Allison returned to Marsha’s closet, where she’d seen several suitcases stacked in the back. Marsha had at least four sets of luggage. Allison hesitated for a moment when she realized she’d be practically stealing her mother’s things.
“Am I a thief?” Allison asked out loud. “No, these things are my mother’s, and she should be willing to loan them. After all, this is an emergency.” Her words didn’t completely convince her, but she wondered why she should even care after all that Marsha had done.
She found what appeared to be an older set of suitcases, a large one with two smaller matching bags. They were dark leather trimmed in brass. Probably not Marsha’s current style. As Allison pulled them out from the depths of the closet, she noticed a little hidden door with a lock. What could that be? Allison scolded herself. She didn’t have time to investigate—she needed to pack.
Allison carefully selected items she thought she might need and what Marsha would never miss. She packed the clothes she’d already worn plus several pairs of trousers, sweaters, blouses, and other pieces she felt might come in handy. Then she threw a raincoat on top and several pairs of shoes. She remembered her flannel nightgown and the bottle of perfume she had bought at Macy’s, as well as a few “borrowed” toiletries from Marsha’s fathomless supply.
To begin her trip, Allison decided to wear the celery green suit. Although the skirt was difficult to maneuver about in, it definitely made her look older than her fourteen years. She didn’t want anyone to suspect she was too young to travel on her own. The green suede pumps, a hat with a gorgeous purple feather, and a handbag completed her ensemble. She twirled before the mirror and the skirt flared out at the hemline. Her heart fluttered with anticipation. She was going to Oregon!
She was about to lock the suitcase when she realized she’d forgotten lingerie. She dug through the tall chest again and found some pieces that would have to do for a while. Maybe she could pick up some more suitable things later. Just as she was about to close the drawer, she again spotted the odd music box. The bittersweet tones of Swan Lake filled the air when she opened it—such a hauntingly sad song. She was about to close the lid when the glint of a small brass key caught her eye. Could that possibly fit the secret door? It would drive her crazy if she didn’t at least give it a try.
Wedged between stacks of hat boxes and fur coats, she slipped in the key and turned. Magically, the small door popped open. A very large lacquered box was nested inside. Perhaps this was Marsha’s good jewelry. It surprised Allison to think Marsha would leave it behind. Everyone knew that Marsha Madison always wore the real stuff wherever she went.
Allison opened the box. To her disappointment it was mostly empty. Just a few old family pieces probably not stylish enough for Marsha’s taste. As Allison fingered an old-fashioned brooch, the underside of the box wiggled just slightly. Allison placed the odd bits of jewelry in her lap and pulled up the false bottom. There she found a folded paper underneath.
February 18, 1942
Dear Marsha,
I wanted you to know I’ve been doing some thorough research on behalf of James. I can now prove that he is completely innocent. I’ve already sent copies of proof to the firm. They have cleared his name and agreed to drop the charges. But I knew you’d want to know so you could contact him as soon as possible. I know he’s serving overseas right now. It must be difficult for him after being falsely accused and slandered. I hope you will inform him as soon as possible.
Best wishes,
Thomas C. Hardwick
P.S. Saw your movie—you were fantastic. Didn’t know you still had it in you, old girl!
Allison put the box back together and returned it to its hiding place. She locked the door and left the closet looking undisturbed, but she tucked the letter deep into a pocket of her suitcase. She had no idea what it meant, but since James was her father she felt she had a right to the letter. Maybe this explained some of the secrecy. Maybe her grandfather could explain the rest.
Allison went over the apartment once more. She wanted no traces of her visit left behind for that snoop Lola to discover. When she was certain that everything was perfect, she quietly slipped out. She wasn’t sad to leave. This wasn’t her home. She’d only been an unwanted trespasser. At least now she was going to a place where she had been invited. A place where she was more than wanted. Oh, just to think she had a grandfather. And maybe there were other relatives, too!
She struggled to get her bags quickly into the elevator. Downstairs, the doorman rushed to her aid and carried her luggage out the door.
“Have you a cab, miss?”
“Oh no, I completely forgot!”
“Never you mind.” He stepped out and flagged one for her. Allison remembered how Stanley had tipped the doorman before, and she did likewise.
“Have a good trip,” he smiled as he shut the cab door.
“Grand Central, please,” she told the cabby. She was a little early, but she didn’t know what else to do. Besides, she’d always enjoyed watching people at train stations. Trying to figure out where they were going, where they’d been. She’d witnessed scenes, especially during the war years, that could still put a lump in her throat. Husbands and daddies leaving for war, uncertain if they’d see their loved ones again. But later, she’d seen happy reunions, as well. Yes, train stations were an interesting place to spend a couple spare hours.
Allison got her bags checked in, then she strolled down the terminal. The smell of roast beef from the station restaurant tantalized her and reminded her stomach of its emptiness. She got a table with a view and enjoyed a leisurely meal of roast beef, potatoes and gravy, biscuits, and a piece of apple pie a la mode. She couldn’t remember when she’d eaten so much.
At the next table there sat a father and mother and their three children. The girl looked to be around Allison’s age, only she was dressed more like a regular fourteen-year-old. Allison’s cheeks burned when she noticed one of the older boys looking her direction. He probably had no idea that she was only his kid sister’s age. He had to be at least eighteen or nineteen.
The charade of looking older was still fun, but she looked forward to the day she could turn back into a carefree fourteen-year-old. The girl at the other table teased and poked her brothers. Then the family bowed their heads, and Allison stared in wonder. She’d never actually seen such a thing. Just then the young man glanced up and caught her gaping. He winked and bowed his head again. She turned away, her cheeks warm, and vowed never to be caught staring again.
Allison asked for her check and left quickly, not daring to look back at the happy family. Her heart burned a little with jealousy. Why wasn’t she the daughter in that family? Who had dealt her such a life and why?
She bought a magazine and sat on a deserted bench in her terminal section, flipping through the pages until a fiction story captured her attention. The next thing she knew the conductor was shouting, “All aboard!”
Allison grabbed her things, found her ticket, and hurried toward the waiting train. Just ahead of her, the family from the restaurant gathered. She wanted to slip past unnoticed, but the young man finished his good-byes and approached the train. When he saw her coming, he politely stepped aside.
“After you,” he gestured with his hand, his blue eyes sparkling merrily.
Allison blushed, looked away, and stepped aboard. The brakes hissed sharply beneath her and she jumped in fright. She felt a hand steady her from behind. The conductor chuckled at her skittishness and punched her ticket.
Allison glanced over her shoulder as she walked down the aisle of the crowded train car. There he was, following right behind her—Mr. Blue Eyes!
As fate would have it, the only seats available were two right next to each other at the front of the car. Allison took the seat by the window and stared at the soot-covered brick wall of the train depot. She glanced at her watch, then wondered why. She had no timetable to regulate her, no deadlines to meet. She anticipated only quiet days with the rh
ythmic clickety-clack of the wheels on the track, train stations in small towns, new sights, and unfamiliar faces. She must locate a map to chart her cross-country course and perhaps a notebook for a journal. She felt like a butterfly fresh from the cocoon, ready to spread her wings and flutter away.
She turned from the brick wall and noticed the seat still empty beside her. She’d almost forgotten Mr. Blue Eyes. She glanced around, wondering if he had gone on to another car. Was she relieved or disappointed? She peered down the aisle again, puzzled over where he went.
“Looking for someone?” asked a masculine voice from behind.
She turned abruptly in her seat.
“Is this seat taken?”
“Uh . . . I . . . no. I mean, no, it’s not taken.” She felt her cheeks burn as she gaped at his incredibly handsome face. He folded his newspaper and sat down. She stared blankly out the window and didn’t even notice the brick wall slowly pulling away.
She wasn’t entirely sure how to act around young men. Having been in a girls’ school all these years, she seldom had the opportunity. Sure, she had listened as older girls told what must have been exaggerated stories, but it was still a foreign world to Allison. Well, maybe it was time to learn, and she had better learn fast if she wanted to keep pretending to be a young woman of eighteen.
Should she use her real name? No, she’d stick with Sheila, but not LaVelle. Sheila Jones. Yes, that was believable and easy to remember. Now she needed to concoct a story. She’d just graduated from high school and was traveling west to care for an ailing spinster aunt. Her destination? Not Oregon, that might leave a trail. How about Washington. Wasn’t that close by? Yes, Seattle, Washington. She rehearsed these facts in her mind several times and then relaxed.
“Would you like a stick of gum?” Mr. Blue Eyes offered.
“No, thank you.” She remembered Miss Snyder’s admonition, “Ladies don’t chew gum in public.” Though the minty smell was tempting.
“Are you traveling far?” he asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Now what should she say? She wasn’t sure how much information to disclose to a perfect stranger, no matter how blue his eyes were.
“Excuse me.” He sounded apologetic. “I should’ve introduced myself. My name is John Stewart, and I’m from White Plains, New York. I’m on my way to Ohio to spend the summer working at a Christian youth camp on Lake Erie.” He paused as if waiting for her response.
“I’m Sheila Jones. I’m from Connecticut, traveling to Seattle, Washington.” There! That should keep him happy for a while.
John carried most of the conversation as he described the youth camp in colorful detail. It sounded nothing like Camp Wannatonka. If she’d had an opportunity to attend a camp like that, she might not be on the run right now. Of course, then she might not ever have had the chance to meet her grandfather, either. She thought of the words in his letter and hoped that she wasn’t too late.
“You look a little worried,” he remarked. “Is everything okay?”
His discernment caught her off guard. “Well, yes, I suppose. I am awfully worried about my aunt—Aunt Eleanor. I’m going to care for her in Seattle. She’s very ill—maybe dying . . .”
His blue eyes softened in sympathy. She felt a stab of guilt and wished she had told him the truth. But it was partly true—she was very concerned for an ailing relative.
In a short time they’d passed through New Jersey and entered Pennsylvania. John read his newspaper, and Allison admired the orderly farms scattered across the fertile green countryside. They passed a dairy farm where even the black-and-white cows looked freshly scrubbed.
“Oh, how quaint! A parade!” Allison exclaimed in surprise. Several old-fashioned horse-drawn carriages drove down the road alongside the railroad tracks. The women and children inside the buggies wore dark-colored, old-fashioned clothing, while the men bore full beards and unique straw hats.
“Actually, those are Amish people. They don’t believe in modern technology,” John informed her.
“Really? No radios or telephones?”
“Nope. They make everything from scratch. Even their tools are handmade. Pretty resourceful, too.” John’s knowledge impressed her.
Allison noticed an attractive older gentleman limp down the aisle toward them with a wooden leg. She wondered if he’d lost it in the war. At least he had been luckier than her father—he had made it back.
“I think I’ll check out the diner,” John said, stretching his tall frame. “Want to join me? I saw some tempting pies earlier when I picked up the paper.”
“That sounds nice,” Allison replied. “Besides, I’d like to move around a bit. I don’t know if I’ll survive all this sitting. I wonder how long it takes to get to Ore—I mean Washington.” She glanced quickly at John, but he didn’t seem to notice her blunder.
In the dining car, the lights were low and most of the diners were just finishing up. John and Allison picked a small table at the back that was covered with a clean white cloth. They both ordered rhubarb pie, and John did most of the talking. That was fine with Allison; he was easy to listen to. Outside it became dusky and the sky turned peachy-pink. Strips of lavender trickled through silhouettes of black trees outlined on the horizon like construction paper cutouts.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” exclaimed Allison. “It seems so long since I’ve seen a real sunset. In New York City you can barely see the sky.”
“New York?” John looked at her with a puzzled expression on his face.
“Well, yes . . . I stayed with my sister for a few days in New York before my trip.” She covered her error gracefully this time, though her conscience was starting to nag her. Even though it didn’t feel right, lying was becoming a little too easy for her and she didn’t like it. She didn’t want it to become a habit. She’d heard both Marsha and Grandmother tell many lies. Allison had even asked Grandmother about it once, but Grandmother had become very irate and defensive. “They’re only white lies, Allison,” she had snapped. But Allison had never liked their lies, and she had never wanted to be like them.
“Sheila?” John repeated the phony name again, looking at her curiously.
“Oh . . . excuse me. I was just daydreaming,” Allison said, her cheeks glowing with embarrassment.
John studied her with a puzzled expression, as if he suspected she was not being completely honest with him. “I just wanted to mention that I noticed some travel brochures and maps up there on the counter. If you’re interested . . .” They went up and browsed through the rack. While Allison picked out a map and travel log, she noticed that John was paying their bill.
“John, I didn’t expect you to pay for my pie,” she said indignantly.
“It’s not every day I get to take a pretty girl out for dessert.” His blue eyes twinkled.
“Thank you. I guess it’s getting late. . . .” She wasn’t quite sure what to say. She didn’t really want to find her sleeping car yet, but she felt foolish just loitering about.
“Would you like another cup of tea?” he offered, looking hopeful. She agreed, and before she knew it they had talked for another hour.
“You know, Sheila, I don’t mean to snoop, but you seem a little mysterious to me. Are you running from something?” He looked straight into her eyes this time.
She turned her gaze down to the silver teaspoon in her hand and nervously fingered the train’s monogram engraved on the handle. John seemed like such a caring person. Could she trust him with part of her story? It wouldn’t hurt to try. . . .
“I’m not exactly running from something . . . but I hope maybe to something.” She drew in a deep breath and went on to tell him about her grandfather.
“Don’t you think it would have been better to tell your mother the truth?” he asked sincerely.
“Maybe, but she was unavailable.” John lifted a suspicious eyebrow and Allison laughed. “No, really, that one’s true. My mother’s out of the country right now.”
He smiled. “W
ell, you seem like a nice kid and I was just concerned. I hope you don’t think I’m butting in. I guess if you were my little sister, I’d be pretty worried about you traveling across the country alone.”
So he saw through my disguise all along, Allison thought. He’d probably even guessed her age. “How old do you think I am, anyway?” she asked defensively.
“Well, definitely not eighteen. Maybe fifteen or sixteen.”
She smiled. She didn’t have to tell him everything.
“My point is this, Sheila. Be careful. You’re alone, but you don’t have to advertise it. You should pair up with trustworthy travelers. Preferably women. But don’t trust everyone. And for goodness’ sake, don’t let strange men buy you pie and tea!”
She nodded, trying to take in all his advice. “You didn’t seem strange to me. Besides, I saw you bow your head with your family in the railroad station, remember?” Allison grinned.
“Looks can be deceiving.”
Allison remembered Nanny Jane used to say the same thing.
“But this time you were lucky because they weren’t.” John smiled and pulled out a pad and pen to write down an address. “Let me know how you get along, okay? I’ll see you safely to your sleeper.” He handed her the slip of paper, and they quickly found her compartment.
“I get off in Cleveland at 5:15 a.m., so this is good-bye, Sheila.”
“The name’s Allison.”
“Much more suitable. Good luck—and remember what I said.” He tipped his hat and left.
After she settled herself into her compartment and finished her magazine article, Allison thought about the day’s events. She replayed all that John had said that evening, and she felt sorry to see him depart so soon. But she’d take his advice. Her whirling thoughts began to subside, and the repetitive sound of the wheels on the track plus the gentle swaying motion of the train lulled her to sleep.
The next morning she bolted awake and clung to the wooden sides of her bunk. Was it an earthquake? Oh yes, the train, she reminded herself. “I wonder where we are?” She pulled out her map and tried to estimate. It was 8:15, so it was possible they might still be in Ohio.
Allison O'Brian on Her Own Page 4
