"Scout!" Alexandra opened Scout's door, disrupting her attempts to regain her composure through reading. Scout cursed how Alexandra came once again to ruin her peace, as if she hadn't made enough of a mess out of the day. She had thought that she'd scared her aunt into leaving her alone by telling her the truth. She should have realized that such a good thing couldn't last, but she didn't, and as was the way with anything involving Alexandra, it got worse.
"Henry is at the door. He wants to know how you're doing. He says you weren't feeling well on your date?" Her voice was full of fake sweetness, smothering her words as if nothing had ever happened earlier that day, but Scout couldn't miss the pointed look that accompanied the final question. God damn it. Alexandra thought Scout was a liar and had made up the memories to cover up her illness. She had already known Alexandra would find a reason to disapprove of Scout and disrupt her solitude, but thanks to Henry, that way was handed to her on a silver platter.
Scout put down her book and got up from her bed, deciding against smoothing down her dress or fixing her hair so that Henry would believe she was sick. Shit, was it 7:30? That meant she would end up stuck on another date if he discovered she was well. She was trapped yet again, between saying she was sick and facing Alexandra's wrath, or saying she wasn't and watching Henry spend an entire night spouting lies. All she could do was follow Alexandra over to the door and hope Alexandra would give Henry an answer that would please both of them. Instead, Scout received further evidence that all of Maycomb was conspiring to make her life hell.
Alexandra smiled again. Couldn't all of the women in her missionary circles and gossip webs see right through such a pasted on grin? If they could, it was a mystery why they continued to associate with her. "Scout, why don't you tell Henry how you're feeling? I know you were a little off earlier during the coffee, but you told me you'd bounce right back."
There was no way to respond to it without either ending up stuck going out with a two faced man or confirming any suspicions Alexandra might have held that she was lying . The only way she could have any hope for surviving was by answering neutrally. "I'm feeling alright. I could be better, but I'm fine."
"It's amazing how much a good night's sleep can fix," Henry said, through a smile that unlike Alexandra's was completely genuine. How could he be so kind, unable to stop smiling whenever he was around her, and yet associate with such vile people who held such despicable beliefs? The contradiction of it all made her even more furious than knowing she'd been dating a racist and a liar for years.
Before Scout had to fake an answer though, Aunt Alexandra responded to Henry instead. Scout would have been grateful, if only she had said anything else. It was far from the first time her aunt had spoke about her as if she wasn't there, but it was perhaps the most jarring. Normally she at least put on a facade of advocating for Scout's true needs, and was never so blunt as to contradict her. "I'm afraid Scout's being a bit of an optimist. She certainly wasn't feeling alright earlier. She fainted right in the middle of her coffee, poor thing."
The shock Henry displayed at that seemed so clearly fake to Scout that she almost laughed out loud. Even if he was a bastard, he apparently remembered that Scout was more than used to faints, and also knew that Alexandra would still expect him to have a reaction. "Well, I suppose then we definitely won't be going out tonight."
In her typical overbearing, intolerable fashion, Alexandra responded, "In all honesty, Henry, with how sudden it was, I'm not sure if I'd want to take her out for a while. I'd hate to hear of her fainting again in public and hurting herself." Couldn't Alexandra see the coffee was as public and painful as it could possibly get? Still, Scout would have been grateful for the excuse to stay away from Henry, if only Alexandra said it as if she was still eight years old. Back then, it was reasonable to keep her inside and within eyesight, but now, she had been managing on her own in New York for four years. Of course she could make it through a short outing, even if it was in Maycomb. Then again, anything with Henry had the potential to be painful in other ways.
"Well, Alexandra, you were there and I wasn't, and I want to do what's best for Scout," Henry said. For a moment, she was relieved by the response, knowing that she wouldn't have to tolerate another hour with such a despicable man, but then, so naturally it seemed he didn't even think about the action, he reached to take her hand. Far worse, instead of grabbing it, which would have caused her to yank it away in disgust but wouldn't cause any lasting damage, he accidentally took hold of her left wrist, right on her watch. She felt no pain—the scar was twelve years old—but nonetheless, her head began to swim away from her. As spots invaded her field of view, she stumbled backwards a few steps. Her hands instinctively moved to clutch her head as if it would somehow stop the reeling. She only realized what her alarm at Henry touching her wrist might have revealed after she regained her bearings.
She was left with no desire to explain when both Alexandra and Henry had done more than enough to stir her hatred. After all the little things that had made Scout believe Alexandra at least tried to treat her properly, after how careful Henry had always been with her despite his corrupted morals, it was all discarded in one conversation. There was no consistency with Maycomb people. The way they had changed even when she'd been certain she understood them so almost hurt more than the memories she'd relived and the racism she'd seen while back in town. It was the combination of the three that made her certain she couldn't remain there another day.
Scout stormed out of the room and into Atticus' study. She knew that the longer she talked, the more questions Atticus would have, none of which she wanted to answer, so she kept her conversation brief. "I'm calling Uncle Jack tonight, and taking the next train out to Nashville. I don't know if I'll return or if I'll spend the rest of my trip there."
"You're free to do whatever you want with your time home, but I'd warn you against such a hurried plan. It'd be best to wait a few days and tie up loose ends in Maycomb first." Atticus was rational as always; that was a trait she'd never learn to understand.
She shook her head and answered, "In all honesty, I don't think I could survive a few more hours in Maycomb, much less days," before exiting the room again. She didn't need to hold a proper conversation with him and prolong the amount of time she stayed.
Her next destination was the kitchen, where she picked up the phone. "Can I please be connected with Nashville? Jack Finch, Klondike 5-0-4-7-6." After a moment, her uncle picked up the line.
"Jack Finch." He was not one to answer the phone with anything more than a utilitarian introduction.
"It's Scout. I'm in Maycomb right now. If you don't mind, I'll be taking the next train to Nashville. Once I'm at the station, I'll call you from a payphone and you can pick me up." The clearer her plan, the better. Jack was also not one to collaborate on logistics. If she didn't deliver him a clear plan, he'd come up with one himself. She wanted to leave as soon as she could. A well-made plan likely wouldn't have her leaving until morning, and his plans were always thought-through.
"OK. I'll see you then," Jack answered, before hanging up. She was used to his almost laughably taciturn nature on phone calls, and so she waited for the familiar click of the call being ended and stayed on the line until once again, she was speaking to the operator.
"Can you connect me with a taxi company?" Within a few moments, she'd arranged for a car to arrive at her house and only had to wait for it to arrive. Her belongings had barely been unpacked, and so it took her only a few minutes to get them back into suitcases. Not wishing to face Henry or Alexandra again, Scout elected to watch for the car through her bedroom window. When it arrived, though, she made sure to leave through the living room.
Henry was still by the door, and so as she went to exit, she had the chance to ask him a question. "Henry, what was that meeting Atticus was asking you about yesterday?" She fought to keep her tone casual, so he wouldn't know it was little more than an accusation.
"Oh, they've formed a citizens' council. It meets every Sunday in the courthouse. It's quite informative." Scout immediately noticed the way he refused to meet her eyes, and in response, let herself become as harsh with him as she'd wanted to ever since she walked in on that Sunday's lecture.
"You know Henry, they write about citizens' councils in New York papers. They write about them a lot." She paused for a moment and watched as his pupils widened with fear. She had managed to terrify him without even telling him the truth, that she hadn't read about it, but seen it. Plenty of news of the south was in the papers, but just like Maycomb itself, Scout attempted to avoid it. But even if the source was different, her knowledge was the same.
"I know all about the work they do to spread racist ideology throughout towns, their attempts to fight against civil advancement, and of course, their pure hatred for negroes." She made every phrase a direct allegation against him, as if she was a judge listing the charges against him. But then, she switched from accusing and angry to pure, unfiltered bitterness. "I always thought, when reading those articles, that if any of the people I loved back in Maycomb heard of one forming in their town, they'd be outraged. But what did you say it was? Informative? Do you enjoy sitting in the courthouse and being informed of how inferior negroes are to whites?" When Henry hesitated, she added, "I thought you were better than that, but I've been wrong before."
Scout moved to open the door, and suddenly Henry found his words. "Wait! There is something you should know." She saw him swallow, straighten his shoulders, and clear his face of all betrayal. It was another lie, but this time one being told by his body. "I'm at the meetings only to keep an eye on them, so I'll know if they're staging any big demonstrations or attacks and can report them. Atticus would do it himself if he had a prayer of being taken seriously there. But considering the entire town knows he fought so hard for equality that it got his daughter raped, everyone would see right through it." Henry sighed, but appeared to be finished.
Scout had no desire to somehow validate his words by answering him. He would only hear his own points repeated back at him, not whatever truth she said. He was selfish, in believing that just because he wanted Scout as a fiance he could have her, and even more so in believing that he was somehow better than negroes. Selfish people didn't listen to reason. So instead of trying to explain to him just how wrong he was, she picked her suitcase back up, pushed her way through Henry to get to the door, and entered the taxi. For the entire ride, all she could do was concentrate on the fact that she'd never have to be back in Maycomb talking to someone as thick-headed as him again.