Chapter: ADVENTURE

Alice Hindman, a woman of twenty-seven when George
Willard was a mere boy, had lived in Winesburg all her
life. She clerked in Winney's Dry Goods Store and lived
with her mother, who had married a second husband.

Alice's step-father was a carriage painter, and given
to drink. His story is an odd one. It will be worth
telling some day.

At twenty-seven Alice was tall and somewhat slight.
Her head was large and overshadowed her body. Her
shoulders were a little stooped and her hair and eyes
brown. She was very quiet but beneath a placid exterior
a continual ferment went on.

When she was a girl of sixteen and before she began to
work in the store, Alice had an affair with a young
man. The young man, named Ned Currie, was older than
Alice. He, like George Willard, was employed on the
Winesburg Eagle and for a long time he went to see
Alice almost every evening. Together the two walked
under the trees through the streets of the town and
talked of what they would do with their lives. Alice
was then a very pretty girl and Ned Currie took her
into his arms and kissed her. He became excited and
said things he did not intend to say and Alice,
betrayed by her desire to have something beautiful come
into her rather narrow life, also grew excited. She
also talked. The outer crust of her life, all of her
natural diffidence and reserve, was torn away and she
gave herself over to the emotions of love. When, late
in the fall of her sixteenth year, Ned Currie went away
to Cleveland where he hoped to get a place on a city
newspaper and rise in the world, she wanted to go with
him. With a trembling voice she told him what was in
her mind. "I will work and you can work," she said. "I
do not want to harness you to a needless expense that
will prevent your making progress. Don't marry me now.
We will get along without that and we can be together.
Even though we live in the same house no one will say
anything. In the city we will be unknown and people
will pay no attention to us."

Ned Currie was puzzled by the determination and abandon
of his sweetheart and was also deeply touched. He had
wanted the girl to become his mistress but changed his
mind. He wanted to protect and care for her. "You don't
know what you're talking about," he said sharply; "you
may be sure I'll let you do no such thing. As soon as I
get a good job I'll come back. For the present you'll
have to stay here. It's the only thing we can do."

On the evening before he left Winesburg to take up his
new life in the city, Ned Currie went to call on Alice.
They walked about through the streets for an hour and
then got a rig from Wesley Moyer's livery and went for
a drive in the country. The moon came up and they found
themselves unable to talk. In his sadness the young man
forgot the resolutions he had made regarding his
conduct with the girl.

They got out of the buggy at a place where a long
meadow ran down to the bank of Wine Creek and there in
the dim light became lovers. When at midnight they
returned to town they were both glad. It did not seem
to them that anything that could happen in the future
could blot out the wonder and beauty of the thing that
had happened. "Now we will have to stick to each other,
whatever happens we will have to do that," Ned Currie
said as he left the girl at her father's door.

The young newspaper man did not succeed in getting a
place on a Cleveland paper and went west to Chicago.
For a time he was lonely and wrote to Alice almost
every day. Then he was caught up by the life of the
city; he began to make friends and found new interests
in life. In Chicago he boarded at a house where there
were several women. One of them attracted his attention
and he forgot Alice in Winesburg. At the end of a year
he had stopped writing letters, and only once in a long
time, when he was lonely or when he went into one of
the city parks and saw the moon shining on the grass as
it had shone that night on the meadow by Wine Creek,
did he think of her at all.

In Winesburg the girl who had been loved grew to be a
woman. When she was twenty-two years old her father,
who owned a harness repair shop, died suddenly. The
harness maker was an old soldier, and after a few
months his wife received a widow's pension. She used
the first money she got to buy a loom and became a
weaver of carpets, and Alice got a place in Winney's
store. For a number of years nothing could have induced
her to believe that Ned Currie would not in the end
return to her.

She was glad to be employed because the daily round of
toil in the store made the time of waiting seem less
long and uninteresting. She began to save money,
thinking that when she had saved two or three hundred
dollars she would follow her lover to the city and try
if her presence would not win back his affections.

Alice did not blame Ned Currie for what had happened in
the moonlight in the field, but felt that she could
never marry another man. To her the thought of giving
to another what she still felt could belong only to Ned
seemed monstrous. When other young men tried to attract
her attention she would have nothing to do with them.
"I am his wife and shall remain his wife whether he
comes back or not," she whispered to herself, and for
all of her willingness to support herself could not
have understood the growing modern idea of a woman's
owning herself and giving and taking for her own ends
in life.

Alice worked in the dry goods store from eight in the
morning until six at night and on three evenings a week
went back to the store to stay from seven until nine.
As time passed and she became more and more lonely she
began to practice the devices common to lonely people.
When at night she went upstairs into her own room she
knelt on the floor to pray and in her prayers whispered
things she wanted to say to her lover. She became
attached to inanimate objects, and because it was her
own, could not bare to have anyone touch the furniture
of her room. The trick of saving money, begun for a
purpose, was carried on after the scheme of going to
the city to find Ned Currie had been given up. It
became a fixed habit, and when she needed new clothes
she did not get them. Sometimes on rainy afternoons in
the store she got out her bank book and, letting it lie
open before her, spent hours dreaming impossible dreams
of saving money enough so that the interest would
support both herself and her future husband.

"Ned always liked to travel about," she thought. "I'll
give him the chance. Some day when we are married and I
can save both his money and my own, we will be rich.
Then we can travel together all over the world."

In the dry goods store weeks ran into months and months
into years as Alice waited and dreamed of her lover's
return. Her employer, a grey old man with false teeth
and a thin grey mustache that drooped down over his
mouth, was not given to conversation, and sometimes, on
rainy days and in the winter when a storm raged in Main
Street, long hours passed when no customers came in.
Alice arranged and rearranged the stock. She stood near
the front window where she could look down the deserted
street and thought of the evenings when she had walked
with Ned Currie and of what he had said. "We will have
to stick to each other now." The words echoed and
re-echoed through the mind of the maturing woman. Tears
came into her eyes. Sometimes when her employer had
gone out and she was alone in the store she put her
head on the counter and wept. "Oh, Ned, I am waiting,"
she whispered over and over, and all the time the
creeping fear that he would never come back grew
stronger within her.

In the spring when the rains have passed and before the
long hot days of summer have come, the country about
Winesburg is delightful. The town lies in the midst of
open fields, but beyond the fields are pleasant patches
of woodlands. In the wooded places are many little
cloistered nooks, quiet places where lovers go to sit
on Sunday afternoons. Through the trees they look out
across the fields and see farmers at work about the
barns or people driving up and down on the roads. In
the town bells ring and occasionally a train passes,
looking like a toy thing in the distance.

For several years after Ned Currie went away Alice did
not go into the wood with the other young people on
Sunday, but one day after he had been gone for two or
three years and when her loneliness seemed unbearable,
she put on her best dress and set out. Finding a little
sheltered place from which she could see the town and a
long stretch of the fields, she sat down. Fear of age
and ineffectuality took possession of her. She could
not sit still, and arose. As she stood looking out over
the land something, perhaps the thought of never
ceasing life as it expresses itself in the flow of the
seasons, fixed her mind on the passing years. With a
shiver of dread, she realized that for her the beauty
and freshness of youth had passed. For the first time
she felt that she had been cheated. She did not blame
Ned Currie and did not know what to blame. Sadness
swept over her. Dropping to her knees, she tried to
pray, but instead of prayers words of protest came to
her lips. "It is not going to come to me. I will never
find happiness. Why do I tell myself lies?" she cried,
and an odd sense of relief came with this, her first
bold attempt to face the fear that had become a part of
her everyday life.

In the year when Alice Hindman became twenty-five two
things happened to disturb the dull uneventfulness of
her days. Her mother married Bush Milton, the carriage
painter of Winesburg, and she herself became a member
of the Winesburg Methodist Church. Alice joined the
church because she had become frightened by the
loneliness of her position in life. Her mother's second
marriage had emphasized her isolation. "I am becoming
old and queer. If Ned comes he will not want me. In the
city where he is living men are perpetually young.
There is so much going on that they do not have time to
grow old," she told herself with a grim little smile,
and went resolutely about the business of becoming
acquainted with people. Every Thursday evening when the
store had closed she went to a prayer meeting in the
basement of the church and on Sunday evening attended a
meeting of an organization called The Epworth League.

When Will Hurley, a middle-aged man who clerked in a
drug store and who also belonged to the church, offered
to walk home with her she did not protest. "Of course I
will not let him make a practice of being with me, but
if he comes to see me once in a long time there can be
no harm in that," she told herself, still determined in
her loyalty to Ned Currie.

Without realizing what was happening, Alice was trying
feebly at first, but with growing determination, to get
a new hold upon life. Beside the drug clerk she walked
in silence, but sometimes in the darkness as they went
stolidly along she put out her hand and touched softly
the folds of his coat. When he left her at the gate
before her mother's house she did not go indoors, but
stood for a moment by the door. She wanted to call to
the drug clerk, to ask him to sit with her in the
darkness on the porch before the house, but was afraid
he would not understand. "It is not him that I want,"
she told herself; "I want to avoid being so much alone.
If I am not careful I will grow unaccustomed to being
with people."

            *       *       *

During the early fall of her twenty-seventh year a
passionate restlessness took possession of Alice. She
could not bear to be in the company of the drug clerk,
and when, in the evening, he came to walk with her she
sent him away. Her mind became intensely active and
when, weary from the long hours of standing behind the
counter in the store, she went home and crawled into
bed, she could not sleep. With staring eyes she looked
into the darkness. Her imagination, like a child
awakened from long sleep, played about the room. Deep
within her there was something that would not be
cheated by phantasies and that demanded some definite
answer from life.

Alice took a pillow into her arms and held it tightly
against her breasts. Getting out of bed, she arranged a
blanket so that in the darkness it looked like a form
lying between the sheets and, kneeling beside the bed,
she caressed it, whispering words over and over, like a
refrain. "Why doesn't something happen? Why am I left
here alone?" she muttered. Although she sometimes
thought of Ned Currie, she no longer depended on him.
Her desire had grown vague. She did not want Ned Currie
or any other man. She wanted to be loved, to have
something answer the call that was growing louder and
louder within her.

And then one night when it rained Alice had an
adventure. It frightened and confused her. She had come
home from the store at nine and found the house empty.
Bush Milton had gone off to town and her mother to the
house of a neighbor. Alice went upstairs to her room
and undressed in the darkness. For a moment she stood
by the window hearing the rain beat against the glass
and then a strange desire took possession of her.
Without stopping to think of what she intended to do,
she ran downstairs through the dark house and out into
the rain. As she stood on the little grass plot before
the house and felt the cold rain on her body a mad
desire to run naked through the streets took possession
of her.

She thought that the rain would have some creative and
wonderful effect on her body. Not for years had she
felt so full of youth and courage. She wanted to leap
and run, to cry out, to find some other lonely human
and embrace him. On the brick sidewalk before the house
a man stumbled homeward. Alice started to run. A wild,
desperate mood took possession of her. "What do I care
who it is. He is alone, and I will go to him," she
thought; and then without stopping to consider the
possible result of her madness, called softly. "Wait!"
she cried. "Don't go away. Whoever you are, you must
wait."

The man on the sidewalk stopped and stood listening.
He was an old man and somewhat deaf. Putting his hand
to his mouth, he shouted. "What? What say?" he called.

Alice dropped to the ground and lay trembling. She was
so frightened at the thought of what she had done that
when the man had gone on his way she did not dare get
to her feet, but crawled on hands and knees through the
grass to the house. When she got to her own room she
bolted the door and drew her dressing table across the
doorway. Her body shook as with a chill and her hands
trembled so that she had difficulty getting into her
nightdress. When she got into bed she buried her face
in the pillow and wept brokenheartedly. "What is the
matter with me? I will do something dreadful if I am
not careful," she thought, and turning her face to the
wall, began trying to force herself to face bravely the
fact that many people must live and die alone, even in
Winesburg.

 Alice Hindman, twenty-seven year old woman has lived all her life in Winesburg, working as a clerk in Winney's dry good store. When she is sixteen, she has an affair with Ned Currie. But Ned has left Winesburg to try his luck in the city. Before leaving he promises Alice that he would return for her and take her away with him. However, as time had passes, he, having got caught up with city life, forgets her totally. Alice in the meanwhile keeps waiting for him, keeping herself aloof from any other social contact. She considers herself already married to Ned, and does not allow any man to come close to her after her father's death, her mother remarries leaving Alice all the more lonely. She starts save money, in the main hope that it will come of use to Ned and herself once they begin life together. However, slowly, Alice starts realizing the futility of her dreams and hopes, and even ventures out a few times with Will Hurley, a middle aged man. But her heart is not in it, and she puts him off soon. On her twenty-seventh year, Alice has an adventure. After reaching home, she undresses herself in the darkness, and a strange desire takes possession of her. Without thinking further, she runs downstairs, naked, and begins to run through the streets, in the chill cold night. On seeing a man at a distance, her unfulfilled desire overcomes her and she calls out to him. Mercifully, the man is old and deaf, and Alice doesn't come to any harm. But later in her own room, she weeps bitterly, and resolves to live a life, learning to live alone and die alone, in Winesburg.

