Chapters (70)
- PROLOGUE
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5. Morgan
- Chapter 6. Anna
- Chapter 7. Morgan
- Chapter 8. Anna
- Chapter 9. Morgan
- Chapter 10. Anna
- Chapter 11. Morgan
- Chapter 12. Anna
- Chapter 13. Morgan
- Chapter 14. Anna
- Chapter 15. Morgan
- Chapter 16. Anna
- Chapter 17. Morgan
- Chapter 18. Anna
- Chapter 19. Morgan
- Chapter 20. Anna
- Chapter 21. Morgan
- Chapter 22. Anna
- Chapter 23. Morgan
- Chapter 24. Anna
- Chapter 25. Morgan
- Chapter 26. Anna
- Chapter 27. Morgan
- Chapter 28. Anna
- Chapter 29. Morgan
- Chapter 30. Anna
- Chapter 31. Morgan
- Chapter 32. Anna
- Chapter 33. Morgan
- Chapter 34. Anna
- Chapter 35. Morgan
- Chapter 36. Anna
- Chapter 37. Morgan
- Chapter 38. Anna
- Chapter 39. Morgan
- Chapter 40. Anna
- Chapter 41. Morgan
- Chapter 42. Anna
- Chapter 43. Morgan
- Chapter 44. Anna
- Chapter 45. Morgan
- Chapter 46. Anna
- Chapter 47. Morgan
- Chapter 48. Anna
- Chapter 49. Morgan
- Chapter 50. Anna
- Chapter 51. Morgan
- Chapter 52. Anna
- Chapter 53. Morgan
- Chapter 54. Anna
- Chapter 55. Morgan
- Chapter 56. Anna
- Chapter 57. Morgan
- Chapter 58. Anna
- Chapter 59. Morgan
- Chapter 60
- Chapter 61
- Chapter 62
- Chapter 63
- Chapter 64
- Chapter 65
- Chapter 66
- Chapter 67
- Epilogue: Morgan
- Acknowledgements
“Thank you,” Anna said. She didn’t feel very strong, but she was trying. She responded to more of Miss Myrtle’s questions, letting the story of her life trickle from her. She talked about her mother’s work as a seamstress—making the occupation sound grander and more lucrative than it had been. She described her happy childhood in Plainfield and how much she’d adored going to art school. She talked about how amazing it had been to grow up a short bus ride from New York City, and how she and her friends would spend Saturday afternoons in museums. She talked for so long that she began to feel embarrassed. Did she simply need to recite her life story out loud or was Miss Myrtle one of those people who magically drew the words from you? The term “Southern hospitality” began to make sense. Anna felt happy and content sitting there with her new landlady. Perhaps things were beginning to go her way.
They decided on rent of five dollars a month, and that would include most of her meals. They’d share the upstairs bathroom, and for ten cents, Anna could use Miss Myrtle’s wringer-washer once a week.
“Now I do have some rules,” Miss Myrtle said.
“Of course.” Anna smiled.
“You may have lady friends over to visit in your room or the parlor, but no gentlemen in the house without my permission,” she said.
“I’m not here to socialize,” Anna said, “so you don’t need to worry about that.”
“No drinking,” Miss Myrtle said. “Are you a smoker?”
Anna nodded. “Occasionally.”
The older woman sighed. “So is Pauline. I find it very nasty, but you may smoke in her—in your—room if you like. Just not downstairs and certainly not in the kitchen. Freda will have your head!”
“That’s fine.”
She told Anna about the idiosyncrasies of the plumbing and the light switches, then asked her about the mural.
“I haven’t decided what to paint yet,” Anna said. “It has to be something that truly represents Edenton, so I’m looking into—”
“The Tea Party, of course,” Miss Myrtle said.
Anna laughed. “Well, that’s what I thought, but the men I had lunch with didn’t like the idea at all.”