Book II: Chapter VI

by Sherwood Anderson

　　Edith Carson the milliner, whom fate had thrown into the company ofMcGregor, was a frail woman of thirty-four and lived alone in tworooms at the back of her millinery store. Her life was almost devoidof colour. On Sunday morning she wrote a long letter to her family onan Indiana farm and then put on a hat from among the samples in theshow case along the wall and went to church, sitting by herself in thesame seat Sunday after Sunday and afterward remembering nothing of thesermon.

　　On Sunday afternoon Edith went by street-car to a park and walkedalone under the trees. If it threatened rain she sat in the larger ofthe two rooms back of the shop sewing on new dresses for herself orfor a sister who had married a blacksmith in the Indiana town and whohad four children.

　　Edith had soft mouse-coloured hair and grey eyes with small brownspots on the iris. She was so slender that she wore pads about herbody under her dress to fill it out. In her youth she had had asweetheart--a fat round-cheeked boy who lived on the next farm. Oncethey had gone together to the fair at the county seat and coming homein the buggy at night he had put his arm about her and kissed her."You ain't very big," he had said.

　　Edith sent to a mail order house in Chicago and bought the paddingwhich she wore under her dress With it came an oil which she rubbed onherself. The label on the bottle spoke of the contents with greatrespect as a wonderful developer. The heavy pads wore raw places onher side against which her clothes rubbed but she bore the pain withgrim stoicism, remembering what the fat boy had said.

　　After Edith came to Chicago and opened a shop of her own she had aletter from her former admirer. "It pleases me to think that the samewind that blows over me blows also over you," it said. After that oneletter she did not hear from him again. He had the phrase out of abook he had read and had written the letter to Edith that he might useit. After the letter had gone he thought of her frail figure andrepented of the impulse that had tricked him into writing. Half inalarm he began courting and soon married another girl.

　　Sometimes on her rare visits home Edith had seen her former loverdriving along the road. The sister who had married the blacksmith saidthat he was stingy, that his wife had nothing to wear but a cheapcalico dress and that on Saturday he drove off to town alone, leavingher to milk the cows and feed the pigs and horses. Once he encounteredEdith on the road and tried to get her into the wagon to ride withhim. Although she had walked along the road ignoring him she took theletter about the wind that blew over them both out of a drawer onspring evenings or after a walk in the park and read it over. Aftershe had read it she sat in the darkness at the front of the storelooking through the screen door at people in the street and wonderedwhat life would mean to her if she had a man on whom she could bestowher love. In her heart she believed that, unlike the wife of the fatyouth, she would have borne children.

　　In Chicago Edith Carson had made money. She had a genius for economyin the management of her business. In six years she had cleared alarge debt from the shop and had a comfortable balance in the bank.Girls who worked in factories or in stores came and left most of theirmeagre surplus in her shop and other girls who didn't work came in,throwing dollars about and talking about "gentlemen friends." Edithhated the bargaining but attended to it with shrewdness and with aquiet disarming little smile on her face. What she liked was to sitquietly in the room and trim hats. When the business grew she had awoman to tend the shop and a girl to sit beside her and help with thehats. She had a friend, the wife of a motorman on the street-car line,who sometimes came to see her in the evening. The friend was a plumplittle woman, dissatisfied with her marriage, and she got Edith tomake her several new hats a year for which she paid nothing.

　　Edith went to the dance at which she met McGregor with the motorman'swife and a girl who lived upstairs over a bakery next door to theshop, The dance was held in a hall over a saloon and was given for thebenefit of a political organisation in which the baker was a leader.The wife of the baker came in and sold Edith two tickets, one forherself and one for the wife of the motorman who happened to besitting with her at the time.

　　That evening after the motorman's wife had gone home Edith decided togo to the dance and the decision was something like an adventure initself. The night was hot and sultry, lightning flashed in the sky andclouds of dust swept down the street. Edith sat in the darkness behindthe bolted screen door and looked at the people who hurried homewarddown the street. A wave of revolt at the narrowness and emptiness ofher life ran through her. Tears sprang to her eyes. She closed theshop door and going into the room at the back lighted the gas andstood looking at herself in the mirror. "I'll go to the dance," shethought. "Perhaps I shall get a man. If he won't marry me he can havewhat he wants of me anyway."

　　In the dance hall Edith sat demurely by the wall near a window andwatched the couples whirl about on the floor. Through an open door shecould see couples sitting in another room around tables and drinkingbeer. A tall young man in white trousers and white slippers went abouton the dance floor. He smiled and bowed to the women. Once he startedacross the floor toward Edith and her heart beat rapidly, but justwhen she thought he intended to speak to her and to the motorman'swife he turned and went to another part of the room. Edith followedhim with her eyes, admiring his white trousers and his shining whiteteeth.

　　The wife of the motorman went away with a small straight man with agrey moustache whom Edith thought had unpleasant eyes and two girlscame and sat beside her. They were customers of her store and livedtogether in a flat over a grocery on Monroe Street. Edith had heardthe girl who sat in the workroom with her speak slightingly of them.The three sat together along the wall and talked of hats.

　　And then across the floor of the dance hall came two men, a huge red-haired fellow and a little man with a black beard. The two womenhailed them and the five sat together making a party by the wall, thelittle man keeping up a running stream of comments about the people onthe floor with Edith's two companions. A dance struck up and takingone of the women the black-bearded man danced away. Edith and theother woman again talked of hats. The huge fellow beside her saidnothing but followed the women about the dance hall with his eyes.Edith thought she had never seen so homely a fellow.

　　At the end of the dance the black-bearded man went through the doorinto the room filled with little tables and made a sign to the red-haired man to follow. A boyish looking fellow appeared and went awaywith the other woman and Edith sat alone on the bench by the wallbeside McGregor.

　　"This place doesn't interest me," said McGregor quickly. "I don't liketo sit watching people hop about on their toes. If you want to comewith me we'll get out of here and go to some place where we can talkand get acquainted."

　　* * * * *The little milliner walked across the floor on the arm of McGregor,her heart jumping with excitement. "I've got a man," she thought,exulting. That the man had deliberately chosen her she knew. She hadheard the introductions and the bantering talk of the black-beardedman and had noted the indifference of the big man to the other women.

　　Edith looked at her companion's huge frame and forgot his homeliness.Into her mind came a picture of the fat boy, grown into a man, drivingdown the road in the wagon and leeringly asking her to ride with him.A flood of anger at the memory of the look of greedy assurance in hiseyes came over her. "This one could knock him over a six-rail fence,"she thought.

　　"Where are we going now?" she asked.

　　McGregor looked down at her. "To some place where we can talk," hesaid. "I was sick of this place. You ought to know where we're going.I'm going with you. You aren't going with me."

　　McGregor wished he were in Coal Creek. He felt he would like to takethis woman over the hill and sit on the log to talk of his father.

　　As they walked along Monroe Street Edith thought of the resolution shehad made as she stood before the mirror in her room at the back of theshop on the evening when she had decided to come to the dance. Shewondered if the great adventure was about to come to her and her handtrembled on McGregor's arm. A hot wave of hope and fear shot throughher.

　　At the door of the millinery shop she fumbled with uncertain hands asshe unlocked the door. A delicious feeling shook her. She felt like abride, glad and yet ashamed and afraid.

　　In the room at the back of the shop McGregor lighted the gas andpulling off his overcoat threw it on the couch at the side of theroom. He was not in the least excited and with a steady hand lightedthe fire in the little stove and then looking up he asked Edith if hemight smoke. He had the air of a man come home to his own house andthe woman sat on the edge of her chair to unpin her hat and waitedhopefully to see what course the night's adventure would take.

　　For two hours McGregor sat in the rocking chair in Edith Carson's roomand talked of Coal Creek and of his life in Chicago. He talked freely,letting himself go as a man might in talking to one of his own peopleafter a long absence. His attitude and the quiet ring in his voiceconfused and puzzled Edith. She had expected something quitedifferent.

　　Going to the little room at the side she brought forth a teakettle andprepared to make tea. The big man still sat in her chair smoking andtalking. A delightful feeling of safety and coziness crept over her.She thought her room beautiful but mingled with her satisfaction was afaint grey streak of fear. "Of course he won't come back again," shethought.