Duncan’s head was jutted out over the steering wheel, his eyes straining to find the road and keep the car on it.
“We’re almost there,” Patrick said. “How are you doing, Duncan?”
“I’m all right,” he said, the strain of the night showing on his face.
“We’d better catch that train,” Maggie said. “We won’t be able to find a hotel in this mess.”
“We’ll make it all right,” Patrick said.
They pressed on until muted lights beckoned in the distance, like a saving grace.
“That’s it,” Patrick said, excitedly pointing. “That’s the town, and the train station is about two miles from there.”
“Thank God,” Irene said.
Patrick glanced at his watch. “We’ve got fifteen minutes.”
At that moment, the car skidded and lurched left. Irene screamed as Duncan wrestled for control. The back tires lost traction, gliding helplessly across the snow-covered road. They all braced for impact as the dark trunk of a tree raced in to meet them.
At the last second, Duncan wrenched the steering wheel in a hard right, but he lost the battle and the car slammed into the tree, tossing the passengers about.
As the wind whistled all about them, Patrick shook off the impact. He looked first at Duncan, who was holding a bleeding nose, and then he swiveled around to check on the women.
“Are you ladies all right?”
Irene was crying, holding her head. “I hit my head. It hurts.”
“Are you bleeding?” Patrick asked.
She was nearly hysterical. “We are all going to freeze to death. We’ll never get out of here.”
Patrick ignored her. “Maggie?”
“I’m fine,” she said, calmly. “Thank God for good solid Cadillacs. Good thinking, Patrick.”
Patrick jerked a nod. “We could have used seatbelts.”
“Seatbelts?” Maggie asked.
“Never mind. Maggie, help Irene.”
Patrick turned back to Duncan. “Are you all right, Duncan?”
He nodded, throwing his head back. “Bumped my nose on the steering wheel.”
Patrick pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to him. “Use this.”
Duncan took it, nodding.
“Bye-bye, train,” Maggie said.
Patrick rubbed the knee he had jammed into the dashboard and forced his mind to work.
“Okay, look. I’m going out to try to push us out. Duncan, can you still drive this thing?”
“Yes… I’m all right.”
Without another word, Patrick shoved the door and it flew open. He tumbled outside into the mad tempest, shielding his face from the attacking snow. As he stamped through the snowy mounds, his hair instantly caked with icy flakes, he kept a hand on the side of the car to steady his uncertain feet until he came to the tree. He assessed the damage. The engine was still purring; that was good. The headlights were on, also good. There was hope. It was the left back tire that seemed buried. If he could free that, there was a good chance the heavy car could find purchase and fight its way back to the road.
Using the car’s headlights, Patrick searched the area for a sturdy, fallen limb he could use as leverage. He tramped about searching, raking through the snow until, minutes later, he was lucky enough to find one. It wasn’t as thick as he’d hoped, but it would have to do. He grasped it with his already numb, gloveless fingers—he’d misplaced his gloves sometime after his fight with Big Jim—and he carried the heavy limb to the back tire.
He worked and jiggled until he wedged one end of the limb under the tire just enough so that he could bounce it, as Duncan hit the gas.
Duncan stuck his head out, one hand still holding the handkerchief to his nose.
“Ready?” he shouted.
“Yes,” Patrick called, with a thumbs up.
Duncan gunned the engine and Patrick wrapped the branch with both arms. With a straining effort, he bounced, pushed and heaved as the icy wind bit into his face. The back tire spun and squealed but refused to budge. Patrick tried again, putting all his weight into it, as a driving snow struck his face and white clouds of smoke puffed from his mouth. Again, the tire whirled, making a high-pitched whine like a dentist’s drill, but refused to budge.
Now looking like a snowman, Patrick straightened, wiped his face and took in gulps of cold air, his pulse racing, arms aching.
It didn’t look good, he thought.
When the back door flew open and Maggie emerged, a hat pulled tightly over her head, Patrick looked on, curious.
He called to her, his voice nearly swallowed by the wind. “What are you doing?”
“Well, obviously you can’t do this by yourself. Let’s see if I can help get us out of here before Big Jim’s men show up.”
“Do you really believe Big Jim’s men would chase after us in this storm?”
“Yes, Patrick, I do. They’re animals. Come on, let’s get this thing free and back on the road. I don’t want to miss the train.”
Patrick put her to work on the limb, pushing and rocking it up and down, while he crouched at the left bumper and put his shoulder to it. They labored and rocked and grunted and cursed as the car bounced, but the tire refused to catch. Patrick could feel slick sweat on his back as he soldiered on.
Finally, he stopped, his shoulders aching, back sore. Filled with frustration, he yelled out. “Okay, okay, Maggie, take a break. I need to catch my breath.”
Maggie’s hat and coat were now white. She shoved her hands into her coat pockets, stood up straight and tall as if she were about to recite some lines, and looked skyward, gasping, her heart pounding.
“All right, it’s time for a Christmas song.”
“A what?” Patrick shouted, incredulous.
“Singing gives me strength and, anyway, I haven’t sung a Christmas song yet this season, so I’m going to sing.”
Patrick stared in disbelief as Maggie lifted her chin high and began to sing Jingle Bells.
Dashing through the snow
In a one-horse open sleigh,
Over the fields we go,
Laughing all the way,
Bells on bob-tail ring,
Making spirits bright,
What fun it is to ride and sing
A sleighing song tonight,
Jingle bells, jingle bells,
Jingle all the way!
O’ what fun it is to ride
In a one-horse open sleigh.
“Come on, Patrick,” Maggie shouted over the moaning wind. “Join in.”
Duncan stuck his head out the window, looking back, bug-eyed. “What’s going on back there?”
Patrick shook his head, put fists on his hips and hollered. “We’re singing Jingle Bells.”
“Jingle Bells? At a time like this?”
“Apparently so…”
And then Patrick joined in on the next chorus, having learned the lyrics only last Christmas, in 2017.
Jingle bells, jingle bells,
Jingle all the way!
O’ what fun it is to ride
In a one-horse open sleigh.
Patrick looked at her. “You have a beautiful voice.”
“Thank you. You know, Patrick, you can’t carry a tune worth a spit. You just missed every note.”
Patrick ignored her insult, his mind on other things. “So how did you end up with Big Jim?”
Maggie threw her hands to her hips, as snow pelted them both.
“What do you care?”
“I just want to know.”
“This is not the time nor the place to discuss this.”
“So, of all the men in New York City, you hook up with Big Jim. How? Why? I don’t understand it, a girl like you who is so pretty and smart. Tell me. Why?”
“It’s none of your damn business, Patrick. You sound like my father, although I never had a father.”
Duncan’s head was out of the window again. “What’s wrong back there? Irene is having a brea
kdown. Please, get us out of here.”
With a shake of his head, Patrick lowered himself to the bumper and Maggie, now angry at Patrick for his critical remarks, felt as strong as an Amazon.
They went back to work, both filled with new power. Patrick dug in his heels and shoved and heaved, while Maggie put all her weight on the stick, bouncing it and cursing it. Slowly, grudgingly, the tire began to grind a hole in the snow, finding the hard rocky earth. The tires clawed at the ground, as Duncan flattened the accelerator and the engine roared. Finally, grudgingly, the car grabbed the hard dirt and broke free, shooting ahead, fishtailing up and onto the road. Exhausted and freezing, Patrick fell to his knees, his chest heaving, his breath smoking.
Maggie placed her hands at her sides and bent at the waist, gulping in air.
Patrick looked at her. “Thanks, Maggie. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Maggie’s face was still tight with fury. “So, is that why you spurned my advances the other day? Because of Big Jim? Because I’m not good enough for you?”
“What? No… of course not. That wasn’t it at all.”
“Most men find me very attractive, you know.”
Patrick jerked a nod. “Yes, well, I know that, don’t I? And you should be a little more careful and discerning about the men you run around with.”
Maggie glared at him. “You can just go to hell!”
CHAPTER 38
The Poughkeepsie train platform was covered by a slate roof that protected passengers from the snow. Two resolute men were shoveling snow into piles, while a big northern wind blew sharply through the open spaces, reddening cheeks and whipping up coattails. Hands were clamped down on hats to keep them from sailing away, and a scruffy old brown dog shuffled about like a watchman, his leery gaze taking it all in.
Patrick, Maggie, Duncan, and Irene all stood on the train platform next to the luggage cart that held their bags. The young porter would load them as soon as the train arrived.
All four passengers were leaning anxiously forward, peering ahead as the approaching locomotive’s headlight pierced the haze, shining like a spotlight, the train’s forlorn whistle announcing its arrival. The passengers stepped back as the train rumbled into the station, braking in a hiss of steam as it screeched to a stop.
Maggie and Patrick were still damp and shivering from their ordeal, their muscles tight and throbbing. Duncan had a gentle arm resting around Irene’s shoulders, as she mumbled complaints and fears.
“Thank God this thing was late,” Maggie said.
“We were lucky. Let’s hope there aren’t more delays,” Patrick said.
Maggie turned to him. “How did Eve sound on the telephone? You were lucky to reach her in this storm.”
“She’s fine.”
“Did she give you directions?”
Patrick pulled the paper from his pocket and read it: “Eve said we’re going to the original Coldwater station, at Coldwater Junction. It’s a few miles outside the village of Coldwater, Ontario. She and the man she went to see, Logan Tyler, will be there with a horse and sleigh.”
“How quaint,” Maggie said.
Their attention was suddenly diverted by Irene’s brittle sounding voice. “I want to go home,” she whimpered.
Her face was colorless and drawn. “I want my Mummy. I want to go home. I’m so cold and hungry. I’m so tired.”
Duncan’s soft voice tried to soothe her. “It will be okay, Irene. Once we get on the train, everything will be all right. You’ll be warm and safe. They have a café car. I’ll get you something to eat and you can sleep.”
She shook her head as new tears glistened her eyes. “I want to go home.” She continued to repeat it like a mantra.
Maggie rolled her eyes and looked away.
Patrick stepped over, keeping his voice low but firm. “Irene, is that what you really want? Do you really want to go back to New York?”
She averted his eyes. “Yes… I’ll be safe now that that scoundrel of a man is dead. My Mummy will take away my money if I leave her now. I’ll be a pauper.”
Duncan spoke up. “I’ll support us, Irene. I’ll get a job. You’ll never go hungry, I promise. I’ll take care of you.”
Irene sniffled as she spoke to him with pleading eyes. “But you’ll always be poor, Duncan, don’t you see? You’re a painter and they don’t make any money. I don’t want to be poor, Duncan. You are such a good boy, but I don’t want to be poor for the rest of my life. I’ll be safe now in New York, don’t you see? I can go back home and be with my Mummy, and I’ll be warm and safe.”
Duncan looked away, helpless.
Patrick nodded. “All right, Irene, if that’s what you want. I’d suggest you take the Cadillac, but can you drive?”
“I can’t drive that big thing, Mr. Gantly. Anyway, it’s not proper for a woman to drive.”
“Of course,” Patrick said. “According to the schedule, the next train to New York doesn’t arrive until morning. Are you going to be okay here alone?”
“She won’t be alone,” Duncan said, disheartened. “I’ll stay with her. I’ll go back to New York with her.”
Irene pulled away from Duncan, facing him fully. “No, Duncan. You must go on. That awful man has so many connections in New York. They know you shot Big Jim. They will find you and kill you. No, you must go with Patrick and Maggie. You must go to Canada and make a brand-new life for yourself. Don’t you see?”
It was obvious that Duncan did not see. With his thinking eyes in motion, his features gradually fell apart in degrees of disbelief and sadness. He lifted a weak, shaking hand and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He gently touched her cheek and gave her a tender, loving smile. Then he turned from her and started walking toward the train, just as the conductor bellowed, “All aboard!”
Patrick looked at her with compassion. “Goodbye, Irene, and I’m sorry for all that happened to you because of me.”
Irene’s face turned sour. “It wasn’t you, Mr. Gantly,” she said harshly. “It was Eve. I wish I had never met her. She has brought me nothing but bad luck ever since I first saw her on that Central Park bench.”
Patrick ignored that. “Do you have money, Irene? Do you have enough to buy something to eat and to buy a ticket back home?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Patrick pulled a wallet from his pocket, drew out some bills and pressed them into her hand. “Take this, just in case.”
She sniffled again, touched by his concern. “Thank you, Mr. Gantly, for being so brave. We would have all died if you hadn’t been there for us.”
“Take care of yourself, Irene,” Patrick said. “I hope everything works out for you.”
Her sad eyes came to his, and they swam in tears. “They’ve just got to, don’t they?”
As Patrick turned to follow the others onto the train, Irene’s voice stopped him, and he glanced back.
“Duncan was brave too, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, Irene, he was. Very brave.”
“I’m glad he killed that man. I will always love Duncan for that, and for so many other things. He is a great artist, you know, and he is such a good boy.”
Patrick nodded.
As the train lurched ahead and pulled away from the station, Duncan sat heavily into a seat by a window. Gloomy and lost, he waved goodbye to Irene.
She grew animated, taking quick little steps toward the departing train, waving back and flashing him a sweet, girlish smile as she wiped her tears with an embroidered hanky.
An hour later, Patrick and Maggie sat in the café car, having finished their beef sandwiches and boiled eggs. Each lingered quietly over a cup of black tea.
They had left Duncan forward in his seat, his shoulders hunched, looking lost and dejected. He had refused to join them, saying he wasn’t hungry.
Maggie ordered tea and had it sent to him.
“I’m sorry for the kid,” Maggie said.
“I don’t think he’s a kid any longe
r, Maggie. We wouldn’t have made it without his courage and strength. Thank God Eve saved his life.”
Maggie lifted her tired eyes on Patrick. “I wouldn’t have made it without you. I’m sorry for what I said back there in the snowstorm… you know, about my flirty come on, and Big Jim.”
Patrick lifted his cup and sipped. “You’re right. It is none of my business.”
Maggie slid her teacup and saucer aside. “I heard you, you know.”
“Heard me what?”
“Irene and I crept forward just as you and Big Jim were about to fight.”
Patrick stayed mute.
“When he asked who you were, you said Patrick Gantly. When he asked if you were my brother, you said, no, you were my father. Why did you say that?”
Patrick shrugged. “I don’t know. It seemed like something that would throw Big Jim off a bit. I needed him off balance.”
“Really? So, your name is Patrick Gantly?”
“Yes…”
“And Eve was married to my father?”
Patrick shifted uncomfortably. “Yes…”
“So, who are you then, Mr. Gantly? A cousin? What?”
Patrick just stared at her, feeling so exhausted from the day and the warmth of the food and heat that he didn’t think he had the strength or will to have this conversation. At least not now.
“Did you know my father, Patrick? And don’t lie to me.”
“Yes, Maggie, I knew your father.”
Maggie sat back, digesting his answer. “And you’re from Ohio, as Eve is?”
“No, I’m not.”
Maggie leaned forward, irritated. “Who the hell are you, Patrick? Tell me. No more games. You and Eve went to a lot of trouble to get me away from Big Jim—risking your lives for me—and I want to know why. So tell me.”
Patrick saw that Maggie was not going to back down. He would have to tell her everything—all the truth—and risk never seeing her again.
Patrick took a long, pleasurable look at his daughter, her lovely face and natural lush hair, mussed a bit and tangled from their hard travel. How he wished he could have seen her as a baby; helped to raise her; teach her, care for her, love her. How he regretted not knowing her all these years. Would they have many years ahead? Hopefully. After he told her the truth, would she want to time travel to 2018 and be with him?
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