I am most sorry to lie to you. my dearest of friends. I know that once you learn the truth-the whole truth- there is no hope for further friendship between us. I will start then at the beginning...
The rain clings to Sarah's hair as she musters her last reserve of energy to heave her trunk over the threshold of the dormitory. With a groan, the trunk lid gives way and white underthings spring out to sprawl across the wet tile.
"Oh damn it all to hell!" A snort from behind her, a young gentleman with grey eyes and an amused smirk stands up from the rocker he had been lounging in.
"Watch yourself, or you'll be out of here before you even begin. Mrs. Mullen, your dorm mother- well they don't call her the dragon lady for nothing."
"I shall try to remember, thank you sir." Fighting to regain her composure is of no avail as a blush creeps slowly up her neck. "I am Miss Turner, pleased to make your acquaintance." His eyes are playful as he bends over her hand with mock severity.
"My dear, you can pretend at propriety all you wish, but I know you for what you are-" Hoping her look is properly offended, Sarah hazards a smile.
"And pray tell what is that?"
"Why, you're just like me. Incidentally, my name is Eric."When I first met Eric, I was so swept off my guard; Mona he was perfect. We sat for hours and talked about nothing and everything-we danced and laughed and he had the world and my heart in his hands. I suppose, in retrospect, he never lied. He didn't tell me he loved me, he showed me- though in showing I suppose he lied with something beyond his words. I am getting ahead of myself though. That fall was perfect, and I lost track of my life, of my classes, of writing you.
The hours are slipping away as the sun fades over notes, long forgotten in the crisp afternoon air. Sarah's hair is down, and her eyes are sparkling.
"And why shouldn't women have the right to vote? Why, I recall on our last exam that my marks were a full ten points higher than Grant Beauford's, why should he have the right to decide who represents us all to the world?" Eric is smiling; taking her chin in his hands he tilts her face up and kisses her freckles.
"You are so charming when you're in one of your passions." Sarah tosses her curls, impatiently.
"You, Sir, are exactly the problem. I am angry, not charming. Mr. Magathan- Excuse me, what are you doing? Stop it! Kisses are not the answer! Eric!" Sarah dissolves into breathless laughter and allows his hands to stray to her lace jacket lapels. In a moment, Eric pauses and meets her passionate blue eyes.
"I like kissing you, Sarah." He is almost shy, and for a second she sees not a confident man of the world but a shy adolescent.
"I like kissing you too. I trust you." He smiles, and takes her in his arms once more. She lets him more easily this time, allowing another wall to fall silently before his wandering fingers.
The first time I let him love me was both beautiful and horrible. After, he didn't kiss me or hold me. In the dark, I wrapped my arms around myself and let the tears fall. I think it must have left around one in the morning, he didn't wake. I slipped back across campus, too overwhelmed to even worry about being caught after curfew. Safe in my room, I resolved to throw myself into my work. Three weeks later, I had an excellent class average and morning sickness.
"Sarah. Sarah...Sarah. Miss Turner?" Shapes are moving around Sarah's head; somewhere something is clinking metallically. "Pulse is steady Doctor, it might simply be a case of the female hysterics." NO!
Struggling against what seems like an endless current of nausea and blinding light, Sarah tries to slow her breathing, counting. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight...one, two three four...
"Doctor! She's awake!" Footsteps clacking across tile and a white jacket comes into view.
"There, there dear. Now take this, yes there we go. Gently." A piece of cold metal in her mouth, and for a moment everything stills. A hand brushes sweat from her hair and in a moment the metal is gone and someone is tisking.
"Her temperature is good, nurse I'm going to go call her dorm mother. Sit with her for a while." His shoes squeak and a door shuts. The room is materializing now, Sarah can recognize the school's infirmary. Closing her eyes she tries to remember how she came here. A fly, a hot classroom. Was that only this morning?
"Oh, dear I'm so sorry." Sarah tries to focus, the nurse has a kindly round face, and it's filled with concern.
"What? What's wrong with me? Am I dying? Where did he go...what is he going to do to me?" Her look is full of pity.
"The doctor doesn't know, but I recognize your condition. You're pregnant, darling."
The world is spinning again, but this time Sarah won't let it close in. Fighting, she counts again. One, two, fifty- she reaches a hundred before she feels safe opening her eyes.
"What do I do? I was supposed to be a journalist, supposed to be serious- I never wanted to get married this young!"
"Oh, lovely! He's proposed then?"
"Well no, but now he must, mustn't he? With a sigh, the nurse turns down the covers and turns towards the door.
"I'll write down the name of a good doctor. He's gentle, and he doesn't barely leave a scar."
I'm not proud of what comes next. That doctor, I suppose he was gentler than most, and yet I have never felt more violated. With any luck, he says, I'll still be able to bear children. More children. And now I have a scar on my belly and on my heart as well. I made the mistake of telling Eric. He hasn't spoken to me, except for one utterly unforgettable occurrence that still pains me to think of. And now, my darling Mona, I shall not tell you where I am going, except that it is not to Maine. I may once have been pregnant, but now I am utterly without child again. Where I go, I shall no longer be Sarah Turner. I will miss you, my oldest of friends. I know Stephen will take the best care of you- else I would never leave. Give my saddest regards to Timothy, tell him what you must to ensure he does not try to follow. I have kept his ring as a keepsake of brighter times. Ever yours, Sarah.
The sky had long ago turned to velvety black, and Sarah slipped into the water car that adjoined her traveling car. There was a small mirror, not much, but enough to wield a knife-her weapon of choice.
Five minutes later, a young man knocked discreetly on Sarah's car and entered. A trunk of women's clothing was overturned on the seat, deftly he went to it and fingers through the bustles and corsets, searching. Plucking out her purse, he stashes it away in his breast pocket, safe. Pulling out a letter and opening it, he reads, satisfied.
"Mr Mullen, we are please to accept you as a junior editor at our paper. Please use this letter as your form of reference and present yourself to One Times Square, 1475 Broadway at your earliest convenience."
Mr. Mullen's blue eyes spark, as he runs through his hand through his newly trimmed hair.
"Grand Central Station, Grand Central Station, next stop Grand Central Station!"
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