The Point of Vanishing - Maryka Biaggio (large ebook reader TXT) 📗

watching small groups of students wander past, and reading the next short story assignment, “Kew Gardens,” which only depressed her all the more.

There wasn’t a single thing going well for her. Her father had turned into a ludicrous farce of a man. She missed Ethan terribly. College was proving altogether noxious to her spirit. Her mother had run off on her private adventure. And Dr. Schultz ruled his household like a general: breakfast at seven sharp; dinner at six, with everyone reporting on their day (and not leaving a morsel on their plate); the radio news broadcast and reading time until nine; then children (including her!) off to bed. Nothing about it suited Barbara. It suffocated her, for she intended to live the free, unfettered life of an explorer and writer. That was her particular happiness.

No, this wasn’t working. And Ethan was so far away. She must escape this dry-gulch existence and its stifling rules. Instead of going to her government class, she found her way to the train station and bought a ticket for the 5:40 a.m. train to San Francisco.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

BARBARA AT FIFTEEN

Pasadena to San Francisco, September 1929

Buzzing with excitement, Barbara dashed off a letter to Ethan: College had proved disappointing and Los Angeles nothing short of poisonous. Striking out on her own was the perfect antidote. San Francisco wasn’t terribly far from Hoquiam. Could he hop on the train and visit her there? She’d be seeking a job at a newspaper or publishing house. Since that could take a while, she’d be completely free for a spell. Even once she started working, she’d have some time to herself, and it’d be heaven to celebrate her newfound independence with her secret sharer. Would he please respond via general delivery in San Francisco as soon as possible?

She packed and tiptoed out of the Schultz home at four in the morning, leaving a note on her dresser.

September 13, 1929

Dear Mrs. and Dr. Schultz,

Thank you for the great kindness of allowing me to stay with you and your family.

Unfortunately, college and I are not suited to each other. I’m off to find work and live on my own. You needn’t worry. I’m quite capable of managing by myself, and I shall write Mother very soon.

With appreciation,

Barbara

They wouldn’t discover the note for a good two hours, which would give her plenty of time to slip away unnoticed. She wound her way along the dark streets of Pasadena, giddy with anticipation. Ah, sweet deliverance—finally, she was free, truly her own person. The train departed on schedule, and, once safely on her way, she dropped off into a contented snooze. It was a long trip, and she finished off her apple and cheese sandwich well before noon. All afternoon she resisted the urge to spend her money in the diner, but two hours out of San Francisco, hunger got the better of her.

She headed for the train’s dining car, and there she spotted three happy-go-lucky women with Irene Castle hairdos. One wore a trim, silky skirt, another a smartly tailored tweed outfit, and the third a drop-waist dress. Barbara felt distinctly out of fashion in her floral cotton dress, but she couldn’t resist the cheery threesome.

Their conversation lulled as she stopped beside their table and asked, “May I join you?”

The woman in the silky skirt, whose makeup showed off sparkly hazel eyes, patted the seat beside her. “Why, certainly, dear.”

“I’m Katherine,” Barbara said, scooting onto the seat. She’d decided to travel incognito as Katherine Andrews, just in case somebody tried to track her down.

The women all introduced themselves. The pretty one seated beside her was Gladys; Dolores, the bouncy one in the drop-waist dress, sat across from her; and Phyllis, willowy and downright distinguished in her tweed suit, took up the seat kitty-corner. They’d been visiting a friend in San Jose and were returning to San Francisco.

Phyllis tilted her head in a show of concern. “Where are you from, Katherine?”

Barbara knew her accent gave her away as an Easterner, but she thought it best to avoid any such mention. “Most recently, San Diego. I’m on my way to San Francisco to find work.”

Gladys planted her fingers on her jaw. “Are you on your own?”

“Yes, but that’s nothing for me. I love an adventure.”

“But you can’t be older than sixteen,” said Gladys.

“Fifteen. And a half, to be exact.”

Phyllis asked, “And what do your parents think of this adventure?”

“Oh, they expect nothing less than pluck and self-reliance from me.”

They all chuckled, and Dolores flapped a hand at her. “You’re a brave one, aren’t you?”

Barbara pushed her bottom lip out, considering this remark. “It only qualifies as bravery if there’s something to be afraid of, and, well, I’m not in the least apprehensive. Only excited.”

Phyllis held up a finger and bounced it. “Believe me, Katherine, it is brave for someone as young as you—and a female to boot—to take on a big city.”

“I’m going to find work as a stenographer and hunt down an apartment.”

“That could be a problem,” said Phyllis. “By state law, you can’t work until you’re sixteen. Besides, your education should come first.”

“Well, I’m eligible for college. And since my age doesn’t reflect that, I suppose I’ll have to take an age that does.”

Dolores chuckled. “Like I always say, don’t let trivialities trip you up.”

The waiter came and took their order. Barbara selected the least expensive item on the menu, a ham sandwich.

Phyllis asked her, “What exactly is your plan?”

“First, I’ll find a respectable but modestly priced hotel. Can you recommend a place?”

That set the threesome off on a chirpy discussion of the blemishes and benefits of various San Francisco hotels. Barbara sat back and took it all in. She enjoyed these women—they were so amiable and breezy, so chummy and helpful, altogether modern and corking. They warned her work might be hard to find for someone without much experience. But Barbara assured them she was an excellent typist and a regular crackerjack at vocabulary and grammar. Well,