House of Rougeaux(65)

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Papa helped Eleanor find a seat on the train, near to another family should something be needed. He tucked the valise against the wall and gave her the woolen blanket from the buggy. Having been on trains and in New York gave Eleanor a piece of confidence in her ability to travel alone, and this, despite everything, laced the sorrow of parting with a thread of adventure. She hugged Papa as she had when she was little.

“Write as soon as you can,” he said.

The train sped into the night and she was alone. The woolen buggy blanket, familiar in its blue and green plaid, kept her warm. She thought of Mama, and hummed all the lullabies she would have wanted to hear her sing, until she fell asleep.

She arrived in Toronto at first light, bleary-eyed from a fitful sleep, and feeling as though she were emerging from a long, dark tunnel. The hours-long stops in Ottawa and Kingston had seemed like cold, silent places underground, threaded through with strange dreams. Stumbling down onto the platform with her valise she searched among the loose crowds of people. Mrs. Delaney’s daughter, called by the strange name of Maxis, was meant to meet her. Some distance away she spotted a tall, black-clad figure who stood alone and carried no luggage. As she approached she saw it was a woman with an impassive, and somewhat mannish looking, middle-aged face. The eyes lit upon Eleanor with recognition.

“Miss Rougeaux?” she spoke in a throaty voice.

“Miss Delaney, hello.” Eleanor put out her gloved hand. Maxis Delaney did not return the gesture. The older woman’s eyes lingered over Eleanor.

“This way,” she said finally, and turned to walk in the direction of the grand entrance.

Downtown Toronto at a first glance, was not wholly unlike New York. They caught a streetcar and then had several blocks to walk to the Delaney residence. Maxis trudged forward, leading with her shoulders, unconcerned when Eleanor, struggling with the valise and the weight of the pregnancy, lagged behind. At last Maxis stopped at a small, street-level door and brought out a key. They entered an equally narrow hallway and went up a flight of stairs to another door, where Maxis rang a bell by pulling a cord. Eleanor heard movements and shuffling footsteps and then the door opened upon the elderly Mrs. Delaney, who was small with white hair, and dressed in gray woolens that matched her eyes. Her face crinkled in a timid smile, a relief to Eleanor after the initial Maxis encounter. Mrs. Delaney brought them into the kitchen, gave them tea and asked Eleanor about her journey, and how Mr. Hathaway was getting on.

The house was small and dim and cramped, and though the tea warmed her, Eleanor shrunk at the thought that she would spend the whole winter in this place. She was used to her own house, with its constant bustle and activity and ringing of voices. And she had been in New York, surely the most thrilling place on Earth, studying music. Now she was to be shut away with these two strange white women. But if this was her punishment then she would swallow it.

The small kitchen occupied the whole of the first floor, underneath which was a root cellar, accessed by a trap door. After the tea, and some toast with a funny-tasting jam, Maxis left for her job caring for an invalid in a wealthy neighborhood across town. Mrs. Delaney showed Eleanor upstairs. On the second floor two tiny bedrooms squeezed either side of a short hallway with a water closet at one end and a cramped set of stairs at the other. Eleanor’s room contained a bed, a wardrobe and a small window that looked out onto the back garden, where three adjacent buildings made it a bare well of fallen snow. Eleanor unpacked her things and placed them in the wardrobe. She laid the buggy blanket on the bed, which brought a measure of comfort, and then withdrew Mr. Hathaway’s package from the bottom of the valise. She would wait to open it, so as to have something to look forward to.

Mrs. Delaney entered the room, knocking lightly on the half-open door. She carried a stack of linens. “You’ll need these,” she said.

“Thank you,” Eleanor said, and then rummaged in her coat pockets for the envelope of banknotes Papa had given her for her board. This she handed to Mrs. Delaney.

“Papa said this would be enough,” Eleanor faltered, “for my stay.”

Mrs. Delaney’s pale cheeks colored. She took the envelope and tucked it away in her apron. Then she surprised Eleanor by saying, “I’m sorry to take this from you. A girl in need....”

Neither said more.

“I’ll just be off to my marketing,” said Mrs. Delaney. “I expect you are tired.”

Eleanor didn’t know if she was tired or not, but she didn’t want to be left alone right then.

“Can I come with you?” she said. “I can carry things.”

“Yes, alright,” said the elder woman. She gave a little smile. “That will be very nice.”

When they went out again, each with a large basket on her arm, it was beginning to snow. Eleanor took in anew the unfamiliar street, the buildings, the passing carts. They stopped at a vegetable seller and a butcher. Mrs. Delaney inquired in a grocery about having a sack of flour delivered and a wheel of cheese, large items she paid for with banknotes from the envelope Eleanor had brought. Past noon they returned to the house, where Mrs. Delaney served a soup that she’d had simmering on the stove. They ate mostly in silence and Eleanor offered to do the washing up. Mrs. Delaney assented, and then apologized that it was time for her wee rest. She made her way up the stairs and Eleanor soon heard her snoring.