9. Viola
Viola
Iwoke in the main stateroom of the railcar, surrounded by dark wood paneling. The wool blanket brushed my cheek, carrying a hint of Father’s clove-scented soap. On past journeys, this had been his room. But now it was just me.
My escape plan had worked. I should’ve been humming Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, but it was Grieg’s In the Hall of the Mountain King that echoed through my mind. Boo, boo, boo, boo, boop-a-doop.
In the quiet before dawn, Greta and I had slipped aboard the Pullman car, with no goodbyes—save the ones I whispered into the dark.
I’d spent the previous night awake, my nerves churning.
As soon as Chicago had disappeared from view, I’d fallen onto the bed.
Now fully awake, the grumbling emptiness of my stomach hinted at the passage of hours.
Golden light cast long shadows over the wide land, yet something in me shrank, condensing into a pebble.
A light knock sounded at my door. Greta slipped in and placed a tray of food on my small table. “Miss Viola, if you please. You must be starving. Come and enjoy the view along with your dinner. Are you feeling better after your rest?”
I stretched and moved to the chair, but didn’t look out the window. My thoughts remained in Chicago. “When do you think George will find my letter?”
“It will be placed in Mr. George’s room tonight. I expect he won’t notice it until the morning.” Greta poured a glass of water. “All will be exactly as you planned. You’ve thought of everything.”
But had I thought of everything? Soon, George would find the short note that revealed my plan, but I should’ve left a second note for Father.
I would’ve accepted Aunt Edith’s invitation even if she’d guaranteed locusts and floods instead of mountain views. All I had left to do was sit tight until Seattle.
I wandered through the car, the music whispering behind my thoughts in a creeping beat that accelerated into chaos. My memory contained hundreds of soothing piano pieces, but it refused to offer a single measure of calm.
Sunset blurred to bruised purple as the light thinned. When I telegraphed safely from Seattle… it would be fine.
Greta bustled into the room. “Let’s get you all settled in for tonight. I have the kettle on for tea, and a slice of tart is ready and waiting.”
Back in my stateroom, I slipped into a pale purple nightdress.
An elegantly embroidered purple “V” adorned one collar.
Greta brushed my hair as I traced the smooth purple stitching with one finger.
“Thank you, Greta. After my long nap, I fear sleep will elude me again tonight.” I laid a hand on her arm.
“There’s no need for you to stay up with me. ”
I settled onto a settee in the back parlor. As the hours passed, I found peace in the smooth rolling of the train and the stars filling the sky. Though I couldn’t quite shake Grieg’s insolent notes creeping ever faster in the back of my mind, sending my fingers into a frantic tapping.
Somewhere ahead, Seattle waited. Somewhere behind, Chicago went on without me. I hovered between them with nothing to do but wait for the consequences.
Father might not forgive this. And I wasn’t entirely sure I could forgive myself.