As she went on about it, I was surprised and amused by how proud of them she was and how honored to have been their housekeeper. I guess I shouldn’t have been amazed. After all, how else would someone who came from her station in life have touched so much of the upper class? Even though it was difficult for me to imagine the house as busy and bright, hosting important dinners and visitors, she spoke of the Lloyds as if America did have royalty.

She described the time the governor of the state had stopped to visit and how, because of my great-uncle’s influence and success, she had stood with my great-aunt to listen to a speech by President Grant.

“We were only twenty feet away. I never was that close to Queen Victoria. I can tell you that, dearie,” she said.

She paused to point out the Western Union office.

“I’ll be just down here,” she said, nodding at the farmers’ market.

“Thank you, Hazel.”

I stepped in and went to the table where I could write my telegram. The moment I lifted the pen to write, I felt the tears welling up. There was no way to sugarcoat it; I was fleeing from romantic disappointment, something I had never dreamed would happen to me. I looked at the clerk, who was staring at me. He had a thick black mustache with almost no chin. He was nearly bald but, from the look of everything else about him, probably not a day over thirty, if that.

“Would you know the train schedule?” I asked.

He brightened with the opportunity to help me. “Where ya goin’?”

“Alexandria.”

“Oh.” He sifted through some papers and looked at a card. “Today?”

“Yes,” I said.

“There’s a train at four thirty and nothing else until tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” I said, rewarding him with one of my best smiles.

I turned back to my telegram and pondered how to say this. I didn’t want to write anything that would even hint about what had happened. Of course, there would be lots of questions. As far as my mother was concerned, I had made such a big thing of my coming here to visit my great-aunt Nettie that my immediate return would sharpen her curiosity but feather her suspicions. My father, of course, knew my real reasons. One way or another, I would have to face him with something of the truth. But not now, not in a telegram. Just say it, I thought, as simply as possible.

Dear Daddy,

I’ll be coming home on today’s four thirty train.

Corrine

I handed it to the telegraph operator and paid him. Of course, he had to read it to send it, but he tried to make it look like he wasn’t thinking about the words.