September Wind (14 page)

              “
That’s it! Oh thank you. Thank you so much.”

             
“
This is quite a purse you have here,” he said, handing it over. “You make it?”

             
“
Yeah, I did,” she said, placing the strap over her shoulder. “And thanks again.”

             
Outside, she pulled her hat from the bag, slipped it on and tucked her hair beneath, and then headed for the phone booth.

             
She dialed the depot, waiting anxiously for someone to pick up.

             
“
Watseka Bus Line. May I help you?”

             
“
If you’d be so kind, sir, and give me directions. I’m at Barkley’s grocery store.”

             
“
Yes, ma’am, four blocks up, and then three to the left. Make it within twenty-five minutes, otherwise you’re best taking the nine o’clock this evening.”

             
“
I’m on my way,” she said, already out the booth door. She reached back in and dropped the receiver on the hook.

             
The sky was almost clear now, and the warmth of the sun was reassuring as she hurried up the street, keeping a look out for the police.

             
Fifteen minutes later, she walked through the door of the bus depot. “That’ll be eight dollars,” the clerk said.

             
She handed him all but a dime of her money, realizing if Steven hadn’t given her the money for the movie, she wouldn’t have had enough.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Once on the bus, Emily was greeted by an odorous punch of orange peels, half-eaten apples, cracker jacks, and a hint of musty luggage. The place was buzzing with excitement as passengers moved up the aisle, looking for a spot. Some were stuffing luggage beneath seats, or overhead, while others pulled out books to read, and or what looked like games to play. And then there were those who relaxed back in their seat, seeming ready for a nap or a chat with friends and family.

              Emily was so relieved to be onboard that she felt as if she’d left a hundred-pound weight outside the bus door. She longed to join in the camaraderie, and poked her head over and around shoulders and arms in search of someone to share the ride.

             
Then she saw her, a pleasant looking woman laughing and carrying on with a group of people across the aisle. The woman, who was probably the same age as her mother would’ve been, smiled up at her with a glowing Roman-apple face and green eyes that sparkled like the sun. Her shiny hair flowed over her shoulders like a waterfall of summer wheat.

             
When Emily stepped over her legs to reach the window seat, she did a double take on the woman’s brown ankle lace-ups. She sat and looked at her own scuffed-up shoes, feeling funny, thinking how that sturdy pair would’ve been perfect for the farm; it seemed so pointless now.

             
The driver secured the door handle, started the engine, and as the bus slowly joggled from the building, Emily pulled her bag close to her chest and sat back.

             
Her seatmate swiveled around, moving in so that her eyes pierced into Emily’s. “I’m on my way to Alabama,” she said over the rumble of the engine.

             
Emily smiled, a little nervous now. “Wow. Alabama, that sounds exciting.”

             
“
What?”

             
“
Alabama, that sounds exiting!”

             
The woman brought her face in closer. “Well, that depends on what you call exciting. You see, Leona – that’s my sister – she just got herself a divorce, and I’m going out there to mop up the pieces, do a little ass-chewing, and then spend some time fishing with my nephews. So where’re you headed?”

             
“
Oh, a pawnshop in Chicago,” Emily blurted without thinking. By the woman’s expression, she thought “Grandma’s in Texas” would’ve sounded better.

             
The two smiled at one another, and then the woman turned back to the group across the aisle.

             
Emily felt letdown at first, but realized it was for the best. She had just left a trail to a pawnshop, and she was too close to home to take another chance of saying the wrong thing. Maybe there wouldn’t be small talk with her seatmate after all, but she still had her faithful alternative.

She reached into her bag, pulled out a notebook and pen, and let her words drop to the pages like smoldering lava. She might rip the whole works out as she’d done before. There were bruises throughout the pages to mark the times. But first, she would write a story about a girl who had the most horrific morning one could imagine. She would write and console, and she would make the girl feel as though she weren’t alone and hopefully take away some of her pain.

An hour later when she looked up and saw Chicago in the distance, she put the pen and notebook away and took in the sight. She couldn’t imagine that San Francisco would be any more spectacular.

             
Once off the bus, she went inside the depot and paged through a phonebook, jotting down the names and addresses of pawnshops. Now all she had to do was find her way to at least one that would buy her silver.

             
She attempted to ask directions, although everyone seemed caught up in their own destination. At last, a cute little woman, whom she guessed was from Japan, looked at one of the addresses Emily had written on a piece of paper.

             
“
Uhm, lea see, ma’am. I ka hep.”

             
Emily thought she seemed more confused than she was herself. However, the little woman grabbed the pen and paper and began drawing a map, holding up fingers and pointing at the same time. “No, no, I ka hep. Addrea eh fouree blok…”

             
“
That’s, forty blocks?” Emily asked.

             
The woman shook her head, waving an arm. “No, no. Fouree blok.

             
“
Oh, fourteen.”

             
“
Yeah, yeah fouree. Theh tae, si blok righ. Simpo,” she said, handing back the pen and paper.

             
Somehow, Emily managed to understand the woman’s crude directions, thanked her, and then headed up the street.

             
When her stomach began to rumble she pulled out her sandwich, took a few bites and dropped it into a garbage can.

             
The skies were clear as she continued up the busy streets, and from the looks of the sun-scorched sidewalks, it didn’t appear the rain had reached Chicago. She strained her neck to take in the entirety of structures that were at least twenty or more floors high, imagining herself on the top floor of one of them, looking down. She tried to enjoy the excitement, the buzz of traffic, people talking and laughing, yet the memory of Claude was always just a thought away. When a police car passed, she held her breath, slowing her pace, and watched until it disappeared.

             
Twenty minutes later, she pushed through a heavy steel door and emerged into an amazing clutter. The room was dark, dismal, and charged with mustiness and the aroma of dusty books and furniture. Dozens of shelves held pots and pans, radios, cameras, and hundreds of other items. Some of the objects were so strange she couldn’t imagine what their purpose would be.

             
She worked her way out of the clutter to where jewelry and finer accessories were ensconced in glass cases. A stocky man with black collar-length hair greased into Presley-style was leaning over the counter, thumbing through a magazine. She reached into her bag, pulled the sliver bar from her brown skirt, and gingerly set it on the counter.

             
“
Hmm,” he said, lifting it for a better look. “Where’d you get this?”

             
“
My aunt...Well, not her exactly. I – it was passed down. Been in the family for generations.”

             
“
You don’t say.” He turned the silver over in his hand, and then walked to the end of the counter where a man with a wild head of white hair was busy rearranging a display. The pair mulled over the silver bar, glanced at her, then mulled some more.

             
She imagined running over to snatch it away and fleeing out the door.

             
All at once, the older man slipped behind a black curtain, she suspected to call the police. The heavyset man headed her way, and she gripped her bag, ready to run.

             
“
We’ll give you two hundred dollars,” he said, placing the silver bar on the counter. She couldn’t believe her ears until he repeated the offer. “We go by market price. Today its value is two hundred, tomorrow it could be less, or it could be more.” She gaped at the man then realized he was waiting for an answer.

             
“
Yes, yes, two hundred is good.”

             
“
What’s your name?” he asked pulling out a pen.

             
“
My name?”

             
“
Yes, your name. For the check.”

             
“
I don’t have time for that. I – I’m just passing through, heading back east.”

             
He placed the pen over his ear, twisted his mouth into a pucker, rubbing his chin. “Hmm. I just went to the bank about an hour ago. Well, let me see. Hold on.” He ducked behind the curtain. Expecting a long wait, she was surprised when he returned in less than a minute.

             
“
Exactly two hundred dollars,” he said, counting out five twenty-dollar bills and two fifties into her outstretched hand. “I hope that’ll help you out.”

             
She stuffed the money into her pouch, already scooting toward the exit. “You’ll never know how much, sir,” she said. “And thanks, thank you very much.”

             
The door closed behind her and she faced the excitement of the busy street again, but now with a substantial amount of money, and her long anticipated journey about to begin.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Someone whistled up ahead and she turned, watching a man bolt into the street and wave down a cab. It pulled up to the curb and he hopped inside before it came to a complete stop, hollering out his destination as he slammed the door.

              Her luck wasn’t as quick in coming, and after attempting to wave a ride down, she was ready to try another spot when a bright yellow cab tore around the corner and stopped a few feet from her. The door flew open and a couple, laughing and hanging onto each other for dear life, tumbled out. She stood for a moment transfixed, watching the young lovers walk away, entwined like one of her grandmother’s hand-woven rugs.

             
The driver stepped on the gas and ripped up to where she stood.

             
She wrenched the door open, hurled herself into the back seat, securing her safety with a solid yank of the handle as they sped off. “Where’re you headed, young lady?” the driver asked, adjusting the meter, nearly hitting a car as he switched lanes.

             
She wished he would keep his eyes on the road. “The train station, please.”

             
“
Which one?” A horn blared as he swerved between two cars without slowing down in the least. He looked into the rearview mirror and narrowed his eyes for a better look at her. “There’s at least five that I know of.”

             
Emily clutched her bag with both arms and looked out the window, sure it must be against the law to drive like a maniac in the middle of town. She held her breath when another cab almost sideswiped them. “The closest one, please,” she said, moving away from the door.

             
The radio blared Country Western music and she expected to hear a news-breaking report at any moment stating that Emily Alexis Rezell was wanted by the police; then going on to describe in detail her and a gruesome murder. To her relief, there were no newsbreaks and in less than fifteen minutes, the cab pulled up in front of Union Station.

             
She paid the taxicab driver, and then stepped out onto the sidewalk and stared up at the impressive building. When she walked through the door, she was astonished at how huge it was on the inside, even the domed-ceiling had to be at least fifty feet high. She took the marble steps down to where long wooden benches held travelers from the very young to the very old. Attendants in red caps pushed carts loaded with luggage in an interesting variety of colors, textures, and different sizes. She approached one of the red caps.

             
“
Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me where I can buy a ticket?”

             
“
Just around the corner, young lady.” He pointed to an archway.

             
The ticket area buzzed with travelers, some standing in line or sitting on benches patiently waiting, while others wandered about taking in their surroundings with interest, scrutiny, or perhaps boredom. At the far end were partitioned windows made into black-barred cages with a uniformed man behind each. Up on the wall, boards showed destination and departure times. She noticed the last train to San Francisco,
City of San Francisco,
was scheduled to leave at six-thirty. She quickly located a clock and saw it was five fifty-seven. That meant she only had thirty-three minutes to make sure she was on that train.

Visions of police dragging her from the building in the middle of the night set her scurrying across the room to buy her ticket. She found a spot at the end of a line furthest from the entrance where she could keep an eye on the door. No one else seemed concerned at the slow moving line. She on the other hand checked up ahead to see what was causing the holdup, checked the clock, and the entrance every other minute. Trying to appear steady while her insides were in turmoil wasn’t easy. She wondered if Steven knew what happened yet. She could just hear the hoopla back home, the guilty verdict in, and the drinking binge already begun. Every step forward preceded another wait, more visions, a quick check of the clock, and another towards the entrance.

              Finally, at six-eighteen it was her turn. She marched to the counter, peering through the bars. “I need a ticket to San Francisco.” She hadn’t meant to sound so abrupt, but she was in a state of panic. Her hands and knees were shaking like jelly.

             
“
For which day would that be?”

             
“
For tonight, the train that leaves at six-thirty, of course.”

             
He looked up over his glasses. “You realize you should’ve made reservations weeks in advance.”

             
“
How was I to know?” This was just so unbelievable.

             
He waved the passenger list. “Everyone knows to buy tickets in advance.”

             
“
Well, obviously not everyone!” She noticed the sudden quiet around the cage, and realized their brusque words had caught the attention of the crowd. She took a breath, willing herself to calm.

             
She smiled at the couple behind her, adjusted her hat, and then turned back. “Please, sir,” she said, almost whispering now. She leaned closer. “I have to leave tonight. There’s an emergency. I-I can sit on the floor.”

             
She pulled out her pouch, dug for bills and slipped the money under the bars. But the man had turned away to exchange words with another clerk.

             
“
Looks like we have a cancellation,” he said when he faced her again. “Departure time is set for seven
.”

             
She pulled her hand back. “Seven? But, that’s the morning train. I-I can’t wait.” She eyed the clock. It was six thirty-five. She moaned and turned back, tears welling.

             
“
Ma’am? I’m talking about the train that leaves tonight. It was scheduled for six-thirty, but it’s running late. If you hurry, you can still make it. Will that be round trip or one way?”

             
“
O-oh, yes, yes one way, sir, thank you.”

             
“
That’ll be forty-four dollars and twenty cents. You’ll be on train one, track twenty-one. It’s preparing to leave, so you’d better hurry.”

             
The ticket felt like a precious stone in her hand as she hurried to the main lobby. A sign led her through another door and to the endless rows of track. People were scrambling here and there, engines were humming, and when she noticed that wheels were turning, she took off running, keeping an eye on the signs above that indicated track numbers.

             
Screaming engines came from every direction as one train after another backed from the cavern, or pulled in. She passed track twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen. Seventeen’s was empty, while the train on track eighteen pulled in. One platform over, men were loading up the last of the steps on train nineteen.

             
The crowd was thinning and it looked as if everyone with a ticket was already onboard but her. Then a man with a suitcase in each hand scrambled by as the train on track twenty slowly backed away.

             
And then lo and behold there on track twenty-one, in all its yellow-and-black-trimmed beauty, stood her train to freedom. Her excitement took her through the gate to where a man in uniform greeted passengers.

             
“
Where to, young lady?” he said, holding up a hand to indicate he didn’t need her ticket.

             
She shoved the piece of paper into her pocket, out of breath from the run and the scare that she wouldn’t make it at all. “San Francisco,” she said, stopping to catch her breath. “I’m going to San Francisco.”

             
He pointed toward the back of the train. “That’ll be six cars down.”

             
“
Thank you, sir,” she said and rushed off again.

             
“
The conductor will collect your ticket onboard,” he called after her.