Chapter One
“It’s not often I meet a girl travelling alone.” The older woman jabbed her finger into the air and looked hard at the young woman sitting across from her. “There must be a special reason.”
The girl said nothing and turned towards the window. She wasn’t in the mood for talking. But the older woman with the round build and pixie hair seemed oblivious and nattered on. “You’re rather well dressed; some might even say handsome. Dark hair and high cheekbones seem to be the fashion these days. Even your willowy frame might draw attention. I would never say you were handsome though. It might make you vain. A vain young woman is of little use to anyone.” She looked the girl over. “You’re not vain are you?”
Taking a deep breath, the girl closed her eyes. Her head bobbed slightly with the sway of the train.
“I’m Harriet Simpson. You can call me Mrs. Simpson if you like,” the woman went on, “although I’ve never married.”
The girl opened her eyes and scowled.
“Ah, you can hear. I thought perhaps you were deaf and that’s why you didn’t respond. But now I see it’s just because you’re mute. How terribly exciting! I’ve never met a mute before. What’s it like?”
The girl’s mouth opened, but then she closed it again in disbelief.
Harriet brought a hand to her face. “Forgive me dear. I forgot. Mutes don’t speak.” She paused for a moment and pursed her lips in a most unattractive way. “I’ll bet I can guess what it’s like though. I’m awfully good at guessing.” She hunched her shoulders and concentrated. “Let me see, let me see. You were born under a full moon and the first thing you saw was a black cat. Am I right so far? Just nod if I am.”
“No. You’re not right.” The girl sighed.
“Oh,” said Harriet. She seemed more disappointed by her inaccurate guess than amazed at the girl’s ability to speak. “If you were born under a full moon and saw a black cat,” she brightened, “you would surely have been a mute. I can almost guarantee it.”
The train lurched, causing both Harriet and the girl to shift in their seats. They stared at each other for a moment before Harriet resumed the conversation. “Travelling by rail is only slightly better than by motorcar. I’ve never travelled by motorcar, but I’m sure of it. As for these long black devils with their coal fires burning, if it weren’t for convenience I would never set a toe on the blasted things. They rattle me to the bone.”
Nodding, the girl rubbed her arms. She too felt rattled, but not for the same reason as Harriet Simpson.
“You have yet to answer my question dear.” Reaching over, Harriet touched the girl’s arm. “Why are you travelling alone?”
The kind touch was what the girl was trying to avoid; it brought her to tears. Harriet pulled a hanky from her sleeve and slipped it into the girl’s hand. “There, there, now. It can’t be that bad.”
”Oh, yes it is,” sobbed the girl. “My parents have sent me away.”
Harriet grunted. “They must have had their reasons. No one sends a perfectly good daughter away for no reason. You must have done something.”
The girl shook her head.
“How old are you, child?”
“Sixteen.”
“And you can’t think of a thing you’ve done wrong?”
“No. They wouldn't tell me anything. I begged and pleaded but they were silent. Cold. Almost like strangers.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Start from the beginning dear, and let’s figure things out.” Harriet leaned back in her seat and listened. She was very good at it, nodding at the appropriate times, clicking her tongue in support. Once, she even leaned over and wiped a tear from the girl’s cheek.
“My mother has always fussed over me,” said the girl. “She’s never abrasive or demanding. All my friends envy me. They think I’m indulged. With my mother and father I’ve been on almost every continent, and next month we were supposed to go to the opera in Vienna.” The girl paused. “Have you ever been there?”
“No. Saskatchewan trains don’t go that far.” There was a hint of bitterness in Harriet’s voice.
“This morning my parents woke me and told me to pack. They said I was to catch a train in an hour. At first, I was excited. I thought they had planned a surprise, but then I realized they weren’t coming along. When I asked where I was going, they said to Forget. ‘To forget what?’ I asked. My father told me that Forget was a place, and that was where I was going.”
“Harriet sat up straight in her seat. “You’re a lucky girl. Forget is far better than Vienna. Although I’ve never been to Vienna, I’m sure it’s just dreadful…and expensive. It sounds expensive.”
The girl shrugged and blew her nose.
“You will love Forget. Everyone does. Our slogan is ‘Forget is a place you won’t forget.’ Very ingenious, don’t you think?” Harriet didn’t pause long enough for the girl to answer. “Forget is full of picaresque souls. I read that word in a book once. Didn’t know what it meant until I looked it up in a dictionary. It describes our town so precisely. Picaresque.” Harriet’s voice lowered and became almost grave. “Remember what I’m telling you dear, and don’t believe a word of what some out-of-town folks might say. We are not all related to each other.”
The train slowed and the girl looked out the window. “That’s our sign,” beamed Harriet, pointing to a signpost at the edge of the tracks.
“That’s not how you spell Forget,” said the girl.
“Yes it is.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It’s the French spelling. Forgetta. Makes us sound a bit more exotic.”
“That’s not how the French spell forget.”
“Yes it is. We had a vote.”
“But what about your slogan? ‘Forget is a place you won’t Forget.’”
“Silly girl, our slogan isn’t French.”