Germans are so clever about that sort of thing.
My cheeks burn again at the embarrassing notion I might have left him. One thing for certain—I will be happy never to see the likes of him again! Not only because of my slip, but thinking about it, I wonder why he didn’t at least try to start up a conversation even with the language problem. In other words, what’s so wrong with me that the man only looked at me like I am a bug under a microscope?
I know thoughts like that are my inadequacies acting up. I don’t think I’m attractive and react poorly when I believe a man doesn’t find me attractive. Sort of a lose-lose attitude. Even if a man finds me interesting, as a lady, I am forbidden by convention to show that I am attracted to him. Whoever made up that rule forgot that women have a need for intimacy just as a man does and perhaps, in a less frantic manner, even a greater need.
Am I lonely? Yes. And when women commonly are married by eighteen, I am bordering on being an old maid. It’s not that I dislike men—to the contrary, I just haven’t found the man I want to share my life with.
And I must say, the rule that women are supposed to marry early and whether or not they want to annoys me. I will marry when I please and if I am old and ugly—uglier than I already am—then I will just have to find a man who loves me for who I am. Of course, shallow as I am, if there really is something that would keep me young, I’d buy that, too.
* * *
“ M Y VALISE IS GONE! ” blurts out of my mouth when I return to my seat after lunch.
“It’s all right, dear, I have it.”
A middle-aged woman doing needlework across the aisle nods at the seat beside her feet. She sets down her needlework and hands the valise to me.
“I’m afraid I may have stuck my nose in your business. I saw a man eyeing it a while ago and I took the precaution of safeguarding it. I’m sure I was just being silly, but I hoped you wouldn’t be offended.”
“No, not at all. I really do appreciate it.”
“It’s my pleasure, Miss…”
“Cochran, Elizabeth Cochran.” I decide to use my real name. 11
“Nice to meet you Elizabeth, I’m Mrs. Lambert.”
Mrs. Lambert is a frumpish forty, wearing widow’s black from head to toe. Rather stout with wide shoulders, she looks capable of thrashing a thief, especially with those crochet needles, they look lethal.
“Nice to meet you. And thank you for aiding me. Could you tell me what he looked like?”
“Not like a mugger, for certain. Rather a pleasant chap with striking blue eyes, looked like a clerk or a teacher, perhaps, but you never know, do you, my dear? Trouble can come from the most unexpected directions.”
“If that isn’t the truth.” Blue eyes, huh. “Did he by chance have a German accent?”
“An accent? Why, I don’t know, he never spoke. Are you expecting someone with a German accent?”
“No, just a shot in the dark.” On that I hit the bull’s-eye, I’m sure.
“So, my dear, what brings you across the ocean? You are American, right?”
“Yes…” I hesitate for a moment. For once, my liquid tongue is dry.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Just, uh, tired.”
“You do look worried. I’m a great listener, what’s bothering you, my dear?”
I don’t know if it’s her kind voice or just that she reminds me of my mother, only younger, but I start talking. I tell her how I’m a reporter, which she can’t get over and says more than once, “I’m so impressed. What an accomplishment for such a young lady!” and about Hailey—not everything, just tidbits here and there. She’s very sympathetic. I must admit it feels good to speak to another woman.
“So, why are you going to Bath?”
“I’m just tracing Hailey’s steps, and, I believe, she was investigating the Aqua Vitae spa and a Dr. Lacroix—something to do with the death of a Lady Winsworth.”
“Oh my!” Mrs. Lambert puts her hand to her chest.
“Are you
My cheeks burn again at the embarrassing notion I might have left him. One thing for certain—I will be happy never to see the likes of him again! Not only because of my slip, but thinking about it, I wonder why he didn’t at least try to start up a conversation even with the language problem. In other words, what’s so wrong with me that the man only looked at me like I am a bug under a microscope?
I know thoughts like that are my inadequacies acting up. I don’t think I’m attractive and react poorly when I believe a man doesn’t find me attractive. Sort of a lose-lose attitude. Even if a man finds me interesting, as a lady, I am forbidden by convention to show that I am attracted to him. Whoever made up that rule forgot that women have a need for intimacy just as a man does and perhaps, in a less frantic manner, even a greater need.
Am I lonely? Yes. And when women commonly are married by eighteen, I am bordering on being an old maid. It’s not that I dislike men—to the contrary, I just haven’t found the man I want to share my life with.
And I must say, the rule that women are supposed to marry early and whether or not they want to annoys me. I will marry when I please and if I am old and ugly—uglier than I already am—then I will just have to find a man who loves me for who I am. Of course, shallow as I am, if there really is something that would keep me young, I’d buy that, too.
* * *
“ M Y VALISE IS GONE! ” blurts out of my mouth when I return to my seat after lunch.
“It’s all right, dear, I have it.”
A middle-aged woman doing needlework across the aisle nods at the seat beside her feet. She sets down her needlework and hands the valise to me.
“I’m afraid I may have stuck my nose in your business. I saw a man eyeing it a while ago and I took the precaution of safeguarding it. I’m sure I was just being silly, but I hoped you wouldn’t be offended.”
“No, not at all. I really do appreciate it.”
“It’s my pleasure, Miss…”
“Cochran, Elizabeth Cochran.” I decide to use my real name. 11
“Nice to meet you Elizabeth, I’m Mrs. Lambert.”
Mrs. Lambert is a frumpish forty, wearing widow’s black from head to toe. Rather stout with wide shoulders, she looks capable of thrashing a thief, especially with those crochet needles, they look lethal.
“Nice to meet you. And thank you for aiding me. Could you tell me what he looked like?”
“Not like a mugger, for certain. Rather a pleasant chap with striking blue eyes, looked like a clerk or a teacher, perhaps, but you never know, do you, my dear? Trouble can come from the most unexpected directions.”
“If that isn’t the truth.” Blue eyes, huh. “Did he by chance have a German accent?”
“An accent? Why, I don’t know, he never spoke. Are you expecting someone with a German accent?”
“No, just a shot in the dark.” On that I hit the bull’s-eye, I’m sure.
“So, my dear, what brings you across the ocean? You are American, right?”
“Yes…” I hesitate for a moment. For once, my liquid tongue is dry.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Just, uh, tired.”
“You do look worried. I’m a great listener, what’s bothering you, my dear?”
I don’t know if it’s her kind voice or just that she reminds me of my mother, only younger, but I start talking. I tell her how I’m a reporter, which she can’t get over and says more than once, “I’m so impressed. What an accomplishment for such a young lady!” and about Hailey—not everything, just tidbits here and there. She’s very sympathetic. I must admit it feels good to speak to another woman.
“So, why are you going to Bath?”
“I’m just tracing Hailey’s steps, and, I believe, she was investigating the Aqua Vitae spa and a Dr. Lacroix—something to do with the death of a Lady Winsworth.”
“Oh my!” Mrs. Lambert puts her hand to her chest.
“Are you
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