whether he would have let the brakeman throw her off the train. She decided she had to believe he wouldn't have. The alternative was too awful. She took a deep breath.
“You take care too, Hobie,” she said.
“Yes—and thank you,” said Violet.
They waved to him as the train pulled out.
It All Comes Down to Tennessee
V IOLET COULD SEE THE HIGH NEEDLE OF THE Washington Monument in the distance as they picked their way across the gravel bed of the rail yard and stepped over rails and railroad ties. The smell of coal smoke and axle grease hung over everything. Rows of empty boxcars loomed on every side, and Violet could see smoke rising from a clump of trees where there must be a hobo jungle. It wasn't how Violet had imagined Washington would look. The important thing, though, was whether she would be able to find Chloe here. Violet was glad Myrtle was from Washington—she would know her way around.
“Do you know where to find the suffragists?” Violet asked Myrtle.
“Before we find anything, we better get cleaned up,”Myrtle said. “Or anybody we find is gonna scream for the cops.”
Myrtle led Violet out of the rail yard and down a cobblestone street with automobiles parked on it here and there. They turned down an alley and then down another alley that led off it. The alley was only just wide enough for a wagon to pass through. Brick and wooden houses lined both sides of it. The houses looked as if someone had built them in a great hurry fifty years ago and then fled. Probably to escape the fury of the people who had to live in them, Violet thought. The houses had no windows that Violet could see. To make up for this lack, there were a few holes where chunks of wall had fallen off.
Heaps of uncollected garbage overflowed from garbage cans and filled the corners, and the reek of rotten vegetables and mold mixed with a stench of raw sewage. A well-fed-looking rat ambled out from a pile of trash, looked at the girls thoughtfully, and waited for them to pass by.
“This isn't really how I imagined Washington,” Violet admitted.
Myrtle smiled thinly. “No, they don't show this in the picture postcards.”
Colored children lurked here and there in the alley, but they neither looked at nor spoke to Myrtle or Violet.
“This is where I used to live,” Myrtle said. “It's called Louse Home Alley.”
“Louse Home Alley?” Violet said, not sure she had heard right.
“Louse Home Alley,” Myrtle repeated firmly. “Here's where we used to wash up.”
Myrtle led the way down a narrow passage off the alley, which ended in a dirt-paved courtyard where a single water faucet came up from a pipe in the ground. There was a toilet of sorts, a shed that housed a long wooden box with holes cut in it. A horrible smell emanated from the deep pit beneath. Violet tried to pretend that this was nothing unusual to her, since her disgust was so clearly amusing to Myrtle. Violet liked Myrtle but wouldn't have minded if she were a little less of a know-it-all.
They ducked their heads under the faucet and scrubbed. Violet watched charcoal-colored water run down from Myrtle's hair and face, and she was sure it did from hers too. Myrtle took off her apron, revealing an apron-shaped area of blue and white stripes on her now black dress. She tossed the apron and mobcap into a corner of the courtyard.
“You're lucky your clothes were navy blue,” said Myrtle.
She was right, Violet thought. The dirt didn't show as much. Score a point for Mother. Violet wondered if Mother was worried about her. Maybe she was just mad. It was an uncomfortable thought. Violet had never done anything as bad as running away before.
Coming out of the alleys seemed to take less time thangoing in had. Soon they were on an ordinary street of ordinary brick houses. Two colored women sat on a set of stone steps, one of them rocking a baby carriage with her foot. Some boys played marbles. There were no heaps of garbage and no rats.
They turned into
“You take care too, Hobie,” she said.
“Yes—and thank you,” said Violet.
They waved to him as the train pulled out.
It All Comes Down to Tennessee
V IOLET COULD SEE THE HIGH NEEDLE OF THE Washington Monument in the distance as they picked their way across the gravel bed of the rail yard and stepped over rails and railroad ties. The smell of coal smoke and axle grease hung over everything. Rows of empty boxcars loomed on every side, and Violet could see smoke rising from a clump of trees where there must be a hobo jungle. It wasn't how Violet had imagined Washington would look. The important thing, though, was whether she would be able to find Chloe here. Violet was glad Myrtle was from Washington—she would know her way around.
“Do you know where to find the suffragists?” Violet asked Myrtle.
“Before we find anything, we better get cleaned up,”Myrtle said. “Or anybody we find is gonna scream for the cops.”
Myrtle led Violet out of the rail yard and down a cobblestone street with automobiles parked on it here and there. They turned down an alley and then down another alley that led off it. The alley was only just wide enough for a wagon to pass through. Brick and wooden houses lined both sides of it. The houses looked as if someone had built them in a great hurry fifty years ago and then fled. Probably to escape the fury of the people who had to live in them, Violet thought. The houses had no windows that Violet could see. To make up for this lack, there were a few holes where chunks of wall had fallen off.
Heaps of uncollected garbage overflowed from garbage cans and filled the corners, and the reek of rotten vegetables and mold mixed with a stench of raw sewage. A well-fed-looking rat ambled out from a pile of trash, looked at the girls thoughtfully, and waited for them to pass by.
“This isn't really how I imagined Washington,” Violet admitted.
Myrtle smiled thinly. “No, they don't show this in the picture postcards.”
Colored children lurked here and there in the alley, but they neither looked at nor spoke to Myrtle or Violet.
“This is where I used to live,” Myrtle said. “It's called Louse Home Alley.”
“Louse Home Alley?” Violet said, not sure she had heard right.
“Louse Home Alley,” Myrtle repeated firmly. “Here's where we used to wash up.”
Myrtle led the way down a narrow passage off the alley, which ended in a dirt-paved courtyard where a single water faucet came up from a pipe in the ground. There was a toilet of sorts, a shed that housed a long wooden box with holes cut in it. A horrible smell emanated from the deep pit beneath. Violet tried to pretend that this was nothing unusual to her, since her disgust was so clearly amusing to Myrtle. Violet liked Myrtle but wouldn't have minded if she were a little less of a know-it-all.
They ducked their heads under the faucet and scrubbed. Violet watched charcoal-colored water run down from Myrtle's hair and face, and she was sure it did from hers too. Myrtle took off her apron, revealing an apron-shaped area of blue and white stripes on her now black dress. She tossed the apron and mobcap into a corner of the courtyard.
“You're lucky your clothes were navy blue,” said Myrtle.
She was right, Violet thought. The dirt didn't show as much. Score a point for Mother. Violet wondered if Mother was worried about her. Maybe she was just mad. It was an uncomfortable thought. Violet had never done anything as bad as running away before.
Coming out of the alleys seemed to take less time thangoing in had. Soon they were on an ordinary street of ordinary brick houses. Two colored women sat on a set of stone steps, one of them rocking a baby carriage with her foot. Some boys played marbles. There were no heaps of garbage and no rats.
They turned into
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