Chapter 2 Coca-Cola
Abby awoke, opened the trunk lid, and hopped out into a well-appointed hotel room. She glanced through the drapes and discovered herself to be five stories above a gas-lit city street. A horse and buggy drove by, then another, bumping over cobblestones and rails.
The clothes Constance had put on at the farmhouse were strewn across the floor. Abby searched in vain for a note. Obviously they were in Atlanta, but why had Constance chosen this particular hotel? It seemed expensive, and they didn't have much money. Abby changed into an oversized farm dress and snuck into the hallway.
Six doors to her right, four to her left. How big was this place? It even contained an elevator, a machine Abby had never encountered in the South. She chose to use the stairs, making her way toward a ground floor filled with music and laughter and cigar smoke. Abby froze at the bottom of the stairwell. She had no intention of entering such a huge crowd, especially alone. A side exit beckoned. She raced for it and shot into a warm, brick-lined alley.
For several minutes Abby leaned against the wall, enjoying the solitude, catching her breath. A wagon entered the alley. A boy of about sixteen stepped through a separate hotel door and began arguing with the driver. Eventually the wagon continued on its way past Abby. It was then that the boy noticed her.
He approached confidently at first, then grew hesitant as he got closer. This section of the alley was quite dark, and Abby knew the boy could scarcely see her. She could see him fine, however – tall, thin, light brown hair, wearing an apron and spectacles.
"The common room seemed a bit full for my taste," Abby offered. "I hope you don't mind my catching the evening air?"
"Miss Abigail Wilson?" the boy inquired, making a slight bow. "Your sister has told me much about you. My condolences on your recent loss."
"Thank you," Abby replied. Constance had conversed with this boy? And without getting carted away by the marshals?
"Please allow me to introduce myself," the boy continued. "Edward Inman, Assistant Proprietor of Kimball House."
"Pleased to meet you," Abby said. "It is a fine hotel."
"Best hotel in the South," Edward noted.
"I don't doubt it. And what, pray tell, does the Kimball House charge its guests for room and board?"
"I put you and your sister up for fifteen dollars."
"A week?"
"Pardon me, Miss Wilson. Fifteen dollars per day."
Abby looked away, chagrined. They had left the farmhouse with just over eighteen dollars. Had Constance already spent almost all of it?
"I noticed some displeasure," Abby commented, nodding toward where Edward had conversed with the driver.
"Just hotel business, Miss Wilson. Nothing to concern yourself with."
Abby pressed. "Tell me about it."
The boy looked at her funny. "If I may be so free, Miss Wilson, your sister intimated a medical condition on your part. One that does not permit contact with sunlight."
"That's correct."
"She also said this condition, combined with the recent loss of your mother, has engendered certain irregularities, and that we should please make allowances."
"Well, I'm a twelve-year-old girl talking to a strange man in an alley at night. Does that require allowances?"
Edward laughed. "I suppose so," he granted. "Fulton's a dry county. That wagon was supposed to supply our lounge for the evening. But no shipments have come in, and I'm the one who's going to get blamed."
"Dry?" Abby asked.
"No alcohol. Wets may take the council this fall, but that doesn't help me tonight."
"Where's your shipment?"
"Driver said the trains never came in. We've a marshal who gives warning before a station raid. Whiskey from Chattanooga probably got stopped by telegraph at Marietta. But the Augusta run would've been halted by hand signal. That's the misery of it. I know they're close."
"The Augusta track?"
"Next block," Edward explained, pointing south. "Runs east all the way to the coast."
Abby nodded and vanished. The gas lamps were a nuisance, but within ten minutes she was able to take to the air. The Kimball House looked as impressive from the sky as it had from inside, a daunting red structure occupying an entire city block. Abby followed the tracks two miles till she reached the stationary train, then settled onto the roof of its final freight car.
The search would have proved fruitless without her ability to see in the dark. As it was, it still took her almost an hour to find the right car. She removed a case of liquor, thought about it, then removed two more. She transferred her loot to a cemetery she had passed over, stashing two cases in a mausoleum. Then she returned to the hotel with her prize.
Edward cried out in relief when he opened the alley door and found Abby bearing eight bottles of rum.
"A week's room and board," Abby insisted as Edward attempted to relieve her of her burden.
This surprised the boy, but he recovered quickly. "We've already paid for these, you know. Three days."
"Our rooms would just sit empty," Abby countered, "so it's not like you're losing cash on us. Six days."
"I introduced your sister to half of Kimball House. Four days."
"Then you were doing your job," she said, handing the case over. "Five days." She plucked a bottle for herself before he scooted inside. "And I want thicker drapes."
When Abby returned to her room she found Constance naked and passed out on the floor. The vampire lifted her friend onto the bed and tucked her in. Then she settled by the window and watched Atlanta go to sleep.
***
Three nights later Abby took a bath, put up her hair, and squeezed into the suffocating black evening wear Edward had procured. She crept down the stairs, each step slower than the one before, noises and smells from the common room daring her to retreat. I can do this. Hadn't she assailed General Howe's troops in the Long Island fog? Spread panic among Santa Anna's lieutenants? Stolen chloroform for the 63rd Tennessee? Surely she could handle a Southern social.
Abby pressed into the crowd, afraid someone might see through her mourning clothes. The uniqueness of her attire did draw attention: polite nods, sympathetic glances. But no one tried to corner her. She discovered myriad public spaces, and that one need not be a guest to spend the evening socializing at Kimball House. Indeed, the entire city of Atlanta seemed convened in this hotel. Abby couldn't think of a worse place for maintaining a low profile. Why on earth had her "sister" chosen it?
In a parlor Abby found a black-enshrouded Constance surrounded by six doting men. Edward Inman led the band of admirers. He noticed Abby, but quickly returned his gaze to the object of his affection. Ten girls circled in the corners, annoyed at the lack of attention they were receiving and trying to figure out what to do about it.
"Abby," Constance interrupted. She hastened to the vampire's side, embraced her, and addressed her new friends. "Please allow me to introduce my sister, Miss Abigail Wilson."
There followed several minutes of generic pleasantries. The condolences of all were gratefully appreciated. Their mother had suffered for years, rendering her passing tragic but not unexpected. The first Kimball House had burned down. The new edifice had been given the same title in honor of the original namesake, but Mr. Kimball had retired to Chicago and did not own the current structure. No, the Wilson sisters had never visited the New Mexico Territory. It could be weeks or longer till their father summoned them.
Throughout these exchanges Abby kept her attention fixed on Constance and Edward. The boy kept pretending to have never met Abby, which made sense: it wouldn't do to inform Atlanta that a twelve-year-old female guest of Kimball House was keeping its illegal lounge stocked with illegal liquor. The real question concerned Constance's transformation. How was she acting so normal? Did the opportunity to flirt with boys put her on her best behavior? Did she prefer cities? Had she simply decided to stop being crazy?
The group eventually planted Abby in an overstuffed high-back chair and returned to their discourse. Constance quoted Shakespeare:
"Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vexed a sea nourished with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall and a preserving sweet."
"It is this speech's placement that one must keep in mind," Constance explained. "It's in Act One, Scene One, before Romeo has even met Juliet. Now consider what Tennyson does with it." She quoted again:
"Sainted Juliet! Dearest name!
If to love be life alone,
Divinest Juliet
I love thee, and live; and yet
Love unreturned is like the fragrant flame
Folding the slaughter of the sacrifice
Offered to gods upon an altarthrone;
My heart is lighted at thine eyes,
Changed into fire, and blown about with sighs."
"The speech is transformed through transposition to a later stage of the story. There is still fear of unrequited love. But no vexation, no bitterness. Juliet has reached back in time, remaking Romeo before she even meets him. A realized eschatology of the heart."
None of this made sense to Abby. Everyone else in the room, however, seemed to understand it just fine. The conversation moved to related literary topics: Byron's reliance upon Mozart, contrasting views of hell in Dante and Milton, Spensor's influence upon Keats. Abby realized this was no random collection of visitors. These were college students, teachers, writers. They had heard of Constance's genius. And they had come to benefit.
As Abby marveled at the improbability of it all, a growing unease began cramping her abdomen. She felt trapped and conflicted, as though someone in the crowd were bleeding profusely, but she didn't dare transform in front of so many. There was a house she wanted to enter, needed to enter, but knew she couldn't. She had to keep her meal down, but felt like throwing it up. She wanted to shout, but had to be silent. And what would she shout? I want to see the sun rise. I want to have babies. I want clothes no one can see through. I want to smell nice.
Abby's stomach spasmed, casting her onto the floor. She curled into a ball, squeezed her eyes shut, and started yelling, "I want to smell nice, I want to smell nice!"
Strong arms bore her from the room. She moaned and wept, but made no effort to resist the person carrying her. It got quieter, and she felt herself laid upon a bed. That's when she broke down for real.
The three older women who had helped Constance move Abby did not seem terribly disturbed by the vampire's behavior. It was nothing to be alarmed about, they assured Abby. She was only twelve, after all, and battling an illness that condemned her to perpetual night. Her mother had just died. She had recently arrived in a strange city. In any event, periodic hysterical fits were an unfortunate feature of the female condition. Women had been cursed in child-bearing.
Abby thought as she fell asleep: Perhaps women had been cursed in childbearing. But some were cursed worse than others.
***
A week later Abby was aroused by a banging from the hallway. She sensed the sun was almost down, so the danger was minimal. Plus four nights ago they had relocated to a room with north-facing windows. The monster didn't care, though. It had been awakened during daylight. It was hungry. Another day or two and Abby would have no choice but to feed. Perhaps she should solve all her problems at once by eating whoever had been stupid enough to wake her.
"Abby, please," a voice called, and she realized it was Edward.
The vampire grabbed a wide-brimmed hat, bundled a winter cloak about her shoulders, and cracked the door. She discovered Edward and Constance hand-in-hand, an observation that at first annoyed her. Then she realized Constance was muttering to herself and chewing her fingers. Abby ushered Constance inside and shooed Edward away.
Constance began pacing in short, rapid steps. "There's progression in the fourth measure," she noted, "but I don't know enough geometry to work out the harmonic division." She seized Abby's shoulders and began shaking her. "You have to teach me the math. I can see the patterns. They're all right there. I need to write them down."
Abby escaped to her closet and procured a bottle of rum. She also lit a cigar. As Constance drank and smoked, she started calming down. Enough for Abby to get her to lie on the bed, anyway. The vampire grasped Constance's face and shared a memory.
Nighttime had settled on a frontier cabin. Abby waited in a rocking chair, expectant with glee, as Betsey changed Rebecca's diaper. Then Betsey did the impossible: she picked up the baby and laid her in the vampire's trembling arms. Abby cuddled the infant, sang every song she knew, tears pouring down her cheeks and drenching her niece's thin brown hair. And the best thing about it was that Betsey knew. She knew what Abby had done to their mother, what she continued to do in the deep forest. Letting Abby rock Rebecca was pure grace. Abby didn't deserve it. She hadn't earned it. She could never repay it. It was the most precious moment in the vampire's life. It was the discovery of unconditional love.
Once Constance had fallen asleep, Abby dressed properly and raced downstairs. Edward was not hard to find.
"What happened?" Abby demanded.
"Father required I join him at the warehouse today, so I'm not entirely sure. I returned to find Constance in the lobby, distracted and...agitated. Normally I take her for a walk in the morning..." he added, blushing.
"You're saying she's acting this way because she missed you?"
"Well, begging your pardon," he replied, raising his hands and taking a step back, "if my absence were the cause, one would think my return might effect some relief on her part. And I am sorry about waking you. Miss Constance made it thoroughly clear that you are to be left undisturbed until nightfall. Said you would bite my head off, actually. But I decided, given the unique nature of our arrangement, that a doctor might not be your preferred course of action?"
"No, you did right. Thank you, Edward. And my sister is fond of you. Says there are precious few men who understand literature, math, and business. But what happened to her? That's what we need to figure out."
"If I may be so bold," he suggested, "part of the problem might be that she had no money."
"What difference does that make?"
"We patronage the local pharmacies on our walks. I talked to the soda jerk down the street. He says Constant ordered soda, but had no money. He says it upset her."
"Why didn't she have money?" Abby demanded. "Haven't I been working hard enough?"
"Yes, of course, Miss Abigail. Kimball House customers have been very pleased with our...stock. Even my father's noticed. But begging your pardon, I didn't know your sister was without spending money. I would have given her some. I have been buying you both presents, haven't I?"
Abby considered this. A lot of gifts had come their way, certainly. And her every request had been met.
"Come on," Abby said. "Let's get a soda."
The nearest pharmacy was only a block away. The shop was about to close, but Abby knew they would never turn away Edward Inman. The two of them went straight to the soda fountain. Edward ordered a Coca-Cola. Abby watched the soda jerk pour dark brown syrup in a glass, then mix it with bubbly water. Edward handed the man a nickel and passed the drink to Abby.
"Everyone's switched to this since the city's gone dry," Edward explained. "It's the only thing Constance ever gets."
Abby sniffed at the concoction. "It has sugar in it?" she asked.
"A lot of sugar, I think."
Abby nodded. That would account for Constance's interest in the drink. But not for the changes in her behavior. "Edward," she said, pointing to the glass below the counter. "There's an advertisement for Coca-Cola. Will you get it for me, please?"
A minute later the soda jerk handed Abby the flier:
COCA COLA
SYRUP AND EXTRACT
For Soda Water and other Carbonated Beverages
This intellectual beverage and temperance drink contains the valuable tonic and nerve stimulant properties of the Coca plant and Cola (or Kola) nuts, and makes not only a delicious, exhilarating, refreshing, and invigorating beverage, (dispensed from the soda water fountain or in other carbonated beverages), but a valuable Brain Tonic, and a cure for all nervous affections - sick headache, neuralgia, hysteria, melancholy, etc.
The peculiar flavor of COCA-COLA delights every palate; it is dispensed from the soda fountain in same manner as any of the fruit syrups.
J. S. Pemberton, Chemist, Atlanta, GA
"Brain Tonic," Abby quoted. "Coca-Cola is a Brain Tonic."
She folded the advertisement and placed it in her bosom. Then she informed her business partner of their next venture: "I think it's time Kimball House obtains itself a soda fountain."