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through my window. Her mother would not be swayed. When Anna continued to protest, Mrs. Clarke stopped, seized her daughter by the shoulders, and shook her. I could not hear what was said, but Anna finally followed with her head bowed low. Mrs. Clarke looked near tears.
    I watched as the line of cars snaked around the circular driveway and through wrought-iron gates. My schoolmates departed, one by one. Whisked away to the safety and comfort of their homes.
    Unlike me.
    I threw the telegram onto my apple-green quilt and flopped beside it. As I did, a faint tinkling sounded. Puzzled, I looked around. My leather satchel hung from a post at the foot of the bed. There were only a few items in it, I remembered. Some money. My sketchbook. Pencils. A pack of Juicy Fruit.
    A set of house keys.
    I sat up. I lifted the satchel from the post, undid each clasp, and peered inside. There they were. On a small silver ring. Lying at the very bottom. Long seconds passed while I considered how much trouble I was about to get myself into.
    I pulled the ring free and set the bag aside. There was one key for my front door, one for the back. One for the carriage house, which held two cars. One for Jack’s office downtown. I swung the ring round and round on one finger, listening to the
jingle-jangle
of keys. Before I could change my mind, I dropped the ring back into the satchel and slung the strap over my head. I didn’t bother with luggage. I was halfway across the room when the door opened.
    It was Grace, still dressed in her school uniform but wearing a smart gray hat and gloves. “Cleo, I came to say good . . .” She trailed off, her eyes on my satchel. “Where are you going?”
    I pulled her into the room before leaning out the door and peering down the hall. Deserted, thank goodness. I shut the door with a snap. So much for a quick escape.
    “I’m going home.”
    The last thing I wanted to do was to stay here under quarantine. Barely a mile away, my house stood empty. Mrs. Foster was off visiting her son for another week or so. But Jack and Lucy were on their way. What was the harm in waiting for them there? I was eighteen, nearly, and I could manage on my own for two days. I
hated
living here.
    Grace looked bewildered. “But there’s no one at your home. Is there?”
    “No.” I held up both hands to stem her protest. “Jack and Lucy are on their way.” I showed her the telegram. Grace snatched it from my fingers, her brows furrowing even further as she read Jack’s message. “I’ll wait for them at the house.”
    “Alone?”
    “Shhh!”
I glanced at the door. With any luck, I could lose myself in the crowd before anyone thought to wonder where I was. “Yes, alone. Please promise me you won’t say anything.”
    “This is a terrible idea! You could be attacked by burglars. Or worse! You could die of the influenza and no one will know because you’ll be all alone!”
    “Grace . . .”
    Grace shook her head. “No. You’re coming with us. Father is waiting downstairs.” She glanced about the room. “Where’s your luggage?”
    I wrapped my arms around her. “You know I can’t go with you. Miss Elliot would never allow it. Besides, I can’t leave the city.” The Skinners were driving to their summer home in Florence. Grace’s parents were convinced that the fresh sea air would stave off the worst of the epidemic. It was hours away by automobile. Jack would be angry enough when he discovered I wasn’t at school. I didn’t want to think about what he’d do if I left Portland.
    Grace pulled away, unhappy. “You’ll go straight home? You won’t do anything foolish?”
    “I won’t,” I said, exasperated. “What would I do?”
    “What about provisions?” she pressed. “Do you have enough food? You’ll have to arrange for milk delivery. And ice.” Her frown deepened. “Your house is enormous, Cleo. I would be scared to death, staying there all by myself.”
    Grace was not helping.
    “You make it sound