Mrs. Beaumont's Aversion to Trains

Despite her allure and sophistication, Mrs. Beaumont’s pale face can do little to hide her aversion for traveling. In fact, much of her visage, together with her uncertain hazel orbs and the ever so fashionable makeup, lay exposed this day by the panache of her russet curls. To the subject of her beauty, it is undoubtedly a prominent feature attributed to any scenery, which adds to the assurance that any bystander would notice the discomfort that now graces her countenance. After spending a large portion of her youth on daunting travels with her mother, to this day as Mrs. Beaumont looks out a moving window her stomach twists, rises into her chest making her short of breath, and then plummets suddenly and heavily, making her ill; unpleasant enough to cause discomfort at the thought.1

Easing herself into a first class compartment on the morning’s first train, window curtain drawn shut, Evelyn Beaumont fastens her eyes on the scuffed floor between her feet and digs her fingernails into the seat cushion; hoping to rid herself of the cascading thought which troubles her. Evelyn’s stomach, as fragile as it may be, is not the sole contributor to the distaste she finds towards traveling, but even so her heart is sturdy, and today it is the kindness of the latter which compels her. Calling boisterously, the train-whistle echoes off the station walls, simultaneously masking the otherwise audible sigh that disperses from Evelyn’s distinguished lips, and the engine lunges forward. Evelyn tightens her grip.2