aloud, once again. It was a miracle, I thought. I had left Plum Street feeling as gloomy as could be.
We left the Union offices with assurances from the boy – Cody – that he would pass our message to Lawrence O’Neill. Inez said: ‘Tell him we’ll be back at the same time tomorrow would you, Cody? With our travel suits on, ready to drive out to whichever town he chooses. You be sure to tell him, won’t you? I think Forbes. The camp at Forbes is closest, isn’t it?’
‘Cokedale.’
‘Well, Cokedale then.’
‘He’s out at Cokedale today. I told you. He’ll prob’ly go out to Forbes tomorrow.’
‘All right,’ she said again. ‘Well – you be sure to tell him. And tell your friends, if they want to read a copy of The Masses which hasn’t had your greasy thumbs all over it, there’ll be one waiting for them at the library from Thursday.’
He looked at his thumbs. ‘Awww,’ he said, close as damn to smiling. ‘They ain’t so greasy.’
*
It was mid-afternoon still, hot and sultry. I wasn’t in the mind to return to Plum Street – ever again, the way I was feeling. Inez and I were both at a loose end.
With anyone else, I might have suggested the saloon and a cooling glass of malt liquor. But with Inez I wasn’t certain. We could go to a tearoom, perhaps, or for a walk by the river. But whatever we did would involve our being seen out together, and that, I assumed, was an impossibility.
‘I know what we can do!’ she said, as if she had read my thoughts. ‘Let’s go to Jamieson’s Department Store and look at the hats! Shall we? We’ll need hats, for the Forbes visit. Serious hats. Black felt hats. Do you suppose they’ll sell any?’
‘I doubt it,’ I laughed. ‘And if they do, you’re welcome to them.’
We fell into step together, although a casual observer might not have realized it. We were careful to leave a space between us on the sidewalk and, as we chatted, we tended to look at our feet.
‘I never thought my darling brother’s silly magazines might come in handy one day,’ she said. ‘You’ve no idea the magazines he sends me. Because he’s convinced I don’t put enough fresh ideas into my head. He says I have a small-town mind and he wants to expand it. He may be right about that. I can’t wait to write him about Cokedale or wherever we go tomorrow.’ She laughed. ‘He won’t believe it!’
‘I’m not sure I believe it yet,’ I said. ‘It’s about the last place on earth I want to go.’
‘He sends me the most ridiculous literature through the post. I haven’t the heart to tell him but half of it – I mean most of it – goes straight into the garbage. Only I must admit to liking The Masses very much. Because of the pictures. I have to hide it from my aunt, but it impressed the boy, didn’t it? Why, I think it even impressed you!’ She froze. ‘Oh God,’ she said, gazing up the busy sidewalk. ‘Oh dear – oh Dora – here comes Aunt Philippa. I thought she was in Walsenburg today. She said she was going to Walsenburg to see the doctor! She has a weak heart … Do you think she’s seen us?’
‘Which one is she?’ I asked.
Inez shook her head. It hardly mattered. ‘Hurry – why don’t you cross the road? I’ll get shot of her fast as I can and I’ll meet you at hats in ten minutes. All right?’
At the hats, a half-hour later, and full of apologies for keeping me waiting, she bought herself a most fetching capeline in pale grey silk, with two silk flowers at the brim. The clerk told Inez they had ordered it especially with her in mind.
‘Well, it’s perfect,’ she declared. ‘How do you do it? You seem to know what I like even before I know it for myself.’ The shop clerk glowed. We left the store, Inez several dollars lighter, with a new silk hat. ‘It’s not nearly serious enough … But no bother,’ she whispered. ‘I shall remove the flowers on the brim before tomorrow and it’ll be just right.’
She said she wanted
We left the Union offices with assurances from the boy – Cody – that he would pass our message to Lawrence O’Neill. Inez said: ‘Tell him we’ll be back at the same time tomorrow would you, Cody? With our travel suits on, ready to drive out to whichever town he chooses. You be sure to tell him, won’t you? I think Forbes. The camp at Forbes is closest, isn’t it?’
‘Cokedale.’
‘Well, Cokedale then.’
‘He’s out at Cokedale today. I told you. He’ll prob’ly go out to Forbes tomorrow.’
‘All right,’ she said again. ‘Well – you be sure to tell him. And tell your friends, if they want to read a copy of The Masses which hasn’t had your greasy thumbs all over it, there’ll be one waiting for them at the library from Thursday.’
He looked at his thumbs. ‘Awww,’ he said, close as damn to smiling. ‘They ain’t so greasy.’
*
It was mid-afternoon still, hot and sultry. I wasn’t in the mind to return to Plum Street – ever again, the way I was feeling. Inez and I were both at a loose end.
With anyone else, I might have suggested the saloon and a cooling glass of malt liquor. But with Inez I wasn’t certain. We could go to a tearoom, perhaps, or for a walk by the river. But whatever we did would involve our being seen out together, and that, I assumed, was an impossibility.
‘I know what we can do!’ she said, as if she had read my thoughts. ‘Let’s go to Jamieson’s Department Store and look at the hats! Shall we? We’ll need hats, for the Forbes visit. Serious hats. Black felt hats. Do you suppose they’ll sell any?’
‘I doubt it,’ I laughed. ‘And if they do, you’re welcome to them.’
We fell into step together, although a casual observer might not have realized it. We were careful to leave a space between us on the sidewalk and, as we chatted, we tended to look at our feet.
‘I never thought my darling brother’s silly magazines might come in handy one day,’ she said. ‘You’ve no idea the magazines he sends me. Because he’s convinced I don’t put enough fresh ideas into my head. He says I have a small-town mind and he wants to expand it. He may be right about that. I can’t wait to write him about Cokedale or wherever we go tomorrow.’ She laughed. ‘He won’t believe it!’
‘I’m not sure I believe it yet,’ I said. ‘It’s about the last place on earth I want to go.’
‘He sends me the most ridiculous literature through the post. I haven’t the heart to tell him but half of it – I mean most of it – goes straight into the garbage. Only I must admit to liking The Masses very much. Because of the pictures. I have to hide it from my aunt, but it impressed the boy, didn’t it? Why, I think it even impressed you!’ She froze. ‘Oh God,’ she said, gazing up the busy sidewalk. ‘Oh dear – oh Dora – here comes Aunt Philippa. I thought she was in Walsenburg today. She said she was going to Walsenburg to see the doctor! She has a weak heart … Do you think she’s seen us?’
‘Which one is she?’ I asked.
Inez shook her head. It hardly mattered. ‘Hurry – why don’t you cross the road? I’ll get shot of her fast as I can and I’ll meet you at hats in ten minutes. All right?’
At the hats, a half-hour later, and full of apologies for keeping me waiting, she bought herself a most fetching capeline in pale grey silk, with two silk flowers at the brim. The clerk told Inez they had ordered it especially with her in mind.
‘Well, it’s perfect,’ she declared. ‘How do you do it? You seem to know what I like even before I know it for myself.’ The shop clerk glowed. We left the store, Inez several dollars lighter, with a new silk hat. ‘It’s not nearly serious enough … But no bother,’ she whispered. ‘I shall remove the flowers on the brim before tomorrow and it’ll be just right.’
She said she wanted
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