I beg your pardon? she said. Tired, and not even certain what she ought to ask him.
Do you need any help? Assistance?
She looked back at the train, a gesture that turned her shoulder and showed her bag.
He noted the cross, and in an effort to gently prompt her, he said, Back from the front, are you?
As it turns out, she muttered, meeting his eyes again. Im . . . I need to . . . Im on my way to Memphis, she finally spit out.
Memphis, he repeated. Yes, there are trains going that way-one this evening, departing at seven fifteen, and one much later, at eleven twenty, he said from memory. And theres another at ten seventeen tomorrow morning. If you dont mind my saying so, I think you ought to consider the morning train.
I dont mind you saying so, she assured him. Ill just . . . I think thats a good idea. Ill go head inside, and ask about
a room.
The transit hotel is all full up at the moment, maam. But the St. George Hotel is right across the street. Rooms are reasonable, and theres board included. Supper and breakfast, at six thirty sharp, both a.m. and p.m.
Thank you. For your help, she told him, though she said it as though she werent really awake, and wasnt really thinking about it. She wandered away from him in the same dazed fashion. Mercy was so tired, she could hardly stand, but across the street didnt sound far. She climbed up and down stairs that took her across platforms and around busy carts and porters and restless passengers. She ignored the stares of the well-dressed folks waiting for their transport, if she even saw them gaping at her; but she tugged her cloak a little tighter, trusting the dark blue to hide more of the dried blood than the beige linen of the apron that covered her brown work dress. If the rest of her was distractingly dirty, then the world would just have to deal with it.
Immediately across the street, as promised, a gray brick building called itself the St. George Hotel. Mercy let herself inside and found a place that wasnt beautiful, but was spacious-three stories and two wings, with a big lobby that had a bright lamp hanging overhead and a threadbare carpet leading straight up to the front desk. A man there was scribbling something down in a ledger, and he didnt look up when she approached; he only said, Need a room? and tapped the tip of his pen against his tongue to moisten it.
Mercy said, I do, please. She retrieved her handbag from inside the satchel, praising Jesus quietly for her habit of keeping it there. It could easily have been lost with the rest of her luggage.
The man looked up at her. He was wearing a headband with a magnifying lens attached to it that hung down over his right eye. His face was shaped like a potato, and was approximately as charming.
Wheres your husband?
Dead, in a field someplace in Georgia, she answered flatly. Im on my own.
A woman traveling alone, he observed, and lifted the edge of his nose in a distasteful sneer. We dont cotton to those, too much. Not here. This aint that kind of establishment.
She said, And I aint that kind of client, so we dont have a problem. Im a nurse, passing through to Memphis. Im on my way from the Robertson Hospital in Richmond, she tried, since that place had opened doors for her before.
Never heard of it.
Oh, for heavens sake . . .
You got any paperwork?
Course I do. She rummaged through the satchel, with its logo that did nothing to melt the heart of the hotelkeeper, and found the letter from Captain Sally. She showed it to him, and he made a show of reading it.
All right, then, I guess. But you pay up front.
Here.
Fine. He counted it, taking his time with every coin and bill. He handed her a key. Room eleven. First floor. The hallway to your right.
She forced herself to say, Thank you, and went immediately to her room.
The room was bare but clean, with a bed, a dresser, a basin in the corner, and, attached to one wall, a slab of polished tin for a mirror. A note on the back of the door told her where the pump was located, so before she settled in, Mercy went out into the center courtyard to the public pump and filled the basin, then carried it back to her room and pulled off everything except her underclothes.
A slim bar of butter-colored soap rested under the mirror.
She used it to scrub down everything, rinsing the worst of the blood and muck out of her apron, and out of the dress beneath it where itd soaked through. When she was done, she hung everything up around the room to dry, then dropped herself down onto the bed, which caught her with a puff of cheap, flattened feathers.
By the time she awoke, it was late afternoon, and very, very bright. The mountains shadow lay long and sharp across the south side of the city, which churned and rolled with trains from every part of the Confederacy.
Mercy was fiercely hungry. She couldnt remember when shed last eaten, except that it mustve been in Richmond. After reassuming clothes that were mostly dry, if not quite, she went out into the lobby and found a different man behind the counter. The new fellows face was shaped more like a radish than a potato, and the pinched expression he wore conveyed nearsightedness more than malice.