Mark Dunn - American Decameron

Thursday, July 16

I finally caught a glimpse of M.K. this afternoon upon the verandah of the Inn, sweeping among the rocking chairs. I know she saw me, but she pretended that she didn’t. I don’t blame her. I wondered how long she must have waited for me at the Pagoda before concluding I’d changed my mind. I would have gone to her and explained everything, but Aunt Carolyn and Mother and I were on our way to hear a lecture by Mrs. E. F. Ford on beautiful houses — their location, arrangement, furnishings, and sanitation.

Early this evening I noticed M.K. again. She was sitting on the other side of the auditorium attending, as was I, a performance of “fantastical legerdemain” by Mr. Dana Walden, “Magician Extraordinaire.” Again, M.K. pretended not to see me, and my chagrin was hardly dispelled by the droll occurrence of a small white rabbit hopping over my shoe.

Saturday, July 18

Oh miracle of miracles! While Aunt Carolyn, Mother, and I were leaving the School of Household Science late this morning after attending a demonstration on bread-making, I spied M.K. carrying a basket of laundry across the footbridge that goes to the Inn. I excused myself and went directly to her. I apologized for missing our appointment and she accepted my explanation with jolly grace. I vowed that I would see her at the Pagoda the very next day at 2:00.

It is after one o’clock in the morning as I write this. I can scarcely sleep. It has now been three weeks since I got here and M.K. is the first real friend I can claim for myself. I don’t care that she works here. It is not her fault that diminished circumstances have required she support herself in this way. I just know that she is funny and wise, and I absolutely cannot wait to spend the afternoon with her.

Sunday, July 19

I reached the Pagoda at the appointed time and M.K. wasn’t there. My heart sank. I wondered for a moment if she was playing a trick on me for what I did to her, but then at five minutes past the hour she arrived, breathless, her face red with cheer. She picked me up and spun me around and set me down and said how happy she was to see me.

We took a hike deep into the woods beyond the bluff and I knew that the farther we went the more trouble I was going to be in when I returned, especially since I was destined to miss the late afternoon vesper service and set Mother to worrying over what had become of me. I knew Aunt Carolyn would be particularly unhappy (which she was), for she alone has come to the conclusion that I am an apostate child, a deserter of my faith.

M.K. taught me how to smoke a cigarette, as sophisticated women in the big cities do and working women do throughout the land. I coughed and choked and felt woozy in my stomach, but I wanted so much to please her. I cannot say this with certainty but I’m feeling a fondness for her that I’ve never felt for anyone before. It frightens me and makes me joyously happy at the same time.

Before we hiked back down to the Chautauqua grounds, M.K. kissed me again, this time upon the lips, and I could hardly demur at such a concerted and affectionate overture. I kissed her back with wanton abandon and felt dizzy in her embrace.

M.K. said the word. She said it boldly and without a moment’s hesitation.

Love.

Monday, July 20

This is the week that the Epworth League Institute descends upon New Piasa Chautauqua and there are hundreds of people coming and going who were not coming and going only a couple of days before. There are to be lectures throughout the week about temperance reform and Christian citizenship and Methodist missions, and there will be prayer meetings and sermons and addresses and Bible study. And M.K. cannot see me until Sunday. She doesn’t even get her usual Tuesday afternoon off because of all the new lodgers at the inn, all of them expecting their rooms to be just as clean, says M.K., as their whiter-than-snow Christian souls. M.K. is a Roman Catholic and she laughs when she contemplates hanging a picture of Pope Pius X in each of these rooms to see how the Epworthians will react.

This morning Mrs. Ford talked about “Milk as a Food.” I could scarcely concentrate.

Tuesday, July 21

Mrs. Ford talked about “Meat as a Food” this morning and demonstrated receipts that naturally included meat. Mother said that I seemed inattentive. I said I wasn’t feeling well and then stole away to the Inn in hopes of seeing M.K. Alas, I couldn’t find her. M.K. said that sometimes she is kept in the laundry room for long hours. I think I will call her Cinderella the next time I see her. I wonder if the original Cinderella was also a Roman Catholic.

Wednesday, July 22

This morning Mrs. Ford gave a demonstration having to do with “Cornmeal as Food.” Afterwards when I was walking back to the hotel, who should stop me upon the lawn, but M.K.! She said she missed me desperately and that it was a tragedy we should only be able to see one another on Sunday afternoons. She asked if I might be able to steal away this evening and come to the boardinghouse where she lived with some of the other housemaids. She said she would be waiting for me on the porch in the rear no matter what time I should come.

I missed her so terribly and said that I would try, but I didn’t know how in the world I was going to make it happen, for I am sharing a bedchamber with my aunt. Aunt Carolyn has already asked where I spent the previous Sunday afternoon. (I wouldn’t tell her.) I absolutely deplore my aunt, whom I have begun to call behind her back “Miss Nosy Parker,” and several other things that I cannot put down here.

The day crept by so slowly. When night finally came I had to endure “An Evening of Dramatic Entertainment by the Morse School of Expression” with my mother. I returned afterwards to discover that Aunt Carolyn was already fast asleep in our room. Shortly thereafter my mother retired for the night and an hour later I felt that it was safe enough for me to creep out, traverse the hotel lobby — dodging the eyes of the night desk clerk — and make my way to the rooming house beyond the cottages. As promised, M.K. was there with open arms. We waited until the coast was clear and then stole up to her tiny room. There was a little crucifix on the wall and a framed photograph of an old woman on the bed stand. M.K. said that the picture was of her grandmother, who had raised her but who had died two years ago and left M.K to her own devices.

M.K. rolled cigarettes for the both of us, and we sat and smoked and talked about how different our life-journeys had been so far. Then M.K. put out her cigarette and took mine and put it out as well, and came to me and began to unbutton and unfasten me with tender, loving hands. A chill came over me, not only because nights at New Piasa Chautauqua are cool, but because there was a frisson of something absolutely wonderful that goosed my flesh — happiness made palpable in the presence of one who cared so deeply for me and whom I loved with equal ardor.

As we lay together in the dark, quiet room, things were whispered between us that seemed to meld our hearts from that moment forward. I fought the caress of sleep’s sweet entreaty, wanting so much to surrender to it in M.K.’s arms. In Mary Katherine’s arms. In Mary Katherine Healy’s protective embrace.

But I had to go. It was time.

“Don’t go,” she said. “Run away with me.”

“When? Now?”

“Tomorrow morning. You and me. We’ll go anywhere you like. I’m a vagabond, Jennie. Let’s be vagabonds together.”

“But what of my family? I’m my mother and father’s only child.”

M.K. pulled a strand of hair from my eyes. “You’ll write them. You’ll see them. But on your terms. You aren’t their little girl anymore. You’re a beautiful woman. And now you are mine.”