Thing With Feathers (9781616634704) (16 page)

Her provocative reply made Wendell break out in smile. He sidled up a bit closer to her and whispered in her ear, “Decorum demands that I say I would take a brisk walk after. But the best way to do work off a rich French meal is to do what the French profess to do best.” He sat back and awaited her reaction.

She said nothing right away, and Wendell worried. “How much, Wendell?” Cindy finally replied.

“How much?”

“For the entertainment you proposed. You did just proposition, did you not?”

He cleared his throat, and his cheeks turned a might pinkish. She was pretty fresh when you got right down to business. “Five dollars is what I’ve paid…well, what I mean is, I didn’t realize you were—”

“I’m worth six dollars if I’m worth anything, Wendell. I’m not your average whore.”

“I can see that.”

“First, I would like that dinner you mentioned. And you must supply the room.”

“Sure thing, Cindy. Uh…so, have you done this many times before?”

“More times than you have fingers and toes, Wendell. And never a dissatisfied customer. I can guarantee a good time.”

“Well then.” Wendell’s initial uncertainty changed immediately to a feeling that was good and feisty. “Let’s drink up and go have us some fun, Cindy.”

March, 1933

Chicago, Illinois

Mrs. Warrington had not so much as asked her last name. The girl, ‘Cindy’, was quiet but disturbed the other renters nonetheless by the strangeness of the hours she kept. She remained in her room all day, sleeping, Mrs. Warrington presumed, but then would leave her room in the evening. She usually returned at seven o’clock in the morning and then mysteriously remained in her room the full day again.

Mrs. Warrington felt she should never have allowed this to go on for so long a time. It had been almost a year. But the manner in which her newest tenant arrived and departed was one that begged no acquaintances, and so Mrs. Warrington was at a loss for learning anything about that beautiful and strange girl with the most variable habits. One time, she did grasp the opportunity to ask what deliveries there were in the form of plain white envelopes, to which Cindy responded they were tickets. She’d claimed to be an avid fan of the theater, which she was. But it seemed to Mrs. Warrington, and also to the other renters who watched the girl’s room with unconcealed curiosity, that the envelopes arrived in a most curious manner; sometimes twice in one day, other times once in three or four days. Finally, her curiosity got the better of her and she poised herself at the top of the stairway one morning and waited for Cindy’s return.

“My, but you do get in quite late for such a young woman.”

Cindy turned and smiled. “Yes. I’m afraid a woman in my profession must keep strange hours.” Then she quickly darted into her apartment and locked the door.

Mrs. Warrington was dismally disappointed. She felt like she should know more about her renter. But the girl had quite a put-offish manner that precluded any exchange of pleasantries. Still, it was her duty to keep the building clear of undesirables. She must question the girl. The building owner set her shoulders square, and with her most firm demeanor, she rapped on the girl’s door. At least three other tenants waited anxiously behind cracked doors or peepholes to hear anything they could about the renter of the top-floor room in the back. The door was opened immediately, but the girl seemed surprised to see that it was Mrs. Warrington standing in the hall.

“The silliest of things, my dear. I tried this morning to write you a receipt for your rent you’ve been paying for the year. Do you know I never even asked you your surname?”

“It’s Marshall.”

The eavesdropping tenants nearly groaned aloud in their disappointment at such a common, unimportant name.

“Oh. Very well then, Cindy, um…Marshall. If you don’t mind my asking, what type of work is it that you do, exactly?”

“Oh. Yes. I see. I have gone and made you nervous with my comings and goings. Hold one moment please.” She left the door open just a peep. Mrs. Warrington stretched her neck a ways to look inside, but the girl came back before she glimpsed anything at all.

“In answer to your inquiry, I am a stenographer for the night courts,” she lied. “I have tried to be very quiet when I leave the building in the evenings. Have I created a disturbance?”

“Well, no, my dear. Not a disturbance—”

“Wonderful.” Cindy breathed with relief. “Oh, and here is another month of rent in advance.” Before the nosy landlady could press for further details of Cindy’s life, the girl pushed ten dollars into Mrs. Warrington’s hand, which the landlady understood was a not-so-gentle hint that Cindy Marshall did not wish to talk about herself further.

Cindy put her back to the door and began counting her money. She hoped it would be the last interruption from her nosey landlady for a spell. She brightened when she saw that Artie had left her a ten-dollar tip for the “special” favors she had performed the night before. Cindy had fun with Artie, who happened to be Wendell’s closet male friend. Cindy considered Wendell her best friend in Chicago, but as a client, he made love like he brokered stocks; he was careful. Sweet Wendell might not be much of a lover, but he certainly had an abundance of friends who were. Cindy had asked Wendell if he could pass her name to a number of the other gents at the Board of Trade where he worked, which was how she met up with Artie. How those stockbroker types loved to spend their money on the ladies. Either Artie was a might more successful a trader than Wendell or else he was quite generous with his earnings. Cindy’s wealth was growing in leaps and bounds.

Cindy thought of Mavis Marshall, and silently thanked her mother-in-law for her success. During the four short years Blair had lived in the Marshall household, she had studied Mavis’s style, manners and carriage, and tried her best to emulate them. Under Mavis’s tutelage, Blair became a lady. Had she not been exposed to Mavis’s upper-class ways, Cindy never could have infiltrated the Chicago elite. But infiltrate she did. Cindy could hold her own in Chicago society
and
command a premium. A touch of sadness and longing crossed her mind at the calling forth of Mavis. Thinking of Mother Mavis naturally conjured up thoughts of Sean and Victory as well. All the attention and good loving in the world could not rid Cindy’s mind of Sean and her child. That sinking feeling, like her stomach was dropping to her feet, started to overwhelm her and Cindy quickly tucked away her sadness before it woke Blair.

I have not seen or held my child or husband in over a year. They must think me dead,
she thought to herself.

She hoped Sean would think of her as dead and go on to marry another. She loved him so, and she wished him every happiness. But she had never told him so. She frowned. Maybe she should write him a letter just to let him know she was well and that he should go on with his life. Perhaps all that time, he’d been worrying for her. She went to her desk, pulled out a single sheet of scented stationery, and began writing a letter to her husband.

11 March, 1933

Dearest Sean,

I have made a new home for myself and Blair. I cannot tell you where we live, but I will tell you that it is in a city and that we love the excitement of theater and streetcars and snow in the winter months. I am taking good care of Blair, and we are both well. I hope you understand that Blair’s life depended upon her being free from that evil man. Sean, he came while you were away and Will was milking. If Mavis had decided to leave her sick bed awhile and had per chance witnessed his brutality, I’ve no doubt he would have killed her as he killed your father. I, we, brought his wrath upon the Marshall home. Words can not convey our sorrow.

We love you and our son, Victor, so very much it causes us genuine pain. But we can never return to Cloverdale. We are so grateful that Victor has a loving father in you, Sean. We know our son will be raised by a good man in a loving home, and this has made Blair’s escape possible. I beg you, Sean, to marry another. Find happiness. And know that your unselfishness and good heart saved this wretched girl from certain death. You did all you could, Sean. We have no regrets.

All our love, Cindy

She would give the letter to one of the businessmen to mail from another town, and Sean would never find her, should he take it in his head to come looking. Traitorous tears leaked out and tracked down her powdered cheeks. She wiped at them and willed the ice ball in her stomach away. Anyway, he would never think to search for Blair among Chicago’s wealthiest inhabitants.

Cindy had a regular clientele that could legitimately be referred to as an elite crowd. She had been on dates with train officials, men from City Hall, journalists, and bankers. She was fast becoming the toast of Chicago among the more discreet, wealthier circles of men. Her bankroll was growing thick, and she thought she might take Wendell and Artie up on their offer to invest some of her earnings in the stock market. She had her eye on property, too. Wyatt Marshall had taught her the importance of owning land. And, practically speaking, life as Chicago’s most successful prostitute couldn’t last forever. But feeling fairly flush on that night, Cindy decided she would indeed take in the theater, followed, of course, by coffee at the Table D’hôtel.

Chapter 37

April, 1933

Cloverdale, Oregon

W
hen the pale pink envelope arrived at the Marshall home, Will was tempted to burn it and never let his brother know. But he couldn’t do it. Sean seemed to live only for word from Blair those days. Without her return, Sean would never recover his son. It was with a heavy heart that Will Marshall handed over the letter.

“That pink envelope!” Sean tore into it. “It has to be word from Blair, Will!”

He laughed gaily and unfolded the letter quickly, his eyes darting across the page hopefully. And then he looked up with an expression that clearly said bad news, and Will wanted to take the pain for his brother, if only he could have.

“She’s told me to marry another. She says she can never come home…never.” He wadded up the sheet of paper and threw it far away.

“Sean, brother, I’m so sorry. I…Sean, I wish there was something…what can I do for you, brother?”

Sean had sat down on the front door stoop and bowed his head. Now he looked up at Will with glistening eyes. “She don’t even know about Victor. If she did, I know…can you find her and bring her home, Will?”

“I don’t think so, Sean.”

He watched as Sean buried his head in his strong, callused hands, and Will thought to himself that that was no way for a benevolent God to treat a good a man as his brother.

“Well, Sean, maybe we can give that a try. Where’s that envelope at?”

Sean looked up skeptically. “Here.” He unwadded it. “What are ya thinkin’, Will?”

“I’m thinking we look at the postmark and then go fetch your wife and bring her home. Hmm. Looks like it says Springfield, Illinois.”

Sean jumped up to have a look. “It does! Her letter…” He ran to where he pitched it and hunted it down. Smoothing out the sheet, he read it again. “She says she’s in a city where there are street cars and theatres and it snows. Is that Springfield, Will?”

“I don’t think so. Not street cars. As I recall, they have them contraptions in New York, Chicago, St. Louis and San Francisco. That’s all, I believe. But I could be wrong, brother.”

“Did you say Chicago?”

“Say, that’s not too far from Springfield. If she didn’t want you to find her, she might mail the letter from somewhere else. It’s what I would have done.” He smiled at Sean.

Sean was dancing around the porch, boxing the air and taking fantasy swipes at him.

Will laughed. “I guess we’d better get to Chicago, then, and no time to waste. Your mind’s nearly gone already!”

“You’re wrong, Will! I’ve half a mind to go get my wife and bring her home!“

When the two men hopped off the last step and they beheld a bustling Chicago before them and a hissing, grunting monolith of steel behind them, their expressions must have been something like that of Christopher Columbus when, instead of falling off the edge of the earth, they beheld a new land. It was so foreign that it both excited and frightened them at once. The Marshall boys had never traveled outside of Oregon their entire lives.