Astra

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

About the Author

A few days before Christmas, 1940

I
t had begun to snow as Astra boarded the train just east of Chicago, but only in an erratic way. A few stray, sharp little flakes, slanting across the morning grayness, as if they were out on a walk, looking around. Not at all as if they meant anything by it. A few minutes later, after she was settled in her place in the day coach, one suitcase stowed in the rack above her, the other at her feet, she withdrew her gaze from the unattractive fellow travelers to look out of the window again, and the flakes were still wandering around, seemingly without a purpose. She watched one or two till they glanced across the warm windowpane and vanished into nothing. Only an idle little crystal drifted down from the eternal cold somewhere, and was gone. Where? Into nothing?
What a lovely idle little life
, thought Astra, as she settled back into her stiff, uncomfortable seat, with her head against the window frame and tried to turn her thoughts to her own perplexities. She was very tired, for she had gotten up early after a sleepless night and hurried around to get ready for the train.

And so, idly watching the aimless flakes of snow snapping on her consciousness from the windowpane outside, her eyes grew weary, her eyelids drooped, and she was soon asleep.

A little later she aroused suddenly as the conductor drew her ticket out of her relaxed grasp and punched it sharply, passing on to the next seat briskly. It came to her to wonder vaguely why he ever selected the job of conductor. To go through life in a dull train, far from home, if he had a home, and doing nothing but punching tickets. What a life! Only dull strangers, uninteresting people he didn’t know, to vary the monotony.

Idly she drifted away into sleep again, putting aside her own disturbed thoughts about personal matters, for she really was very weary. When she awoke again the snow was still coming down. The flakes were larger now, and more purposeful, as if they meant business.

She sat up and looked out. They were going through small towns and villages. People were passing along the streets with brisk steps, bundles in their arms. In marketplaces there were rows of tall pines and hemlocks displayed for sale, and a bright cluster of red and silver stars, holly wreaths, and Christmas trimmings.

Christmas! Yes, Christmas was almost here!

She drew a soft quivering breath of desolation. Not much joy in the thought of Christmas for her anymore! Going out alone into an unknown world, with very little money and without a job!

The train swept out of the town where it had lingered for a few brief minutes just opposite that market with its rows of Christmas trees, and then the increasing snow drew her attention. The flakes were larger now, and whiter, giving a decided whiteness to the atmosphere. The next small town that hurried into view ahead showed up a merry string of lights along the business street. They brought out the whirling flakes in giddy relief, as if flakes and lights were in league for the holiday season, bound to make the most of their powers.

People about her were ordering cups of coffee and eating ham sandwiches that were brought around in a basket for sale. Others were drifting by toward the diner car. But Astra wasn’t hungry. However, she bought a sandwich and stowed it in her handbag, against a time when she might feel faint and not be able to get the sandwich so easily. Then she sat back again, watching the twilight as it crept through the snowflakes. Gradually the landscape was taking on a white background from the falling snow, and soft plush flakes were melting on the windows and blurring into one another. It was becoming more and more difficult to see the landscape as it whirled by, to discern the little towns with their holiday trimmings, and more and more, Astra’s thoughts were turning inward to her own problems and her own drab life.

She had friends of other days, of course—friends of her childhood and young girlhood, friends of her mother’s and father’s, and she was hastening back to them. After all, it was only two years since she had left them and gone to live with Cousin Miriam, who had been almost like an older sister to her in the past when Miriam used to spend so much time at holidays and vacations from school and college with Astra’s mother.

But Miriam had married into wealth and fashion and was very much changed. The standards on which both she and Astra had been brought up were no longer Miriam’s standards. She laughed at Astra for continuing to uphold them. She told her that times had changed and one couldn’t continue to be dowdy and old-fashioned just because one’s mother was that way. One had to do what others did, in company, even if there were things called principles. It wasn’t done in these days, to have principles. One couldn’t “get on” and have principles. One had to smoke and drink a little. Everybody did. To “get on” was, in Miriam’s eyes, the end and aim of living.

Astra couldn’t get away from the thought of how ashamed her mother would have been of her cousin, for Astra’s mother had practically brought up Miriam from the time she was a schoolgirl of twelve, at least as much as one could do that important act within the limits of vacations and holidays.

In addition to Miriam there was Miriam’s daughter, Clytie, badly spoiled, and very determined in her own way, which was the way of a changing world that Astra did not care to adopt.

Astra had stood the differences as long as she could, and then during the absence of the cousins on a western trip in which she was not included, she had written a sweet little note of farewell and departed.

And now that she was on her way, she was tormented continually by the fear that perhaps she had been wrong to go. Perhaps she should have endured a little longer. But in a few days now she would be of age and would have a little more money to carry on quietly. To secure one of her mother’s old servants perhaps to stay with her, or something of that sort. It had seemed so reasonable and easy to make the transfer now when she was about to come of age. And when she considered returning before her cousins got back, or trying to live the life from which she had just fled, the latter seemed utterly impossible.

The twilight was deepening, and the snow outside the window was gathering thick and soft on the glass, obscuring the view. Suddenly the lights sprang up in the car and banished the gloom of the winter world, bringing out the faces of the tired, discouraged people, the grimy car, and the sharp outlines of the hard seats. All at once the world that Astra was starting out to conquer for herself loomed ahead unhappily, menacingly, with appalling unfriendliness. Suppose she shouldn’t be able to get a position anywhere? Suppose her small allowance should run out and she have nowhere to go? Suppose her father’s friends were dead or moved away? A lot of things could happen disastrously during a two years’ absence. Whatever could she do? Not go back to her cousin’s house! Never! She
must
find something to do. She could not go back to the cousins who would jeer at her and treat her with all the more condescension and find more and more fault with her.

“Oh God,” she breathed, “please, please find me a job! You have places for other people to work, couldn’t You find a little place for me? Couldn’t You please do something about it for me, for I don’t know how to do it myself. I haven’t money enough for very long. You know. Show me what to do.”

Her head was back against the seat, her forehead resting against the coolness of the window frame, her eyes closed. She could hear the soft splashing of the big flakes that were falling now, as she rode on into the whiteness of the winter night and prayed her despairing young prayer in her heart.

Then suddenly the door at the front of the car was flung open and a man’s voice spoke clearly with a young ring to it that must have appealed to all who heard it.

“Is there a stenographer here who will volunteer to take dictation of a very important document from a man who is dying?”

Astra sat up at once, stirred to instant attention, filled with a kind of awe at this strange, swift call from a man in distress. She was the kind of girl who was always ready to help anyone who needed it.

There were also two other girls standing, hesitantly, prompt and alert to answer a call from a good-looking young man anywhere. Yet they stood only an instant listening to his explanation, calmly chewing their hunks of gum. Then they slumped slowly back in their seats.

“Oh!
Dying?
Not
me
!” said one of them, pushing out her chin as if he had offered her an insult. “I don’t like dying people. Excuse
me
!”

The other of the two girls shook her head decidedly. “Nothing doing!” she said with a shrug. “I’m on a vacation, and I wouldn’t care ta handle a job fer a dead man!” Then they both giggled for the edification of the other travelers. But Astra walked steadily down the aisle to the young man.

“I am a stenographer,” she said quietly.

She had taken reams of dictation, the notes of her father’s lectures and articles; she knew she was master of the requirements.

The young man’s eyes appraised her with approval, and he said, “Thank you! This way please!” Then he turned and pointed the way through the next car, courteously helping her across the platform.

“The second car ahead,” he said. “He was taken with a sudden heart attack. Fortunately, there was a doctor at hand, and he is doing all he can for him, but the sick man is much distressed because he knows he may go at any minute and there are important matters that must be recorded before he dies. You—are not afraid?”

Astra looked at the young man gravely.

“Of course not,” she said quietly. “I’ll be glad to help.”