"Cynthia, you're a darling and I love you dearly," Dean said as he kissed her cheek. "But you're a full card-carrying romantic optimist. The guy is setting her up! He wants to save the few bucks the whore house charges and have her for his very own. He's making her his concubine."
"It does sort of seem that way. But she doesn't come out and say that directly."
"No, you're just not reading that. Take off the rose colored glasses-'my sins will continue'-or better yet, wait until you decipher a few more pages and she gives it to you in black and white, chapter and verse and supplies the sinful details."
Cynthia acknowledged her reluctant agreement with a deep sigh and no further conversation as Dean extinguished the light. Later, in that languid time between lovemaking and the usual surrender to sleep, Cynthia remained awake.
"I know we'll probably never learn the answer, but I still can't fathom what could have happened back in Boston to make Annie Quincy desert a comfortable life." She propped herself up against the back of their brass bed. Dean could see her troubled profile in the emerging moonlight. Shadows danced in tune with a slight breeze from the inch of open window and a sentinel pine tree beyond.
"It could have been anything, but I'd guess she had a serious rift at home, probably with her parents."
"But look what she had going for her! She was obviously a very intelligent young lady. Why would she become what she did? I understand opportunities were limited a century ago but surely she could have been a school teacher or office clerk or something above a brothel prostitute."
"If you want me to speculate, I'd say it ran far deeper than that. My guess is she fled from some type of sexual encounter. I'm no shrink, but look at the life she later resorted to. It's as if she's bent on degrading herself. She lacks any kind of positive self-image. While her writing demonstrates education, most likely her background ill equipped her for the practical realities of the real world. Look at Edith Shipton. She's not stupid either, but I'll bet she'd starve if she didn't have a bank account to tap. A hundred years ago, Edith might have joined Annie, smiling her nights away at the Red Hat Saloon. And think of Annie's age. When she's writing the notebook she's been in the life some time. I'd guess she left home quite young, perhaps as a mid-teenager, with little or no dough. That would limit her options even more, making her vulnerable to coercion, finally pushing her into prostitution. That and desperation. When you're hungry and someone offers a meal, maybe you start rationalizing the price you're paying and start playing by a different set of rules."