The grueling journey from Baltimore to Hickory involved three packed trains and one miserable night. I sat up all that night, my head knocking against the window each time I drifted into an uneasy sleep. At least I’d had a seat. A few soldiers had to stand the entire time.
The third train, a short trip from Salisbury to Hickory, was the worst. I was beyond exhaustion by that point. The heat wasn’t working properly and I couldn’t stop shivering as my anxiety mounted with each passing mile. In spite of the chill, my palms were sweating and the hankie I clutched for most of the trip was damp. I’d told my mother I was visiting a friend from nursing school who was ill. She’d asked many questions about my friend, expressing concern, and my lies mounted as I invented this girl and her troubles. I couldn’t look my mother in the eye as I talked to her. I didn’t like the dishonest, calculating person I’d become.
Gina thought I’d lost my mind. She cried when I told her my plan. “You’re going to move away?” she asked, incredulous. “Please don’t! I don’t think I can stand it if both you and Mac are gone.” She promised me she wouldn’t breathe a word about my plan, though, and even offered to skip work and go with me to Hickory. I told her no. This was something I needed to do on my own.
Although I’d brought a book with me to study for my licensing exam while on the trains, I never even cracked it open. Instead, I rehearsed what I would say to Henry Kraft, smoking the occasional cigarette to calm my nerves. I had no intention of milking Henry dry. I only wanted enough money to support myself and a child in a modest lifestyle. I worried he might react with anger instead of civility or that he might not believe that the baby was his. I’d left my engagement ring in my top dresser drawer, hoping Henry wouldn’t recall that I was engaged. I didn’t want him to guess the baby might be Vincent’s. I couldn’t turn off my worries and they mounted steadily as the third train traveled through North Carolina and I smoked the last of my cigarettes.
It wasn’t until we were close to Hickory that I began to think about how I would find Henry Kraft’s furniture factory. I didn’t know the name of it. I knew Hickory was a small town, though. I would also have to find a place to spend the night. The first train I could take out of Hickory wasn’t until the following afternoon.
When I got off the train with my handbag and small suitcase, my legs were wobbly from nerves and exhaustion. The cold air was numbing and I wished I had a more substantial hat than my little tricorner beret. The wind cut through my coat and I tugged it tighter around me as I walked out to the curb where a cab was parked. The driver waved me over as if he’d been expecting me.
“Lookin’ for a ride, young lady?” he asked as I walked toward him. He reminded me of the abortionist’s brother, round and bespectacled. I didn’t want to remember that man or anything else about that day. It was behind me. I needed to move on.
“Well, I have to figure out where I’m going first,” I said, offering him a tired smile. “Is there a phone booth around here?”
“Ain’t a big town,” he said. “What are you lookin’ for?”
“A furniture factory.”
“We got plenty of them,” he said. “Hickory Chair. Kraft Furniture.”
“That one!” I said. “Kraft Furniture. Can you take me there?”
“Ain’t far.” He looked me up and down. “You look like you need to go to a hotel first, though, miss. With that suitcase and all? Want me to take you to one?”
“No, thank you. I need to see someone who works at the factory first.”
“Ain’t none of my business,” he said with a shrug. He took the suitcase from me and put it in the taxi’s trunk and I got into the backseat.
We rode along the railroad tracks for a while before turning onto a side street. After a short distance, I saw a long, two-story redbrick building that took up at least half a block. Tall white letters painted above the front door read KRAFT FINE FURNITURE. I drew in a long breath, trying to get my courage up. The driver parked in front of the building and I fumbled with my purse as he lifted my suitcase from the trunk. I handed him a bill, thanked him, and headed toward the front door of the building. This is really happening, I told myself, but my idea suddenly seemed poorly thought out. Henry Kraft could be up in Washington right now, for all I knew. He could be anywhere other than in this building.
I walked through the main entrance and found myself in a small, square foyer. The walls were covered with framed articles about the history of Kraft Furniture, but I barely noticed them. The black-and-white tiles on the floor blurred in my sleep-deprived eyes, and although the foyer was separated from the rest of the building by a set of double doors, a strong chemical smell nearly overwhelmed me. Varnish, maybe. Paint. Glue. Somewhere beyond those doors, machinery whirred and thumped and clicked. I wondered how the workers stood the assault on all their senses.
There was no directory on the wall, but as I took a step toward the double doors, a woman stepped through them. She wore a hairnet and a leather apron and she looked surprised to see me. I suppose I looked completely out of place in my coat, hat, and gloves, carrying a suitcase.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes.” I smiled. “Can you tell me where I can find Henry Kraft?”
“Upstairs.” She pointed to a door I hadn’t noticed until that moment. “His office is at the top of the stairs,” she said. “Can’t miss it.”
I thanked her and opened the door to the stairwell. At the top of the stairs, I found another set of double doors. I pushed one of them open and saw a door directly in front of me, the name HENRY KRAFT painted on the wood. The sounds of the factory were muted up here, no more than a distant hum. I walked up to the door and could hear laughter coming from inside the room. Taking off my gloves, I lifted my hand to knock.
“Yes?” a voice prompted.
Tentatively, I pulled the door open and poked my head inside. Henry Kraft sat behind a large, elaborately carved desk, leaning back in his chair. Smoke rose from the pipe on his desk and the scent of tobacco seemed to erase all chemical smells from the air. A light-skinned colored man sat in a chair opposite Henry, holding a broom upright at his side. He’d been smiling, I could tell. Both men still had laughter in their eyes. The colored man got to his feet when I entered, though Henry remained seated.
“Yes?” Henry said again. He glanced at my suitcase, then back at my face. I could tell he didn’t recognize me.
“I wondered if I might speak with you?” I asked.
“And you’re…?”
“Tess DeMello,” I said.
I saw the recognition flash across his face. He stood up, his expression giving nothing away to the other man, who hadn’t budged from his stance by the chair.
“Come in.” He motioned me toward the desk, then turned to the colored man. “That will be all, Zeke,” he said.
The man began walking toward the door. “Miss,” he said, tipping an invisible hat to me as he passed. He had a limp, I noticed, and remarkably long, thick black lashes above his dark eyes.
“Shut the door on your way out,” Henry said to him. His gaze never left my face. I could tell he was not pleased to see me. His outside world was suddenly colliding with his home turf.
“I’m sorry to just barge in this way,” I said.
“Don’t you live in Baltimore?” he asked, and I nodded. At least he remembered that much about me. “How did you get here?”
“I took the train,” I said. “I needed to talk to you and it was something I didn’t want to discuss over the phone.”
His eyebrows shot up for a second before falling into a frown. “Oh no,” he said, and I knew he already understood the purpose of my visit. “You’re…?”
I nodded and lowered my voice on the chance someone might be listening. “About two and a half months,” I said.
For a charged moment, he said nothing and I stood up straighter. I would not let him wheedle his way out of his responsibility. Finally, he motioned toward the chair the other man had vacated. “Please,” he said. “Sit down. You look exhausted. That’s a terrible train ride. You had a roomette, I hope?”
“No, unfortunately,” I said. I could barely afford the train ticket, much less the cost of a roomette. I put down my suitcase and crossed the room to sit on the very edge of the chair. I could imagine how I looked. The little bit of makeup I’d put on the day before had to have worn off by now. My hair probably looked a sight beneath my hat and I surely had bags under my eyes. “I didn’t sleep well on the train,” I said. It was warm in the room and I was beginning to perspire beneath my coat. I folded my hands in my lap. “I don’t want to make things difficult for you,” I said. “I only—”
He held up a hand to stop me, then sat down and pulled open one of the top drawers of his beautiful desk. “I’ll give you a check for you to have it taken care of,” he said, pulling out a checkbook.
I was taken aback. “I’ve decided to have it,” I said quickly. Firmly. “The baby. I tried, but I couldn’t go through with … getting rid of it.”
His face clouded, his hand frozen on the checkbook. “What do you want from me, then?”
I licked my lips, preparing my speech. “I’ll have to move away from my … from where I live. I can’t have a baby out of wedlock where everyone knows me. I thought I’d move somewhere else and say my husband is in the army. But I need money to be able to do that. I’m sorry to ask.” I cringed at my apologetic tone. I hadn’t meant to grovel. This situation wasn’t entirely my fault. “It’s a terrible dilemma, but—”
“How much do you think you’ll need?” He interrupted again. He wanted to be done with me, I could tell. He was not a patient man, but it was clear he would help me, if only to shut me up. To get me out of his office. Out of his life.
“I don’t know, exactly,” I said. “Enough to rent an apartment and support myself and a baby until I can find work, I guess. I have a nursing degree, but I probably won’t be able to work until he or she’s old enough to leave with a sitter. And then I’ll need to pay the sitter. And of course I’ll need to be able to pay for—”
“Where will you live?” he asked. “Geographically?”
I imagined he was worried I’d want to live close to him. “I haven’t figured that out yet,” I said. “Probably in Maryland, but far from Baltimore.” How would I ever leave my mother? I was going to break her heart, in so many ways.
“Are you sure the baby is mine?” he asked. “I remember your ring.” He looked at my bare hand. “You were engaged, weren’t you?”
“My fiancé and I never had…” My cheeks burned. “You were the only one.” I wondered if he remembered that small, bright red stain on the bedspread.
“Have you told him?”
I shook my head. “He would never understand. I’ll need to break off our engagement.” I was amazed my voice didn’t crack. If Henry had any idea what that meant—my life as I knew it coming to an abrupt, sad end—he gave no indication.
“Let me think about this,” he said. “I’ll help, of course,” he reassured me quickly, then lowered his voice. “I regret that foolish night more than you could possibly know,” he said. “I’m … ashamed of it. We’d both had far too much to drink. I should never have let it happen.”
I was surprised—touched, actually—that he took responsibility for that night, and relief washed over me. He wasn’t going to fight me about my plan for the baby. My need for help.
“But I have to think of the best way to arrange the money,” he continued. “To figure out the amount you’ll need. Are you staying in town?”
The tension in my body was slipping away. “I need to find a hotel,” I said. “Just for tonight. I have to get back to Baltimore.”
“Go to the Hotel Hickory,” he said, reaching for the phone. “I’ll call you a cab. The hotel’s back in town.” He pointed to my left. “You should be able to get a room now that the holidays are over. If they give you a hard time, say Hank Kraft sent you.” He looked out the window for a moment and I saw those downturned eyes that had struck me when we first met, the eyes that gave him a sad look despite his handsome features. “Actually,” he said, “better not use my name, all right?” He gave me a quick, anxious smile, and for the first time I saw his nerves betray him.
He spoke into the phone, arranging the cab, then got to his feet. “I’ll call you at the hotel,” he said. “Tonight, or more likely in the morning. Stay by the phone if you can.”
I nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Kraft,” I said, getting wearily to my feet. He seemed like a stranger to me. It was nearly impossible for me to believe I’d been intimate with him.
I waited only a minute or two outside the building for the cab to arrive. Thank God. It was so cold and I needed to lie down. I was glad when the driver turned out to be the quiet type. I didn’t have the strength for conversation.
We pulled up outside the tall, handsome redbrick hotel. The driver carried my suitcase inside for me, and I was given a room without any questions being asked. It was two in the afternoon and the exhaustion caught up with me as I lifted my suitcase onto the dresser in my room. I undressed down to my slip, then crawled into the bed, my eyes on the phone on the night table. What if I didn’t hear from him? What if he’d told me he would help with no intention of doing so? But I knew where he was. I wouldn’t leave without some money in hand. I shut my eyes and was asleep within seconds.