“My, but you do get in quite late for such a young woman.”
Cindy turned and smiled. “Yes. I’m afraid a woman in my profession must keep strange hours.” Then she quickly darted into her apartment and locked the door.
Mrs. Warrington was dismally disappointed. She felt like she should know more about her renter. But the girl had quite a put-offish manner that precluded any exchange of pleasantries. Still, it was her duty to keep the building clear of undesirables. She must question the girl. The building owner set her shoulders square, and with her most firm demeanor, she rapped on the girl’s door. At least three other tenants waited anxiously behind cracked doors or peepholes to hear anything they could about the renter of the top-floor room in the back. The door was opened immediately, but the girl seemed surprised to see that it was Mrs. Warrington standing in the hall.
“The silliest of things, my dear. I tried this morning to write you a receipt for your rent you’ve been paying for the year. Do you know I never even asked you your surname?”
“It’s Marshall.”
The eavesdropping tenants nearly groaned aloud in their disappointment at such a common, unimportant name.
“Oh. Very well then, Cindy, um…Marshall. If you don’t mind my asking, what type of work is it that you do, exactly?”
“Oh. Yes. I see. I have gone and made you nervous with my comings and goings. Hold one moment please.” She left the door open just a peep. Mrs. Warrington stretched her neck a ways to look inside, but the girl came back before she glimpsed anything at all.
“In answer to your inquiry, I am a stenographer for the night courts,” she lied. “I have tried to be very quiet when I leave the building in the evenings. Have I created a disturbance?”
“Well, no, my dear. Not a disturbance—”
“Wonderful.” Cindy breathed with relief. “Oh, and here is another month of rent in advance.” Before the nosy landlady could press for further details of Cindy’s life, the girl pushed ten dollars into Mrs. Warrington’s hand, which the landlady understood was a not-so-gentle hint that Cindy Marshall did not wish to talk about herself further.
Cindy put her back to the door and began counting her money. She hoped it would be the last interruption from her nosey landlady for a spell. She brightened when she saw that Artie had left her a ten-dollar tip for the “special” favors she had performed the night before. Cindy had fun with Artie, who happened to be Wendell’s closet male friend. Cindy considered Wendell her best friend in Chicago, but as a client, he made love like he brokered stocks; he was careful. Sweet Wendell might not be much of a lover, but he certainly had an abundance of friends who were. Cindy had asked Wendell if he could pass her name to a number of the other gents at the Board of Trade where he worked, which was how she met up with Artie. How those stockbroker types loved to spend their money on the ladies. Either Artie was a might more successful a trader than Wendell or else he was quite generous with his earnings. Cindy’s wealth was growing in leaps and bounds.
Cindy thought of Mavis Marshall, and silently thanked her mother-in-law for her success. During the four short years Blair had lived in the Marshall household, she had studied Mavis’s style, manners and carriage, and tried her best to emulate them. Under Mavis’s tutelage, Blair became a lady. Had she not been exposed to Mavis’s upper-class ways, Cindy never could have infiltrated the Chicago elite. But infiltrate she did. Cindy could hold her own in Chicago society and command a premium. A touch of sadness and longing crossed her mind at the calling forth of Mavis. Thinking of Mother Mavis naturally conjured up thoughts of Sean and Victory as well. All the attention and good loving in the world could not rid Cindy’s mind of Sean and her child. That sinking feeling, like her stomach was dropping to her feet, started to overwhelm her and Cindy quickly tucked away her sadness before it woke Blair.
I have not seen or held my child or husband in over a year. They must think me dead, she thought to herself.
She hoped Sean would think of her as dead and go on to marry another. She loved him so, and she wished him every happiness. But she had never told him so. She frowned. Maybe she should write him a letter just to let him know she was well and that he should go on with his life. Perhaps all that time, he’d been worrying for her. She went to her desk, pulled out a single sheet of scented stationery, and began writing a letter to her husband.
11 March, 1933
Dearest Sean,
I have made a new home for myself and Blair. I cannot tell you where we live, but I will tell you that it is in a city and that we love the excitement of theater and streetcars and snow in the winter months. I am taking good care of Blair, and we are both well. I hope you understand that Blair’s life depended upon her being free from that evil man. Sean, he came while you were away and Will was milking. If Mavis had decided to leave her sick bed awhile and had per chance witnessed his brutality, I’ve no doubt he would have killed her as he killed your father. I, we, brought his wrath upon the Marshall home. Words can not convey our sorrow.
We love you and our son, Victor, so very much it causes us genuine pain. But we can never return to Cloverdale. We are so grateful that Victor has a loving father in you, Sean. We know our son will be raised by a good man in a loving home, and this has made Blair’s escape possible. I beg you, Sean, to marry another. Find happiness. And know that your unselfishness and good heart saved this wretched girl from certain death. You did all you could, Sean. We have no regrets.
All our love, Cindy
She would give the letter to one of the businessmen to mail from another town, and Sean would never find her, should he take it in his head to come looking. Traitorous tears leaked out and tracked down her powdered cheeks. She wiped at them and willed the ice ball in her stomach away. Anyway, he would never think to search for Blair among Chicago’s wealthiest inhabitants.
Cindy had a regular clientele that could legitimately be referred to as an elite crowd. She had been on dates with train officials, men from City Hall, journalists, and bankers. She was fast becoming the toast of Chicago among the more discreet, wealthier circles of men. Her bankroll was growing thick, and she thought she might take Wendell and Artie up on their offer to invest some of her earnings in the stock market. She had her eye on property, too. Wyatt Marshall had taught her the importance of owning land. And, practically speaking, life as Chicago’s most successful prostitute couldn’t last forever. But feeling fairly flush on that night, Cindy decided she would indeed take in the theater, followed, of course, by coffee at the Table D’hôtel.
Chapter 37
April, 1933
Cloverdale, Oregon
When the pale pink envelope arrived at the Marshall home, Will was tempted to burn it and never let his brother know. But he couldn’t do it. Sean seemed to live only for word from Blair those days. Without her return, Sean would never recover his son. It was with a heavy heart that Will Marshall handed over the letter.
“That pink envelope!” Sean tore into it. “It has to be word from Blair, Will!”
He laughed gaily and unfolded the letter quickly, his eyes darting across the page hopefully. And then he looked up with an expression that clearly said bad news, and Will wanted to take the pain for his brother, if only he could have.
“She’s told me to marry another. She says she can never come home…never.” He wadded up the sheet of paper and threw it far away.
“Sean, brother, I’m so sorry. I…Sean, I wish there was something…what can I do for you, brother?”
Sean had sat down on the front door stoop and bowed his head. Now he looked up at Will with glistening eyes. “She don’t even know about Victor. If she did, I know…can you find her and bring her home, Will?”
“I don’t think so, Sean.”
He watched as Sean buried his head in his strong, callused hands, and Will thought to himself that that was no way for a
benevolent God to treat a good a man as his brother.
“Well, Sean, maybe we can give that a try. Where’s that envelope at?”
Sean looked up skeptically. “Here.” He unwadded it. “What are ya thinkin’, Will?”
“I’m thinking we look at the postmark and then go fetch your wife and bring her home. Hmm. Looks like it says Springfield, Illinois.”
Sean jumped up to have a look. “It does! Her letter…” He ran to where he pitched it and hunted it down. Smoothing out the sheet, he read it again. “She says she’s in a city where there are street cars and theatres and it snows. Is that Springfield, Will?”
“I don’t think so. Not street cars. As I recall, they have them contraptions in New York, Chicago, St. Louis and San Francisco. That’s all, I believe. But I could be wrong, brother.”
“Did you say Chicago?”
“Say, that’s not too far from Springfield. If she didn’t want you to find her, she might mail the letter from somewhere else. It’s what I would have done.” He smiled at Sean.
Sean was dancing around the porch, boxing the air and taking fantasy swipes at him.
Will laughed. “I guess we’d better get to Chicago, then, and no time to waste. Your mind’s nearly gone already!”
“You’re wrong, Will! I’ve half a mind to go get my wife and bring her home!“
When the two men hopped off the last step and they beheld a bustling Chicago before them and a hissing, grunting monolith of steel behind them, their expressions must have been something like that of Christopher Columbus when, instead of falling off the edge of the earth, they beheld a new land. It was so foreign that it both excited and frightened them at once. The Marshall boys had never traveled outside of Oregon their entire lives.
“Look at those tall buildings, Will. Have you ever seen anything like it?”
“I never seen nothing like that.” He nudged his brother in the rib and nodded his head toward two beautiful women walking toward them. “How ‘bout those two lollapaloozas?” They had the shortest skirts Will had ever seen, and hosiery and floppy hats and gloves. “Say, Sean, this pamphlet from the train says Chicago is the windy city.” Will rolled his eyes heavenward and said, “God, give me wind, and right now!’”
Sean laughed. “C’mon, Will. We’re supposed to be looking for just one woman in particular. I know she’s here. We just gotta find her.”
They walked straight down Maxwell Street, through throngs of shoppers meandering up and down the open-air market. They dodged vendors with their pushcarts full of wares, sticking out like two sore thumbs, to a large but inexpensive-looking boarding house on the corner of Halston Street. They paid for two nights. Will flopped himself down on one of the saggy beds with delight. “What do we want to do first, little brother? Let’s go to a show.”
“Will…” Then Sean just shook his head.
“Oh, c’mon, Sean. We can still have fun whilst we look, can’t we? She said in her letter that she loved the theater, didn’t she? Let’s get out and see Chicago. Neither of us will probably ever get here again.”
It was a place to start, Sean conceded.
They went downstairs and asked the man at the desk where the nearest theater was. The man pointed them to a new Chaplin movie playing at the Bijou and an O’Neil play at the Pavillion. Will and Sean shrugged their shoulders. Chaplin movie, hands down.
Will’s stomach was growling fairly fierce, having awakened to a skimpy breakfast on the train instead of a good ol’ farm breakfast. “Say, little brother, I always did want to have me one of them long hot dogs you can get from one of those fellas with the little wagons. What do you say to that?”
“That sure does sound good, Will. I…thank you for coming along with me, Will. You’re the best brother a man ever had. And it was awful good of Rebecca to offer to stay with Ma while we’re gone. We should pick her up something special, something that she couldn’t get back home maybe.”
Will gave his brother’s shoulder a chuck, “how ‘bout some of them stockings we saw getting off the train?”
“How long you gonna go on about those stockings?”
Will just smiled playfully. “Well you don’t find ‘em back home. That’s for sure.”
“That might be a bit personal. Might offend Elrod some if I got them for her. You go ahead and get her some stockings and I’ll buy her some fancy perfume or something from one of those street vendors.”
“Hey! There’s one of them hot dog carts over there!” They raced each other down the street.
Sean enjoyed the movie as much as he could. Every time a figure cloaked in shadow passed by or walked down the aisle, Sean’s head and eyes were turning every which way, looking for Blair. But Will had the time of his life. Naturally, Will was introducing himself to every girl he saw, and even though they almost always looked over at Sean and asked, “Who’s he?” Will didn’t mind at all. He knew that Sean got the best of the looks in the family. But, as he often told his little brother, he got the wit and personality. Sean agreed. No matter where Will went, there were always people who knew him and greeted him like a long-lost friend. Will had friends everywhere. In fact, when they were leaving the theater, two swell-looking girls called to him, “Bye, Will,” waggling their little fingers at him.
Sean looked at his brother with amusement. “You are unbelievable.”
“What?” He held his hands out innocently.
Chapter 38
Back at their modest accommodations, it was hard for Sean to sleep in the windy city. It seemed like it was also the city that never slept. All night long, cars rattled; the bells of streetcars and open-air buses rang; the horse of a mounted policeman clop-clopped; and, most surprising to Sean, he heard musicians on the street below playing saxophones and other instruments for tokens from passersby. Sean thought that the music was wonderful, and he would have liked to listen for a spell, but he needed a good night’s sleep more. Will had no trouble. He was snoring the second his head hit the lumpy feather pillow. But Sean could not stop thinking that he had only one day and one night to find Blair, so little time to save his life. And that’s how he looked at it; without his son or his wife, there seemed little point in waking up mornings. He threw himself sideways for the tenth time, sending the squeaky bed frame into concert again, and hugged his pillow fiercely. Eventually, fatigue got the best of him, and amid the hustle and bustle of Chicago streets at two in the morn, he dreamed of Blair’s homecoming.
They ate something called a bagel with white soft cheese stuff heaped on, which they devoured as they walked. The bagels weren’t bad at all, but nothing could talk Sean into putting raw fish on top of his. They both carried a picture of Blair and put it in front of the faces of people they passed by.
“Seen her?” they would ask, and folks would look real quick like and shake their heads no, hurrying on.
“You notice how everyone in this town is in a hurry to get someplace?” asked Sean. “I never seen anything like it.”
“Yeah,” was all Will could manage with a mouth full of bagel and cream cheese. He leaned over and pushed the photo in front of a man waiting at a trolley stop. “Seen her?” Will asked, and quickly moved on.
“Looks familiar. ”
Sean didn’t quite register what he’d heard until he’d gone several feet farther. He turned around and ran back to catch up with the man his brother had last shown the picture to, before he boarded a trolley for destinations unknown. Sean could hear the clanging of a trolley’s bells approaching. “Excuse me, sir. Did you say you’ve seen this girl?”
“No. I said she looked familiar. What do you want with her?”
Sean’s heart pounded almost painfully. “She’s my sister. She ran away from home because of a bad fight with a beau, and, well, we want to try and convince her to come home,” he lied.
He didn’t thin
k God would mind a little white lie. It was just that he didn’t think people would tell them anything if they thought she’d run from her husband.
“I see. Let me take another look. Yes, that does look like Miss Cindy Marshall.” Will and Sean exchanged quick, excited looks. The man looked the brothers over carefully. He quickly sized them up as nice young men who meant well. “I’ll tell you what I know of her. I believe the woman in the picture sparks an uncommon resemblance to Cindy Marshall. She has a room at the boarding house on Bishop Avenue, next to the Table D’hôtel. Miss Marshall is…well, you should do well to prepare yourselves for a change. I don’t mean to insult you. You look like nice men. Not from these parts, I’d doubt. But the lady earns her living by accepting dates with strange men, if you follow me.” He raised his eyebrows in question.
Sean and Will traded confused looks.
“Makes a living accepting dates?” Sean asked dubiously.
The man cleared his throat. “A concubine, if you will.”
“A con-kew-what?” Will scratched his head in question.
The man shook his head in frustration. His street car was here. “A whore, gentlemen, a prostitute. And quite successful, or so I’ve heard. Good day, gentlemen.” He tipped his hat and hurried on up the steps.
Will looked at Sean with fright. “That couldn’t be Blair…she’d never…would she?”
“A prostitute?” Sean was dumbstruck.
Will clamped his hand on Sean’s shoulder. “He said the name is Marshall, Sean. It might not be her. But it might be as well. Do you want to get back on the train now, or do you want to find her at any cost, brother?”
“I have to know, Will. If she is…if that man is correct, I just want you to know, I won’t judge her. I hope you won’t either. There’s some things you don’t know about Blair, and I can’t tell you. But it could be her. And if she is, you know, selling her body…it ain’t her fault. Can you believe that in your heart and hold her faultless if I was to tell you it was so?”
Thing With Feathers (9781616634704) Page 12
