LITMIR.BIZ

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remarks correctly, time not only had caught up with her, but was threatening to pass her by.

      As she examined herself now, however, she observed a slight improvement. She never might be quite the same, but she had regained most of the weight she lost last year; at five foot six still thin, but healthy-looking at one hundred and twenty pounds. The angles of her heart-shaped face had softened, her olive skin had lost its sallowness, and the velvety quality of her deep-set dark eyes had returned. She held out her hands. Still perfectly average in length and width, still squarish in shape with a deep nail bed. The only change was on the underside of her right ring finger. The callous had grown from a small ridge to a thick bump, the result of metal continuously pressing against flesh. It drove her sister, Tillie, crazy, the way she incessantly twirled her rings, counting each turn just under her breath. But something about the motion comforted Sarah, a simple way to feel pacified and protected. Mismatched and awkwardly stacked, the rings glistened under the bathroom’s soft white light. Her mother’s thin cluster of marcasites, the gold encircled garnet Obee had given her for her birthday, and the plain silver band, a place holder for the one she used to think would someday permanently grace her other hand.

      She moved closer to the mirror. Perhaps a few more lines were etched on her forehead. And there definitely was more grey scattered throughout her chestnut hair, especially at the base of her widow’s peak, which became more obvious as she pinned it up into its usual French twist. But such minor alterations were a small price to pay. Not bad, she thought, as she straightened her pink silk chemise . . . all things considered. And with that, she swung open the door. Suddenly she was ravenous.

      •••

      Although it was noon, a few tables were still unoccupied. The dining car retained some of the luxury of the older trains: brass lamps, leaded glass windows, plush, thickly cushioned chairs. A uniformed Negro waiter escorted her to a white-clothed table midway down the isle. “Coffee or tea?” the man asked, as he placed a starched napkin on her lap.

      “Tea, I think. Thank you.”

      “Chicken consommé or Roquefort salad?”

      “Salad.”

      He smiled and wrote down her order, glancing at her book enigmatically before turning to a beckoning customer. She briefly tried to decipher his expression, but then decided that some things were best left unknown. Soothed by the gentle motion of the train, the tinkling of glass and silver, the gamy, citrus aroma of duck a l’orange, she marked her page and gazed out the window to the summer haze. At such a dreamy vision, the past retreated, wound itself back on the reel, and was held once more in suspended animation.

      2

      When Sarah arrived in Knoxville, the air was warm, but still fresh from rain. Thunderstorms were the mainstay of summer afternoons in the South. As the day progressed, plump white clouds had gradually gathered into tall grey plumes, and the haze had thickened, turning the landscape into a shapeless mass. Only when a yellow-white flash of lightening periodically electrified the sky could she distinguish one hill from another.

      Still, Sarah had mostly enjoyed the ride. Despite the fact that it was hot and steamy outside, she had the cozy feeling of being indoors on a winter’s day. Not until the young Mr. Jarvis inadvertently sent her reeling did she begin to feel the heat of the storm. But for her cousin’s sake, as well as her own, she had pushed the worries out of her mind and relished the remainder of her ride. Lunch had been satisfying, and with her appetite and nerves calmed, she had managed to make progress on her book. In between chapters, she had followed the storm’s trajectory, from the first relieved droplets to the torrential downpour that signaled the beginning of its end.

      By the time the conductor announced their arrival, the sun was out, streaming onto the landing where Lena was waiting. She waved at Sarah with both hands high above her head, plaid bloomers billowing out around her narrow hips, black bobbed hair swaying in the heavy breeze.

      “Sarah! Sarah!”

      Sarah dropped her suitcase on the wooden landing and ran toward her cousin. The two hugged and cooed for several moments, then drew back to examine one another. It had been five years. Much too long. Sarah held onto Lena’s bare, narrow shoulders, eyeing her up and down. So small. Only five tiny feet. Five and a quarter as she knew Lena would be quick to correct her. At the most one hundred pounds. But what a package! And evidently, still possessing an acute eye for fashion. Those French pumps with their curved heels and cream-colored suede were up-to-the-minute, not like those worn by any academic type Sarah had ever seen. “Lena, you little smarty. I’ll bet your male students have a hard time concentrating.”

      Lena’s raven eyes gleamed. “Look who’s talking,” she said, or rather “tauwkink,” her Philadelphia accent especially pronounced at the moment. “You look marvelous, Sarah. You always were the pretty one—if you’d just do something with that hair!”

      They both giggled, Sarah in her soft pianissimo, Lena in her throaty pianoforte. Lena had wanted Sarah to bob her hair ever since the style became popular several years ago. Although Sarah repeatedly said she would sooner stroll nude through the center of town, her cousin had raised the topic so often that it had become something of a private joke.

      Bob or not, Lena was not pretty in the conventional sense, even less so than Sarah. Though she too was blessed with a clear, olive complexion and was shapely in the right spots, her nose was curved like a hawk, her square teeth were undersized, and her lips, today painted candy-apple red, were wide and thin. “A real meiskite,” as she said of herself. Regardless, Lena possessed that certain something, an ineffable quality that cannot be broken down into parts. Charisma, magnetism, whatever one called it, it drew people in—men, especially.

      “C’mon,” she said. “Let’s go get your suitcase. You must be exhausted. I’ve got a driver ready to take us home.”

      The two locked arms and walked through the stately brick depot toward a waiting jalopy spewing mildly noxious fumes. Lena already had slid across the seat when Sarah heard her name being called. She turned around to find Mr. Jarvis running toward her, sweaty . . . again. “You left this,” he wheezed.

      Her book. She shook her head. “My mind was clearly somewhere else. Thank you so much, Mr. Jarvis.”

      “Paul.”

      “Paul. Paul,” Sarah said, yanking Lena playfully out of the car, “this is my cousin, Lena Greenberg. Professor Greenberg.”

      Lena extended her small hand. “Hello, Paul. You’ll have to forgive my cousin. She knows full well that as a mere woman I can’t actually claim that title, but it’s the thought that counts.”

      Blood rushed to his cheeks as he stared at her awkwardly. “Yes, I’ve heard a bit about your work on the trip here,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.” Sarah eased the tension by summarizing, as best she could, his ideas about Mrs. Stowe. But when Lena simply responded with a “hmm,” and suggested, rather abruptly, that they discuss the work at some future date, Sarah was stunned. It wasn’t like her to be so curt, let alone turn down an opportunity for debate.

      Paul didn’t seem to notice, however. He ripped out a piece of paper from his notebook, scribbled his telephone number and handed it to her. “I’ll look forward immensely to talking with you. Safe trip,” he called out, and dashed away.

      As they drove off, Sarah grabbed her cousin’s hand and asked if she was feeling well.

      “Absolutely. I just wanted you all to myself.”

      “Well, that didn’t stop you from taking Mr. Jarvis’ number. He’s a little young for you, isn’t he?” Sarah joked.

      She smiled mischievously. “That depends. I can think of a few things for which he might be just right.”

      And then they both laughed, laughed to the point of tears. Perhaps Lena was fine, after all. She certainly seemed okay now. And besides, Sarah was already having more fun than she’d had in months.

      •••

      By

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