The Coach House (28 page)

Across the street was a bright white three-story Victorian mansion set far back on the large lot that took up a full square block, looking as though it had been plucked out of some other place and plopped down in the middle of this sleepy little town. Two walkways, flanked by lush bushes and trees spanned from the front of the multi-pillared house to the two front corners of the lot. Several chimneys rose to different heights above the sharply angled roof, suggesting just as many fireplaces.

She crossed Milwaukee Avenue to the other side of the street and strolled by a hardware store, Woolworth’s, Mackey’s Jewelry, and another bakery. Someone opened the door to the bakery, and the delectable aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air. The temptation was strong, but once again she resisted.

Marie stood in front of a furniture store and looked up and down the street. A “Room for Rent” sign on the door next to Smith’s Shoes caught her eye. The thought of lying down on a clean bed in a safe place tantalized her. She crossed the street to get a closer look. There was no phone number on the sign. She pushed on the door.

Maybe two people, and only if they were thin, could have stood on the landing inside the door. Marie looked up the steep stairway to the top. She made the ascent only to find six closed doors, presumably leading to the rented rooms. Confused, she went into the shoe store next door and asked the man behind the counter if he knew who to call about the room.

“That would be Mr. Berry,” the man said shaking his head. “He puts up a sign with no phone number. How does he expect to rent it?” He rolled his eyes while he searched in the drawer under his cash register for an address book. He wrote down the number and handed it to Marie who left the store in search of a phone booth.

The busy restaurant bubbled with overlapping conversations. Businessmen seated at tables of four carried on lively conversations, sometimes between tables. Mothers with small children enjoyed their grilled cheese sandwiches and milk shakes, hamburgers and fries, and tuna salad stuffed tomatoes.

“Mom, can we go to the park after lunch?”

“How’s your wife, Bill? Be sure to tell her that we’re thinking of her and can’t wait to see her up and about again.”

“Meet me there at three, and we’ll go over the details.”

Marie stood near the public phone waiting for it to become free, the benign conversations absorbed by the room comforting.

“Yes, we have a room for rent above the shoe store,” a woman answered. “I have to warn ya though, it’s the most expensive room we’ve got. And we rent by the week, nothing shorter. This one will cost ya fifteen dollars. We charge only twelve dollars for the others, but they’re all taken. Cash only, paid in advance. If you want to see it, I can meet ya there in an hour.” The woman talked fast, as if from a well-rehearsed script.

“Yes, I would very much like to see it. Where should I meet you?”

“Meet me in front of the shoe store. There’s a bench right there you can sit on if you get there before me. My name is Juanita Berry. What’s yours?”

“Marie…Marie Adams.”
Where did that name come from?

“Okay, Miss Adams. I’ll see you in an hour or so.”

“Thank you. See you then.”

As she hung up the phone, Marie wondered if it was a false sense of security she was feeling or if something might be going in her favor. Unless the room was god-awful, she had a place to stay. At fifteen dollars a week, she could take her time to figure out what she was going to do.

The aroma of the food in the restaurant taunted her. “How many?” the hostess asked her, giving her a friendly but curious smile.

Marie hadn’t intended to eat anything. She didn’t know if her stomach could handle it. She took a chance. “Just one,” she responded. “May I have that booth in the back?”

“Sure. Follow me.” Sitting in the back booth facing away from all the other patrons where a stream of wait staff juggled plates of food and trays of dirty dishes normally would have been Marie’s last choice to sit. But not this time.

“My name is Alice. The soup today is cream of chicken,” the waitress informed her without expression as she handed her a menu. Alice scrutinized Marie’s face, or as much of it as she could see given the wide brim of her hat. “Are you okay, dear?” she asked.

“Why yes, of course,” Marie answered. “I’ll have a bowl of the cream of chicken soup, please.”

“Okay. Anything to drink? Some hot tea perhaps?”

“Just a glass of water.”

Marie took in a big breath and slowly exhaled while she sat on the periphery of the swirling conversations of the restaurant guests. It didn’t matter to Marie what they were saying. What mattered to her was that it provided a backdrop of normalcy.

“Here you go. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“No. Thank you.”

Marie closed her eyes as each dose of the thick creamy liquid slid down her throat. Her stomach rumbled at first, but soon calmed down.

She took the long way back to the shoe store to get a closer look at the Victorian mansion she saw earlier. There was a plaque of some sort on the front door. She walked in for a closer look. It read,
Cook Memorial Library.
Her eyes glided over the lush landscape. A rush of peacefulness passed through her. She strolled down Milwaukee Avenue toward the shoe store, taking in all the sights and sounds, and for a brief moment, she forgot about the situation she was in and all the trouble she had caused.

“Hi. I’m Juanita. Are you Marie?” the middle-aged stranger asked brusquely. Juanita was no more than four and a half feet tall and had a solid build and purposeful stride. Her dull blond hair was pulled back behind her ears in no particular style.

“Yes, that’s me.” She made eye contact from underneath the brim of her hat. If Juanita noticed her blackened eye, she didn’t let on.

“C’mon. I’ll show ya the room.” She opened the door next to the shoe store. “These stairs may seem like a lot now, but you’ll get used to ’em.”

Marie’s muscles complained with each stair as she tried to keep up with Juanita, who was now at the top and talking to Marie as if she was right behind her. “Actually, this is the best room
in
the joint. It’s at the end of the hall, so it has the most privacy, and it has its own bathroom.” She allowed Marie to go in first.

The dingy walls of the room provided a dreary backdrop for its equally cheerless furniture; a twin bed with a thin grey bedspread, a small dresser with some missing drawer pulls, and a wooden chair that wouldn’t hold the weight of a five-year-old.
The piéce de résistance
was a dust-ridden plastic potted palm, artfully propped up in the corner, apparently unable to stand on its own. A beat-up nightstand completed the so-called décor. Marie peeked in the bathroom. Dreary but clean.

“I’ll take it.”

Juanita gave Marie a surprised look. “Okay. That’ll be fifteen dollars… cash. How long do you think you’ll be staying with us, Miss Adams?”

“I’m not sure. A week might do it.” She handed her the money for the room. “May I ask who lives in the other rooms?”

Juanita flashed a dubious smile. “Well, let’s see. Jumpin’ Joe’s been here forever. He looks a little scary, but I assure you he’s harmless. Then there’s Pete something or other in the room next to yours. I don’t think he’ll be here for long. Looks like a drifter if you ask me. My husband’s deadbeat brother lives in the room farthest down the hall. He’ll be here a long time. And good ole Rosie lives across from Joe. She’s been here awhile, at least ten years. She’s an odd one. Doesn’t come out too often, and when she does it’s usually at night.”

Marie tried not to react to the woman’s colorful characterization of her new neighbors. “Well, I’m sure I’ll be just fine here. Thank you very much.”

Juanita continued with her “new tenant” speech, which she had obviously performed a hundred times before, all the time looking Marie up and down with a skeptical eye. “Here’s your key. Don’t lose it. It’s the only one you’ll get. You’ve got our number. Call when you’re going to leave so we can get the key from you. If you want to stay another week, the rent is due on the first day. No noise after ten p.m. There’s a Laundromat across the railroad tracks two blocks up the street if ya need one.” She finished giving Marie the once over. “Keep your door locked at all times. Any questions?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Okay. Enjoy your stay,” Juanita said halfway down the stairs.

A door closed somewhere on the floor. Marie couldn’t tell which door it was, but she suspected it was one of the other tenants checking her out. It was a small space for five people to occupy, and it didn’t surprise her that someone was curious about the new roomer. She was, after all, just as curious about Jumpin’ Joe, Pete the drifter, the brother-n-law with no name, and good ole Rosie.

Marie examined the room. It appeared to be relatively clean. She checked the sheets. They looked okay, but she stripped them off the bed anyway. She threw the bathroom towels on top of the sheets. Then she dug out a pencil from her purse, tore off a piece of the newspaper she had picked up in the train station, and started a shopping list.

List complete, Marie took a good look at herself in the bathroom mirror. The gash on her forehead was well scabbed over. She touched the pulsating nerve beneath her blackened eye, and then her hair, a tangled mess of curls with dried blood and debris from her trek through the woods laced through it.

She looked through the dirty window at the street below. She was directly across the street from the bakery, a jewelry store, a clothing store, and Woolworth’s. Above these establishments a sign read New Castle Hotel. She hadn’t seen it earlier and wondered how it compared with the one she was in. She looked farther down the block at The Liberty movie theater and Liberty Barber Shop. Patriotism everywhere.

She tried hard to blend in with the other people on the sidewalk who were going in and out of the stores and restaurants. She walked farther down the length of Milwaukee Avenue, past the library, to see more of the business district, past the Chamber of Commerce, a travel agency, and a florist.

She crossed to the other side of the street. The first store of interest to her was Ruth’s Dresses. Disappointed to find only high-end clothing and nothing casual, Marie continued her shopping expedition. Next to Ruth’s was Sheridan Beauty Salon. Much to her dismay, she knew beauty treatments would have to go on hold for the time being. Taylor’s Drug Store had much of what she needed. She left there with a bag of essential toiletries.

In the next block, Marie had a hard time passing up Parkside Liquors. A glass of wine in the evening would be most welcome. But there were more important items to buy, so she proceeded to the A&P where she emerged with a bag of groceries—nonrefrigerated items that she could make do for a few meals.

A visit to Woolworth’s completed her shopping expedition, which included a nightgown, slippers, two pairs of shapeless pants, and two flowered tops that you might see on a middle-aged woman who couldn’t afford to shop in a regular clothing store—a far cry from the expensive tailored clothes Marie was used to wearing.

Back in her room, Marie longed to take a hot bath but decided that would have to wait. She stripped off all her clothes and put on the new ones, ready for her next adventure.

The lint-ridden Laundromat was empty except for a young mother and her toddler. Marie situated her things in a corner of the room farthest from them. Never having been in a Laundromat before, she watched the woman stuff clothes in several of the washers, sprinkle a little detergent on top, then slam down the lids and feed the coin slots. Luckily, Marie had enough change for the five-cent washers, three-cents-a-minute dryers, and ten-cent boxes of soap.

The sun was low in the sky by the time Marie reached her room. She made the bed, hung up the clean towels, and drew a hot bath. After soaking for fifteen minutes, she carefully washed her hair.

Marie stared at the weak reflection of the person she saw in the bathroom mirror, someone she hardly recognized. She dressed in her nightclothes with tear-filled eyes, not knowing if she was madder at him or herself for the mess she was in.

The new nightgown and slippers felt comforting against her clean skin. She looked at the bed and didn’t know if it was hard or soft, lumpy or smooth, but didn’t care. Fresh sheets would make up for any flaws the bed might have.

She tilted the slats of the Venetian window blinds so that no one could see in, but she could look down on the street below. She spied on the people who were still walking about, feeling remarkably safe in her simulated ivory tower.
He would never think to look for me here, that’s for sure.

As she lay in bed, she thought about the house she had broken into. She couldn’t help but wonder if the noises she heard were actually caused by someone on the second floor. It didn’t make complete sense that someone lived up there, given the planks of wood that had been crudely placed at the top of the landing. It would have made more sense if someone lived on the first floor and closed off the second floor. But she had checked the first floor fairly well, so she remained confused.

Marie’s sleep that night was restless.

She was trapped in the alley behind her house. It was closed off at both ends. She looked up at the nun who was floating above her. A motorcycle careened out of control and headed right for her. She tried to run, but her legs were too heavy. She looked ahead at the closed gate and the bright light squeezing through the cracks. The rain came down so hard; she thought she would drown. The zebra ahead of her didn’t drown, but she thought she would.