The Hired Girl(26)

I ought not to have spoken, but I wasn’t thinking. “How long will that be?”

“Another hour, they say. They’re fixing it. Maybe two,” he said. I choked back an exclamation of dismay. I’d planned to get into Baltimore around five thirty; if we were two hours late, it would be starting to get dark. If we were three hours late, it would be dark entirely.

I was determined not to speak again, lest the man grow familiar. I turned back to my window and stared out at the cornfield. Now that the train had stopped, it was very warm. All the windows were open but there wasn’t a breath of air. People around me were talking — even talking to strangers. I wondered if it would be very improper to talk to the man next to me. His clothes were respectable, and he hadn’t tried to press his attentions on me. I glanced at him sideways and saw that he was reading a newspaper. It was a Baltimore paper and I wondered if he lived in Baltimore. If he did, he might know a respectable boardinghouse. But I held my tongue, because a girl traveling alone mustn’t talk to strange men.

It was another three hours before we reached Baltimore. The sky was dark blue, and the air was dim. I thought of trying to find my way through the unfamiliar streets, and my heart quite sank. I was hungry, too. That morning — oh, how long ago the morning seemed! — I’d had the idea that the difficult part of my enterprise would be escaping from Steeple Farm. Now I knew that the hardest part lay ahead.

Around me, people were gathering up their things to go. The yellow-haired man looked up at the luggage rack and said, “That your suitcase?” and swung it down for me. I thanked him, and he smiled. To me it seemed a kind smile. At that moment, he was familiar and everything else was strange.

So I took my courage in my hands and said, “Please, do you know a respectable boardinghouse where I might pass the night?”

“Can’t say that I do,” he said carelessly, and I guess my face fell, because he added, “Bound to be one not too far from the station.”

I said, “Yes, of course,” but to my profound and eternal disgust, my eyes filled with tears. I turned away quickly and didn’t look back. He said something after me; I’m not sure what, but I pretended not to hear.

I found the ladies’ room and tried to repair the damages from the journey. I looked perfectly awful. My dress was creased and my knot of hair was coming undone, and my face was dirty with dust and cinders. I didn’t look respectable — not one bit — and of course the bruise on my face made everything worse. I cried a little, though I’m ashamed to admit it. Then I washed my face and hands and tidied my hair. It took me a little while to find the doors that led to the street.

When I stepped outside, the man with the yellow hair was standing under a lamppost. “Look here!” he said. “You’ve been on my conscience, not knowing where you’re going to spend the night and all. Fact is, I’ve thought of just the place for you. It’s four blocks from here. I’ll take you there.”

I was so relieved that I exclaimed, “Oh, that is so kind!” but then I remembered caution. So I said, “I mustn’t trouble you to take me, sir. If you’ll just direct me, I can find my way. Is it a clean place, and respectable?” Though at that moment, I really didn’t care about the clean part; I’d have settled for respectable, even if there were mice.

“First-rate respectable,” said the yellow-haired man, “but you’ve got to let me put in a word for you. They wouldn’t take just anyone, that’s the thing. They know me at this boardinghouse. I’m a commercial traveler, you see.”

I said, “Thank you,” and he started telling me about being a commercial traveler, but I didn’t listen very hard. I was worrying about whether the first-rate boardinghouse would be expensive. I walked beside that man all unsuspecting, like a lamb to the slaughter. Now that I write this, I can see how rash I was. But I’m not used to men being depraved, because I never have any nice clothes.

So I let him lead me to a row of houses with steps in front and deep porches. None of them had a sign saying there were vacancies, and that troubled me, but he pointed to one and stood aside so that I could go up the stairs. He followed me. Once we were by the doorway, in the shadows — oh! the horror and shame of it! — he swung me around, seized me in his arms, and kissed me.

Never could I have imagined such an insult. And the thing itself — the kiss — was disgusting. His mouth was wet, and I could feel how hot and sweaty he was under his jacket. But I didn’t say a word. I froze like a rabbit. I was so taken aback — the whole thing was so disagreeable — that it robbed me of my power of speech. And then — between the first loathsome kiss and the second one — he murmured that if I didn’t have that shiner, I’d be a fine-looking girl. And then — oh, God! — he put his nasty hand on the front of my dress!