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Page 15.

In Detroit, streets were piled deeply with golden and dark apple-red leaves. Trees looked twisted and barren. Days were short—gray and rainy, except for a few stand-out sunny days.

Mrs. Elizabeth Wyllie had found out about Lizzie’s new out-of-wedlock pregnancy. An argument was on in the apartment, where light seeped wanly through the kitchen window. Mrs. Wyllie walked up and down yelling amid her few pieces of shabby furniture May tried to step between her mother and sister. Lizzie sniffled into one of several hankies with the monogram Lizzie Anderson. They were her mother’s. Elizabeth said: “I can’t stand it any more. You got yourself knocked up again, Lizzie. How could you be so stupid?”

May said: “Easy, Mom. She’s fragile.”

Elizabeth said: “Fragile! Am I a brown bear? She wasn’t fragile to be carrying on with that wolf in his lair!”

Lizzie said: “I can’t stand it any longer! He loves me and I love him.”

Elizabeth said: “If that man loves you, Lizzie, then I am a Christmas tree. Are you daffy? He’s a married man with children, out of work, and broke. What can he possibly do for you? He has ruined you, all for his craven lust and selfishness.”

Lizzie held her fists over her ears. “I can’t think! I can’t think! You drive me crazy!”

“I drive you crazy?” Her mother sniffed. “Hah. I’ll soon be committed.”

May said: “Have you heard from him lately?”

Lizzie sniffled, wiping a wrist across her face. “Not a peep so far this week.”

May said: “He’s dumped you, girl. Showed you the street. We’ll see about that.”

Leaves swirled thickly in damp, chill air the color of smoke, and people wore thick clothing. In an arched brick portal, framed in ivy, May stood before a chastened John Longfield. “I’ll not let you just throw her away, Mr. Longfield.”

John said: “I care greatly about your sister. I’ll do what a man must do.”

May said: “Oh, and what’s that, Mr. Longfield? Leave your wife and children? And you have no job, no money to feed them?”

John said: “May, please, it’s already all so difficult.”

May said: “It’ll be far worse if I go to your wife and pour out the truth. Your poor wife, Mr. Longfield. Think about her and your children.”

John cringed. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”

May said: “See, it’s always about you. You could implore me not to do that to her. Lizzie is knocked up, Mr. Longfield, by you.”

“I know. She’s told me. You’ve told me.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? What would you do, May?”

“I have no idea. I didn’t get myself into such a mess.”

“I’m puzzling over it, trust me, until my brain hurts.”

May said: “You created this puzzle for yourself.”

John said: “Lizzie created hers too. She got herself into it.”

May said: “Don’t give me that, you son of a bitch. You ruined my sister. You can walk away, a bounder, a hound, but my poor sweet sister—who is naive and innocent and lacks common sense, as much as she is elegant and beautiful and has a head full of airy dreams about being an actress, when she can’t remember a cake recipe, much less lines on stage— you used this poor dear girl like a common whore and now you don’t know what to do. Well, Mr. Longfield, short of tossing yourself under a train, you’d better come up with something good. And soon.”

May turned and strode away, leaving a troubled John Longfield to consider his options.

Lizzie sat in third class on a train chuffing through early autumn Michigan countryside. Its severe beauty was enough to make you cry. It was like reading one of those fallen angel books. She looked anxiously about, and occasionally pulled out a hankie to sniffle into it. Eventually, she passed a sign that read: Grand Rapids 5 Mi. From the train station it was a blurry, tearful trip to Aunt Louisa’s house. She rode on a wagon pulled by a horse, driven by an older man wearing a red cap. The wagon was from the train station, and held her three trunks. Lizzie rode up to a private residence in a working class but clean neighborhood. She ran up the steps and knocked on the door, while the porter brought her trunks to the porch, one by one. Lizzie tipped him and he departed, touching his cap.

The door opened and a woman resembling Lizzie’s mother opened. Louisa Anderson brightened and opened her arms lovingly. “Lizzie, my sweet, favorite niece. Oh how good to see you, baby.”

They embraced, and Lizzie started crying again

“Come on in, sweetheart,” said Aunt Louisa. She put her arm around Lizzie and guided her into the dark, spacious comfort of her house. As she did so, Louisa, a spinster, called for a male friend who was doing work in the house to fetch Lizzie’s three trunks.

Louisa sat on the couch while Lizzie sat opposite her. Louisa’s male friend, having taken the trunks upstairs to a spare bedroom, stirred his coffee. He was a powerful but gentle looking man in his forties, in a worn herringbone suit, white shirt, and burgundy silk necktie worn shiny.

Lizzie sobbed wetly into a hankie embroidered Lizzie Anderson.

The man said: “Poor girl—she’s beside herself.”

Aunt Louisa said: “Lizzie darling, is that your last hankie? Your mother’s old hankies yet—she does love you, even if she throws you out—but sends you away with her personal hankies.”

“Well, it’s not like she threw me out—I actually left on my own.”

“Oh, I know, darling, but she does have a temper. She must have been impossible. I’m sure I know what it’s all about, and we’ll talk about it when you catch a hold of yourself.” She extended a hand for the hankie, which looked soppy and ready to be washed. “Here,” Louisa said. “I’ll give you some of mine.”

Louisa went to a cupboard and took out a half dozen embroidered hankies, which she put on the table near Lizzie. She took the wet one away to wash. The fresh hankies were stitched Louisa Anderson. Her mother and aunt had received a combined gift set as little girls.

Aunt Louisa returned from the laundry chute in the kitchen. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. So your mother is upset with you? Oh, you’ll tell me, won’t you? And you came for refuge in my house. When you’re able to speak, you can pour out the whole sad drama to me. Whatever it is, I won’t think any the less of you. My sister will get over her fuss, and your dear sweet sister May is such a steady mate that you’ll always have her support.”