An unladylike curse slips out of her mouth. “That far?”

Tourists don’t quite comprehend what it’s like down here until they’re faced with it, the islands connected tenuously like a string of pearls, the complication of getting from one place to the next impeded by water, poor stretches of road, and undeveloped areas. The railroad has made it easier, of course, and when the highway’s fully up and running, it’ll be better, but you’re still subjected to Mother Nature’s whims and man’s limitations.

“Unfortunately, it is that far. I used to visit my aunt there in the summers when I was a little girl. There are a couple camps on Lower Matecumbe Key, I think. They built them last year. One up on Windley. The ones who come in here aren’t what you’d call friendly with the locals. They mainly keep to themselves.”

She tucks the letter back into her purse, the pages well-worn and creased as though they’ve been read over and over again. That kind of devotion is pretty hard to discourage.

“Thank you,” she replies. “You’ve been very helpful.”

I know when I’ve been dismissed, but I waver, the faint quiver of her lower lip and the hunch of her shoulders doing the deciding for me. “Word of warning? The camps can be pretty rough. They’re no place for a girl like you. The journey north isn’t an easy one, either.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can, but no man’s worth chasing if he doesn’t want to be caught. If he came down here to get lost, he doesn’t want to be found.”

She doesn’t respond, but then again, she doesn’t need to. The stubborn glint in her eyes says it all.

I sigh. “If you need a place to stay, you’ll want to do so up on Upper Matecumbe or Windley Key. Lower Matecumbe Key is pretty sparse from what I remember. My aunt has an inn on Upper Matecumbe. Islamorada. Right before you get to the train station. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s clean and cheap. I can give you the name of the place if you’d like.”

A flash of relief fills her green eyes.

The girl hands me a pen and the envelope of her crumpled old letter. I scribble down the address on the back of the envelope alongside the name.

Sunrise Inn.

“Thank you. I’m Elizabeth,” she adds with a belated smile.

“Helen. Where are you from, Elizabeth?”

“New York City.”

The location doesn’t surprise me as much as the distance.

“You’re a long way from home. You come down here by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“You be careful down here. I don’t know what the city’s like, but don’t be fooled by the pretty beaches and blue sky. You can get into a lot of trouble if you don’t know where you’re going, if you trust the wrong person. People are as desperate here as they are all over the country. Desperate people do dangerous things.”

Despite my reservations, I can’t help but admire her courage and tenacity. How many times have I considered leaving, only to be stopped by all the reasons I shouldn’t, all the obstacles in front of me?

Out of the corner of my eye, I spy one of my other tables signaling for me.

“I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes,” I say, loath to leave her.

When I return ten minutes later, she’s gone, change on the table for her meal—including the pie—and a little extra for a tip I doubt she could spare.

Five

Elizabeth

I shade my eyes from the sun, tears threatening. The clouds come and go, providing some respite, but it’s not nearly enough. It was hot inside the restaurant, the fans doing little to cool the place, but now that I’m outside again, the sticky air is nearly unbearable, the breeze not providing much comfort.

How am I going to get to Matecumbe Key?

It’s ridiculous, of course, to be so discouraged by the waitress’s words. I made it all the way from New York City on my own. These last few hours shouldn’t seem insurmountable, but they do.

I was so sure he would be in Key West.

I set down my suitcase on the dusty ground, the weight of it suddenly too much to bear.

A mouse scurries past me, its little tail wiggling in the dirt.

I shriek.

When my parents presented me with the elegant set of luggage on my sixteenth birthday, my initials affixed on the exterior, I envisioned taking the suitcases with me on stately ships, using them on my travels to Europe, Newport, Palm Beach, and the like. I certainly didn’t predict such an ignominious end.

I pull out my change purse, counting the money there again, the mouse long gone. There’s barely enough for food and lodging; adding train fare will likely erase my remaining budget for this trip. Then what? Only one person I know has funds to spare, and I doubt he’ll help me once he learns I’ve run off.

I rummage through my bag, my fingers grazing the diamond ring, searching for my handkerchief—

“Can I help you?” someone asks.

“I’m fine, I—” I glance up, and the man in the gray suit from the train is standing in front of me, peering down at me from an unfairly high perch.

Bother.

My fingers curl around my old handkerchief, and I rub the fabric beneath my eyes, praying my makeup isn’t smearing, my cheeks burning from the indignity of it all.

Of all the people to see me so low, why did it have to be him?

“I’m fine,” I repeat more forcefully this time. “Thank you,” I add, because Mother always taught me that good girls are polite girls, even if my interest in being “polite” is only marginally more than my interest in being “good.”

At best, hopefully, it will see him on his way.

“You don’t look fine,” he points out rather inelegantly.

“Thank you for that observation. But I am.”

I wait for him to excuse himself.

He doesn’t.

“You can leave,” I say, “polite” and “good” firmly abandoned.

“You weren’t so eager to be rid of me earlier.”

Is that a smirk on his face?

“I was bored,” I reply. “A long train ride will do that to you. Everyone goes a little crazy when they’re cooped up for so long.”

“Bored? Hardly. You had your fair share of admirers.”

“You can hardly call them a fitting conquest.”

“So you had to collect more?”