Francie Comes Home: One Last Adventure by Hahn Emily

Author:Hahn, Emily [Hahn, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781504024747
Publisher: Open Road Distribution
Published: 2015-11-03T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

In the drowsy daze that follows a long, successful drive, the two women had a snack in a nearby drugstore and then went to bed. There was little to say to each other at that hour of the evening. Francie had been plunged into secret thoughts by seeing Bruce Nunson. What could it mean, his having come to Chicago, as he obviously had? Not a word had been said about such plans when she set out, and Mrs. Fredericks had given her to understand that she and Mrs. Ryan, not Bruce, were representing the firm for the week. Oh well, tomorrow might tell: their paths no doubt would cross.

Francie took a bath and went to bed. A few minutes later, Florence Ryan came out of her turn in the bathroom wearing a gown and negligee that astonished her young companion. Somehow one expected her to sleep in thick white, with long sleeves and a high neck. Instead she had decked herself out in apricot-colored nylon trimmed with pleated frills and lace inserts, which looked very odd indeed, for her face was as uncompromisingly plain as ever. It was worse, in fact, because it glistened with cleansing cream and was surrounded by tight hair done up in bobby pins. As if she had read Francie’s mind, she said cheerfully, “do you like my actressy get-up?”

“It’s lovely,” said Francie. “Wherever did you buy those things?”

“I get everything here or in the East. I don’t want Jefferson talking about my taste,” said Mrs. Ryan. “The fact is, I lead a secret life of surprising luxuriance. (Of course I’m talking about underwear, nothing else.) Don’t know why I do it, exactly, except that it’s such a relief; it’s an exhaust of some sort, I guess. We old ladies who live alone must indulge ourselves somehow.”

“Oh, Mrs. Ryan!”

“Well, why shouldn’t I say so?” asked Florence Ryan. “Mind you, I’m not wailing at my sad lot. I’m quite satisfied the way I am. I’ve tried living married and I’ve tried living single, and on the whole I prefer the life I’ve got now.”

Francie didn’t reply, but she was startled. It had never occurred to her to doubt that women of Mrs. Ryan’s age were alone simply because they couldn’t help themselves. She had taken it for granted that when Mr. Ryan died, his widow had naturally elected to devote the rest of her life to his memory. In Francie’s opinion, Mrs. Ryan wasn’t being quite proper in professing that she liked things better as they were. Certainly life was full of surprises.

Calmly Mrs. Ryan settled down on her pillows, snapped on her reading lamp, and opened a magazine. “Of course it’s been a long time since I knew about it and I may be doing it an injustice,” she said absently. “Married life, I mean.” She put on reading spectacles and turned to look over their rims at Francie. “That doesn’t go to show that we’re all the same, though,” she said rather severely.

“Oh no. Of course not,” said Francie.

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