The trip seemed to drag on after the old woman's departure. Izzy stared out of the window for hours, pondering her last words along with everything else as the never-ending forest scrolled by in front of her. Finally, the train slowed and exhaled to a stop.
With growing trepidation, she gathered up her things and stepped out of the train onto the gravel. Mackinaw station was small and nearly empty. Only a few people milled about. A slight chill had formed in the air, masked slightly by the warm sun.
"Isadora Twiss?" A man called.
She grabbed her suitcase and turned. A tall man stared down his nose at her through round spectacles. He wore a gray flannel suit and hat. In his hand he held a paper—Izzy guessed it contained her information—which gave her a queasy feeling.
"Yes, sir." She managed a small smile, as she shifted from one foot to the other, trying to avoid his piercing look.
His icy blue eyes swept over her with a look of disapproval. "My name's Mr. Finch. I've come to escort you to the Home. Come with me."
He grabbed her suitcase and hurried off, expecting her to follow. She trailed behind him, studying the landscape quietly, mostly wide open space with grass and trees. No houses anywhere, just a few shops and the train station.
Mr. Finch heaved her suitcase into the trunk of his car and slammed it down. He opened the passenger door for her. "Have a seat."
Izzy eased onto the hot leather and smoothed out her skirt, her heart thumping nervously. The door shut and he sat down next to her, turning the key. They rode for a few minutes, neither one saying a word.
"Is it far from here?" Izzy asked finally, unable to endure the awkward silence.
Mr. Finch looked straight ahead, his gray mustache moving as he spoke. "Yes, it's a good ways."
They drove on in silence. It wasn't long before the shining brilliance of the lake appeared in front of them. Despite herself, Izzy sat up in her seat, taking in the view. It was so vast, it could have been an ocean. Deep blue and stunning, with white caps cresting and rolling onto the shore. A breeze kicked up and whipped around Izzy's hair, the freshness of it soothing her skin. The cackling of seagulls filled her ears, a sound she'd only heard once before when they'd visited the lake when she was young.
"It's lovely," she said without thinking.
He gave her a sideways glance, seeming to let down his guard. "They're building a bridge to get to the upper peninsula—haven't finished yet. It'll really be something once they do. But, today we take the car ferry across. After that, there's another ferry that goes to the island."
A ways down the road they came upon a line of cars. Mr. Finch sighed. "Looks like a bit of a wait. But it's been worse."
Izzy hoped it wouldn't take long. It felt strange to ride all that way with a complete stranger—especially a man.
She eyed the paper he'd set between them.
As if he'd read her thoughts, Mr. Finch spoke, "Normally, Sister Martha comes along, but she's been ill. I don't make a practice of escorting young girls alone."
Struggling to fill the silence, Izzy pressed on. "How is it there? Are there many—girls?"
He stiffened, and she immediately regretted asking the question.
"It's appropriate for what it's intended for." His jaw tightened. "It's most certainly not a holiday."
Warmth rushed to her face from embarrassment. The line of cars inched forward ever so slowly. She folded her hands tightly in her lap, letting out a shaky breath.
"As for the girls—unfortunately there are several," Mr. Finch continued. "Such a shame nowadays."
The car lurched onto the ferry and Izzy nearly squeezed the blood out of her hands. She pressed her head to the window—completely mortified.
Despite the uncomfortableness of the situation, she couldn't stop herself from taking in the beauty of the lake, the small islands on the horizon, the sailboats floating under the glinting sun.
She'd expected a dark, forbidding island, but it was nothing of the sort. Thousands of trees grew on top of moss covered stones and jagged rock ledges. A large red wooden arch read, Welcome to Drummond Island, as they rambled off the ferry onto the road. It all seemed so bright and cheerful.
They bounced along gravel roads for several more miles without another word between them. Finally, they turned down a long, winding driveway with a simple stone sign encased in cobblestone. It read, Saint Mary's Home for Unwed Mothers, in moss covered letters. A huge building towered in the clearing at the end, overshadowing everything else around it.
It might have been a church, with the pointed stone steeple at its top most point. It was comprised of worn, dark stone that gave it an off-putting look—a deep contrast to the allure of the island. There was no sign of life anywhere. Except for a couple of cars parked out front, the massive yard was vacant.
A new wave of nervousness caused Izzy's stomach to drop. As they pulled in closer, she thought she could make out the faces of girls in one of the many the windows, staring down at her. Gulping down a wave of nausea, she fidgeted in her seat. The car came to a halt on the dirt driveway. Mr. Finch eased himself out, lifted her suitcase out of the trunk, and came around to open the door for her.
"Follow me," he said.
They made their way up the wide stone steps of the home. Izzy noticed the lack of landscaping. No daffodils or marigolds—her mother would surely cringe at the sight. She glanced back up at the window she'd seen the girls in, it was empty.
Two heavy wooden doors swung open when they reached the top. An old nun with eyes the color of silver cast her a berating look. "Isadora, I presume?"
"Yes, Sister—" Izzy faltered.
"Sister Mary Helen." The nun's eyes cut into her, making her want to shrink back and disappear.
Izzy reached out her hand. "Isadora Tw—."
"Do not," Sister Mary Helen interrupted, in a curt voice. "ever use your last name again. First names only here. Do you understand?"
Izzy nodded, her mouth dry, and tried to hold a polite smile.
The nun turned to Mr. Finch, giving him a tight smile. "Thank you, David. Sister Martha is feeling much better."
"Glad to be of service," Mr. Finch said, tipping his hat. "Although I will not be unhappy if this job were to end altogether one day."
"We all pray for that day," Sister Mary Helen said softly, her hands pressed together. She bowed her head. "Good day, David."
Izzy stepped through the door, tears threatening to flood behind her eyes. She felt smaller than she'd ever felt before. Her hands shook as she struggled to hold herself together.
"Grab your suitcase and follow me," Sister Mary Helen ordered. She turned and spun on her heel, her long black robe floating along with her.
Izzy followed numbly, her shoes clicking on the hard stone floor. It was just as dark and cold on the inside as it was on the outside. Decorations were sparse, just the bare minimums.
"It is imperative that you understand the rules here at St. Mary's," the nun spoke, her voice echoing as they walked through the stone hallway. " Vanity of any form is strictly prohibited. You will be given proper clothes to wear during your stay. You will not share anymore than your first name with the other girls who reside here. You will not discuss where you are from, your predicament, or anything else of a personal nature."
She turned, her look stern as they reached the stairs. "We keep a strict schedule here. You'll attend mass two times a day, at minimum. Venturing outside of this house without a proper escort is prohibited." She paused, her long, wrinkled fingers curling over the banister. "Do not, for one minute, think you will sit around this home until your date of confinement. You will earn your penance during your stay here, and by God's will, you will leave a recovered woman of good moral standards."
With that said, she turned and made her way up the stairs.
Thanks so much for continuing to read Unwed Mom's Club! Next chapter Izzy will meet some of the other girls who share her predicament. Will she be able to endure the next few months? Please vote if you enjoy this story :)