Home for Erring and Outcast Girls

by Julie Kibler

  But then Mattie spied one so familiar she turned her head as they passed. The girl’s eyes were dark, and it was obvious they were nearly black, even at a distance, in contrast with silvery blond hair. As excited as the little girls, she waved a fan and smiled so wide, her teeth flashed. She made eye contact with Mattie and clapped her hands and waved again.

  Mattie tried to place where she’d seen her—maybe the grill, or perhaps one of the restaurants she’d visited for votes, but she didn’t make the connection until they were half a block away.

  Docie! She hadn’t seen Docie in eleven years. She’d be twenty now, and the girl was exactly how Mattie had pictured her, though still so tiny.

  Could it be? Had Docie and Lizzie come after all?

  The young woman had stood between two men, however, with no Lizzie beside her. Mattie would have recognized Lizzie instantly, even after all this time.

  She sighed. Her mind played tricks like that sometimes. She’d seen Cap in a crowd, holding the hand of a strange woman or playing in the streets with other children, sometimes still two, other times the right age. She’d wanted so badly to see a loved one cheering for her that she’d projected Docie’s face onto a complete stranger. Mattie forced herself to keep smiling, forbidding the loneliness, even in this crowd, from ruining her day. By the time the float reached the final stretch, she was surprised. The experience had flown by. She would never forget it—for reasons good and bad.

  A reserved trolley car conveyed the queen and her court to the fairgrounds, where they had their own private tent with drinks and refreshments and sofas at their leisure until the presentations began later. Most of the young women hurried away with their sweethearts or families. Mattie selected an iced fruit drink, content to rest. Though she spoke with her customers every day at the grill, and attended the local’s meetings each week, the crush of so many strangers overwhelmed her.

  But Jeanette had promised to find her, and soon the hostess reported she was outside—not just with the girls, but a whole crowd, who cheered as she emerged. They pulled her along to the stands, and for the next several hours, they watched the egg races, the potato races, the fat man’s race…more races than she’d dreamed existed. Later, a representative from the AFL would present the diamond ring to Ina Mayfield and prizes to contest winners.

  She’d agreed to wear her union sash all day, but now she wished she could remove it, even for an hour. It clung to her neck, soaked through. Cute little girls had approached her all afternoon, shyly asking her to autograph their programs, and even a few boys—though not nearly as many as the younger women drew.

  Her feet practically cried out on their own. She climbed until she found a stretch of empty seats near the top of the stands. She collapsed, hoping she’d be ignored during the presentations.

  As the AFL representative presented the queen’s ring, Mattie sensed rather than saw someone take a nearby seat during the speech, and she glanced down the row. The profile was unmistakable. She nearly rose and fled. But when Jim McBride turned his head to smile, she found she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—move. He scooted until he was a mere foot away and apologetically offered her a bag of popcorn. Suddenly, she couldn’t gather the steam to feel any emotion—appreciation or offense. She was finished pretending she wasn’t intrigued. In so many words, he’d already promised to behave.

  “I couldn’t help noticing you up here alone, and I felt it was my duty, as a representative of the union, to see that you were properly escorted so as to protect your reputation,” he said, his grin teasing her, at least in part. “However,” he continued, “I’m certain you’re equipped to handle any unwanted attention or accusations without my meager assistance.”

  Mattie laughed and tilted her head to study his face. Why did he still trail her when she’d made her feelings clear? Did something in her manner invite, or even solicit, his attention?

  Jim, even in his banter, seemed genuinely concerned for her well-being, and his tongue-in-cheek acknowledgment that she could handle herself was both appeasing and appealing.

  “Going out to Belle Isle later?” he asked. The man-made lake powered the electric plant for the trolley lines, and others had mentioned going after the festivities wound down here. There’d be a dance with a live band.

  “I should get home to my husband, though I said I’d be late.”

  “He should have come,” Jim said. “Who would sit home on a day like this?”

  Mattie took a sharp breath and looked away, frantically searching the crowd for Jeanette.

  But her decision came easy. She’d go to Belle Isle and leave when she was ready. Jim was correct. Pat was a spoilsport. She wanted a little fun, and he’d live with it.

  “We should hurry,” Jim said, “or the trolley will leave without us.”

  He held her elbow as they descended the steep steps.

  In the open-air car, Mattie and Jim sat in a straight-across row, next to Jeanette and her husband. If Jeanette thought anything of Mattie and Jim arriving together, she did not cast even a questioning glance. In fact, Jeanette had hinted more than once that Pat was a stick-in-the-mud.

  All the way to Belle Isle, Mattie asked and Jim answered. His history wasn’t unlike Pat’s. He came from Illinois. The railroads had brought him to Oklahoma. He’d been a track man until he learned he could make a better living managing rooming houses. It was easier on his back and legs too. He’d run a good-sized suite down West Reno from Mattie’s the last few years and picked up extra money waiting tables. Jim was older, Mattie could tell, but nowhere near Pat’s age. His graying temples and his skin had seen too much sun, but he was solid and strong.

  Belle Isle at sunset was enchanting, with newfangled electric light strands decorating the pavilion. It was like a fairy tale, with Mattie’s fancy white dress, the romantic setting, and a handsome man at her elbow. She ignored the gnawing guilt. She was with her local, enjoying the sights and music. No harm in it.

  Jeanette and Travis came and went from the dance floor, only slowing to gulp lemonade—and, Mattie suspected, whatever Travis added from his hip flask.

  Jeanette encouraged Jim to take Mattie for a spin, but Mattie shook her head. “I don’t even know how to dance,” she said. “I’d step all over his feet.”

  “Oh, come on,” Jeanette said.

  Mattie had not let Jeanette spike her lemonade, and her next decision was made in full control of her faculties, with full knowledge of what it would do to her. She thought of the dance Lizzie had gone to in Tyler, and the nightmare that followed.

  But she was not Lizzie, and this was not a nightmare. She stood.

  She and Jim pushed their way onto the dance floor, dodging a hundred other couples. Mattie was thankful for a simple box step, and that Jim knew exactly how to lead her. It came easily—except when she trampled his toes. He laughed.

  Beyond brief instructions from him, they didn’t speak. Her complete concentration was required to keep going in the right direction—and to keep her heart from pounding nearly out of her chest. When the song ended, Jim’s eyes asked for another dance. They stayed. And stayed. And stayed again. After four or five numbers, many familiar from the films she used to see, she felt as comfortable dancing with him as she did mixing biscuits or stirring gravy until it thickened.

  Kind of like home.

  At one point, the crowd was so dense, they were as close together as she and Pat had ever been. At the same time, it seemed they danced alone. In the crush, it was as natural as breathing to rest her ear against Jim’s neck—it hit right there.

  She turned her face eventually, nestling her nose into the same spot, and he inhaled sharply, but let her stay. His thumb drew a slow circle against her palm. When the song ended, they continued as though the instruments still played. But then he dropped one hand from her back and unclasped the other from hers and gently nudged her away.

&nb
sp; “I suppose that’s enough dancing,” he said. He guided her through the crowd, his hand at the small of her back.

  He went for lemonade, and a lump threatened to close Mattie’s throat. Though the musicians increased the tempo, she knew he was right.

  It was enough dancing.

  They ended the evening in mutual silence, neither mentioning the parade’s delay. Jim lazily rested a cigarette between his tanned fingers, bringing it to his lips now and then. Mattie gazed at the lake. Moonlight shimmered against ripples stirred by a gentle breeze.

  CATE

  Arlington, Texas

  2017

  Two days after Christmas, Laurel bursts inside. “River’s in Oklahoma City on New Year’s Eve. You have to go!”

  My chest tightens, my hands suddenly clammy. I’ve been stalking River’s social media for days. “I can’t.”

  Laurel’s shoulders deflate where I’ve burst her idea.

  “What about Dilly?” I say.

  I own a cat now. A local vet scanned Dilly for a microchip and gave her the once-over and shots. We’ve watched for flyers, but the vet guessed she’d been on her own for some time—maybe not forever, but long enough. “Congrats!” she’d said. “Dilly’s a beautiful dilute tortoiseshell. And she’s yours.”

  Laurel has things all figured out. “I’ll housesit while you’re gone. And Cate? No more excuses.”

  Maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s time.

  I’m nearly finished filling my notebooks anyway, and I want to see Oklahoma City. I want to see the places Mattie walked and worked. I need that closure, and it’s a good excuse.

  No matter what happens with River.

  MEMORANDUM

  DATE: September 5, 1921

  TO: Mr. Albert Ferry, Printer for the Berachah Rescue Society

  CC: Reverend J. T. Upchurch, Founder and Director of the Berachah Industrial Home

  FROM: Miss Christine Collins, Assistant Matron of the Berachah Industrial Home

  RE: Thoughts for next issue of The Purity Journal

  To Berachah Girls, Wherever You Are

  Dear Girls:

  I was disappointed you did not attend Homecoming this year. Even many of you who live nearby were absent.

  Mrs. Norwood asked in early March, “Whom do you hope to see this year?” I reminded her of every girl we’ve loved and the times we’ve shared, funny or sad, good or bad.

  I thought surely we’d see Mabel or Bertha, and we’d all sing together. I hoped Joan M. would bring her famous pies. Charlotte has a new little son we still haven’t met. And more than anything, I wanted to laugh again with Mattie. (Elizabeth missed her too.)

  These and so many more still had not arrived by the time the benediction rang out and we adjourned for another year. We missed you so.

  Remember, our upcoming Berachah Anniversary is May 20–25, 1922. Make plans to attend now!

  Love,

  Miss Christine

  MATTIE

  Oklahoma City

  1921

  Mattie eyed the stairs to the apartment and her feet slowed. Crossing the threshold meant leaving her enchanted day behind. It meant returning to real life, to Pat’s apathy and escalating flashes of jealousy.

  Jim had walked home from the trolley stop with her and Jeanette and Travis, and she glanced back now. He stood at the corner, still leaning against the signpost. The glow of his cigarette illuminated his hand as he lifted it for another goodbye. He knew she was looking.

  Though he’d been as much a gentleman tonight as ever, and had done nothing more to encourage this than she had allowed, her heart was involved now. Unless she was reading him wrong, his was too.

  Was this what it felt like, finally, to be in love? It was a form of infatuation, surely, but differed from the nervous excitement she’d felt around Cap’s father. She’d fallen for Charley hard enough that she didn’t argue—for long—when they fumbled in the hayloft behind her employer’s house. Now she recognized the longings of a girl faced with the unexpected freedom that came with losing her mother.

  This was something else.

  She’d always acknowledged that her marriage was one of convenience, but so far, it felt more like inconvenience, for both of them. Neither of them was happy. Once again, she’d tried to soothe her grieving heart with a warm body that couldn’t satisfy. When her mother died, she’d gone to Charley. With Mama Stell, it had been Pat. Lizzie’s friendship had been the singular healthy choice she’d made when her grief was too intense to outrun it—both times.

  And yet, there it was, her marriage. She’d solemnly committed herself to Pat in that courthouse in Guthrie, and if nothing else, she tried to be a woman of her word. She could no longer see Jim McBride, not at any time or in any context.

  Mattie ascended her stairs with strong, if bitter, resolve. She’d remove her fancy dress and any thought of another life. She would be content with what she’d been given—a life of stability, even if it meant going through the motions.

  As she neared the door, voices came from the other side—unfamiliar, but only in that they didn’t belong here. She thrust her key into the lock, but when she attempted to open the door, it wouldn’t budge. The voices cut off, and she banged on it. “What have you done to the door, Pat?”

  “Aunty Mat?” a voice called softly from the other side.

  Suddenly, Mattie remembered the young woman who’d caught her attention that morning. “Docia May!” she cried, practically falling into the room as the door came unlatched, with Docie dragging a dining chair away. “Docie! What on earth are you doing here? Where’s your mama? Where’s Pat?”

  Her questions fell away as she ran to Docie and pulled her close, squeezing her petite shoulders in a hug she’d missed for eleven years. More than a decade older, but the same Docie as always. It had been her sweet girl waving after all. Docie was still tiny, barely reaching Mattie’s chest, and she looked up at Mattie with shining eyes—but something else Mattie couldn’t quite read.

  “Aunty Mat, Pat’s not here. Someone else is.”

  Mattie caught her breath, unable to believe Lizzie had changed her mind. Her heart thudded with delight, and she nearly had to sit in the chair Docie had used to block the door.

  But when Docie tugged her into the living room, the visitor was huddled on the couch in a quilt from Mattie’s bed, her hair in knots and her face streaked with tears and grime and terror. It was not Lizzie, but Nora.

  Mattie rushed to squat near Nora’s knees. Nora didn’t speak. Mattie queried Nora with her eyes and a sick feeling in her stomach. Nora nodded, and Mattie pulled her into her arms. The girl buried her face on Mattie’s shoulder and wept.

  Mattie tempered the fury that threatened to erupt. She didn’t want to scare Nora more. Nora needed quiet, and a sense of safety—for she was safe now. Mattie would not let the man hurt her again, even if she had to physically keep him away.

  She patted Nora’s back until she’d finally spent her tears.

  “Can you tell me?” she said. “Do you want to?”

  Nora leaned back against the couch and nodded. Docie had clasped and unclasped her hands, as if she didn’t know what to do, how she was needed, and now she sat, balancing at the edge of Mama Stell’s soft old chair.

  “Edward sent my ma and little brother off to the parade today. Said he needed my help straightening the shop since we were closed.” Nora paused to sob, as though she knew it sounded like a bad idea from the start. Mattie wouldn’t scold her—as if a young girl had any say.

  “It was fine at first, and I began to think my worry was nothing, but then…” She closed her eyes, and her pale face tightened as if she were experiencing it all over again.

  Mattie stroked her hand. “You don’t have to say any more. It’s okay, honey.”

  “I’m not finished.”

  M
attie nodded. “When you’re ready.”

  “He sent me to the storeroom to count supplies. I should have run when he came inside. I thought to, but he grabbed my sleeve. I decided to cooperate until I had a clear chance. ‘What’s wrong, girlie?’ he said. ‘You have nothing to be afraid of. I won’t hurt you.’ But he did…terribly.”

  Nora doubled over, as though her insides hurt even now. She probably ached physically, but more than likely, she burned so with devastation she could hardly stand it. Mattie had seen it on the faces of the girls at the Home. Some for different reasons than others. She’d seen it in the mirror. Devastation was a pain you thought would never go away, and sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes you learned to live with it.

  “I’ve got you now, honey,” she said. “What happened was not your fault.”

  Nora moaned softly.

  “We are going to take care of you. I’m so sorry I didn’t help you enough earlier.”

  Mattie wanted to kick herself. Why hadn’t she made another arrangement, even when the Home couldn’t take Nora? Why hadn’t she taken the child in, even if two of the men had to leave so Nora could have a proper room? The lost rent wouldn’t have made a big dent in their budget. She’d been scared Pat would complain. She’d let another man make her most important choices.

  But they all needed to do more. Folks were willing to spend buckets of money on silly parade floats and fancy dresses and places for fat men to race, for God’s sake. She thought of the AFL representative, how he’d insisted the unions must work to improve conditions for every worker, whether American or in the world at large.