BARBARA WAS CUTTING soft butter into pastry flour when she heard the rap on the back door. Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, she drew back the curtain to see Miss Ellison, a curious event. Miss Ellison had never come to the back door before, only the front.
"Mr. Hamilton's not home," she said when she opened up. "The girls are at the matinee."
"It's you I came to talk to." Miss Ellison stepped into the kitchen.
Barbara smiled grimly. "Want some coffee?" She pulled out a chair, though neither of them showed any intention of sitting down.
"I think you know why I'm here."
"Do I?" Barbara folded her arms in front of herself.
"If you think people haven't caught on to your little escapades, I have news for you. Even Irene figured it out."
"Irene?" A blast of cool air swept through the open door and blew a dead leaf across the linoleum.
"I can only imagine," said Miss Ellison, "what your own daughter has to say about it."
"Watch what you say about my daughter."
"If you had any decency left in you, you'd get on the next train out of town."
Barbara laughed. "You think you can tell me to leave town?"
"If you haven't got the money," Miss Ellison said dryly, "I'll give you the money."
Barbara snorted. "If you think I'd take a penny from you..."
"Do you care for him?" Miss Ellison demanded. She sounded breathless and her face had gone red. "Even a little?"
For a moment Barbara was lost. She lowered her eyes and turned away. That gave Miss Ellison all the answer she needed.
"Because if you care for him," she said, "you'll get out of town before you ruin that man and his family." She put particular emphasis on the word ruin.
Barbara backed clumsily away, retreating to her bowl of butter and flour, the pastry cutter with its wooden handle. She was shaking, sweat collecting between her breasts. For the first time in her adult life, she had turned her back on an adversary. She shuddered when she heard the door click as Miss Ellison let herself out.
Barbara washed her hands. She climbed the stairs to her room and changed into her black crêpe de Chine dress. Careful not to snag the silk on her chapped fingers, she put on her good stockings, pinning them to her satin garters. She brushed her hair, put on her hat, her black kidskin gloves. Forgetting how brisk it was, she walked outside without a coat or even a cardigan. As she trudged down the sidewalk, she hardly felt the chilling wind that made the leaves dance across her path. When she passed the soda shop on Main Street, young Walt Nelson called out to her and made loud kissing noises for the benefit of his buddies. She didn't blink.
She walked until she reached the train station. The timetables were pinned up behind a grimy glass window. All the different destinations, the departure and arrival times blurred together. Chicago, Saint Paul, Saint Louis, Fargo, Seattle, Pittsburgh, Kansas City, Milwaukee. She told herself she was still reasonably young. She could go anywhere. Just disappear. He couldn't end it, so she would have to. Out of mercy for him. Mercy. She clutched at the comfort of that word while memorizing the timetable that promised her deliverance.