Circled Heart (The Laramie Series) by Karen J. Hasley

Author:Karen J. Hasley [Hasley, Karen J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Outskirts Press, Inc.
Published: 2009-11-30T05:00:00+00:00

Maiden, that read’st this simple rhyme,

Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay;

Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime,

For oh, it is not always May!

Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth,

To some good angel leave the rest;

For Time will teach thee soon the truth,

There are no birds in last year’s nest!

Chapter Eleven

Crea’s story stayed with me much longer than I expected and as often happened—because of the intensity of the story, I imagine—Crea materialized in my dreams. When she was not being chased by an ominous faceless figure who meant her harm, she wandered aimlessly through the city streets in the dead of winter searching pitifully for something important, yet she could not articulate what that something was. Regardless of the dream’s form, my odd role in it was to follow after Crea—skulk would be more accurate—and try to warn her of impending danger. “Don’t go there!” I would call to her in the dream, certain that something horrific waited in the shadow, but no matter how often and how loudly I called, Crea could never hear me and would disappear completely into the darkness, leaving me angry, fearful, and helpless. The images had the same nightmarish quality of my Titanic and my Cox dreams, and I was annoyed that no sooner had one troubling dream faded than another one took its place.

Plans for Grandmother’s late October birthday continued uninterrupted, Aunt Kitty doing her best to take over all the planning but meeting her match in Mayville’s truculent devotion to Grandmother. I stayed out of as many of the discussions as I could. Having either of those two women angry with me was a prospect that bred its own nightmares. Both understood that Grandmother was not quite ready for a dance band and so her party must be small and quiet. About menus, decorations, location, gifts, and guest list, however, there was less accord. Privately, I thought May had the upper hand because regardless of Aunt Kitty’s stated preferences, the refreshments must still come out of May’s kitchen. Nevertheless, I conveniently drifted out of the vicinity whenever the conversation turned to the party.

Autumn seemed to come to Chicago literally overnight that year. I awoke on the first of October to a vigorous, cold breeze rattling the window. As I walked to the train station, I saw only bare trees. Sometime during the night the wind had shaken all the leaves loose and scattered them into messy piles in the streets and along the walks.

“Summer’s gone, for sure,” I commented to Eulalie when I arrived at the Anchorage.

“Yes. Get ready to be busy.”

“Busier than summer?”

“My, yes. Winter’s rough here, and we always have a steady stream of women looking for shelter. Matron finds needy girls on every corner during the winter and she brings each one of them home with her.” Pride, not complaint, colored Eulalie’s tone. I thought of Crea, fifteen and pregnant and falling on a patch of ice at Hilda Cartwright’s feet. The hand of God, for sure, no matter what Crea believed.

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