Wistful as it was to carry a suitcase in hand, I was helplessly nervous. I decided it was best to stop by Claire's home to tell her where I was going and what I was doing. I knocked on the door and the nanny answered. I stepped in, leaving the suitcase at the door.

"Esme?" Claire appeared from the kitchen, wearing an apron. The soft laughter of her children floated in my direction. She stared at me, incredulous. "What are you doing?"

I swallowed. "I'm leaving, Claire."

"Leaving? But – what? Leaving, Esme? Why?"

I bit my lip as she walked over to me. "Claire, do you remember when you asked me if something was wrong?"

Her eyes lit up. "A baby?"

I nodded. "Yes, it's true."

"Oh, Esme!" She embraced me.

I fought back tears. I had to tell her. "Claire, I can't bring a child into my home… I just can't. Not with Charles."

"But the babe is his?"

"Yes, of course."

She glanced at the suitcase then to me. "Esme, I…" her voice trailed.

"I'm leaving, Claire," I restated. "I'm leaving Columbus. I'm going west like I've always wanted."

"But why, Esme? Why are you leaving?"

"It's Charles… He… I…" my voice faltered. I took a deep breath before trying again. "It's my fault the way he is. I don't do things right, Claire. I do everything wrong. I've tried – hopelessly, desperately – to do things right but I can't, Claire. There is no pleasing Charles."

"You're leaving because of Charles?"

"I'm leaving him. For good." I wasn't sure if Claire understood. Maybe if I showed her… "Claire, can we go some place private?"

"Yes, of course…" We drifted to her husband's study. Claire shut the door behind her.

Carefully, I pulled my dress off. I had to show her. For so long, I'd kept this secret from Claire but now that I was leaving, I had to tell her. Some bruises were faded purple and some were a deep black. Yellow spots on my skin told of healing bruises.

My friend stared in disbelief. "Esme…" Her hand was at her mouth. "My God… How long, Esme? How long has this been happening? How long have you kept this from me?"

"Claire, I had to keep this from you. You were so happy that I was married; I couldn't bear to dampen your spirits. I didn't want you to be sad for me – I don't want you to be sad right now. It was a mistake to marry Charles, Claire. I knew this when it first began but I couldn't convince myself the truth, but now I see the truth, and I can't deny it."

"Put your dress back on, Esme. I can't bear to look at you like that."

I complied.

"Esme… If you had told me… Perhaps there is something Jason can do…"

"No, Claire. I never want to get anyone involved – even you and your husband. You know I love you dearly. I need you to understand why I'm doing this. Please, Claire."

She looked at me, biting her lower lip.

"Don't tell anyone, please. Not even Charles or my parents know."

"What about the baby, Esme?"

"I'll raise the baby myself. I don't want the babe to know Charles."

She was pensive as I watched her. Finally, she sighed. "Go then, Esme. I know I can't stop you."

"Do you think I'm doing the right thing?"

"You know right from wrong better than I do, Esme. I know it pains you to do leave, but I know you believe it is the right thing."

"I want it to be right, Claire."

She nodded. "Then so it is."

We walked out of Jason's study and to the door. I picked up the suitcase, fighting back tears.

"I will miss you dearly, Esme," she whispered, embracing me.

"I, too, will miss you. I will try to write to you," I said.

"I would like that."

I kissed both her cheeks, embraced her tightly and left.

—

It took two full days to reach Milwaukee. On the train rides, I would sit and sketch the scenery. I sketched what I wanted the baby to look like. I sketched the inside of the cars as I rode them. I sketched the hills of Wisconsin. Mostly, I sketched Dr. Cullen. How could it be that his face was still so vivid in my mind? The last I had seen him was over nine years ago. But I could still remember his perfect face. Thinking about him brought a flush to my face. Nonsense, Esme, I told myself, brushing the thoughts away.

As the car dropped me off at the end of road to Caroline's house, I pulled out a letter on which her address was written. With my suitcase in hand, I walked until I found her house along the rode. She was standing outside, hanging clothes on the clothes' line. Her house was blue and small with a white wrap around porch. Two windows were set on each side of the white door.

"Caroline?" I called.

Caroline looked up. Her black hair was pulled into a chignon with loose strands falling around her face. She was short and plump, very motherly looking. She looked to be in her late twenties. "Esme." She smiled when she said my name. A good sign.

"Hello," I said, not knowing what else to do.

"Well, come here, child. Don't just stand there." She motioned me over to her and I went to her side. We walked into her house. It smelled of bread. "Your room is this way. I wasn't expecting you for another fortnight so your room isn't as clean as I wish it to be."

"Oh, Caroline, that's fine. You don't know how grateful I am already," I said as she opened the door. The room was sparsely decorated. A small bed was in one corner, a vanity in another and a desk against the south wall. "It's beautiful, Caroline, really."

This made the woman smile. "I'm glad you like it. And I'm not expecting a cent from you."

"Oh but Caroline! I should—"

Her hand went up. "I won't have it, Esme. Come now, put your things down and I'll show you around."

Things were looking up already.

—

I lived with Caroline peacefully. She had been married but her husband died in the Great War. She had no children of her own but enjoyed the company of the neighbors' children. They came around often, knowing that Caroline always prepared a treat for them. She took care of her deceased husband's general store, one of the many in Milwaukee. She cared greatly for me. She was thrilled when I told her I was with child and she never asked about Charles.

I had been living with Caroline for three months when she came home with a letter in her hand.

"Caroline, what is it?"

"Did you tell anyone where you were going?"

I bit my lip. "Only one but she is a dear friend of mine and would never tell."

"It's a letter from your father."

"What!?" I was shocked. "How?"

"He doesn't tell who told him but he knows you're here, Esme."

"Oh, Caroline… I… What am I going to do?"

She thought for a moment, sitting down at the kitchen table.

"Perhaps I should move again," I stated.

"I hope that won't be the case, Esme. I enjoy your company."

"And I am grateful for you, Caroline. I would love to stay with you but knowing Father, I know he will try to find me."

"You can't travel in your state, Esme."

My hand touched my bulging stomach. "I'll have to."

"Give me a few weeks' time, Esme. I can arrange for something."

"Are you sure—?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I have a friend who lives in Ashland, just northwest of here."

"But Caroline, I wouldn't want to oppose on your friend."

"Nonsense," she protested.

—

Three weeks, I traveled to Ashland to live with Linda, an older woman and long time friend of Caroline. Linda lived with her husband, George. Her two grown children moved to the West after the Great War and she was happy to have me as her guest. They lived on a small farm which her husband worked on daily. Whenever Linda was not teaching at the local schoolhouse, she would help her husband.

I lived in the upper room of the couple's home. Eventually, I taught at the schoolhouse with Linda, teaching children with ages ranging from five- to twelve-years old. The older ones, especially the girls, were excited at the babe growing inside of me. The girls fluttered around, playing with my hair, leaning their ears to my stomach.

All the children made me smile. It was a joy to be around them and the children made me more excited about having one of my own. Late nights, after dinner, I would sit with Linda has she knitted a baby blanket. George was usually outside in the shed, working on a bed for the baby. Linda and I went through names together. Linda was sure I was having a boy so we lingered mostly on boy names rather than girl names.

I liked Andrew, Alexander, Christian, and Nathan. Linda preferred James, Taylor, and Robert.

"You'll be a good mother, Esme. I can see that already," Linda commented one night. Already, I had been living with her for three months.

I flushed at her comment. My hand reached for my stomach like a reflex. "You believe so, Linda?"

"Believe? Honey, I know. I see it in the way you treat your students."

I smiled. "They are precious darlings."

She laughed. "Only you are able to see good in all things, Esme."

Even when I have not been treated so, Linda. Even so. "You are too kind, Linda."

She ran a free hand through my hair. "Your husband was extremely lucky to earn someone such as yourself, Esme."

I faked a smile. "Yes, he was."

"A shame he had to die…"

"Yes, well—"

"I'm sorry, Esme. I didn't mean to bring it up."

I shook my head. "No, Linda, it's all right. The more I talk about it, the less it hurts." This was true.

"Did he know, Esme…?"

I shook my head. "No. There was no time to tell him."

"He would be happy, yes?"

Here I go, lying again. "Yes, he would."

The rest of the evening was spent in silence. Linda continued to knit and I read a book. I walked upstairs, changed into a nightgown, and lay in bed.

Caroline, Linda and George, had been so kind to me. They provided for me in more ways than imaginable: with shelter, clothes, and food. Linda, too, had protested when I suggested I should pay her some form of rent. Finally, I was in the west, a school teacher – a real dream come true in a sense. But my mind wasn't settled. I had told so many lies to people I cared about. My parents, Charles, and all my friends but Claire think I disappeared. Caroline wrote to me, telling me my father had never come. She thought he was threatening me to come home, but to no avail.

For the first time, in the longest of times, I cried. How could I be so cruel to the people I loved? Charles had never been my idea of an ideal husband and he proved to be the worst of my nightmares.

Oh, how little I knew.