Chapter 4 Suffocating
Suffocating
“Clara, this is Irene Montgomery. She works as a secretary in your uncle’s office,” my aunt says, gesturing to the woman seated across the tea table.
I offer a polite smile as I take in the stranger. Her hair, a soft silver, is pinned back neatly beneath a wide-brimmed hat, and though her cheeks are dabbed with a touch too much rouge, her eyes gleam with warmth. Her smile is effortless. Genuine.
“So lovely to finally meet you, dear!” Irene leans across the table, maneuvering through the maze of porcelain cups, tiny sandwiches, and delicately frosted tea cakes. Her hand reaches for mine, fingertips tapping my arm like we’re already old friends.
I return her smile. “Lovely to meet you as well, Mrs. Montgomery.”
“Oh, call me Irene, dear. We’re friends now, no need for formalities,” she says with a light, airy laugh.
“Alright then, Irene. Are you enjoying the fair so far?” I ask, lifting my teacup to my lips.
Outside the tent, the fair stretches across Hawthorn’s dusty grounds.
It’s a three-day event that stirs the whole town to life.
Ranchers parade their finest livestock, ribbons are awarded for pies, and vendors call out from beneath striped canopies, selling everything from quilts to licorice sticks.
There’s even a sideshow this year, a traveling crew of people with unusual talents and stranger appearances.
Yesterday, I spent the entire day under the Albright family tent.
My uncle was busy talking business with ranchers, while my aunt entertained their wives over tea and politely forced laughter.
I was expected to sit, smile, and engage with women I’d never met before—and likely would never see again.
The heat of the summer sun had clung to the canvas walls like a second skin, and by the end of the day, I felt like I was drowning in the weight of polite conversation and thinly veiled expectations.
But Irene is a breath of fresh air.
She smiles again as my aunt excuses herself to tend to another guest. Leaning in slightly, Irene lowers her voice and fans herself with an ivory-handled fan.
“The fair,” she says, “is really for the men and their beasts. We women are expected to occupy ourselves with dainty sandwiches and strained pleasantries. If I eat one more pastry, my girdle may give out altogether.”
A startled laugh escapes me, and I cover my mouth with a gloved hand. “Irene!”
She waves her hand, unbothered. “Oh, please—we’re all thinking it.”
I glance around the tent, then back at her. “I must admit, I’d been looking forward to the fair. But so far, all I’ve done is pour tea and entertain women whose names I already can’t remember. It’s...exhausting.”
“You’re a dutiful niece, my dear,” she says, folding her fan with a soft click. Her eyes twinkle with something conspiratorial. “But tell me, are you planning to attend the Founder's Dance tonight?”
I tilt my head. “The Founder's Dance?”
She brightens. “It’s tradition for the final night of the fair. Music, dancing under the stars. It’s my favorite part of the whole event.”
I glance toward my aunt across the tent. “My aunt hasn’t mentioned it.”
Irene gives me a knowing look. “Then it’s a good thing I have.” She suddenly raises her voice, calling across the space, “Isadora!”
My aunt startles, turning our way, a wary expression settling over her features.
“I’ve invited your dear Clara to the Founder's Dance this evening,” Irene continues smoothly. “I’ll be her chaperone and will have her home at a perfectly respectable hour.”
Isadora approaches, her lips pressed thin. “Oh, I’m not sure that’s—”
Irene doesn’t let her finish. “Let the poor girl enjoy herself. She’s been the very model of grace and patience in this tent the past two days. Consider it a well-earned reward.”
My aunt’s hands fidget at her waist. I rise from my seat and face her fully.
“Aunt Isadora,” I say gently, “I’ll stay close to Mrs. Montgomery the whole evening. May I please go?”
She sighs, her shoulders dropping in resignation. “You’ll be home by ten. And you’ll stay close to Irene.”
“I swear I’ll be respectful.”
Her eyes flit between us, then settle reluctantly on Irene. “Very well. But she’s in your hands. Please remember what’s expected of her.”
“Of course, Isadora,” Irene replies, her tone just innocent enough to pass.
As my aunt walks away, Irene gives me a wink, and I suddenly feel lighter than I have in days. The air inside the tent feels a little easier to breathe.
I sit perched on the edge of the velvet settee in the front room, nerves coiled tight beneath my ribs.
It's not yet six, but I’ve been ready for some time—dressed in a soft blue gown that hugs the waist and falls like water around my legs.
I pinned my hair back with trembling fingers, smoothed a final touch of powder over my cheeks, and now I’ve taken refuge behind a book from the library, though I couldn’t tell you a single word I’ve read.
The pages blur, my thoughts too excited for stories.
The old clock in the hall begins to chime. One. Two. Three…
By the sixth strike, I hear the engine of a car coming up the drive.
I stand just as my aunt enters the room, her expression a portrait of composed reluctance.
“Just remember, dear,” she says, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her skirt. “Stay close to Irene, and I’ll expect you to represent the family well.”
I lean in to kiss her cheek. “I will. Thank you for letting me go.”
She nods, and we walk together to the entryway, where Irene waits, poised and polished.
“Ready, Clara?” she asks with a sparkle in her eye.
“I am.” I offer my aunt one more smile and step out into the evening.
The sky is still awash in fading gold, and Irene takes my arm as we descend the steps toward her waiting car, the door already open.
I raise an eyebrow as we approach. “Forgive me if it’s rude, but how does a secretary afford a car and chauffeur?”
We both slide into the back seat, and the door shuts with a solid thump.
She chuckles, the sound rich with amusement. “My late husband did very well for himself. My children are all grown now, off with families of their own. I work in the office mostly for conversation and to feel useful.”
The car lurches as it turns onto the road.
“That’s lovely,” I say, watching the homes blur past the windows. “Do your children live nearby?”
“They do. I’m hoping for a grandbaby soon, something small to chase around and spoil.”
The ride doesn’t take long. As we crest the final hill, I spot the fairground lit like a dream—strings of lights crisscross overhead, casting everything in warm hues in the growing twilight. Laughter and music drift into the car, and my heart leaps at the promise of something lively.
When the car stops, the chauffeur opens the door, and we step out.
The air is thick with the scent of roasted corn and sweets, of dust and summer sweat.
It doesn’t matter the station in life, they all mingle freely—laughing, dancing, and drinking.
For tonight, the lines between them seem to blur, if not disappear entirely.
As we walk arm in arm, Irene produces a silver flask from her bag. She twists off the cap and takes a swig, then hands it to me.
“Oh, I don’t know...” I hesitate, eyeing the metal container.
“Go on,” she coaxes, tapping it gently against my arm. “We’ve only got a few hours. Any mischief will wear off before you’re home.”
I take the flask with a nervous smile, raise it to my lips, and—perhaps trying too hard to be brave—take a mouthful far larger than I should. The burn is instant and sharp. I cough, sputtering as I hand it back.
“What is that?” I force out, catching my breath.
“Grain alcohol. A bit stronger than the old wine you’re used to, I expect.”
The heat settles in my stomach, a slow, simmering warmth. “I should say so. How did you get your hands on something so strong?”
Irene points across the way. “Prohibition might have shuttered the bars, but we all still have our ways. Let’s sit over there—under the tent with the other women from the office.”
As we weave through the crowd, the music swells.
A fiddle sings above the hum of voices, and the stomp of boots on hard-packed earth shakes the air.
I take it all in—the lantern glow, the laughter—until a group of ranch hands pushes past us, their worn hats tipped low, skin bronzed by the sun. Their voices are loud and boisterous.
And then my eyes land on him.
At the tail end of the group, his gaze collides with mine, and the world narrows to a single point. Noise blurs, light softens, even the air seems to still, as though the whole night holds its breath.
His eyes are deep, steady, and impossibly warm. A crooked smile curves his lips, lit with curiosity. The way his chestnut curls peek from beneath the brim of his hat, and his shirt hanging open at the collar, with short plaid sleeves that strain against his arms makes my pulse race.
We walk past one another in a slow, magnetic pull, and neither of us looks away. For a heartbeat, maybe even two, the air thickens.
My chest tightens as he passes by. I can’t help but glance back.
And there he is, already looking over his shoulder, his smile deepening at the sight of me turning. My cheeks flare hot, and I turn quickly, heart racing like a drum in my throat.
“Here we are,” Irene says, breaking the moment.
I take the seat she offers, offering polite greetings to the women at the table, but my eyes keep scanning the crowd—searching for curls beneath a cowboy hat and the smile that made time stop.