vienna sausage sandwiches 5¢. woolworth’s. sure-raising flour. irving’s furnishings. lacrosse hotel.
She wished Flip and Dolores could see all this. The thought of them crushed her all over again.
Where was this man taking her? And why her—?
Then she caught sight, in the distance, of buildings so tall that her mouth dropped open. She blinked. Lost count at twenty rows of windows up. Blinked again. All around, now, were these magnificent buildings, rising toward the puffs of clouds, the sun glinting on their windows as it climbed the opposite sky.
The man lowered his newspaper. “You ever been downtown, kid?”
“No!” Just that one visit to Marshall Field’s, maybe. But this part, she did not recall.
“This here’s Michigan Avenue.” As the taxi crawled south with the noisy traffic on the wide, flat boulevard, the man pointed out the window at a pair of white terra-cotta towers gleaming in the distance. “That there’s the Wrigley Building. Baseball and chewing gum, all the good things in life, right?” He pointed again. “The London Guarantee Building. And that’s the Tribune Tower, where the newspaper lives.”
Nothing he said made sense to Cecily, but there was too much to look at to ask him to explain. Hundreds of people, hundreds of cars. Horns honking, gears grinding, motors kicking and grumbling, newsboys and vendors shouting, businessmen in suits hailing cabs, women in fur coats and fantastic hats clicking down the sidewalks in high heels.
“And this here’s the Chicago River,” the man said, as they inched onto a metal bridge, tires purring over the grate. “They teach you about any of this at the orphanage?”
“No!”
“You’re going to learn about the world now, kid. Hell, you’re gonna see it. I’m gonna personally guarantee that.”
Cecily wanted to poke her head out the window to see if she could make out the glimmering water between the cracks of the bridge. She didn’t quite dare, but just imagining it made her grin over at the man. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as Dolores had predicted.
“Where are you taking me?” She finally dared to ask.
He smiled, shook his head like he still thought she was a puppy, and raised the newspaper again.
Union Station was colossal. Gigantic arches, soaring ceilings, throngs of rushing crowds. Cecily scurried through the marble foyer after the man, trying to keep up, not to lose him, for how would she distinguish him from the hundreds of other men wearing black topcoats? Her suitcase, small as it was, was too heavy for her. She had to switch hands, back and forth, back and forth, then finally carry it with both, as it bumped against her knees.
“We’re meeting up with the show in Belvidere,” the man called over his shoulder, taking it for granted that he hadn’t lost her. How could he be so certain? And where—or what!—was Belvidere? “Isabelle can’t wait to meet you.”
“What show?” she piped up, though she was short of breath. “Who’s Isabelle?”
He didn’t answer, just kept on moving through the crowd, toward where the trains billowed steam.
He let her sit next to the window so she could look out. The seat was a hard bench, and she sat on her hands, feeling the train rattle all through her. She watched the buildings get smaller again, then disappear, replaced by wide fields punctuated with square white farmhouses and big red barns. She wondered about the families that lived in those houses, so far from other people. Did the man live in a big, lonely house like these? Was Isabelle his wife? Did they have other children?
What did they want with Cecily?
The window was partway open, and Cecily felt cold despite the yellow sweater Mrs. H. had foisted on her, plus slightly dizzy from the scenery streaming past. It was odd to be moving so quickly; to be going away. Had she ever even imagined leaving Chicago? Maybe not. At least, not while she was still a kid. She would never have willingly left while there was still a chance her mother would come for her. And certainly, when she’d woken up this morning, she hadn’t known that, by noon, she’d have left behind the only city she’d ever known.
She wondered what Flip and Dolores would have to say, if they were in the train looking out the window, too. Just imagining it—Goddamn! and The family that lives in that house is happy; that man isn’t afraid of anything, not even of being alone—made her feel a little better. The man was sitting next to her, reading the newspaper again.