Finding Faith. C. E. Edmonson

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СКАЧАТЬ with war paint and wearing feather bonnets, they were bloodthirsty savages who attacked settlers, stagecoaches, and cavalry forts, whooping at the tops of their lungs.

      Had there ever been a scene in any of those movies showing an Indian farm? Or an Indian doing anything but scalp fallen soldiers? No, movie Indians were all alike. They attacked for no apparent reason and they lost in the end.

      “Did Aunt Eva ever go on the warpath?” Faith finally got the courage to ask.

      Margaret laughed for the first time in weeks, a laugh that came from deep inside. “Aunt Eva’s always on the warpath,” she announced when she caught her breath. Then she turned serious. “I know this is hard for you, honey. I know that. And I would never have subjected you to Aunt Eva’s way of life if... The truth is that we have no other choice. Your other aunts and uncles have problems of their own. They couldn’t take us in.”

      “But not Aunt Eva?”

      “That’s the funny thing, Faith. Aunt Eva didn’t hesitate when I wrote to her. She said that sharing was the Indian way, especially when it came to family. I was her sister’s only child and there would always be room for me and my daughter in her home.”

      An hour later, Faith asked to go to the observation platform at the end of the car just to stretch her legs—but really she wanted to clear her mind. She was surprised when her mother agreed, and even more surprised when she was allowed to go by herself. Maybe this was part of becoming a woman. If so, Faith wasn’t about to complain.

      She walked down the aisle, threw open the door at the back of the car, and stepped onto an open-air deck. The view from there was broader than the view through the car’s dirty windows. Nevertheless, it was anything but encouraging. They were passing through a region of low mountains, snaking around and between the peaks. To either side, a forest—dark and thick—pressed to within fifty feet of the tracks. When they crested one of the lesser mountains, the view was of a virtually unbroken wilderness that ran all the way to the horizon. She could count the tiny farms dotting the landscape on one hand.

      Faith was dismayed. She was in real-life wilderness!

      Oh, sure, that was just great. Did she look like a pioneer? Was she supposed to be Lewis or Clark?

      Faith could distinguish between a dessert fork, a shrimp fork, and a dinner fork. She’d been taught never to begin eating until everybody was served and her hostess began to eat. She knew how to fold a linen napkin, to take small bites of her food, and to return the napkin to the table unsoiled. But what good would that do her here? The forest was a world entirely unknown to her and they were heading deeper and deeper into it with every mile. There didn’t seem to be any end to it, as there seemed to be no end to the Covington family’s troubles.

      As Faith considered her situation, the door to the facing car, a first-class car, suddenly opened. A young girl, perhaps ten years old, accompanied by a middle-aged woman, stepped onto the facing platform. The girl wore a wool crepe dress, pearl gray, that fit her so perfectly that Faith knew it was hand-tailored. Her hat, of the same color and material, had just as obviously been created by a milliner. Faith’s bonnet, on the other hand, had been purchased at Macy’s. And none too recently, at that.

      “Hi,” the girl said, giving her perfect blond curls a little shake. “My name is Pauline.”

      The woman standing behind the girl emitted a little grunt of disapproval, but Faith paid no attention. In a cheap cotton dress and the plainest of sturdy brown shoes, the woman had to be the governess. It was her job to be displeased.

      “Hi,” Faith returned. “I’m Faith.”

      “Don’t you just hate train rides, Faith? Soooooo boring. I much prefer touring by car,” the girl said precociously.

      Faith didn’t know exactly how to respond. Her family’s trips, once to Cape Cod, once to Niagara Falls, twice to Atlantic City, were wonderfully exotic treats. Faith had looked forward to each and every one. She would have walked if that were the only way to get there—to say nothing of riding in a first-class train cabin.

      “Where are you going?” Faith finally asked.

      “Pocono Summit.” Pauline rolled a pair of sad blue eyes before repeating her favorite phrase. “Soooooo borrrrrring.”

      “I’m going there, too,” Faith said, though she realized they were headed to the same place under much different circumstances. “My mother and I are going to stay with my Aunt Eva.”

      “I’m staying with my father for the summer. His name is Jaspin Gore. He’s in mining.”

      What could Faith say to that? My aunt’s in the business of scalping settlers? Instead, she asked, “Are you traveling with your mother?”

      Pauline’s eyes softened and, for a moment, Faith was certain she would cry. But she only said, “My parents are divorced.” Then she smiled. “My father has a summer home on Wildwood Lake, but I hope we don’t stay there all summer. It’s soooooo borrrrrring. I hope we move to Scranton. That’s where my father really lives. In a house with so many rooms I still haven’t seen them all.”

      Faith stopped listening, though the girl went on and on. A breeze had sprung up while they were talking and the topmost branches of the surrounding forest were gently swaying. Beneath her feet, the hiss and clack of the train’s wheels continued on, relentlessly, indifferently. Equally indifferent, the clouds above cast vast, moving shadows on the treetops. In the far distance, the waters of a lake reflected a white-hot drop of light.

      “I’ve got to go,” Faith said, a bit abruptly. “My mother’s probably getting nervous by now.”

      “Maybe we’ll see each other in Pocono Summit,” Pauline said brightly.

      Faith noted the look of grim disapproval on the face of the girl’s governess. The woman’s nostrils were so pinched that Faith didn’t see how she could breathe. No, a friendship between the daughter of a man whose home had too many rooms to count and a beggar who couldn’t afford to put a roof over her head was quite out of the question.

      Chapter Three

      THE TRAIN CONTINUED on through the mountains for another hour, stopping at stations so small they seemed like mere afterthoughts. Faith Covington couldn’t imagine anyone disembarking there—not without a compass, a sleeping bag, and maybe a machete, anyway.

      The forest remained unbroken, stolid, and dense—as immovable as the face of a rocky cliff. Faith sat beside her mother, her hands folded in her lap. She had a million questions, but was too afraid of the answers to ask them.

      At the front of the car, two soldiers were drinking from a pewter flask. Suddenly, they began to sing, slurring their words, much to the disgust of the other passengers. Over and over, they sang the opening verses of “Happy Days Are Here Again,” all the while conducting a vigorous argument about the lyrics. Finally, the conductor entered the car and asked them to keep it down. The minute he was gone they started up again, this time choosing “On the Sunny Side of the Street.”

      Faith was less than thrilled at the impromptu performance. Both songs suggested that folks ignore the grim realities that marked day-to-day life in New York City—the mass evictions, the homeless children living in packs, the bodies lying frozen in СКАЧАТЬ