Big Lies in a Small Town - Diane Chamberlain Page 0,12
their eyes on her. Was it the journal? Her hair? Maybe she should have gotten a more suitable hairdo before heading here to Edenton, but she’d been wearing her nearly black hair in a bob with bangs for so long that she wouldn’t recognize herself without it. Perhaps she wouldn’t fit in with this style here, but she was her mother’s daughter: when had she ever cared about fitting in?
She had given in to the realization that she’d best wear a dress on this trip. After spending the last three years in pants while attending art school, she’d nearly forgotten what stockings and garter belts felt like, so getting dressed in her hotel room this morning had been an ordeal. But she needed to make a good impression in Edenton, so she’d left her pants at home. Her mother probably would have told her, Oh for heaven’s sake, Anna, wear the pants! Just be yourself! But her mother was no longer around to advise her one way or another, and Anna decided on playing it safe.
Looking up from her journal, she saw a man staring at her from a nearby table, making her feel both attractive and vulnerable. When she accidentally caught his eye, he nodded at her, not unkindly, but his scrutiny made her nervous and she shut and locked her journal and focused on her food for the rest of her meal.
* * *
She decided to walk rather than drive through Edenton as she explored the town. The sky was a brilliant blue that belied the cold air and the slivers of ice still on the road from some recent storm. She left the hotel bundled up in the long beige woolen coat that had been her mother’s, along with her favorite red velvet halo hat and gloves. She had a target in mind—the post office where her mural would hang—but she thought she should see a bit more of Edenton before heading there.
Next door to the hotel stood a redbrick courthouse that she thought might look stunning in a mural. She was drawn to red, always. She snapped a couple of pictures of it before crossing a long expanse of grassy parkland, walking toward the waterfront. Near the water’s edge stood three Revolutionary War cannons, all pointing out to sea. The nearby houses were enormous and looked well cared for, despite the financial difficulties most people had faced during the last decade. She took a few more pictures, then turned in the direction of Broad Street and was disappointed by the unsightly waterfront. Winter-barren fish shacks, along with an ice plant, a blacksmith shop, and sheds filled with lumber nearly blocked the view of the rough gray water. The buzz of saws filled the air, and she suddenly felt the weight of the sadness that had dogged her since her mother’s death. She needed to get away from the depressing waterfront. Quickly, she turned around and headed back toward downtown. There was nothing on the waterfront she could use in a painting. Maybe the Tea Party ladies would have to carry the entire weight of her mural. Which was the real Edenton? she wondered. The gritty-looking harbor or the elegant houses? How could she capture the true feeling of a place so unfamiliar to her?
She drew the collar of her coat closer to her throat as she walked the few blocks to the post office, passing dozens of businesses along Broad Street: department stores, barbershops, drugstores, a hardware store, a grocery store, a filling station, a bank. The street bustled with people. The town was not as quiet as she’d first thought, and every single person she passed—every single one of them, man, woman, and child—nodded a greeting to her as she walked by, which made her forget about the unappealing waterfront and lifted her mood. That would not happen if a stranger walked down Front Street in Plainfield, she thought.
She took a picture of the local theater as she passed it. The theater’s name stood out in huge letters above the roof: TAYLOR. The marquee announced that Dancing Co-ed with Lana Turner was playing. Her mother would have loved to see that film. Why, Mom? she thought, biting her lip. Why did you do it when there were still things you were looking forward to? Turning her back on the theater, she continued her walk.
The post office stood across the street from an Episcopal church and graveyard. The small brick building looked quite new. Its four