Fallen Beauty Read Online Free PDF Page A

over the counter and said: “We must keep this a secret. I’m just exploring ideas for the future. I haven’t made any decisions.”
    “A girl has got to dream,” she said, and pretended to lock her lips.
    I left her with a wave, and started for home, noting the train whistle. So many trains came and went each day through Chatham that the whistles were as common as the sound of wind in the trees or the rushing waters of the Stony Kill. I’d often watch the Pullman cars destined for New York City and wonder what it would be like to hop on board, like the wealthy residents in town, and catch a Broadway show. My father feared the trains. With so many switches in Chatham, there was a long history of railway accidents. As a result, Marie and I had never ridden a train. I suspected, however, my father was more afraid of losing us to the world beyond Chatham than to a derailment.
    When I stepped onto the sidewalk, I saw the town priest, Father Ash, on the other side of the road, walking parallel to me, holding his journal tightly with both hands. He carried that book with him everywhere, and could often be seen stopping at a bench to scribble notes to himself. He even carried it with him to the podium on Sundays, and referenced it during his homilies. Judging by the depth and immediacy of his talks, one could surmise he was forever preparing, watching those around him, helping us to make meaning of our small lives in poignant ways. He saw me, and looked at me twice before dropping his gaze to my arms and the books I carried.
    How strange we must have appeared, each of us moving in the same direction, but separated by a local street and a universe of experience. Each of us holding books with great personal meaning, but on my face, a dreamy expression, and on his, one of intense concentration. His dark hair and black clothes contrasted with my fair hair and pink dress.
    As we turned on Main Street, he slowed his step as Agnes Dwyer and her daughter, Darcy, walked toward him. Could it be that he didn’t want to speak with them? The church and community respected Agnes and Darcy, who had married a doctor from the hospital, Daniel Dempsey. In many ways, our small society revolved around them.
    I wasn’t interested in polite conversations while undergoing their silent scrutiny, so I quickened my step and pretended to take great interest in the facades of the houses and storefronts I’d passed thousands of times. The buildings stood in an orderly line of Colonial dwellings with stately chimneys, leaded glass, and flags announcing patriotism, loyalty, and dedication. I inhaled the sweet aroma drifting from the Candy Kitchen, waved to the firemen outside the station, and waited for a train to pass before I finally arrived home, deposited my acquisitions under my bed, and returned to the store downstairs.
    My father had left a note that he was delivering firewood to his friend, the oculist Dr. John Hagerty, and I wondered where Marie had gone. I grew impatient to talk to her, but she was forever in and out of the shop, meeting her new beau, Everette Clark, and talking incessantly about him when she wasn’t with him. Everette had moved to Chatham in his teenage years, but was five years older than we were, so we hadn’t known him well while growing up. He now served on the town council, and had higher political aspirations, according to Marie, who had no doubt he could be president someday.
    The day passed slowly, with only a few new orders—a set of window valances, a new church dress, some mending. My father came and went on errands and handyman jobs. I kept imagining someone new and interesting would come through the door with a unique order, but was only greeted with the usual townspeople. Just as I was about to turn the sign to CLOSED , however, Darcy walked in without her mother.
    Her visit was inevitable, I supposed, but I had been dreading it. Agnes had recently commissioned a christening gown for her first grandchild, but