Factory work was how those in the poorhouse earned their keep, all the daylight hours spent on their feet at assembly lines or bent over sewing machines drenched in that damned fluorescent light. The life was hard. But all life is hard if your father isn’t a bishop or lord or Anointed Elder. I pitied the factory workers not for their hard labor but for the constant glare of those lights.
I’d celebrated the day I left the student dormitory for a teacher’s apartment. I still had to share a bedroom, and with Miss Gryce who snored, but we had the luxury of oil lamps and candlelight.
I had a stopover at Gateshead Halt to wait for the California Transcontinental Zephyr, the train which ran from Chicago in the United States through the western regions of New Judah and on to the west coast. The station had expanded. There was now a café, busy with people waiting for the Zephyr, and I ordered something to eat. The coffee was strong, but nothing cream couldn’t fix. I’d just finished a bowl of chicken soup when a familiar person approached my table.
“Miss Jane, is it you? Don’t say you’ve forgotten your old friend.”
“Bessie!” I jumped up and threw my arms around Gateshead’s housekeeper. “I could never forget you.”
“Why, you’re all grown up,” she said. “Not a beauty, but we didn’t expect that. Still, you’re quite a young lady.”
“It’s wonderful to see you.” Bessie looked much prettier than I remembered, but I couldn’t bring myself to say so after so blunt a reminder of my plain looks. “Will you join me? Why are you here?”
“Why to see you, Miss Jane.”
We sat down. “But how—?”
“Let me explain.” She ordered a pot of tea from the waiter. “James and I visited Mrs. Reed last night. Miss Georgiana was there, visiting from Harvard. She’s leaving for California today, and when Mrs. Reed mentioned that you were going away to live in Jefferson, Miss Georgiana said wouldn’t it be something if she saw you on the train.”
“Oh,” was my brilliant response. I looked around, but there was no Georgiana in sight.
Bessie went on, “So I thought: there’s only one transcontinental each week, and Gateshead is the hub. It could well happen you’d change trains here. Why not see if I could catch you?”
“I’m so glad you did, Bessie.” I looked around the busy café but there was no sign of Georgiana. “But who is James?”
“Who is James? Why, he’s Dr. Lloyd, Jane. Did you forget him?”
“Never. But I didn’t know his first name.” I looked at her again. She was not only prettier. She was happier, and better dressed. She’d truly changed. “And yet you use his first name freely.”
Her eyes lit up, and she showed me her wedding band. “Of course, you wouldn’t know. Dr. Lloyd and I were married a year after you left us. We have a child now, a little girl named Jane.”
“Oh, Bessie.” A lump rose in my throat. So she did care for me all those years. I really was terrible at recognizing affection. “Then you’re no longer at Gateshead.”
“I’m my own mistress now, though I let James think he’s master. What with him and Janie to care for, I’m busy enough. It’s a good life.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.” I couldn’t stop myself asking: “And how are things at Gateshead?”
“Mrs. Reed is very unhappy,” Bessie said. “Georgiana refuses to stay at home. She’s going on to graduate school, can you believe it? She’s in medical school. She’s going to become a brain surgeon! Mrs. Reed is scandalized, though James assures her women make fine doctors. John Reed cut off Georgiana’s funds, but she won a scholarship.”
Good for you, Georgiana! I imagined her living happily at her Hamlet 1-3-78. “And what of John Reed? Did he get his degree?”
“No, he’s turned out very bad,” Bessie said. “The moment he came into his money he left the university and moved to Beverly Hills. Mrs. Reed says he’s fallen in with the wrong crowd, but I think he’s the wrong crowd, if you know what I mean.”
I knew all too well.
“So Georgiana is going to California to check up on him. He keeps promising he’ll visit Gateshead, but he never does.” Bessie leaned closer and whispered, “I hear he’s become an actor.”
We both laughed.
“Bessie, I have to tell you something. Thank you for my hat and scarf. You probably won’t remember, but they were sky blue and so soft and lovely. You gave them to me the morning I left Gateshead—only later, I realized they must have been a birthday present, and you likely paid for the yarn yourself.”