The Pennsylvania Railroad took me all the way into Chicago. It fair took my breath away stepping off the train into the enormous train station. The roof soared above my head, the wooden beams criss-crossing the span.
And the people! Everywhere I turned there were men and women on their way somewhere. Some were very fashionably dressed and others were more plain in appearance. I felt like such a child, lost in a crowd of people.
The porter who brought my trunk, an older man of indeterminate years, took pity on me and took me all the way to the ticket counter. There, the gentleman behind the counter was able to help me determine which train I needed to take next. It did not depart until the following morning.
This was something I hadn't accounted for in my plans. It seemed I would have to spend the night in the great, sprawling city. I didn't even know why I had thought I would be able to move from one train to another without a delay.
Now, though, I was faced with the problem of where I was going to stay. My first thought was that I ought to stay close to the train station. The whistle of an incoming train convinced me that a little further away might be better for my sleep.
But where?
The ticket seller was quick to tell me that the newest hotel in Chicago was the Palmer House Hotel. It was apparently proclaimed to be an elegant place.
But I was not seeking elegance or the newest accommodations. I simply needed a safe place to spend the night and eat a meal. After a few minutes of debate with another ticket seller, the kind man finally recommended I go to one of the more established hotels, the Sherman House Hotel.
So, I purchased my ticket for the next day and paid a fee for my trunk to be kept overnight. Then, I made my way to the entrance of the train station.
I'd been aware of the sound and din of the train station, with the footsteps and talking, but it was even more overwhelming when I stepped outside. The streets were full of carts, wagons, and hackneys that creaked and clattered. Horses hooves thudded on the wood blocks that made up the street. People of all walks of life were riding and walking in every direction.
Quite frankly, it made me want to flee back to my small hometown.
At least there was a lot to look at while a hackney cab took me through the city streets. Buildings soared high into the sky on both sides of the street and were close together.
The street passed by the largest lake I had ever seen. Birds were flying over the water, occasionally diving towards the water to catch a fish. Wind wanted the scent of fish in my face.
As intriguing as everything was, I was more than ready to not move for a while. Who knew that sitting all day could be so exhausting? When the cab reached my destination, I feared that the ticket seller had given me the wrong advice.
The front of the Sherman House Hotel was impressive! It was graced by a two story portico, something I had only ever seen in illustrations. The roof had a low pitch and created a wide overhang. It was an enormous structure that rose six stories high.
One amenity I was grateful for was the ladies entrance to the right of the main entrance that the hackney driver took me to. I paid the man and then I carried my bag into the building. If I thought the outside was grand, I was completely unprepared for the inside.
Everywhere I looked, everything was opulent and elegant. Plush rugs covered the floor. The walls were covered with colorful floral paper. Velvet curtains covered the windows, though the glass sparkled in the sunlight.
A hotel clerk welcomed me politely. His left eyebrow quirked up when he learned I wanted a room for the night, but he remained professional as he informed me there were two options. I could pay for just a room or for a little more I could have a meal in the dining room. Since I had no desire to venture out into the city to find food, I chose the latter.
He presented me with the book where I signed my name and then handed me the key to my room. I declined having a porter carry my bag, so the clerk directed me where to go. When I walked to the staircase to go up, I had a glimpse of the courtyard that took up the middle of the hotel.
My room was on the third floor. How strange that back home, this would have been the attic! Here, however, it was merely the middle of the hotel.
I had never walked on such soft rugs before. The maroon red threads dampened my footfalls so that I could barely hear them as I walked. It made the hallway unnervingly quiet as I searched for my room number.
It was a relief to unlock my room and step inside. Here, just as below, the room was possibly the most elegant one I had ever been in. There were rich red drapes on the windows. Tasteful landscapes were on the walls, breaking up the ivy patterned paper.
The bed was soft when I sat on the edge. How glad I was to have it all to myself! I vaguely remembered stories from my father of having to share a room and even a bed on occasion when he traveled!
There was a wash stand with a pitcher of lukewarm water. A chair covered in a red velvet that matched the drapes. A small dressing table made up the last piece of furniture in the room.
When I went to the window, all I could see were buildings. Stores and houses and I knew not what! My room faced away from the lake. The sun setting cast shadows across everything. There were gas lamps on the corners of the street. I could see a lamp lighter preparing to light the lamp for the evening.
Sighing, I pulled the drapes closed and lit the lamp that was on the table. It had been a long day. Just that morning I had been stepping out of my childhood home! Now I was in one of the biggest cities in the country!
My stomach rumbled, reminding me it had been some time since I last ate something. No wonder my head was beginning to ache!
Though facing a dining room was the last thing I wanted, I didn't want the unnecessary expense of having the meal brought up to me. With any luck, my black dress would keep any garrulous hotel guests from trying to talk to me.
And then, I thought with a great deal of anticipation, I would be able undress and curl up on that soft bed
~*~
The evening meal provided by the Sherman House Hotel staff was the finest I had ever had. That seemed to be a recurring thing for me since I stepped into Chicago. Molly would scold me for being monotonous in my descriptions when I wrote to her about it all.
However, I fell asleep as soon as I laid my head on the pillow. I woke just after dawn, feeling more rested than I had in weeks. Reluctantly, I left my bed and prepared for another day of riding on a train.
Before I'd fallen asleep, I had done my best to brush any dirt off my black dress. I could have sent it down to be cleaned, but didn't want to risk it not being ready in time. Thankfully, the light wool didn't wrinkle as badly as some of my other gowns would have.
Coffee in the dining room was just what I needed. Along with a full plate of eggs, bacon, and pancakes, I enjoyed a mostly quiet room. Many of the other guests were apparently not departing early.
Back up to my room I went to repack my carpetbag. I paid my bill to a different hotel clerk and asked the porter if he could hail a carriage for me. Even early in the morning, there were people who had already started their day. There were carts in the street and workers walking on the pavement, headed for their jobs.
An almost sleepy looking driver took me back to the train station. I was directed to the correct platform to wait for my train. There was a bench where I could sit, and it gave me a moment to collect my thoughts.
Mrs. Phillips, the older lady I'd sat nex tto from Peru to Logansport, had been a delightful conversationalist. Our time together had been short, but I was sorry when our paths parted in Logansport.
For the journey between Loganpsort and Chicago, I had been left to my own thoughts. No one sat right next to me, and the gentlemen across the aisle kept their noses in their newspapers.
What would my next day bring me? Would I meet another kind person to talk to or would my day pass in mostly silence?
"All alone?"
A male voice made me look up. A short man in a black suit was standing only a few feet away. He removed his hat and made a bow. "I know I shouldn't be so forward, but we are traveling companions, are we not?"
I managed something that I hoped was close to a smile. This was the exact opposite of what I had been hoping for. There was something about his smile that just looked... slimy.
"I think you'll find that we are a little more informal here in the west," he continued, holding his hand out. "The name's Carl Radcliffe."
Did he really expect me to shake his hand? "Good morning, Mr. Radcliffe," I said, lacing my fingers together in my lap.
"What might your name be, my dear lady?" he asked, reaching his hand out.
How I wished I had some sharp, clever reply to send him on his way. I really, really didn't want to give him my name. Was there some way I could avoid it? Why would he speak to someone dressed in mourning, unless to offer his condolences?
"Come now," he urged, wiggling his fingers as though that would encourage me to take his hand. "I've told you my name. The polite thing to do would be to respond."
Why was there no one else on this part of the platform? I gritted my teeth before I allowed myself to say, in as short a tone it was possible to use, "Miss Garrison. Good day, sir."
At least, he dropped his hand. "Well, Miss Garrison, where is a beautiful lady like yourself headed all alone?"
"To be with my fiance." There! That should be enough to send him on his way.
The man actually sat down on the other end of the bench! Without even asking! "Fiance, eh?" he repeated. "There's no need to invent a story. I can see when I am unwanted."
It was impossible for me to decide which was more infuriating: the fact that he sat down or that he thought I was lying. Just who did he think he was?
"It is not my habit to lie," I informed him primly. "If you really believed you were unwanted, you would take yourself off and stop bothering me. I am in no mood for conversation this morning."
Instead of leaving, he simply stretched his legs out in front of himself. "Well, I'm sure your fiance won't mind if I take care of you until I can deliver you safely into his care. A lady needs a man to look out for her best interests."
Blast!
"So by that I take it you do not support women's rights," I commented. "How unfortunate."
An expression I didn't understand crossed his face. "Women's rights? I do agree that sometimes men don't take care of their ladies as they ought, but when they do, there's nothing a woman might need that her husband cannot give her."
"I suppose you mean children and a home?"
Color was creeping up his neck as he cleared his throat. "Miss, I don't think—"
"You don't think this conversation is appropriate? Sir, you sat beside me. You forced an introduction on me. You refused to believe what I said. If you really want to talk to me, we will be discussing what I want to discuss."
Molly had been emphatic about women's rights. I was sure I would remember many of the points she had made, enough to continue on for at least an hour.
Hastily, the man stood up. "I'm afraid I have just realized I am on the wrong platform," he said. "Please excuse me."
I smiled as he hurried away. A porter chuckled from where he was stacking some trunks. "Good for you, ma'am," he said. "That man is here every day, making a nuisance of himself."
"I'm surprised he is allowed to come here when he isn't traveling."
"There's no rule against it," the porter admitted. "No one has complained about him. Yet."
"Then, he has had the good fortune to annoy people with more patience than I have."
The man gave a sympathetic nod before he returned to what he was doing. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Mr. Radcliffe wove his way along the length of the platform. He tipped his hat to the other ladies who had appeared there.
Given what the porter had told me, at least I didn't have to worry about him bothering me on my journey. But the encounter had reminded me that I was a woman traveling alone. How often did that happen?
Probably not enough that it could be seen as commonplace. No doubt there were many men who might see me as an easy target for whatever scheme they might have in mind.
The thought set me on edge, ruining what had been an otherwise good morning. My mood was not helped by the fact that the train was late by nearly an hour. The platform became full of other passengers, irritated by the delay in their plans.
While I waited, I was joined on the bench by a family. The mother held a wailing child, who was clearly unhappy with being there. His mother was occupied with keeping her other two children from running along the platform, while her husband simply read his newspaper.
But the train finally did arrive, and the passengers disembarked. I entered the second class section. My heart sank when I saw the family were also in the same compartment. Part of me wished I had spent the extra to ride in the first class section, but it was so expensive!
I'd never realiized how much money it cost to travel. Perhaps it was not so much if one were going short distances, but it was definitely not something one did just for fun! And yet, wealthy people from further east were always being reported as going from one continent to the next at the drop of a hat.
What must it be like to have that kind of freedom?
"Ma'am, would you mind holding my son?" the woman behind me asked, breaking my train of thought. "I need to get my children settled and I only have two hands to do it!"
Astonished, I stared at her for a moment. Was this a common thing when traveling? She didn't even know me! "Well, come on," she said sharply. "Surely someone of your age must have held a child before."
Of my age? What did she mean by that?
"You're just sitting there," she continued, her tone even more impatient. "I don't have all day."
What should I do? I didn't want to hold her child with his runny nose and trembling lips. I'd seen the same look on my nephew's face and knew what would be the result: screaming and crying. Dealing with Angelica had taught me that the mother would blame me if that happened.
"Ma'am, I do not feel comfortable being put in charge of a strange child," I said, trying to be as kind as possible. "I don't think he will like being held by a stranger, either. Is there some other way I can help you?"
There. That should be acceptable, right? A compromise?
"Never mind!" she snapped, turning away.
"Here. I'll help you," a middle-aged woman on the other side of the aisle said, standing up. She gave me a disgusted look as she took the toddler into her arms. "Some people just think they're better than other people."
"Thank you!" the mother exclaimed, handing over her son. "You are truly a kind person."
What a terrible start to the day. It was going to be a long and difficult day.
~*~
Dear Maryanne,
How are you? I am doing well. Please forgive the shakiness of my writing. I am on the train towards Omaha, Nebraska, and I have not quite mastered the art of writing on a moving vehicle.
As you must be able to surmise, I have reached and left Chicago. What an immense and terrifying place it was! There were buildings everywhere and the streets were made of wooden blocks. It was nothing like Peru. I only had to stay for one night and then I continued on my way.
Have you ever stayed in a hotel? It was an interesting experience. The Sherman House Hotel was very grand and made me feel like a complete country bumpkin. It was six stories tall, though I believe there was one section that was seven! Everything was elegant and beautiful. I was almost afraid to walk on the rugs. They were so soft and bright.
The excitement of traveling on a train faded quickly for me. The inactivity weighs on me. It doesn't feel right to simply sit for hours at a time. Oh, I know it is much faster than it once was, but it feels so strange!
Have you heard from John? I'm afraid he and I did not part on good terms. I was blunt with Angelica as well, and I doubt a letter from me will be well-received. Although I sent a letter to Molly, she helped me leave, so I doubt our brother will be on good terms with her. So, when you next write to them, will you let them know I am doing well?