The story of Baby Ruth began one summer day in 1921 when Hettie Curfman rode her bicycle to the train station in Gilbert, Kansas, and bought a ticket she would never use. She knew where she was going, but she was uncertain of when, and within a week, that indecision would provoke a whirlwind of changes as enveloping as the dust that billowed after her bicycle. So pervasive were the changes, in fact, that over time she wouldn’t know where or when she was going, but only that she was indeed going. Going to find Baby Ruth.

    When she arrived at the train station, Hettie wasn’t dressed for travel. She wore everyday clothing, a high-necked white cotton blouse and long black skirt speckled with dirt.  Her belongings consisted of a leather pouch and a book, which drifted about in the wooden grocery box wired to her bicycle’s rear fender.  Tucked inside the pouch was money she’d earned the past year writing the society column for the local newspaper, and playing the piano at funerals, weddings and the Yack Yack Club. She carried it into the station and emptied it onto the counter, the coins clinking.

   The station master, R.W. Carter, peered out at her between his spectacles and a green visor that rode his forehead. Mr. Carter worked mornings as the station master and afternoons as the postmaster, a convenient combination that allowed him to wear the same canvas apron and visor, but also to know almost as much as Hettie about everyone else’s business in town. Hettie rewarded his frequent contributions to her column in the Gilbert Telegram by giving him half of the 10 cents per column inch she earned. His submissions were popular, but of questionable integrity. A recent entry, for example, had described an incident involving the newlywed Mrs. Grover Klingerhof:  “The young lady bought a single one-way ticket to the home of her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Dillon of St. Louis, Missouri. Mr. Klingerhof unfortunately arrived 15 minutes after the train’s departure and was thus unable to give his beloved a proper send-off. Her return is greatly anticipated.”

   On the other hand, Mr. Carter’s meddling reduced the need for Hettie to do so, which was a relief. Hettie despised making gossip look glorious. Nobody in Gilbert had troubles, according to the Telegram. It was one reason Hettie was desperate to hop a train to anywhere and never come back.    

    Mr. Carter pulled a pencil from his desk drawer and licked the lead point. Suddenly, as he leaned across the ticket window toward her, she could imagine the article he might write about her.

    “Miss Hettie Curfman,” he said. “What can I do for you?” 

    “I’m here to buy a ticket, Mr. Carter.” She ran the palms of her hands over her brown hair, fastened to the top of her head with pins and a white bow. Of all the features she disliked about herself – the faint birthmark on her forehead, her stubby nose, her brooding lips – her hair was the worst. It was an unpredictable mass of waves. It wasn’t noon yet, and already it was abandoning its assignment. She rearranged pins while studying the train schedule posted above Mr. Carter’s window.

    “I was thinking Chicago maybe,” she said.   

   “Chicago maybe. How come Chicago maybe?”

   Truth be told, it was because Chicago was the farthest on the list from Gilbert.

   “My cousins live there,” she said.

  “Your cousins live in Chicago maybe? I didn’t know you had cousins there.” Mr. Carter’s thick eyebrows perched between his spectacles and his visor.

   “That’s right. It’s a surprise visit to my Cousin Mary, so you can’t tell a soul.”

   Hettie had never lied so much, so easily. Mr. Carter stared at her until two women Hettie had never seen before walked into the station. They had to have been in their 70s and were identical twins wearing identical clothing, right down to the ostrich plumes in their brown velvet hats. 

   “Hello ladies,” he called out. “Look, Hettie, they match. Wonder what’s their story.”

   That’s when Mr. Carter sold her the ticket. He never did put her plans in the Telegram, which was fortunate because Hettie never did tell her parents. She never left Gilbert. If she had, she might never have made the mistake that changed so many lives.