Thirty-Six
September 1921

Lidia took the train from Minneapolis to Milwaukee. She knew there was a large Polish community there, and although she’d managed to hide away a few coins after grocery shopping these past few months, she couldn’t afford to travel any farther.

Best of all, a train east was scheduled to leave fifteen minutes after she arrived at the station. She tried to sound calm as she counted out the fare, but her mind was back at the mill. Had the belt snapped, slapping Thomas with enough force to break an arm or knock him unconscious? The belt was an old one, made of buffalo hide, and she’d used the sheep shears to gnaw at the stitches holding the two ends together. Once the problem with the turbines was fixed and the mill growled back to life, the belt wouldn’t have held for long. Perhaps it had given way before Thomas even began to work on the roller mill. Was he fixing the roller stand, fuming because she wasn’t waiting for him? Had he grown suspicious of the sabotage, and her absence, and gone looking? He’d go to their house, and probably Mama’s as well, before widening the search … wouldn’t he? Or would he instinctively know she was trying to escape?

Ticket clutched in one sweating hand, Lidia made her way onto the train and found an empty seat. She watched out the window, braced for the sight of her husband running down the platform, bellowing, coming for her. It was hard to breathe until she heard the whistle shrill and felt the car lurch slowly forward.

But with every clack of the turning wheels she felt herself moving farther and farther from Matka and Grandfather Pawel. From Bohemian Flats and Minneapolis and the mill. From her whole world. She’d had no time to say good-bye—and she wouldn’t have dared, anyway.

Lidia had to change trains in La Crosse, Wisconsin. She approached a woman in worn clothes who looked to be about her size and offered to exchange clothes. “Why?” the woman asked suspiciously, eyeing her stylish dress.

“I need to disappear,” Lidia whispered.

Ten minutes later she emerged from the ladies’ room wearing a heavy skirt and faded blouse. “Be careful,” the other woman said, before disappearing into the swirling crowd in her new finery.

Lidia pulled Grandmother Magdalena’s old shawl over her shoulders and felt surprisingly comforted. She hated leaving Magdalena’s beautiful wycinanka behind, tacked over the door in No Man’s Land. But once Thomas discovered her absence, he might well storm the women’s lounge. If one of the girls mentioned that her prized artwork was gone, he’d know for sure that she’d run away. At least, Lidia thought, my engagement scarf—the white cloth binding her to Thomas—has also been left behind. And the stylish hats he’d bought for her, too. How she had once loved them! It seemed ridiculous now.

“All aboard for Milwaukee!” the conductor hollered.

As Lidia climbed onto the train, a wave of nausea brought beads of sweat to her forehead. She’d felt sick for several weeks, now. Awareness had starched her resolve to leave Thomas—if not for herself, for the sake of their child.

Lidia closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the glass. Oh Matka, she thought, fighting tears. And Grandfather Pawel … how worried you must be.