She glanced at her watch, the glass face worn and scratched, the metal rim tarnished, the slim leather strap that bound the miniature clock to her thin wrist dull and faded. Nevertheless, you could tell it had been beautiful at one point, elegant and showy, expensive enough to be admired by anyone who could manage to catch a glimpse. Not that Frankie cared—all she saw it as was a watch, something that could tell time so she could catch her train and perhaps something that she could sell for a few bucks once she left this place.

It was your grandmother’s! A tiny voice in the back of her head admonished, How could you ever contemplate selling such a beautiful family heirloom you ungrateful… Frankie cut the voice off right then and there as it began to transform into the accusing high-pitched tones of her mother, a voice that Frankie was determined to evict forever from her head. If only Grandma could see me now. Frankie thought instead, smiling as she imagined the look on stuffy old Grandma Lovitt’s face if she knew where Frankie was. If only everyone could see her now—Pa, Ma, her three older brothers, even her dog Pearl, see her perching so primly on the rough wooden bench of the train station in the simple green dress that Ma always hated, worn but solid suitcase in hand and her hat pulled down low over her eyes.

The train station was crowded, businessmen in sharply-cut dark suits, matronly women clutching at wide-eyed children underfoot, even a few young people like herself—boys and girls alike—that sat upon the wooden benches or stood with bags slung over their shoulders, bright eyes peering around the station in anticipation for the steam engine that would carry them away. The cold cement floor of the station blended seamlessly with the grey winter day and a cacophony of sounds buzzed in the crisp air of the platform, people talking, heels of shoes clicking, animals bleating and meowing and barking and clucking, the horns and shouts of Main Street behind them providing perfect background music for the symphony of humanity that surrounded Frankie’s ears. She couldn’t believe such a short car ride had gotten her from her peaceful little farm and sleepy hometown into this hub of excitement and energy—and she wasn’t even to Chicago yet!

Frankie glanced at her watch again and wondered how long it would take for her family to figure out she was gone. She had left right after lunch, hitching a ride with fashionable Ms. Buxley on her monthly shopping trip to Winamac, promising her that her elderly Uncle Max would be bringing her back home after a two-to-three day visit to him to brighten his spirits—luckily Ma hated Ms. Buxley enough for her filthy richness and “uppity attitude” that Ms. Buxley had no idea whatsoever that Uncle Max had died three years ago. It also helped that Ms. Buxley hated Ma enough for her “insufferable air of superiority” (Ms. Buxley not only was filthy rich, but also went to a women’s college and knew more words than most all of the other women and many of the men in town) that she refused to speak to her for anything less than an emergency, and thankfully did not see Frankie’s trip to Winamac as one.

No one dared speak to Frankie’s father, especially Ms. Buxley, a well-educated woman business-owner wealthy enough to support herself and her elderly parents without the help of a man—she had heard enough of Pa’s angry stage-whispers and barely anonymous threats to stay away—far away—from his towering frame. Frankie felt a tinge of guilt for her unknowing chaperone in her escape, realizing that the first person Pa and Ma would blame after she disappeared would be Ms. Buxley, but Frankie trusted that Ms. Buxley would be smart enough to either disappear for a while or get some of the townspeople on her side until everything blew over and Frankie’s family accepted that their daughter was gone for good—off on her own adventure that nobody would be able to dictate.

Frankie glanced at her watch again and scanned the people around her for familiar faces, the thoughts of her family raising a nervousness inside her that pumped adrenaline into her heart and poured icy cool dread into the pit of her stomach. Yanking her hat further down over her eyes, Frankie gripped the suitcase harder, knuckles whitening, in order to control her trembling fingers and shove down the panic threatening to rise in her throat. Fifteen more minutes, she chanted in her mind, Fifteen more minutes until I can escape this place, escape my past and escape my future, until the whole slate can be wiped clean and I can start all over again.

She pictured the carefully folded letter in her suitcase, the messy, slanted script that covered the page, its edges worn and torn in places from nearly constant re-reading, the confident and reassuring words of Margaret that flowed in the black ink, promising to meet her at the train station and take her away—away from Winamac, away from the farm, away from Indiana to great big beautiful Chicago where she was studying at Mundelein College. She hadn’t seen Margaret in two years, but Frankie could still picture her perfectly, dark curls draped over her suntanned face, brown eyes twinkling with laughter beneath her long eyelashes, her short frame wrapped in the purple dress that Margaret had said she’d wear to the station.

She understands, Frankie thought—she understands what it’s like to want things beyond what is deemed suitable for a girl to want, to be unsatisfied with the future that society has laid out for her, to want to feel freedom before the chains of being someone’s daughter transferred to the chains of being someone’s wife. Frankie needed her mind to be hers for once, untainted by the scolding of her mother, the prejudices of her father, the watchful eyes of the mayor’s son that already saw her as his property, his wife.

The clocktower chimed four o’clock and Frankie finally heard the distant scream of the train, bolting upright in her seat and quickly scanning the faces around her in uncontained agitation, for it would be just like her family to show up right here and now, let her get so close to her dream only to have it be dashed by her father’s towering frame, her mother’s scathing words, or her brothers’ snide smirks. Eyes darting from face to face, her heart skipped a beat each time she saw blue eyes, a bushy beard, a sneer, none of the faces familiar but terror-inducing all the same, the fleeting triumph of reaching the station slowly succumbing to the all-consuming fear of the consequences of getting caught.

But even as Frankie’s fears and doubts grew like weeds, the train flew faster and faster towards the station, billowing steam, its cars rattling and soaring along the metal tracks before slowly coming to a stop, right in front of the buzzing small-town station—one woman in a green dress, sitting stiffly on one of the uncomfortable-looking wooden benches, looked so relieved a single tear slid down her cheek beneath her simple hat.

Frankie didn’t know what to do—she’d never been on a train in her life, didn’t know who to give her ticket to, didn’t know where to get on, didn’t even know if she could get on, instead she just sat there, gripping her suitcase, glued to her bench like a deer in headlights.

Then she saw her, fashionable magenta city dress with a white collar underneath a grey woolen overcoat, black curls tucked up inside a grey hat with a silky purple bow, her brown eyes twinkling and painted lips smiling as she searched for someone in the crowd.

“Margaret!” Frankie called, and the woman’s long neck whipped to the right, finally locking eyes with Frankie and breaking into a blinding grin that filtered through the cold air like sunshine. Margaret rushed forward, ducking and pushing her way through the sea of overcoats and flung herself at Frankie, wrapping her in a bear hug that would have been suffocating if its recipient hadn’t been so happy to receive it.

“You made it!” Margaret cried, pecking her friend on the cheek. “I was worried those trolls you call a family would drag you back to their cave!”

“I did too, I think,” Frankie laughed, her voice rough but happy. “You should have seen me a few minutes ago. So nervous I must have looked like a crook!” Margaret laughed her big, boisterous laugh and Frankie started to smile, remembering the Margaret she used to know, the one who threw snowballs at lunch and talked trash about teachers without a shred of remorse, the one who would threaten to fight the kids who made her friend uncomfortable—boys and girls alike—and whom Frankie’s parents hated for providing what they called a “bad influence”. Margaret linked her arm through Frankie’s and led her towards the train, laughing again as she realized how much she was forced to look up to even see her friend’s face.

“I guess I haven’t grown too much,” she joked, remembering how Frankie was always a head taller than her even before she left.

“Not at all, Margie. Your personality was always so much bigger than your frame,” Frankie recalled with a smile.

“Your ticket!” Margaret exclaimed as they neared the man standing near the doors to the train. “You did remember to get it right?” Frankie fished the small leaf of paper out of the pocket of her coat, quietly wondering how this one tiny slip, stamped with already smudged ink, could have the power to change her life so completely, allow her to run, run far far away from her life, soar away not only for the afternoon, but for what Frankie hoped to be forever, or at least close to it.

 The man at the compartment door inspected their tickets with a gloved hand and helped them onto the train, Margaret ushering her friend to a seat near the window, Frankie sitting down slowly, utterly enthralled by the train, her big hazel eyes so wide that Margaret had to stifle a giggle. Frankie let out a low whistle and craned her neck to see everything she never knew she was missing, the dark wood paneling, soft, red-cushioned seats and narrow, glass-pained windows.

A man in a starchily pressed uniform (“The conductor,” Margaret whispered) came to collect their tickets and Margaret happily babbled away, filling Frankie with wonderful stories of the big city, of the huge hat shop at which she worked (“There’s a position open right now,” Margaret had added with a wink. “Mrs. Thomas is a bit gruff at first but she’ll warm up to you I’m sure.”), Mundelein College where she was enrolled, (“I bet you can enroll by next semester,” Margaret promised. “You’ll love it there.”), her quaint little flat above a cobbler’s shop where she lived with two other girls, (“Their names are Rosa and Mary,” Margaret explained, “and there’s an extra bed open in the building next to mine”), even the cute boy who worked in the shoe shop below her (Frankie simply rolled her eyes and laughed when her friend began to talk about the way his hair curled down a certain way over his eyes).

Before either of them knew it, the train jerked into motion, and Frankie abandoned the conversation completely, shoving her face against the windowpane and watching the grubby station roll past, then the town of Winamac, with its brick storefronts and gabled churches, the train accelerating until there was only rolling fields and dusty country roads connecting scattered farms beneath the dull grey sky.

Margaret fell silent as Frankie imagined her family sitting down for dinner in the kitchen, Ma’s face red from the steamy cooking, face pinched in annoyance at her daughter’s tardiness. Her brothers would come in with identical ugly looks upon their faces, back from doing who-knows-what in town, angry expressions sneering up their lips when they would see their sister’s empty chair. She could almost feel her Father’s stony, enraged glare all the way across the farmland—but this time instead of shrinking from it she held his gaze.

“Are you okay?” Margaret asked softly.

Frankie turned to her, a defiant look upon her face. “I’m free.”