The Promise Read Online Free

several times a week, I found myself at the public library. There, I wandered the stacks of books or sat in the reading room with a book on my lap. One morning, I rode the trolley that Edward took to his office at Barney & Smith Railcar Works on Keowee Street. I sat in the middle of the trolley car, surrounded by men in business suits, my chin up but my heart turning at the sight of Edward as he boarded, so handsome in his dark blue pinstripe suit, his mustache freshly trimmed. When he saw me, shock, then fear flashed across his face. For a moment, I believed he was going to turn around and get off the trolley but there were people behind him boarding. Without looking again at me, he walked down the aisle and sat somewhere behind me.
    I considered moving to Cincinnati or to Columbus. I could place notices in the newspapers seeking pupils who wanted to study the piano. Mothers would invite me to their homes and interview me in their parlors as we sipped tea served in bone china. ‘Why did you leave Dayton?’ each one would say. ‘And what about your references? My husband insists, you understand.’ Their smiles would be sweet as if references were not important to them.
    A letter came from Oscar Williams. His penmanship was precise even if his grammar was not.
    April 22, 1900
    Dear Miss Wainwright,
    I was Surprised to hear from You. I figured You had Forgotten me. I figured you were Married.
    Do You still play the Piano? I recall your Music and how it was like Nothing I Heard before. As for Me, I have 33 Jerseys, most good Milkers. 2 Men work for Me. My farm is a half of a mile from The Gulf Of Mexico Sand hills. A Mile Behind us is Offatts Bayou, big as a lake. West Bay feeds into it.
    I have a Good piece of Land and the Saltgrass is Hardy. Fresh Water is Plentiful. I have a Son. He is 5. My Wife died the first of October.
    Sincerely Yours,
    Oscar Williams
    A dairy farmer. A widower with a child. Someone I had not seen in years. I set Oscar’s letter aside. Morning after morning during April, I rode the trolley, the oaks and elms along the avenues budding and leafing as the air turned mild. Edward came to expect me, searching for me when he boarded. Our eyes would meet for the briefest of moments but that was enough. Tomorrow, I thought. He’ll speak to me tomorrow. But every morning, he looked away.
    I reread the letter from Oscar Williams. Six years ago, his marriage proposal had shocked me. Surely he understood that I had maintained the correspondence out of kindness. I had a career. My ensemble played in concert halls and in the homes of Philadelphia’s leading citizens.
    Now, he was the only person whose letter was not cold or indifferent. I pushed aside the unpaid bills on my desk and composed my next note.
    May 1, 1900
    Dear Mr Williams,
    I am saddened by the news of your wife. Please accept my heartfelt condolences. Surely it is an unspeakable loss, and I fear that my expression of sympathy does little to ease your sorrow. But, Mr Williams, it lightens my heart to hear that you are not alone. You have a son and my goodness, so many cows. However do you manage it all? I greatly admire your many accomplishments.
    Yes, I still play the piano. It is kind of you to remember.
    With affection,
    Catherine Wainwright
    His response came three weeks later. It was brief but filled with details about his dairy farm. The Barn sits on a Raised up bed of Oyster Shells and dirt. It can rain hard here. It is big enough for Five more Cows. Then, My boy’s name is Andre.
    By the end of May the note from the hotel manager carried a different tone. I was four months in arrears. If I did not settle my account immediately, I was to vacate my rooms by the end of June.
    I responded to Oscar’s letter and expressed interest in his barn and in his son. I sorted through my jewelry and sold two necklaces and a pair of earrings to a jeweler whose speculating glances further humiliated me. I considered asking my mother for another loan but