She hugged me, and I got into the carriage. As we pulled away, she nodded, waved, and then turned to go back into my great-aunt’s house, where my great-aunt waited to spin her memories like pieces of a puzzle, a puzzle she would never finish. Even so, I was still feeling sorrier for myself.

Once I was on the train and looking out the window, I couldn’t help my wishful imaginings. In my fantasy, Garland, realizing how upset I was, went to my great-aunt’s house and found out I had just left. He whipped his horses and came running to the train station. As soon as he set eyes on me, he apologized and begged me to stay, offering to buy me new dresses and shoes. Of course, I would get off the train. He’d have a wonderful dinner for us at Foxworth Hall. He’d hire musicians to play for us while we ate and the piano player to play his new piano in the ballroom afterward. Everyone would be working harder to please me. I’d be treated like a queen.

When the train jerked and started forward, I was still imagining my romantic scene. I didn’t look back, however, and soon my eyes were closing, and I was feeling tired again. I fell asleep quickly. At one point, the train rocked harder than usual, and I woke. Other passengers looked concerned and frightened, but whatever had caused it passed, and the remainder of the ride was uneventful.

My father was waiting for me at the station in Alexandria. I knew from the expression on his face that he was upset. He took my bag without saying hello or hugging me and walked out to his carriage. I got in quickly, and he started away. It wasn’t until then that he began to speak.

“What turned you around so soon?” he asked.

I quickly decided to blame it all on the house and Great-aunt Nettie’s condition.

“Hazel had to keep reminding her who I was. The guest room was disgusting. There were spiders in the dresser drawers. I didn’t take my clothes out of my bag. They have no hot water most of the time. The ceiling in my room looked like it might fall in on me.”

“What are you not telling me, Corrine?” he asked sharply. “It’s better you tell it all to me before we get home and your mother starts asking you questions. She may look oblivious at times, but she’s keen.”

“I didn’t like Charlottesville. It’s too busy,” I added.

He shook his head. “You saw Garland Foxworth, didn’t you? We both know that was your chief reason for going there. Well?”