to Allentown for a shopping trip, but frowned when she asked him not to tell her parents. Explaining that she also had a few things to pawn the family no longer needed, she figured she could take a sack with her things in it without him becoming suspicious.
Composing the letter to give him after they got to Allentown was difficult, but she was sure that after Rev. Herbst read it, he would understand what she was really doing without feeling responsible for participating in it.
Dear Rev. Herbst ,
I want you to know that I won’t be in front of the library at 3 p.m. as I promised you this morning. I’m going to leave home and find my own way in the world. Don’t worry about me, since I have a definite plan and a place to go. You know from our conversations about some of the problems I have at home. I know that you’ll respect my privacy and won’t try to stop me. Please tell my parents I’ll write when I get settled. They would never let me go if they knew about this, so I had to do it this way. I hope you will forgive me. You and Mrs. Herbst have always been so kind to me. I wish God’s blessings on you both.
Sincerely,
Grace Antes
On Tuesday, Grace hopped out of his car. She ran around to the driver’s side to say thank you and hand him the letter, then dashed off without looking back. That was the last time she would use the name “Grace.” From now on she would be “Gracie,” setting out to find her place in the world.
She flew down the street, blinking back tears because she had lied to someone she cared for and respected. She would miss the Herbsts and the warmth and love she felt at church. And the hymns—oh, how she would miss the hymns.
Fanning her face with her straw hat worked off some nervous energy, but did nothing to stop the trickle of perspiration trailing down her chest under the double layer of underclothing she had squeezed inside her blouse and skirt early that morning. Her sack held her Bible , the Song of the Lark , a nightgown, the bathrobe she fondly called her pink shrug, more underclothing, an extra blouse, sweater, writing pad, toiletries, and a small lunch. Not only was the sack cumbersome, but worse, she was sure it would also attract attention.
As she turned down Broad Street , she saw a sign, “Second Hand Shoppe, Goods Bought and Sold.” She stepped inside and breathed a sigh of relief when she spied a small red suitcase with tan leather trim. The tag said $2.00. Gracie bought the suitcase, some pencils, a brush and comb. A bright yellow jewelry box with a poem drew her in:
It’s the song ye sing
And the smiles ye wear
That’s a makin ’ the sun
Shine everywhere.
—James Whitecomb Riley
The poem was perfect. It would greet her every morning and remind her of her mission. She didn’t own any jewelry except her watch, the choker around her neck and her fake drop pearl earrings, but she had to have it.
A new life demands a significant marker, right?
After bargaining with the sour faced man behind the counter, Gracie got it for a reduced price, and then asked the man for directions to the library and the YWCA. He sighed, narrowed his bushy eyebrows, and wrote down the directions for her.
As she was leaving, a beat up alarm clock in the window caught her eye. The idea of reporting for work promptly was new to her. If she was going to have a job, she wanted to be sure to awaken in time. She slipped back in the store, gave the man her sweetest smile and asked to see it. Made in 1915, it was nickel plated with Roman numerals on the face. Dents covered the sides, but for a quarter, maybe it would do. Firmly making the shopkeeper wind it up and check the alarm, she handed him the money and left.
Allentown loomed over her five-foot-three-inch frame more than Bethlehem ever had. The buildings were imposing and the city itself more crowded. People obviously knew exactly where they were going. She walked by a diner and smelled pot roast. Her