Tennessee Twilight: A Civil War Novel – Free Online Novel – Webnovel

September 1863

Amanda had been to Knoxville three times—once in a carriage and twice on the train—but she hadn’t paid the slightest bit of attention as to how to get there. She knew the general direction, but there would be towns and roads that she would have to avoid. There would be creeks and rivers to cross, gaps in the mountains to be negotiated, and she had no idea how to locate them. She finally decided that, though it wasn’t the most direct route, following the East Tennessee and Virginia Railroad was the only way to avoid getting lost.

She started out, going from one skirt of timber to another, avoiding all roads. Traveling during the day was dangerous. A person could be easily spotted from the foothills around the Valley, could be tracked, and hunted down like a dog, without ever knowing it until it was too late. But she had to find shelter soon.

She had eaten nothing for two days. With every step she took, she blamed herself for not at least getting some food from Jonathan. Silver had warned her many times about her pride.

She finally found some berries, and ate them voraciously, though a thought nagged at her brain. Silver had taught her about wild berries a long time ago. Were these berries poisonous? She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t stop eating them; her hunger took over.

Within two hours, it all came up, leaving her weaker than before. She lay on a secluded ridge for two days before she could move on. She parched some corn she had stolen from a barn and finally regained a little strength, but she was running out of the one commodity she needed most: hope.

About mid-afternoon one day, heavy clouds rolled in quickly. The sky became as dark as night. She could barely see her hand in front of her face. The wind whipped up fiercely, knocking her off-balance when she tried to walk. The rain came so hard that it pelted her face, and then hailstones, almost the size of hen’s eggs. The rain and the wind assaulted her eyes so violently she couldn’t keep them open. She fumbled around and finally found a shallow ditch where she could at least hide her face from the onslaught. The storm lasted for what seemed to be a half hour before she could continue her journey. She was soaked to the skin and shivering, but she trudged on.

She was traveling in an open area—no woods on either side of the railroad. So, she walked on the west side of a ridge that ran parallel to the tracks, and climbed to the top from time to time to make sure she hadn’t veered off course. After one such exercise, climbing back down from the ridge, she stopped abruptly. One more step, and she would have tumbled down a fifty-foot ravine. At the bottom was a dilapidated hovel.

The setting would be idyllic if the dwelling wasn’t so rundown. The site was protected from bad weather and sheltered from the hot summer sun. The stream that flowed past the hut was probably full of fish; the surrounding forest was probably full of game. She could see the remains of a small vegetable garden—probably only potatoes now left in the ground. Large sheets of flattened tree bark covered the exterior of the hut, and a good portion of the roof. She couldn’t imagine what the interior might look like, but it was shelter.

She argued with herself for several minutes, her mind bringing up advantages and disadvantages of stopping at this place: What kind of people might live in such a dwelling? Could they be dangerous? Considering the condition of the house, would they have anything to share with a tired and hungry traveler? That pretty much took care of the disadvantages.

There was only one advantage, but it was an important one: It was the only structure of any sort she had seen in hours, and the thought of spending another night in the forest hungry and cold—and now wet as well—it didn’t take long to decide. If the place was empty, she could investigate the garden—she salivated at the thought. And there was an old bucket hanging on the side of a well—springs of cool clear water hadn’t been so plentiful in her recent travels.

She summoned the courage to call out as she slid down the steep ridge on her backside. It wasn’t a good idea to approach a residence without first announcing your presence. Doing otherwise might get you killed.

“Hello!” Amanda shouted. “Is anyone home?”

A slender woman with perfectly white hair came around the corner of the hut, wiping her hands on an apron. “I’m here,” she said, squinting at Amanda. “Do I know you?”

“No, ma’am. I’m just passing by and was hoping you might let me dry myself by your fire. I was caught in the storm, as you can see,” Amanda said, self-consciously trying to straighten her mud-caked clothes. “I was almost too afraid to call out—half expecting a large, gruff mountain man, who might feed me, and then make me his slave.”

“There’s only me here,” the woman said, laughing.

“I’ve never seen anybody as skinny as you are and still breathing,” Amanda said.

“Always was thin—runs in my family.” The woman smiled and showed four large brown teeth. “When you live in a valley,” the woman said, motioning upward, the skin on her bony arms flapping, “there’s too much climbing to get fat.”

“Why’s your face so red and splotchy?” she suddenly asked.

“Hail stones got me pretty good,” Amanda explained.

“Well, where are my manners? Come in,” the woman said. “Just because I was born in the woods doesn’t mean I should act like it.” She stopped and extended her hand to Amanda. “I’m Dolly Harper.” She opened a narrow door and motioned Amanda to follow.

Inside, there was a warm candlelit interior, a thousand times more beautiful than Amanda would have ever imagined. “My goodness,” she sighed. “What a lovely place.”

“If I kept the outside looking as good as the inside, I might have more company than I want,” Dolly said.

The glow and warmth of the fireplace almost brought Amanda to tears. If Dolly had nothing more than the fire to share, she would have been very grateful. But there was more.

She served Amanda collard greens, corn bread fried in bacon fat, and potatoes baked on the hearth. The potato peeling was so crunchy and tasty that there was no trace of a potato left on her plate when she finished.

Amanda ate too much and too quickly for her shriveled stomach to digest. She barely slept that night. The nausea was all consuming. Dolly brought a slop basin to her bedside, and bathed her feverish forehead with a cool cloth most of the night.

“You’re too sick to travel today,” Dolly said near dawn.

“I’ll be fine,” Amanda whispered—but she wasn’t fine. When she tried to stand, weakness assaulted her limbs, and she had to lie back down. She stayed there for two days before continuing her journey.

“It seems to me you haven’t had much luck finding your own way,” Dolly said at breakfast on the day that Amanda was determined to leave for Knoxville.

“I’m terrible with directions,” Amanda said.

“I’ll draw you a map so you can go across lots and enter the city at an inconspicuous place. I wish I knew someone there who could help you out, but I haven’t been to Knoxville for years. The people I knew there are most likely dead and gone.”

Thanks to Dolly’s map, Amanda made good time the first day. Thanks to the food Dolly packed in her knapsack, she was able to travel longer.
* * *
They saw Amanda before she saw them, and she soon realized that they had planned it that way. She was walking along the edge of a wooded ridge. As she approached a hilltop, two black women stepped out from behind some shrubbery, startling her. Then the others showed themselves.

They were a family of slaves, ten of them, all women and children. Amanda soon learned that they were refugees on their way to a contraband camp near Knoxville, which had been set up to care for fleeing slaves. Two of the women were breastfeeding infants. They immediately accosted her for food, but she told them that she had none.

Amanda hurried on, quickly moving across an open field and to the edge of the woods beyond, when she sensed a presence behind her.

What a shock it was to encounter a pair of huge brown eyes bulging from an angelic brown face, which was covered with some sort of white powder. It was a very small
Negro boy, barely the size of a toddler.

“What are you doing here, child?” she asked.

“Cold, Misty,” he said softly, “and hungry about to death.”

He wore only an old flannel shirt that was too big for him, and a pair of pants that were so worn that the fabric was unraveling at the hem. He crossed his arms and held them close to his body, and began to shiver.

“What’s that on your face?” she asked him.

“Flour. I licked every bit of it out of the wood box we brought from home.”

“It might have been better if you’d mixed some water with it.”

“I did,” he said, “on my tongue.” His mouth was a white gooey mess.

“Doesn’t it make your throat dry?”

“Terrible dry,” he said, coughing.

She invited him to sit down on a nearby log, and offered him a drink of water from her canteen.

“Where are your folks?” she asked him.

“They’s the only folks I got left,” he said, pointing to the group on the hill. His breath puffed out white in the cool morning air.

“They say I’m too slow,” he said sadly, “I’m gonna get us caught. They can’t carry me all the time, and my stubby legs can’t walk fast enough. They’re looking for a man named Burnside. They say he’s a Union man and he’ll protect us from the Southerns. Do you know him?”

“He’s an officer in the Union army.”

She didn’t have time to be encumbered by a child, but he looked so pitiful.

“Here, wipe your face. It’s as white as mine.” She handed him a handkerchief.

“Thank you, Misty. I’ll be clean, I promise.

“Don’t call me ‘Misty.’ I’m not your mistress.”

“What do I call you?”

“Amanda is fine.”

“You a Rebel or a Yankee, Misty—I mean Amanda?” It came out sounding like “Abanda.”

“Neither,” she said, after a long pause.

“You got to be one or the other,” he insisted.

One of the black women was walking toward them. She pulled the boy’s arm, rather roughly, Amanda thought, and shoved him behind her.

“I was just talking to him,” Amanda told her. “I mean no harm.”

The woman stared at Amanda.

“Are you his mother?”

“His mother’s gone,” the woman said flatly.

“Gone where?”

“You know—gone.”

“Leave us alone for a bit,” Amanda told the woman. “He’s perfectly safe.” The woman stepped aside, but glared at Amanda as she returned to the group.

“Yankee or Rebel?” the boy asked again.

“Why is it so important to you to know what I am?”

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Everybody’s got to be one or the other.”

She handed him a small piece of cornbread.

“You said you didn’t have no food.”

“Sshh,” she said, watching the group. “I don’t have enough for the others, and don’t let them know I gave this to you.”

“Why won’t you tell me what you are?” he asked, savoring his cornbread.

“I’m not sure what I am.”

“I think you’re a Rebel. Rebels don’t like black folks.”

“I’m a dove,” she said abruptly. The word left her lips before the idea had formed completely in her mind, but it sounded good when she said it.

“What’s that?”

“You’re awful smart for such a little fellow,” she said, smiling.

“I listen to grown folks a lot.”

“I can see that. I’m a dove because I hate the war and the killing. Nobody will be better off when it’s over.”

“Mama says we’ll be free when we get to Knoxville, where the blue soldiers are, and we won’t have to work for white folks for free no more.”

“What happened to your Mama?” Amanda asked, still watching the black women.

“Died,” the boy said. The corners of his mouth turned down, but not a single tear filled his eyes.

“I’m so sorry. When did she die?”

“Four days ago,” he said.

“What happened?”

“Froze to death,” he said, nodding his little head. “This big storm come up, and we were caught out in the open field, no barn or shelter nowhere close by.”

“I got caught in that storm, too, but I was lucky enough to find shelter for the night.”

“We all climbed in this big ditch beside the road. Mama laid her body across me to protect me, and when I woke up she was froze.”

“What do you mean froze?”

“It got mighty cold after the storm. She had little pieces of ice froze in her eyebrows,” he said, pulling at his own eyebrows.

“My word,” Amanda whispered. She reached out and took his little brown hand in her own and rubbed it gently. She was touched by this child’s innocence. Surely, he didn’t comprehend the meaning of the words he spoke.

“They left me there, under her,” he said. “I guess they thought I was froze, too. But I caught up to them.”

“What’s your name?”

“Josiah Turner,” he said, extending his little hand to shake hers.

“Aren’t you sad? Don’t you mourn for the loss of your mother?”

“Yes’m. Every day, but I have to keep my pain in my heart,” he said, laying his little hand on his chest.

“Didn’t you cry?”

“For two solid days,” Josiah said sadly. “But Vinie said, ‘If you don’t quit that crying, boy, you’ll die, too. None of us have the energy to take care of you, so you’ll have to take care of your own self.’”

He was the biggest of the children. There were three others, five grown women, and a girl who looked to be in her teens.

“How old are you?” she asked him.

“My birthday is on the Fourth of July,” he said proudly, puffing out his chest. “Just like Uncle Sam. July past I was five year old.”

“Are you sure? You must be mistaken.”

“No’m,” he replied, “I’m five.”

“My, you’re small for your age.”

“My Papa was small, but he was brave and strong. No shame in being a small man, Mama said. My Papa died before I could remember him. Killed over a dollar bill he won in a card game. Some said he cheated, but Mama says my Pa would never cheat. He was just trying to get some money for us.”

“Don’t you have any family left?”

“Vinie’s my aunt, but she loses patience with me. Says I talk too much and ask too many questions. Says it’ll get me into bad trouble someday if I don’t quit it.”
* * *
October 1863
Life was hard in the alleys of Knoxville. Nights were cold. Hundreds of refugees had traveled there hoping to find some protection, only to find that they had to beg in the streets for the basic human needs in order to survive another day.

Amanda slept wherever she could find a bare spot on the ground, and her limbs ached so badly that it took her an hour to stretch them out after she woke up. She became very depressed, and constantly berated herself for ending up in such a hopeless place, for being too proud to accept Jonathan’s help, for leaving home at all. She cried constantly, and couldn’t believe people walked right past her without offering any assistance. She soon realized that they were in the same situation she was.

She finally found a place to sleep at the backdoor of a shoemaker’s shop that opened onto the alley. The doorframe was about two feet deep, and if she pressed her back against the door, she could get a little heat from inside. When she spread her oilcloth there and pulled the blankets over her, it was the most comfortable place she had found so far.

Her problem then was trying to hold onto that spot. Squatters’ rights prevailed in the alleys of Knoxville. She had befriended the old man who owned the shoe shop, and he tried to keep the space cleared for her. But if she didn’t get back by the time he went home, it was very likely that someone else would be sleeping there when she returned. And, she had to leave every day to look for work and to scrounge for food.

Any jobs that might have been available to outsiders had already been taken by the time she arrived. There were so many vagabonds that every little sheltered corner of the city was full of them. They huddled together in their makeshift tents to keep warm. Amanda found it strange how quickly people can become accustomed to almost any way of life.

She had been to the Brandywine Hotel several times, looking for work. On a particular day, the man at the front desk didn’t even look up at her, but he suggested that she speak with the manager of the dining room. “His office is behind the kitchen,” he said.

She allowed herself to be hopeful for only a moment. He was probably just trying to be rid of her. The only door she found behind the kitchen looked like a closet door, but she opened it anyway. She startled a man who was sitting at a desk, which took up most of the room in the cramped space.

“Excuse me, Sir,” she asked politely. “Are you the kitchen manager?”

“Yes,” he answered reticently, concentrating on the paperwork spread out on the desk.

“What can I do for you?”

“The man at the desk said you might have some work for me. I’ll do anything—dishes, laundry, whatever.”

“Sorry,” the man mumbled, “I don’t have anything right now.”

“Sir, I don’t mean to be pushy, really, and I’m ready to cry—it’s a miracle I’m not crying already. Listen, I’ve been sleeping in a dirty alley since I arrived in Knoxville,” she said in a plaintive voice. “I’m sure you get all kinds of hard luck stories these days—please, don’t you have something I can do for a little pay?”

“Well, I promised a young lady I spoke to yesterday that she could serve breakfast from 5:30 until 7:30 this morning, but she didn’t show up. It’s just a little extra service we offer to the people who are living at the hotel. We serve them in a small room off the dining room at a lower cost than the public pays. It’s mostly men, and you’re pretty enough.”

“What have my looks got to do with it?” she said, suddenly panicked.

“I’ve learned it helps to have an attractive waitress.”

“All right,” she said excitedly. “I’ll be here in the morning, I promise you. You’ll have no trouble from me. And might I bother you for some information about the hotel. Do you suppose they have any rooms—small rooms—available?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said, looking back at his desk. “You’ll have to check at the desk.”

“The man at the front desk is a bit tired of me. I thought you might know of something—a place to sleep would be a Godsend. Even if it’s just a closet.”

“Sorry, can’t help you there.”

“Well, thank you for the job, sir. I’ll be here in the morning. Good day to you.”

He caught up to her in the kitchen. “I will—let’s step back into my office,” he said secretively. “I’m fairly certain they have nothing available in the hotel, but I’ll let you sleep here, in my office, if you want to.”

“Where?” she asked, looking around. “There’s no room for a bed.”

“I happened to think maybe you could sleep on my desk, and I would use it during the day.”

“Well, I don’t know—”

“It was just a thought,” he said. “At least it’s shelter. Better than sleeping on the ground, I should say.”

“You’re right,” she said quickly.

“There’s no heat in here,” he explained, “but if you leave the door open, the warmth from the kitchen keeps it quite livable. I’ll find some quilts and blankets—you know—to make it more comfortable for you. And I’ll throw in a biscuit and sausage for your breakfast.”

“That would be very nice.”

“Then, including the food for breakfast and the sleeping quarters,” he said, counting on his fingers, “and the short time you’ll be working, I’ll give you a dollar a week.”

“A dollar?” In her excitement, she had forgotten about her wages. And she knew that people could charge almost any outrageous price for shelter of any sort in Knoxville.

“Take it or leave it,” he said angrily.

It was still better than anything else she could foresee, so she took it. And she felt the safest she had felt since she left Bluesmoke. The job wasn’t so bad, carrying trays of food and pouring coffee, but people who could afford to live in a hotel could be very demanding.

She was more tired than usual one morning when the manager knocked on the door—her signal to dress and get ready for work. She was serving a table of businessmen. They were particularly obnoxious, having no patience whatever. She was glad her shift would soon be over. While she was replenishing their coffee cups, one of the men pinched her on the behind. She thought at first that she must be mistaken, but when she looked at him, he smiled at her, obviously proud of his deed. Without thinking, she poured the entire pot of hot coffee in his lap.

He yelped and screamed, and tried not to touch himself “there,” but finally shoved his hand down his pants and pulled the hot clothing away from his private parts.
Amanda was fired.

“You’ll have to vacate my office as well!” the kitchen manager yelled. “You’ll have no money to pay for it.”

“How can you do that?” she whined. “You know I have no place to go.”

“You should have thought of that before you poured coffee into that gentleman’s lap.”

“He had no right to pinch me.”

“Get out!”

As Amanda was leaving the hotel, the man at the front desk, asked why she was crying. She explained the situation to him.

The man at the desk said in a comforting voice, “I don’t think that’s right.”

“I don’t either,” she whimpered, “but what can I do?”

“I think you should speak to the hotel owner.”

“Really?” she said, drying her eyes. “Where can I find him?”

The man directed her to his office. Johnson, he said his name was.

“Mr. Johnson?” she said, tapping lightly on the door.

“Yes,” a voice said, “come in.”

“Mr. Johnson, my name is Amanda Armstrong, I have just been fired from the kitchen, and the man at the front desk thought I should speak to you.”

“Yes,” he said kindly. Please, sit down.”

The man looked a little seedy, like his hotel, but he dressed fairly well and was well spoken.

“I have one room left on the second floor, in the very back, at the end of the hall.”

“I have very little money.”

“We won’t worry about that right now. Here’s the key,” he said, reaching into the top drawer of his desk. “You take your things on up and have a rest. I’ll come up later, and we’ll talk.”

“Wonderful!” she cried. Then she thought a moment. “Why would you do this for me? I have nothing to give you in return,” she said suspiciously.

“Is this the way you treat people who offer to help you?” he asked.

“I just don’t understand why—”

“Please, Mrs. Armstrong,” he said patiently, “go rest. We’ll talk later.”
* * *
“Hello,” a man was saying at the door.

It was dark outside, and Amanda couldn’t remember where she was.

“Mrs. Armstrong?” he said softly. “It’s Mr. Johnson. May I come in?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, opening the door. “I must have dozed off.”

“That’s all right. I’m glad you could rest, but I need to clarify our arrangement here.”

“Yes?” she said cautiously. The hair on her arms stood on end.

“What do you expect me to do?” she asked cautiously. “In return for this nice room?”

“You’re a beauty,” he said, looking her over. “You’ll bring a good price. It’s not my taste, you understand, but some men prefer the slim snooty type. Me, I like some flesh on my women.”

“What are you saying?”

“Well, we have gentlemen who come here for a little companionship. I’m sure you understand what I mean,” he said, smiling at her. “I’ll let you keep half the money. I can tell you it’s the most generous offer you’ll find in Knoxville.”

“That might be true, sir,” she said haughtily, “but I will not prostitute myself for any reason!”

“Do you really mean that?” he asked angrily. “Those alleys are colder than they were a few weeks ago. Do you really want to put yourself back in that situation?”

“If that’s my only alternative, then yes, I do.”

“Then back to the alley with you!” he shouted.
* * *
Amanda saw the little Negro boy she had met on the way to Knoxville. “Josiah, how are you?”

“Starving, Misty,” he said sadly. “Vinie sent me to beg something for the babies, but nobody won’t give me nothing.”

His large plaintive eyes touched her heart.

“I’d share with you if I had anything myself.” She didn’t think he could be any thinner than he was when they met on the road, but he appeared to be. His round little cheeks were sunken in now.

“Josiah, I’m on my way to the hotel,” she said kindly, “and I have to go. Take care of yourself.”

“Yes’m,” he said. He stood in the alley and watched while she walked away.

“All right,” Amanda said, when she reached Mr. Johnson’s office. “I don’t like this one bit, mind you, but I’m ready to do whatever it takes to keep a roof over my head and food on my plate.”

“Do you really mean that?” he said, smiling.

“Yes.”

“You’re not meant for this work, Amanda,” he said.

“I left my husband up at Strawberry Plains in a tent with a whore,” she screamed, “and I don’t have one shred of dignity left!”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I apologize, Mr. Johnson,” she said. “I’ve forced myself to face the reality of my life. My legs are stiff from sleeping on the cold ground. I’ve got a nagging cough I can’t get rid of, probably for the same reason. I’ve probably lost ten pounds since I arrived here, and I was too thin already.”

“You’re only upset because you’ve discovered that you’re just like everybody else.”

“How so?”

“In the end, we’ll all do just about anything to stay alive.”
* * *
The first time Amanda was with a man, it made her ill. She excused herself and ran toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. Her client was left unsatisfied and didn’t understand that she was sick. Still in his long johns, he caught up to her in the hallway, and grabbed her arm. She clamped her hand over her mouth, trying desperately not to vomit.

He began to complain loudly that he had been cheated. Other women and their clients, in various stages of dress and undress, came out of their rooms to see what the fuss was about. Amanda was still trying to wrest her arm from the man’s grasp and make her way to the bathroom when she lost the battle—and puked all over his shoes, which, yes, he still wore. He looked down at his shoes and back at her, then raised his hand as if to slap her.

Only then did she notice that his red and swollen “mast” was still “hoisted” through the front flap of his long johns. And she began to laugh.

Amanda didn’t wait for anyone to tell her she was fired. She packed her meager possessions and went back to her little corner in the alley, crying all the way. But someone else had discovered how comfortable it was in the rear doorway of the shoe shop, away from the wind that seemed to blow constantly. She bedded down as close to the door as possible.

Later that night, she awoke just in time to feel her blankets being pulled away very slowly. “Stop!” she screamed. “That’s mine!” It was too dark to see anything but a silhouette.

“Now it’s mine,” a voice whispered, but she held on tight. “You don’t let go, I’ll cut you,” the voice threatened. And she lost her grip.

She scrambled to get up. The alley was slick with rain, and she fell back onto the ground twice. By the time she ran to the end of the alley, there was no one in sight. She huddled with a group of refugees under an awning for the rest of the night. At least she was sheltered from the rain, but as soon as the owner came to open the shop, they would be run out of there.

A voice woke her in the gray light of dawn. “Is Amanda Armstrong here?” It was a woman’s voice.

“Yes,” she said, jumping to her feet. “I’m Amanda.”

“Hello,” the woman said, extending her hand. “I’m Lily. Mr. Johnson told me to find you. He wants to speak with you immediately.” The woman had a beautiful face, a swept-up hairdo and very nice clothes, though too revealing for Amanda’s taste.

“I have nothing more to say to him,” Amanda said angrily.

“He says he has a new proposal he thinks you might like.”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Lily said impertinently. “He didn’t confide in me. Come along, we’ll get you cleaned up.”

“I’m much better off than you,” Lily said, in her room at the Brandywine Hotel. “I have friends who’ll protect me if I need them, but it took years to get where I am. For all of Mr. Johnson’s rough edges, he’s a fair employer—as good as any around here I’d say.”

“Why do you do this?” Amanda asked, as she was washing her face.

“I like the money,” Lily said, rubbing her fingers together. “Look around you, honey. I’d much prefer to be here than where you just left.”

“I can’t seem to do it just for the money.”

“What other reason could there be?”

“Well, there’s this little Negro boy I keep running into,” Amanda said. “I saw him the other day, begging for food, and I didn’t have a thing to give him. He’ll probably die soon if someone doesn’t help him.”

“There are people like that all over the city.”

“I know.”

“They’re making a mess of this city,” Lily said angrily. “They came here uninvited.”

“So did I,” Amanda said.

“You’d better take care of yourself, and forget about them.”
* * *
Amanda tapped lightly on Mr. Johnson’s office door.

“Come in.”

“You wanted to see me?” she said meekly.

“Sit down,” he said roughly. He didn’t look at her.

“Are you angry?”

“No!” he said, apparently louder than he meant to. “I’ve never known a woman who exasperated me so. You just ran off, and I didn’t know what happened to you.”

“I didn’t think I’d be welcome here anymore,” she said.

“Well, I had an idea that might help us both out of this predicament.”

“What’s that?”

“What if I were to set it up so you had to keep company with only one man, and only when you wanted to. Do you think you could handle that?” he said.

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “It would depend who the man was, I guess.”

“What if I was the man?”

“Oh!” Her mind was racing. “I don’t know.”

“Will you or won’t you?” he asked angrily. “That’s the only question you have to answer.”

“I’ll get my room back?”

“Yes, and three meals a day, and no one bothering you but me—just sleep with me at night. All right?”

She paused for a moment, but she could see that he had little patience left. “Uh—all right—yes, thank you.”

“I knew those few weeks of having a warm room and good food would spoil you for street life. It’s the goody-goody ones who give in first.”

Chapter 9 << – Index – >> Chapter 11