The Songbird with Sapphire Eyes
Anna Brentwood
Copyright © 2012 Anna Brentwood
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-9856240-7-1
Revised 11-24-2013
Cover Design by Colton Long
This book is based on some true events, however the story has been fictionalized and all characters, businesses, places, events and incidents appearing in this work are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 Anna Brentwood
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-9856240-7-1
Revised 11-24-2013
Cover Design by Colton Long
This book is based on some true events, however the story has been fictionalized and all characters, businesses, places, events and incidents appearing in this work are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Windtree Press
818 SW 3rd Avenue #221-2218
Portland, OR 97204-2405
Praise for Anna Brentwood’s, ‘The Songbird with Sapphire Eyes’
“Anna Brentwood’s scorching femme fatale, and a gangster so riveting pulls the reader into the roaring twenties and leaves them there page after page.”
author, Nancy Lytle AKA Mercer Addison
“Full of art deco glamour, romance, and dramatic action, SONGBIRD hypnotizes.”
Sandi Gelles-Cole
author, THE MEMOIR OF MARILYN MONROE
"Gloriously heartbreaking and tragic, but beautiful, THE SONGBIRD WITH SAPPHIRE EYES is a nod to the roaring twenties you don't want to miss."
Delilah Marvelle
author, FOREVER A LADY
PROLOGUE
Hannah Speaks
Surely life should consist of more than work and endless acres of dust and dirt? What’s wrong with wantin’ to know things, to experience more than getting up every morning with a long list of chores to do and only farm animals for company? I was an unruly child, lonely, energetic and fanciful beyond measure. Emalith, my Mama seemed to care more about farming then anything else. She covered her wiry body in shapeless garments of washed out gingham, while I yearned to have pretty things, which she believed to be vain and sinful. If vanity was a sin, it was just the beginning of the many sins I would commit. Labor defined our lives. Depending on the season, Mondays were washday, Tuesdays ironin’, Wednesdays mendin’ and we did odd chores on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. If hired help was scarce, we tended to the horses, cattle, sheep and pigs too. On Sundays we went to church.
Mama truly believed hard work was the path to heaven. I wondered whether her Heaven was worth aspiring to. I envied the birds bein’ able to fly, the colorful flowers; daisies, asters and primrose for their beauty, wishin’ and wantin’ things I was told I wasn’t meant to have or be. According to my Mama, a body had to accept things the way they were and to stop askin’ questions. Problem was, I couldn’t stop. Often, by summer’s end, when the flowers were dying and the bees flying erratically, living fast and furious to make up for their lack of time, I felt like they were the only ones understood exactly how I was feelin’, like time was runnin’ out and we had to hurry up and live before it might all be over. I worried somethin’ awful I’d be sucked dry, brittle and hollow like the wheat stems lying in the field after harvest. I didn’t want to be left with nothin’ but regrets and tough work hardened hands like my mother, whose once remarkably smooth skin was dry and parched as an old wagon road. I wanted things, things I suspected existed yet I didn’t know where. And, I burned for freedoms I had yet to feel, for something different, for change, for pleasures yet to be. I learned too late perhaps that wantin’ lots of nice things is its’ own kind of trap and true freedom comes from letting go, not from holdin’ on and from acceptance and forgiveness but that’s gettin’ ahead of myself here.
Folks say I was pretty as an angel. I was no angel, but was it so bad to listen to my heart, to want, need and dream? In the telling of my story some might judge me harshly, think I got my due. Times I was greedy, impulsive and a willing partner in my own corruption, yet even now I don’t regret my choices, for they were mine and felt right at that time. Still do considerin’. So why talk now? Because I need you to know that every life whether lived well, foolishly, or barely has a clear-cut purpose to it. That it’s better to live life true to oneself than to just exist to be safe or comfortable.
Tragedies befall us. We don’t always grasp the need for hardship, pain, or suffering while we’re livin’, but it’s okay, all part of the BIG plan. And, I have learned from life and death that there is a plan. That there are unlimited beginnings, infinite, sad or happy endings. But, most importantly, never endings. My name is Hannah and this is my story.
1918
“Infinite passion and pain, of finite hearts that yearn.”
Browning
1 CHAPTER ONE
Blinking back tears, fourteen year old Hanna Glidden raced onto the train. She swallowed past the lump that had become a part of her throat every time she relived the horror of the past twenty-four hours. The last rail car was empty and she sat. Hair hidden under a scarf, she tried to be as invisible as possible, avoiding eye contact with the other passengers. She patted her bulging pockets which held fifty dollars that she’d “borrowed” from her Mama’s moneybox, ten of it silver, plus some crisp, starchy bills that even now scratched beneath her corset. She’d left a hastily scrawled note. ‘Sorry, gone off to seek my fortune. Will pay back what I took later. Pray for me. Hanna.’
Sighing, she shifted restlessly and winced. Her body felt bruised and sore. She’d bled. Ray had been everything to her for so very long, but last night he’d hurt her badly. She never wanted to love another human being like that again. Ever.
She was tired but couldn’t sleep wondering if Ray would come after her. Common sense said he wouldn’t. She’d been careful to cover her tracks and he’d been very drunk. Fortuitously, she’d caught a ride with a peddler heading to Independence. There she waited for hours, taking the first train to Topeka, then another and finally was headed to Kansas City.
Even if Ray traced her to Topeka, he’d be hard put to figure out where she’d gone after that with all the trains running there. She could only hope so and promised herself that somehow she’d survive all the while speeding off towards a future that was in doubt. She wouldn’t—couldn’t let melancholy consume her.
Last night’s events had surely shattered any hope that things at home would ever get better. Her ideals about love and what went on between men and women were pure bull! Tears threatened to fall, but she held them back. She forced herself to believe that she was no longer a silly girl, but a woman newly made for better or worse. And, she’d escaped. No one could tell her what she could or couldn’t do, think, want or wish anymore. She was free to make her own choices, finally. And, come Hell or high water, she’d make ‘em!
The moving train lulled her into a restless and dreamless sleep. Her mind was reeling with indecision about what to do once she reached Kansas City. With her friend Meg’s last letter, now well over a year old in her purse, she did not know if she would find her or if she would even welcome her as she once suggested she would. Two years ago when Mama had finally permitted her to attend the one-room schoolhouse in Sycamore, she and Meg had become fast friends. Meg was older by four years and far less sheltered, blunt as a wood pole too but despite her hobo clothes and terrible home life, she was the smartest girl in the class. She had inspired her to learn, read, believe and dream, everything her mother discouraged.
Meg had convin
ced Hanna that as she’d suspected, her mother’s way of thinking was old fashioned and wrong. That dreams, however farfetched could come true and both girls read American Women, Saturday Evening Post, the Pictorial Review and loved stories where the underdog triumphed. With Meg’s example, Hanna worked hard on improving herself. Just remembering how determined Meg had been to leave home and succeed made Hanna feel some hope.
She saw her friend in her mind’s eye. Meg’s chin had stuck out as she’d told her that when something bothered her at home or at school, it didn’t matter because she knew she was going to leave them all behind someday. “Soon I’ll be wearin’ nice things, goin’ to fancy places. I’m gonna have a bathtub with brass spigots and hot runnin’ water that comes right outta the tap. I’ve got me a plan.”
Hanna had been intrigued. Meg’s plan had been to go to Kansas City, get a job working for someone important and then she’d cast her net for a good-looking, rich swell to adore her and make all her dreams come true. Hanna hadn’t had a plan. She didn’t know what she could do well enough to formulate one until Meg suggested she become an actress.
She’d said, “Look at the Pickford’s. Mary isn’t half as pretty as you are. Them showgirls come from nowhere just like us. Why Billy Burke landed Florentz Ziegfield the greatest impresario of them.”
Hanna couldn’t imagine being an actress but then Meg had her sing a few verses of the National Anthem. When she’d finished singing, Meg had enthusiastically lent her some sheet music and a Fanny Brice recording to practice with and poking her had assured her she just might have a talent for singing. Hanna remembered feeling flattered and surprised. She’d said, “I like singin’, but Mama won’t approve lest it’s in service of the Lord.” Meg had about swallowed the apple she was holding whole as she exclaimed, “Hell’s Bells, don’t tell her then! She sounds as pious as a nun and just as dull. Besides, she probably won’t approve of our ambitions anyway so keep them between us.”
Hanna cherished her first real friendship and soon made even more friends when Meg introduced her to the Andersons, who were actually Hanna’s nearest neighbors. It wasn’t long before she was walking back and forth to school with them each day. When Meg was convinced the cutest boy at school, Michael Anderson had a crush on Hanna, Hanna didn’t believe it. But when Meg called it Fate and the town’s richest citizen, Wilfred Harris the third, donated a piano to the school to placate his spoiled daughter Emily, Hanna believed it was Fate because having a piano was an answer to a prayer.
With Meg’s help, she practiced her singing relentlessly for choir try-outs. She was so nervous when her name was called, her heart about stopped. Or she was sure it had but she’d never forget that moment or that day. Her eyes had been fixed on Miss Godfrey’s hands upon the keys. She took a deep breath and standing straight as an arrow had forced herself to let the rich chords of the piano mesmerize her. Telling herself the music was all that mattered, she erased everything from her mind that day except her reverence for the song.
Life altering moments happen unexpectedly and for better and worse you’re changed in some subtle way. Hanna had felt changed forever that day. It was as if she’d woke up from a nap the instant the music stopped. Meg had looked triumphant. Michael, Jacob and Savory Anderson had given her a thumb up while Emily Harris, who had bragged to everyone about how she’d sung with the famous Lindsburg choir, looked like she’d sucked on a bitter lemon.
It was Hanna’s first big triumph, even more so when she made first soprano. It had felt so good to do something well, something she’d set out to do. She started to believe right then that the Lord did have bigger plans for her. He’d given her a gift, her voice and she was convinced it would be a waste not to use it. Best of all, according to Meg, she now had the makings of a plan.
From that day on, Hanna was confident she wouldn’t work her life away on some dumb piece of Earth, but now that she actually was leaving said piece of Earth, she wasn’t so certain. She hoped the money she took would tide her over until she got settled. She had no idea what things cost. Meg would be appalled she’d left home without a plan, but it couldn’t be helped.
She could only hope that the big city would have plenty of opportunities for work. Meg had lit out for Kansas City the day after her seventeenth birthday. Right after she’d left, change became as much a part of Hanna’s life as breathing and almost as frequent. A flu epidemic decimated the countryside. She’d gotten it and almost died. Many they knew hadn’t survived, including little Savory Anderson. Added to that, the Anderson’s older son Robert had been drafted in the war overseas. Michael was forced to put his own plans to go to college on hold to help on the family farm. Her own life had grown unbearable when Ray and Mama had forced her to quit school, but she didn’t want to think about that or she’d cry all over again.
She tried to convince herself that even if she wasn’t as smart or as fortunate as Meg, there were plenty of retail emporiums that hired young women; Woolworth’s, Emery, Bird and Thayer’s. And, there’d be lots of theaters too. Maybe she’d be lucky and get a job doing what she dreamed about doing more than anything, singing. Yes, if it was meant to be she told herself nervously, then she’d be a singer. Or a ditchdigger. Maybe worse. She tried to block out all the bad thoughts, instead concentrating on the scenery as the train carried her past rolling hills; steep bluffs and wooded streams. It wasn’t all dust, she thought surprised to see how many rivers dominated Kansas. And though most of the towns looked small with the usual populations of farmers, merchants, cowboys and blanketed Indians, she presumed— hoped Kansas City would be big and cosmopolitan.
As the train slowed to enter the station, she smoothed out her wrinkled clothes. She took her scarf off and shook out her blonde hair. Her small valise in hand and Meg’s letter, she exited the train when it stopped trying to look as if she knew what she was doing. Inside the terminal she couldn’t resist buying a peppermint stick.
When she asked a wax mustached clerk for directions, he cleared his throat, pointing as he told her she was at Union Station and that it had been built in 1914. He said it was West Bottoms pride and joy and that the Paseo ran north and south beginning at Ninth Street.
She headed North on Broadway mesmerized by the tall, elaborate buildings and various birds roosting and cooing overhead. Breathing in the crisp, clear Kansas City air the only thing that seemed familiar to her was the periwinkle blue of the sky and the bright sunshine. The unfamiliar smells mixed with horse manure, gasoline and garbage and the cacophony of noises were deafening to her sheltered senses and there were so many people everywhere it was easy to feel insignificant, and she did.
It might be safer to keep moving, she decided walking with an eye toward street signs and landmarks. She read every sign and every marquee. Distracted, she got quite lost ending up in a rough neighborhood with garbage-strewn alleys and lots of saloons. Passing what looked like a theater, she discovered it was a burlesque house. It had blinking red lights and advertised nude dancing girls. She encountered an honest-to-goodness “fallen” woman. Her hair was orange, her face heavily rouged and she had a sagging, exposed bosom spilling out of a cheap, red satin dress. Scared, she ran back the entire way she’d come. Mama’s stories of white slavers and all that befell young girls in cities came back to haunt her as she retraced her steps. She finally found the brick Christian shelter where according to Meg’s last letter she’d been staying.
“If you’re referring to Miss Margaret Travis, she moved out a month ago,” screeched the dragon-voiced matron who very obviously guarded the place and all the single, young Christian women that resided there. The older woman eyed her warily. “If you’re smart, you’d turn around and go right home, but I know you won’t. They never do.” Sighing resignedly, she leafed through a large leather-bound book to see if she had a forwarding address for Meg. “Lucky for you, I have one.” Jotting the address down, she handed it to Hanna along with directions. Hanna thanked her and left feeling relief.
Walk
ing several blocks, she immediately noticed the smooth paved streets, tall iron electric lanterns and huge, stately mansions dotting the hillsides. There were fountains, parks, or well-maintained concourses at the end of each intersection too. It was apparent this was a very well- kept neighborhood. Checking and rechecking the address, she hesitated in front of a tall building. A Negro in a red and gold uniform stood at the door. A doorman? She’d read about such things, but surely Meg couldn’t be living in such fancy? Maybe there were two Margaret Travis’s and she had the wrong one? Gathering her courage, she stepped forward to find out.
“Thanks,” she squeaked when the doorman tipped his hat and opened the door for her like she was someone important. A girl could get used to treatment like this real quick she decided as she stood in the lobby, gawking. There were large floral centerpieces of flowers, velvet wall coverings and elaborate elegant gilt-edged furnishings. Touching a flower, she realized it was real and she closed her eyes, muttering a silent prayer that this was the right place as she walked towards the elevator. She thanked the operator and got out on the third floor. The narrow hall was silent as she walked to apartment 300. Gathering her nerve, she tapped the bold, brass lion’s head knocker three times. It was as loud as a drum and she cringed. She was already wondering if anyone was home, when the door swung wide open.
“Yes,” drawled a tall, stylishly dressed woman eyeing her curiously. Hanna noticed that she had straight, shoulder length black hair cut in the latest Egyptian style. Her lips were painted red, her dark eyes round and lined in kohl. She looked too sophisticated to be Meg, yet…Hanna just stared, too startled to say anything. Not so the woman.
“Oh, Hell’s Bell’s! It’s you. Hanna!”
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