Those Harper Women by Stephen Birmingham

paper. “What are you writing, dear?” she asked her.
    â€œJust a note, Mother, to remind myself to be sure and write the butler in Palm Beach. There are fourteen breakfast trays that must be sent back to Milano for relacquering.” Then “What were you saying, Mother? About this Frenchman?” And then, “ Mother! Your’re giving me your Emperor Augustus look again! Now what have I done?”
    But Leona, Edith thinks, is different from all the Harpers. She is a mutation, a creature none of them could possibly have contributed to, who seems to have sprung to life from a kind of fire. She is certainly the most beautiful child in the family. She is out of Degas, though she hates to have Edith say so. They are so rare, beauties like these. They appear out of nowhere, like soft explosions of stars, and they walk through the world untouched, cheering everyone. Edith closes her eyes. Across her vision the Degas girls dance, and each of them smiles at her with Leona’s face.
    When she was seventeen Leona run away from Miss Masters’ School where Diana had sent her. She took a train to Grand Central, crossed the street to the airlines building, carrying her coat and her blue airplane suitcase with the white leather binding, went up the escalator and said to the clerk at the counter, “I’d like a one-way ticket to St. Thomas, please.”
    â€œWhen would you like to go?” the clerk said.
    â€œOn the earliest plane.”
    â€œThere’s a flight at four o’clock.”
    â€œThat will be perfect,” she said. “The only thing is, I haven’t any money. I shall have to fly collect.”
    â€œWell, that’s very interesting,” he said. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to fly at all.”
    â€œOh, but I have to,” Leona said. “I’m running away.”
    â€œThat’s very interesting too,” he said, and he started to reach for the telephone.
    â€œPlease,” she said, “don’t call the police or anything like that. I’m not running away from home . I’m running away from a terrible girls’ school where the girls all wear white raincoats over their bloomers on the way to gym. My mother is in Florida, but I don’t want to go there. I want to go to St. Thomas where my grandmother lives.”
    â€œEverything you say is very interesting,” the young man said.
    â€œMy grandmother is very rich, and she’s very well known in St. Thomas. She’ll pay for the ticket, I know, as soon as I get there. So, if you’ll just put Collect on the ticket, it will be paid for at the other end.”
    â€œNow look here—” he began.
    â€œOr,” she said, “once I’m on my way, you could telephone my grandmother in St. Thomas—collect, of course—and verify everything. And while you have her on the phone you could ask her to meet me at the airport.”
    â€œOr,” he said, “you could telephone your grandmother yourself—collect—and tell her what your plan is, and ask her to wire you the money. How about that, sweetheart?”
    â€œOh, but that wouldn’t work at all, would it?” she said. “If my grandmother knew what I was doing, she’d stop me, and I wouldn’t be able to go at all.”
    â€œWell, I suppose you’ve got a point there,” he said.
    â€œAnd I don’t think you should call me sweetheart,” she said.
    â€œAnd I don’t think you should be trying to wangle free plane rides by making eyes at me,” he said.
    â€œI wasn’t making eyes. And I’m not trying to get a free ticket. I told you—it will be paid for as soon as I arrive in Charlotte Amalie.”
    He leaned across the counter and studied her. “Look,” he said, “are you kidding me or something? Are you for real?”
    â€œI’m for real. And please,” she said, “can’t you help