When She Woke (29 page)

“I’ll leave you ladies to freshen up,” Stanton said. “I like to dress for dinner, and I hope you’ll oblige me. There are some clean clothes in the closet you can change into.” He pointed to a staircase at the other end of the room. “When you’re ready, come on upstairs. Supper’ll be on the table in about forty-five minutes. I hope you brought your appetites. I’m making my grandmother’s crawfish étouffée, which has been known to make grown men fall to their knees and weep in ecstasy, convinced they’ve ascended to heaven.” With a little half-bow, he left them.

The women washed up and got changed. There were a dozen or so outfits in the closet, all surprisingly stylish and feminine. Once again Hannah was moved by Stanton’s thoughtfulness. Kayla chose a split-neck tunic of dark gray satin over black leggings, and Hannah a black lace dress with full, draping sleeves. The bodice was a little low, but she didn’t care; it felt good to dress like a woman again. The bathroom mirror was brightly lit from above with a row of round bulbs like you’d see in a starlet’s dressing room in an old vid. Hannah examined her reflection with a critical eye and found herself wishing for her pearl studs. A chuckle slipped out of her.

“Look at us,” she said. “Red as a couple of fire trucks and still trying to gussy ourselves up.”

“Well, and why shouldn’t we?” Kayla was standing next to Hannah, braiding a section of her long black hair. “We didn’t stop being female when they chromed us.”

“No, but . . .” Hannah left the thought incomplete, not wanting to sour the moment.

“But what?”

Hannah shrugged. “It’s not like anything we do is actually going to make us pretty.” And yet, even as she said it, she was thinking how beautiful Kayla was, red skin or not. And if she could see beauty in Kayla, and Paul could, could someone not also see it in her?

“Speak for yourself,” Kayla said, with an affronted look. “You go on and be a frump if you want, it’ll just make me look better by comparison.” She sucked in her cheeks and struck a model’s pose, then burst out laughing. Hannah laughed with her, feeling a warm glow inside her.

They headed upstairs. The door at the top was made of the same metal as the tunnel. Hannah opened it and stepped into a large foyer. She was expecting a nice house, but this could only be called a mansion. The floors were of black-and-white-checked marble, polished to a high gloss, and the ceilings were easily twenty feet high. A chandelier hung above the entryway, its hundreds of tiny, faceted crystals as dazzling as diamonds, and stained-glass panels flanked the mahogany front door. A grand staircase carpeted in burgundy led to the second floor. Looking up, Hannah could see a second set of stairs winding to another story above that.

Kayla gave a low whistle. “Nice place. Wonder what our friend Stanton does for a living?”

Four rooms led off the hallway, and the women peeked inside them as they went past. The first was a large parlor, littered harmoniously with antiques and Oriental rugs. A regal woman in a Victorian riding costume regarded them from a painting above the mantel. There wasn’t a single object in the room that wasn’t exquisite, and yet somehow, the ambience was welcoming rather than intimidating. The plush sofa invited sitting, the logs stacked in the marble fireplace begged to be lit, the rugs urged Hannah to take off her shoes and curl up on them.

The room opposite was a library lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Standing reading lamps cast intimate pools of light over two chocolate-brown leather chairs and a chaise longue upholstered in cream damask. Heavy velvet drapes covered the tall windows, and an enormous dictionary sat open on a carved wooden stand in one corner. Hannah lingered in the doorway, eyeing the shelves and their leather-bound contents longingly.

“If this were my house, I’d never leave this room,” she said.

“You kidding? If this were my house, I’d sell it in a heartbeat and move to the French Riviera.”

The door to the third room was closed, and the women moved past it with reluctant sidelong glances, but the door to the fourth was cracked a few inches in what could have passed for invitation. As Hannah hesitated, Kayla pushed it open. The hinges squealed, making them jump and look nervously toward the back of the house. When Stanton didn’t come charging down the hallway, they peered inside. After the splendor of the parlor and the library, they were unprepared for the shabbiness that greeted their eyes. The room was clearly meant to be a dining room, but a scuffed side table and a couple of three-legged chairs were the only furniture. The plaster medallion in the ceiling was chipped and cracked, its hook empty, and the wallpaper hung down in forlorn strips over the wainscoting. The drapes were moth-eaten, the carpets threadbare and smelling unpleasantly of mildew. Hannah pulled the door closed hastily, feeling uncomfortable, as if she’d glimpsed the holes in Stanton’s underwear.

They followed the enticing smell of seafood to an eat-in kitchen that looked like something out of a “Homes & Gardens” vid. Stanton was standing over the gleaming industrial range, stirring the contents of a copper pot with a wooden spoon.

He saw them and did a theatrical double take. “Ah,” he said, placing his hand over his heart. “ ‘She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies, and all that’s best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and her eyes.’ Ladies, you are a vision of loveliness manifested in my kitchen.”

“You must be partial to red,” Kayla said drily.

“Indeed, it’s my favorite color.” He held up a glass of red wine. “May I offer you some of this excellent claret?”

The women accepted. Hannah made herself sip it slowly. She didn’t want to get drunk like she had on Christmas.

“I have to tell you,” Kayla said, “you have one of the most beautiful homes I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s kind of you. It’s getting there, little by little.” Stanton’s tone was light, but his eyes gleamed with possessive pride. “This house has been in my family since it was built in 1885. It was once a showplace, but like a lot of old homes and old families around here, it’s fallen on hard times. I’ve got a long way to go to restore it to its former glory. I haven’t even started on the upstairs yet, but I’m already dreading it—all that dust and racket and workers tromping in and out of the house.” He took in their bemused expressions. “I gather you’ve never experienced the living hell known as home renovation? No? Well, I don’t recommend it.”

Hannah felt a prick of resentment.
Don’t talk to me about living hell,
she thought, eyeing his flawless granite countertops and gleaming hardwood cabinetry.

But her irritation melted away once they sat down to eat. The food was as superb as everything else under Stanton’s roof, and he was the consummate host. He carried the conversation, entertaining them with stories about Columbus and its distinguished inhabitants, who’d once included Tennessee Williams and Eudora Welty. All Hannah knew about them was that they were both long-dead writers, but they were evidently favorites of Kayla’s, because her face lit up, and she plunged into an animated discussion about them with Stanton. Listening to their exchange, Hannah was suffused with bitterness about her own ignorance. If she hadn’t had to sneak books into the house and read them in hasty, furtive snatches, if she’d gone to a normal high school and then on to college as Kayla had, she too would have been able to assert that Miss Welty could write circles around Faulkner and have an opinion as to whether
Streetcar
or
The Glass Menagerie
was Williams’s masterpiece. She’d always believed that her parents had done right by her, but now, sitting mute at Stanton’s table, she found herself seething over their choices. Why had they kept her life so small? Why had they never asked her what
she
wanted? At every possible turn, she saw, they’d chosen the path that would keep her weak and dependent. And the fact that they wouldn’t see it that way, that they sincerely believed they’d acted in her best interest, didn’t make it any less true, or them any less culpable.

“You’re mighty quiet, Hannah,” Stanton said. “What do you think?”

“I don’t,” she snapped. “I was raised not to.”

She flushed, embarrassed by her churlishness, but Stanton didn’t seem the least bit offended. An approving glint appeared in his eye, and he raised his wineglass to her in salute. “Well, my dear,” he said, smiling his beatific child’s smile, “welcome to the other side. Something tells me you’re going to like it here.”

Fleeting images of everyone and everything she’d loved passed swiftly through Hannah’s mind and then receded, leaving a vast, white space that, except for Kayla, was completely empty. For a moment, the emptiness was yawning, overwhelming. What in the world would she fill it with? And then the answer dawned on her, and she caught her breath. If she was given the opportunity to furnish that space—if she survived the road and made it to Canada— she could fill it with whatever she wanted. For the first time in her life, there would be no limits to what she could do or who she could be, no one to tell her what she should and shouldn’t think about.

She smiled back at Stanton. “Something tells me you’re right.”

H
E CLEARED THE
table, sternly refusing their offers of assistance. “You’re not allowed to touch the dishes until you’ve eaten three meals at my table. House rules. Now, can I get you a brandy or a coffee? Or I have chamomile tea if you’d prefer that.”

Hannah shuddered, tasting crawfish étouffée in the back of her throat. From the queasy look on Kayla’s face, she too had been catapulted back to Mrs. Henley’s parlor. “Coffee, please,” Hannah said, for both of them.

Stanton served it in a delicate china pot with matching gold-rimmed cups and saucers, and then poured himself a snifter of brandy. He swirled the amber liquid around the glass and took an appreciative whiff, followed by a good-sized swallow.

“Now, to business,” he said, looking at Kayla. “Seemoan apprised me of your situation. It’s unfortunate that you didn’t get renewed before you left Texas. It would have greatly simplified matters.” His voice held a distinct edge of annoyance.

“Yeah, well,” Kayla said, “it wasn’t like I had much of a choice.”

“No, I don’t suppose you did. How are you feeling?” Though the question was casually posed, his gaze was intent and unblinking.

“Fine. Normal.” She shrugged.

“You sure you haven’t been a little distracted lately? Or maybe thinking Hannah’s been talking to you when she hasn’t been? It’s important that you be honest with me.”

Kayla’s eyes darted to Hannah’s in mock alarm. “Did you just say something?” Nobody smiled. “I’m telling you, I feel fine,” she insisted.

Stanton studied her for a moment longer and then nodded, apparently satisfied that she was being truthful. “All right, then. Here’s the plan. Tomorrow at sunset, I’ll take you outside of town. A car will be waiting. I’ll give you directions then.”

“We’re going by ourselves?” Hannah asked.

“Yes. That’s normally how it works. I was surprised Seemoan brought you, Susan and Anthony usually don’t like to risk her.” Stanton waited, bright eyes trained inquisitively on the two women. When they didn’t respond, he sat back and took a sip of brandy. “And I’m glad they don’t, happy as I was to see her. Seemoan’s family.” His face lit with amusement at their bemused expressions. “What, you don’t see the resemblance?” He laughed. “I don’t mean literally, we just go back a long way.”

Sensing he wouldn’t tell them any more, Hannah asked, “What’s our destination?”

“Bowling Green, Kentucky. George will be your host there.”

“And where do we go after that?” Kayla asked.

He spread his hands wide, palms up. “Your guess is as good as mine. All any of us knows is one stop ahead and one behind.”

It made sense, Hannah thought. People couldn’t tell what they didn’t know. If someone got caught and interrogated, they couldn’t expose the whole network.

But. Betty and Gloria were three stops ahead of Dallas, and all four members of Susan’s group had known about them. Which must mean she and the others were higher up than Stanton in the Novembrists’ hierarchy. Could Dallas be the headquarters for the whole organization, and Susan its leader? Recalling the persuasive power of the woman’s voice, Hannah could well believe it.

“I’ve never even laid eyes on Susan and Anthony,” Stanton continued. “You have the advantage of me there. Just tell me one thing,” he said, in a conspiratorial tone. “Does Susan have a face to match that magnificent voice?”

The comment, skirting so close to Hannah’s own thoughts, disconcerted her. She hesitated. Susan and Anthony clearly trusted Stanton, but that trust just as clearly had its limits. If he hadn’t met them, it was because they hadn’t wanted him to. “Yes,” Hannah lied, “she’s very striking.”

“Can I ask you something?” Kayla said.

“You may,” he replied, inclining his head graciously.

“Why risk your life for women you don’t even know?”

Parentheses appeared in the corners of his mouth, bracketing a sad little smile. “It’s personal. My mother was a flaming feminist, though you wouldn’t have known it to look at her. She was the quintessential Southern belle, about yay tall,” Stanton’s hand hovered a few inches under the top of his own head, “partial to pink, wouldn’t dream of setting foot outside the house unless she had on lipstick. She wanted to go to medical school, but then in her last semester of college, she met my father, whoever he was, and got pregnant.”

“She never told you?” Hannah asked.

“Nope, and as far as I know she never told him, either. This was before there was such a thing as paternal rights, you understand.” He sipped his brandy. “She graduated, came home to Columbus, gave birth to me and enrolled in nursing school. My grandparents raised me, more or less, while she was pursuing her degree and then her career. She started as an obstetrics nurse and eventually became a midwife. It wasn’t until they passed the SOL laws that she started doing abortions. By that time, my grandparents were dead, and I was thirty years old and at loose ends, so I moved back here to help her. I’d set up the appointments for her—vet the women and find a location—and she’d do the procedures.”