Trains always made her reflect on life, and as Ellen left Richmond behind all the events of the previous weeks seemed to evaporate, be back there in some other geography. Freeing her mind.
Her story was not yet finished. That was how she saw it. And she had to see it out to the very end. Whatever that ending, whatever the twists and turns. Whether her story had already been written, she just finding her way through it as she went, she didn’t know.
It was the old question for her. Once upon a time she thought she was the writer, the puppeteer of her own destiny. Then, she had thought the opposite. Surrendered herself and her every thought, word and action to the higher power. Now she wanted to take back that power to herself. It was to be yet another new epiphany.
She had always sought it, the always further off land of self. Was love, she wondered, the greatest transcender to that land, or the greatest pretender? At any rate, she now followed its uncertain path, as the train plunged her southwards, transcending her into that other America – Dixie. What she could do there in Dixie – if anything – she was unsure.
She snuggled into the corner between the window and the seat back, her mind afflicted by all that she had lost … and thoughts of Louisa and Lavelle – all that still remained to be lost.