Ruffling Society

by Kay Moser

  The train jolted forward, dislodging Sarah’s hand from Victoria’s, as the wheels ground against the tracks. Sarah continued to lean out the window and wave, the rhythmic sway of the car banging her ribcage against the window railing, as the clack-clack-clack of the wheels increased and settled into a rhythmic meter as steady as a drum’s marching cadence. As her loved ones grew smaller and smaller, Sarah’s nerves sharpened until suddenly the train turned the bend, and Riverford disappeared. She realized she was waving at a dense thicket of pine trees that shot straight to the sky seeking light.

  She stared out at the trees whipping by, the pine-needle-covered floor of the woods shady with splotches of sunlight. The sight soothed her; she had grown up with such woods nearby, waiting to provide refuge when needed. Sarah’s breath regularized, and she leaned her head on the window frame in order to catch the breeze.

  “Better close that window, young lady,” one of the men nearby called out. “Plenty of cinders flying around just looking for pretty eyes like yours.”

  Sarah blushed and stood to close the window, but a billow of smoke rushed through and sent her into a coughing fit.

  “I’ll get that for you.” The man leapt up, crossed the aisle, and leaned far too close to her as he forced the window shut. Sarah drew back against the seat to distance herself, but he held his position. “Now if you need anything else, miss, just anything, you be sure you call me.” He grinned at her.

  Sarah’s temper flared. She considered a scathing retort characteristic of Victoria but chose Christine’s way instead. “How very kind you are,” she murmured as she folded her hands in her lap. “It is indeed a comfort to know that there are still a few southern gentlemen left.”

  The man’s grin faded as he jumped back. “Uh … my pleasure, ma’am.” He reached up to tip his hat, and having discovered, much to his embarrassment, that he didn’t have one on, he returned to his seat.

  When the clack of the train’s wheels abruptly changed to the violent clanging of metal on metal, Sarah whipped her head toward the window and realized they were crossing the metal bridge over the Trinity River. The comfortable world of pine thickets was disappearing behind her and being replaced by flat, white fields that extended to the horizon. She shielded her eyes against the sudden glare of the unfiltered summer sun and leaned forward to study the black soil which now created the base for the railroad line. The train had entered the famous cotton belt of Texas. Any trees that had ever grown there had been cleared to provide the harsh sun which cotton favored—and thus to fatten the purses of the wealthy men who owned the thousands of acres. Sadness settled on Sarah as she watched the groups of pickers leaning over the endless plants. Even the sharp whistle of the train did not make them look up. Hours, days, months, years of backbreaking work in the rigid, straight rows had limited their view of life and its possibilities. Their vision was controlled by the green plants which promised wealth in their fluffy white bolls, but delivered to the sharecroppers only lacerated, swollen fingers; cramping hands; aching, prematurely bent backs; and the death of dreams.

  Sarah knew because she remembered.

  She looked at the bent backs of the pickers, the children staggering as they dragged long burlap bags behind their elders. The details her eyes could not make out were supplied by her memory: dirt-encrusted clothes wet through with sweat, bleeding hands wrapped in rags, red faces and dazed eyes.

  Tears fell from her eyes onto her hands clasped so properly in her lap. When she looked down to brush them away, she saw the lace inserts of her snow-white, crisply starched shirtwaist and her linen skirt, its fashionable jacket neatly folded on the seat. At her feet, clad in their polished boots, lay her carpet bag filled with fresh clothing, lace-trimmed handkerchiefs, food for the journey, precious books to entertain her, and even a veil to protect her complexion.

  Oh, God! You have delivered me. Sarah struggled to control her emotions, to defeat her urgent desire to lower the shades and ignore the reality outside the window. I won’t forget. I won’t! I will help them, Lord—as many as you bring to me. I swear it. A quiet sob escaped her lips as she turned her face back to the window and forced herself to watch the children.

  CHAPTER 18

  When Sarah stepped off the train in the Fort Worth station, she stepped into a chaotic assault on her senses. The whole area seemed to perspire a miasma of heat, humidity, steam, oily engine smells and—to her surprise—cattle dung. The cacophony of metal clanging, whistles screeching, cattle lowing plaintively, and the raised voices of conductors and travelers assailed her ears. Row after row of gigantic black engines and cars loomed over Sarah as she picked her way through the throng, following the boy the conductor had chosen to roll her trunk and box to the proper track for the special train arranged by the teachers. Sarah’s damp linen suit clung to her; her face flushed; her curls surrendered to the humidity and escaped from her hat; the carpet bag banged against her hip as she dodged oncoming people and trunk-laden dollies.

  Everywhere she looked she saw a mad scramble, both linear—the trains moving on their controlled tracks—and free form—the individuals dashing in every possible direction. Well-dressed people marched disdainfully through the crowd, their heads held high. The poor wandered, their eyes large with fear, darting from place to place as they tried to find their way. Working boys scrambled in all directions, carrying messages, conveying luggage.

  Sarah’s anxiety level skyrocketed as she realized she was fast losing sight of the boy hauling her trunk and box. She clutched her carpet bag close to her chest and quickened her pace. When they finally reached the station building, she felt dwarfed by its size and soaring ceiling and was grateful to see the ticket windows ahead. She scanned the crowd for the two women she was supposed to meet, Alberta Caine and Ella Woodson.

  A middle-aged woman, dressed in black with her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun, approached her. “Are you Sarah?”

  “Yes!” Sarah answered. “Sarah Novak from Riverford.”

  The woman looked her up and down, frowning at Sarah’s new beige linen travel suit. “What’s this?” she demanded as she kicked at the trunk.

  “My trunk, of course.”

  “I hope you haven’t been foolish enough to bring a bevy of fancy dresses. We are practically camping in the mountains, you know.”

  Sarah chose to ignore the comment. “You must be Miss Alberta Caine. My friend, Miss Maude Lindsay, speaks very highly of your work as the principal of—”

  “I am.” The woman interrupted her. “Call me Bert, and don’t believe everything Maude Lindsay says. Now where has Ella gone? We haven’t much time …” The woman scanned the mob. “Oh, there she is! Hiding in a corner, of course.”

  Sarah looked in the direction Miss Caine pointed and saw a pathetically pale, frail-looking young woman who clutched her carpet bag to her bosom.

  Miss Caine cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Ella!”

  When Sarah drew back at the woman’s shocking behavior, Miss Caine laughed. “We’re not all proper spinsters teaching in private girls’ schools like Maude, you know. Some of us work in impoverished neighborhoods, and we pick up the special skills we need as we go.”

  Sarah decided she liked this woman, rough edges and all. In spite of first impressions, Maude had chosen her travel companion well.

  “Well, let’s go.” Miss Caine clapped her hands at the boy. “Train leaves in twenty minutes, and we’ve got to get that fancy trunk loaded.”

  Miss Caine tore off, and Sarah found herself once again hurrying to keep up with someone. The boy followed Sarah, and she could only hope that Ella trailed behind them.

  Once the trunk was loaded, Sarah handed the boy two coins. Bert Caine snatched one out of his hand and returned it to Sarah. “Too much,” she announced, then glared at the boy. “Get on your way.”

  As the boy turned, Sarah grabbed his shoulder. “You were working for me; I’ll decide what to pay you.” She pressed the second coin into the boy�
��s hand.

  “Thank you, miss!”

  “Get on with you!” Bert Caine ordered the boy away in a voice brimming with annoyance, but when Sarah turned around, the principal was smiling at her.

  The conductor yelled so loud Sarah jumped. “All aboard!”

  “Grab your carpet bag, and let’s go,” Bert ordered as she picked up her own threadbare bag and strode toward the steps into the train car.

  “What about Ella?” Sarah scanned the crowd. “Shouldn’t we wait for her?”

  “She’ll make it. Somehow she always does.”

  Sarah boarded the train and followed Bert as she wove her way down the clogged aisle. Everywhere Sarah looked she saw female teachers, all dressed in dark skirts and plain white shirtwaists with severe ties. They stared at Sarah as she followed Bert.

  “There!” Bert waved at two empty seats. “Grab those. Space is going to be limited.”

  Before Sarah took another step, the train lurched forward, and a general squeal echoed down the car. “We’re off,” Bert announced. “Let the adventure begin!”

  Sarah stumbled toward the empty seats, struggled to remain standing while she stashed her carpet bag, and plopped into the seat next to the window. When she looked back down the aisle, she realized that the other teachers were still watching her.

  “You’re very young—maybe too young,” Bert muttered as she settled into the aisle seat, “and definitely too pretty and well dressed. Worst of all, you look like you have money. Ignore them.”

  “But I don’t have money! I’m just a sharecropper’s daughter blessed by generous benefactors, and I want to be part of the group. I have so much to learn from all of them.”

  Bert shrugged. “Then just be yourself. You’ve got hours and hours of train time ahead to get to know them.”

  “Tickets, please,” the conductor shouted as he came down the aisle. As soon as he had punched theirs, Bert crossed her arms across her chest, lowered her chin, and much to Sarah’s amazement, closed her eyes.

  Sarah felt far too excited to sleep. She turned her face toward the open window and discovered that, once again, the land was changing. The soil shifted in color from black to a reddish-beige tone. The fields of cotton soon gave way to sandy soil, short feathery trees, and occasional cattle grazing on grass-impoverished land.

  “Keep your face back away from the window,” Bert murmured without opening her eyes. “You’re not used to this kind of sun or the dust and hot wind we’re going to encounter for the rest of the day.”

  “It’s all so different. I don’t want to miss a thing.”

  Bert chuckled. “You won’t. It goes on like this for hours, then turns to flat sand with nothing but cactus. It’ll be morning before we see anything worth looking at.” She opened her eyes and turned her head toward Sarah. “I promised Maude I’d take care of you, so here goes. Maude thought you’d be better off sharing a tent with Ella and me so you wouldn’t be rooming with any of the suffragettes. She’s probably right. Some of them are pretty loose. Not all of them, mind you, but some of them. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  Sarah shook her head.

  “No, I guess you wouldn’t. You’re too young. Well, some of them don’t mind ending up in a jail cell; they think that’s heroic, in fact. You don’t want to get involved in all that this summer. When you’re more experienced, you can decide what you think about women and the vote. Just keep your distance from the suffragettes. They’ll use you to further their own goals, and you’re here to get an education, not to change the world.”

  Sarah felt her eyebrows shoot upward and her mouth open in surprise.

  “I know I sound harsh, but forewarned is forearmed. Now the rest of these teachers are dedicated educators and reliable women. Make an effort to be friends with them. You’re young and pretty—both good reasons for you to be disliked or dismissed—but if you’ll let these older teachers lead you, I promise you they’ll be your big sisters.”

  “Yes,” Sarah answered. “It is somewhat daunting; everything is new to me.”

  “You’ve got spirit; I can already see that. And Maude says you have a good head on your shoulders. You’ll be fine. Now, I’m going to take a nap. Since this is a special train for teachers going to Colorado, we won’t make a stop until we reach Amarillo.”

  “When will that be?”

  “About sundown. We’ll have a chance to get off and stretch our legs. There’ll be food vendors waiting for us in the station, locals who make their living feeding passengers in a hurry. If you’re smart, you’ll eat whatever food you have with you. Better for your digestion for sure. You did pack some food, didn’t you?”

  “Oh yes. Frances—she’s Mrs. Hodges’ housekeeper—packed a big parcel of sandwiches and sweets in my carpet bag.”

  Bert grinned. “I’ve heard all about Mrs. Hodges from Maude. Now, she’s a role model!”

  “She rescued me and made my education possible. I’ll never be able to repay her.”

  “Nor do you need to, I’m sure.” Bert closed her eyes. “Just feel free to crawl over me if you want to move around and visit with the others.”

  ***

  When Sarah stepped off the hissing train at the Amarillo station and gazed out at the horizon, she felt she had arrived in an alien land—an endless, flat world of sand inhabited by distorted cactus creatures who reached toward her with frightening, long, shadow-fingers. The wind, blessedly cooler than the air on the stuffy train, sent dead, dry bushes rolling across the barrenness. The conductor called them tumbleweeds, and the name seemed appropriate to Sarah. She refused the pushy food vendors and walked away from the station to view the landscape.

  If there is any beauty here, it is surely the sky. So many stars! She gazed up at the miles of humidity-free air which displayed thousands of pinpoints of sparkling light, more stars than she could have ever seen in humid East Texas.

  “Don’t get lost out there!” a woman yelled at her.

  When Sarah turned toward the voice, she recognized one of the suffragettes, Claudia Kelly, who was hovering near the last post of the station porch, smoking a cigarette. Sarah had never seen a woman smoke.

  Claudia burst into peals of laughter. “You should see your face! You look like you’ve seen the devil.”

  “I’m sorry … I just … well, I have never—”

  “Seen a woman smoke.” Claudia finished Sarah’s stuttering sentence as she walked to Sarah’s side. “Look, Sarah—that is your name, right?”

  Sarah nodded. “And I believe you are Claudia Kelly. How do you do?”

  “Call me Kelly, just plain Kelly,” the woman barked. “See here, Sarah, you’re going to encounter many things you’ve never seen on this trip, and that’s a good thing. The world is a lot bigger than that town you come from, a lot bigger than Fort Worth, even.”

  Sarah thought of the many times she had heard Victoria say the same thing, but, she was sure, not meant what Kelly meant. “I know.”

  “Well, you do want to learn about the world, don’t you? Isn’t that why you’re making this trip?”

  “I want to learn, but I plan to be discerning and choose what I embrace very carefully.”

  Kelly threw back her head and laughed. “Sounds like a perfect bore to me.” She tilted her face toward the pristine sky and blew smoke into the air. “I plan to grab everything I can as fast as I can.” She threw the cigarette on the ground and crushed it with the heel of her boot. “You’re young, and you still have all the usual romantic ideas about books and the excitement of shaping young minds that every new teacher has. You’ll learn soon enough. There’s nothing glamorous about teaching.” She turned and walked away.

  “I’m not looking for glamour,” Sarah called after her.

  Kelly turned back. “What are you looking for, little Miss Sarah?”

  “A chance to give poor children opportunities in life. Especially the girls.”

  “So you’re one of those well-heeled do-gooders.” Kelly sne
ered at her. “Going to help the underprivileged for a year or two before you marry a wealthy man, start sprouting babies, and forget you ever had a mind.”

  The suffragette’s harsh words stung Sarah. She took a few menacing steps toward the woman and jabbed her finger in the air as she spoke. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! For your information, I’m a sharecropper’s daughter. I grew up in the scalding fields, picking cotton—something I bet you’ve never done. Quite miraculously I was saved from a forced marriage to a man I disliked and the endless, mind-numbing, dawn-to-dark drudgery of a sharecropper’s wife. I was given a chance for an education. I took it, and I plan to pass it on!”

  “Well, well … So there is fire in little Sarah. You may be of interest after all. You may even be of use to the movement.” Kelly grinned at her before turning on her heel and marching back to the train.

  Sarah released her breath in a long, weary sigh. She had just begun her trip, but already new ideas to evaluate bombarded her. The train whistle shrieked through the empty darkness, and Sarah hurried to re-board.

  As the teachers in the car settled down for the night, dozing upright in whatever uncomfortable positions their cramped quarters dictated, Sarah began to think of Lee and the miles she was putting between them. Before the lamps were extinguished, she pulled Lee’s unread note from her reticule and held it, unopened, in her hand. A wave of longing swept over her, a longing so intense it surprised her.

  What do I want the note to say? She knew the answer but felt that she was wrong in her desire. After all my hard work … after all the sacrifices made on my behalf … how could I … She snapped her mind back into its usual disciplined posture and unfolded the creases of the paper.

  My Dear Sarah,

  I love you. I would not change that fact even if I could. And I believe you love me. I do not know how we will straighten out the difficulties that keep us from marrying, but I know we will find a way.