Free Return to Peyton Place by Grace Metalious Page B

said Mike.
    Allison stood still and from far away she heard the whistle of the train.
    It's coming across the river, she thought. And the arch of the trestle is black and sharp against the sky. By now a passenger must have looked out the window to see Samuel's Castle far above him.
    â€œWhat's that big place up there?” the passenger asked.
    â€œWhy, that's the Peyton Place,” replied the conductor. “Got a whole town named for the feller built that castle, just down the line.”
    Allison stood very still in the cold, watching and listening, and at last the faraway sounds were a roar and the train rounded a curve in the track and came straight toward her through the towering banks of snow.
    A conductor was on the platform between two cars, leaning out, one gloved hand clinging to a rail on the side of the car, and one foot a step lower than the other. His high-crowned cap had a brass plate on the front that read “Boston and Maine R.R.”
    â€œPeyton Place,” called the conductor, “Peyton Place.”
    His voice seemed to echo down the long tunnel of snow and to rise over and around Allison so that the sound came back to her filled with an ineffable sadness, and she felt the old, familiar sting behind her eyelids.
    â€œGood-by, darling,” said Constance. “Be careful now, and call me as soon as you get there.”
    Allison turned to her almost with a start.
    â€œGood-by, Mother,” she said, and put her arms around Constance. “Yes, I'll call you.” She turned to Mike.
    â€œâ€™By, Poppa.”
    Mike bent and kissed her. “So long, Gertie. Good luck.”
    Her bags were already on the platform and the conductor was holding her elbow to help her up the steps.
    â€œDon't forget to go to Saks for my shirts,” Constance called. “I wrote down the size and colors for you.”
    â€œâ€”’BO'O-AARD!”
    Go back! Allison thought in sudden panic. Go back to what you have and hold onto it tight! Nothing is going to be the same when you get back. Run! She was on the platform and the train was moving. Her mother was waving, the winter sun on her golden hair. Jump, Allison! Run! Mike had one arm raised, waving, the other around Constance's shoulder. Get off, Allison!
    â€œSeats in the forward car, Miss,” said the conductor, and held the door open for her.
    And then it was too late. Allison found a seat next to a window and turned her head quickly to wave to Mike and her mother.
    â€œDon't forget to call me,” Constance was shouting. “Good-by, darling.”
    But Allison could not hear the words. She only saw that her mother's lips were moving and that her hand was still raised; then she was gone and the train was moving very fast.
    Not enough sleep and too much coffee, thought Allison as she tried to relax. But it was not until the train had stopped at Boston and she had transferred to the New York train at South Station that her stomach stopped quivering. Of all the ridiculous things! she scolded herself. Anybody would think I was going to be away from home for ten years instead of five days. Even the snow won't be any different when I get back, let alone anything else. Of all the foolishness!
    She ate lunch in the dining car and returned to her seat; the train moved with a soothing motion, lulling her anxieties and fears.
    I'm going to New York! she thought. I'm an author. Not just a writer for the magazines, but An Author! I made it!
    Her nervousness was gone now; she relaxed and watched the frozen landscape slide past her window, and recalled her meeting with Norman Page the day before.
    They had bumped into each other outside Seth Buswell's office.
    â€œI'm supposed to be back at work,” said Norman, “but this calls for a celebration. Come on over to Hyde's and I'll buy you a cup of coffee. It's wonderful news about your book being published, Allison. Wonderful. I'm so very glad for you.”
    Behind the