No. 10
Mrs. Lafayette to Mrs. Quinn (New White Purse)
Mrs. Quinn
908 E Jefferson
Louisville, Kentucky
July 4, 1940
Dear Mrs. Quinn,
By the time I arrived at the farm where Julien lived with his wife, I had made up a story that I was his former pupil, which was not a lie. I would tell them that together we composed a tune. That I was after publication rights, thinking that if I mentioned that there might be money involved, money for them, then I could get in the door. I would swing my new white purse with confidence.
But there was no time.
As I was talking to the wife, or who I thought was his wife, for she was very attractive, but she was distracted by another woman, who was yelling. I later learned that the yelling woman was her older sister—well, the older lady was pulling in the laundry line in great agitation and called out for help. So, we moved in that direction, but we quickly reversed to go back inside for the train sound on the ground, eating up pasture, and coming at us.
The scene to the west was wicked! We rushed by the living room. I was pushed into the basement by a strong hand. I plummeted. Had it not been for the railing on which my purse was caught, I would have dropped face down on cement. I backed up to release the strap. I held it close, that purse. The door behind us flew off.
I thought the wife was behind us, but that funnel cloud came through—the train—and I fell down the stairs. Win was on top of me. All the hairs on my body took flight. I could not see because my eyes dried out. I held onto the woman on top of me, hoping she could keep me down.
The rolling sound left us. We had parts of the house on top of us. As we crawled out, calling out to each other to see how we were hurt. We could not hear from the wife. She was struck by debris. A broken neck, I think, killed her. She was buried in the kitchen, for now, but we’d have to bury her for real. The sister, when she helped me lift some piles, exposed her own injuries: nails in her arm.
Glass everywhere. Roof gone. The sister—this was “Win,”—fell over the piles and grieved her sister, whose name was Kate.
I asked Win if there was anyone at the house. But she could not answer.
I asked, “Look, look at me! Where do I go for help?”
But she could only rock the body of her sister.
I climbed further and stumbled outside. My car flipped. Not my car, but the borrowed car. Now I was in debt. I went back inside. Win’s arm bleeding. I left Win crying again. I walked out to the barn, which was leaning towards collapse, I prayed to find a car. An old truck was on blocks. Could my car tired get on the truck? I would have to find a man. Men. I would have to find men. I would have to find my purse to pay for help. I turned back and dug in the basement until I found it.
Mrs. Laura Lafayette
2025 Copyright Christine Friesel
