The Coach House (29 page)
The sound of a car horn wakened her. She looked at the cheap plastic clock on the wobbly table next to the bed. It was 9:00 a.m. She had been sleeping for twelve hours. She took a moment to feel the coziness of the soft pajamas against her body and the comfort of the sheets against her cheeks. She looked up at the cracked water-stained ceiling, gathering her thoughts.
She readied herself for the day, camouflaging the bruises on her face and neck with makeup she had purchased at the drug store. She made a mental list of what she wanted to accomplish this day.
The sun glistened through billowy clouds while Marie walked the short distance to the Independence House. Before being seated, she grabbed a copy of the local newspaper,
The Independent Register,
from the newsstand.
“Would you like the same booth, hon? It’s empty.” Alice gave her a wink.
“Yes. That would be nice. How are you today?” She was pleasantly surprised Alice remembered her.
Alice beamed. “I’m great, thank you. It’s a beautiful day. My daughter told us last night she’s going to have a baby. Our first grandchild.”
“Well congratulations! When is she due?”
“The end of October. What can I get you for breakfast, dear? Or do you need a few minutes?” Alice waited while Marie looked at the menu. Her stomach was still tight, but she had had no adverse reaction to the soup the day before. “I’ll have a poached
egg,
toast, and a small orange juice.”
Marie couldn’t help but smile as she read the paper. On the front page was the story of a hometown boy who recently came back from spending a year in Africa as a missionary. Another article listed the winners of a relay race held at Butler Lake the week before. Someone’s sixtieth wedding anniversary. A used bookstore opening. All the articles focused on local news, mostly cheerful agreeable news. Not at all like the
Chicago Tribune.
“Here you go.” Alice placed the plate of food in front of Marie. “Anything else? Coffee? Tea?”
“No, that should do it. Thank you.”
Marie flipped through the paper while she ate her breakfast. She looked at the ads and made mental notes on a few more stores she might want to visit. The “Police Blotter” column amused her, the most serious crime reported that week being a disturbance caused by a barking dog. No murders or muggings, mobsters or arrests. No raids. Impulsively and not knowing exactly why, she removed the “Employment” section, folded it, and stuck it in her purse.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“Just the bill. Thanks.” As Marie stood at the cash register waiting to pay the bill, she longingly looked around at the other patrons. It all looked so normal.
She walked up the long sidewalk toward the Cook Library. She imagined what it would look like in a couple of months when the hundreds of rose bushes in the front lawn were in full bloom.
Marie gasped at the grand interior of what presumably was once someone’s home. On the right, an ornately carved winding staircase led to the upstairs. What may have been either a parlor or living room had been converted into the library’s book check-in and out area, complete with a marble fireplace and crystal chandelier. Period furniture adorned the room, which provided a look into the past when it was someone’s home and functionality for the library personnel.
Fascinated by the architecture and décor of the house, Marie paid no attention to the books as she examined each room. The upstairs was as impressive as the first floor with each bedroom having been converted into a haven for a variety of literary works. There was so much to take in.
On her way back to her room, Marie passed mothers and their children bustling along the sidewalk. Shopkeepers peered out their front windows looking for the next customer or maybe just someone with whom they could pass the time of day. The bakery smells floated out the doors as patrons went in and out.
Once back in the comfort of her room, Marie took out the one-page employment section of the paper from her purse. She absentmindedly circled a few positions, none of which came even close to her position at Marshall Field’s.
What must they think of me by now?
She desperately wanted to call someone there, explain what had happened, but not wanting to put them in a compromising position in case Richard confronted them, she didn’t dare.
An hour later, Marie felt a strong desire to see more of the town and once again ventured out of her safe haven. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for or what she expected, but she felt compelled to know more.
She walked toward the library and turned right. A fire station was in the first block. After that it was all residential, mostly older two- and three-story Victorian homes, but none as grand as the library. She turned left onto Brainerd Avenue and walked for several blocks, passing a couple of churches, the post office, and more well-maintained homes. She continued her walk, savoring the feel of the gentle breeze on her face. While she always thought of herself as a city girl, she could picture herself in a town like this.
It was almost 4:30 p.m. when Marie neared her room. She picked up dinner to go from a Chinese restaurant. Bag in hand, she exited the restaurant and glanced down the alley at Abe’s Pawn Shop.
Abe was a crusty old character with a three-day stubble for a beard, hair growing out of his ears, and clothes that appeared to have never seen the inside of a washing machine. Marie showed him her engagement ring. “How much would you give me for this?”
Abe examined at the ring. “Fifty bucks,” he said, flatly.
Marie took the ring back. “Thanks,” she said and headed toward the door.
“Wait,” he hollered. “Maybe I can do better.”
Marie turned toward him. “This is a perfect emerald cut two-carat diamond set in platinum.”
“I’ll give you a hundred bucks for it. That’s my final offer.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” Abe grumbled something under his breath that Marie didn’t comprehend.
As she settled in for the evening, Marie started to formulate a plan to leave her temporary safe haven in Libertyville before it became unsafe. Her last thought before she fell asleep was that it was too bad this place was only forty miles from Chicago and Richard, as she had become quickly enamored by it.
By day five, Marie had had enough of her transient room over the shoe store. Her facial wounds were hardly noticeable with help from makeup, and the dark circles under her eyes were fading thanks to a few nights of good sleep. She felt as close to normal as she thought she could possibly get. It was Sunday, the day of the week she figured was the safest to attempt the next leg of her journey.
With her Woolworth’s bag filled to the brim with her worldly belongings, Marie traipsed over to the train station and waited for the next train to Chicago’s Union Station. It was the middle of May, and the scent of early spring flowers and crab tree blossoms filled her nostrils with confidence. She sat tall on the bench outside the station, not hiding under the brim of the floppy hat this time. The hum of people talking around her invigorated her.
She focused on the future. While a safe and meaningful lifestyle still felt out of reach, she was certain it would eventually come to be. Eventually. That word scared her. She pictured herself starting over in a new job, in a new city far enough away from Richard that he would be out of her life. She was ready to put him and her marriage behind her.
Union Station, built almost entirely underground, occupied nearly ten city blocks. Huge statuaries, elaborate staircases, and balconies flanked the one-hundred-foot-tall main waiting room where Marie entered.
Not that familiar with the station, she wandered around until she found a sign directing her to the ticket agents. Businessmen, mothers with their children, conductors, and porters bustled around her. She tried to blend in, pretending her purpose for being there was just as legitimate as everyone else’s.
She studied the departure board, concentrating on trains leaving within the next hour.
Kansas City
Austin
Pittsburgh
Seattle
Buffalo
Milwaukee
Cincinnati
Denver
Minneapolis
New York City
She eliminated Milwaukee and Minneapolis immediately, as they were in Richard’s sales territory. The East Coast didn’t appeal to her, so she eliminated New York and Pittsburg.
What did she know about Denver? Not very much. The Mile High City. Rocky Mountains. Home of the Old West and the U.S. Mint. Weather similar to Chicago’s. And more pressing, Richard had never mentioned it.
She had never lived around mountains before. She recalled her and Richard’s trip to Aspen and how surprised she was after arriving as to how much she enjoyed it. She wondered if Denver was similar. It was a big move she was about to make, and as she stared at the departure board, she tried to rid her mind of what she would be leaving behind—the good and the bad.
As she studied the board, Marie caught a glimpse of a man lurking around the perimeter of the room. Dressed in a dark suit, tie, and hat, at first it was his suspicious movements that caught her attention as he walked several feet and then disappeared behind a pillar. When he turned his head, she thought he might be an acquaintance of Richard’s.
She watched him for several more seconds. He was definitely looking for someone.
Coincidence? I don’t think so.
Marie rushed up to the first available ticket agent. “One-way ticket to Kansas City, please,” she blurted out looking at the first town listed on the departure board.
“That will be leaving on track thirteen in eight minutes.”
Ticket in hand, Marie pulled the floppy brimmed hat out of her bag and walked as fast as possible in the direction of the trains. Out of breath, she plopped down in the first vacant seat on the train, next to the window. She bowed her head and closed her eyes for a few long seconds trying to compose herself and clear her mind. When she opened her eyes and looked up, a feeling of tranquility clothed her like a veil, compelling her to smile—that is, until she looked out the window at the man she recognized from inside the station.
He stood within twenty-five feet of her. He looked up and down the track but not up and into the window where she was sitting. She smiled at the thought that he may just be some average guy having nothing to do with Richard or her.
I need to stop being so paranoid.
It was a twelve-hour train ride with stops in Peoria, Des Moines, and Lincoln. Marie watched the other passengers: businessmen, soldiers, young lovers, and families. She was the only single female in the car, making her own situation feel that much more pathetic.
She fell half asleep to the relentless rhythm of the staunch train wheels riding on top of the rails. Her fatigued mind made up rhyming words to their sound.
Clickety clack. I’m on the right track.
Clickety clack. I won’t go back.
Clickety clack. White and black.
Clickety clack. Clickety clack.
Marie pulled out the
Chicago Tribune
she had picked up at the train station. “Start Palestine Invasion” read the headline. She turned to the back page to look at the picture of youths dancing on the streets of New York under a Jewish flag proclaiming the new state of Israel in Palestine. She read a few articles on the front page: “Hostages Seized by Meat Union Strikers,” “Father Flanagan of Boys Town Dies in Berlin,” “Reverend Gowan Willimas Assaulted in Lincoln Park.”
Then she saw it, buried on page seven, next to a Gasoline Alley cartoon.
Sixty-three-year-old Lillian Strauss was found shaken but physically unhurt in her home at 4211 North Pickens on Thursday. Evidence of a possible break-in is currently being investigated.
She had glanced at the address on the front of the house before she left it and was pretty sure it had been 4211.
So there had been someone inside. And she was shaken. But she’s okay.
She closed her eyes and tried to think of something else. Anything else. But all she could think of was a sixty-three-year-old woman being surprised by someone breaking into her home. Marie thought about all the noises she made the first day she was there—breaking the window, dragging the table she used to block the window, the table falling. How terrified the poor woman must have felt.