by Bess McBride
Chapter Two
Gem opened her eyes to the sound of voices.
“Whatever has happened to you, dear?” a woman asked.
Gem looked up to see concerned sky-blue eyes peering into her own as a silver-haired woman bent down to study her.
She jerked upright.
“What?” she asked in a drowsy voice. “Who are you?”
With the blur of sleep clearing from her eyes, Gem could see that the woman wore a broad-brimmed straw hat festooned with brown satin ribbons and black lace. A beautifully cut brown silk jacket hugged her plump figure. Matching skirts fell away to the floor. A necklace of brown amber stones dangled around the high neck of a delicately laced white blouse.
“Has something happened to you, miss? You appear so—” The sweetly concerned woman stopped, as if searching for words. She turned to her companion, a tall elderly man with a white handlebar mustache that stretched for miles across his slender face. He sported a black derby over well-groomed silver hair and an elegant black three-piece suit. The man did not bend over Gem but remained upright, studying her with equal concern in his kindly pale-blue eyes.
“I cannot help you, my dear,” he said to the woman, running a hand along his mustache.
Gem noted matching gold wedding bands on their ring fingers.
“I would not know the proper words,” the man said in a wry tone.
Gem blinked.
“I’m okay,” she said, her eyes passing beyond them with the sickening realization that she might not have been okay after all. She remembered dozing off in the sleeper compartment, but she didn’t remember moving into a luxuriously appointed antique railcar.
Forest-green velvet curtains matched the upholstery on two opposing bench seats, contrasting well with the plush maroon carpet. Rich, warm mahogany paneling was repeated in the furnishings. Brass fittings and globed sconces added to the opulent feel of the compartment.
“Where am I?” Gem asked faintly, rising to her feet.
“Oh dear,” the man said, glancing at Gem’s legs before blinking and looking away toward the window.
Gem looked down. Had she soiled herself in some way? She saw nothing more than her favorite faded blue jeans and comfortable sneakers.
“You are on the train, dear,” the woman said, throwing another troubled look toward her husband. “How can we assist you? Have you lost your way? Could we call the conductor for you?”
Gem blinked and eyed the couple standing in front of her. No, something was definitely wrong. Somehow, she had wandered out of her compartment and into some sort of special car.
“I’m probably not supposed to be here,” she said, eyeing the luxurious compartment. “I must have wandered in here without realizing it.”
“I would say that is a certainty,” the man said. “Where is your compartment?”
“In the sleeper car? I can’t remember the number right now. Weird, right?”
Rising anxiety made Gem’s pulse pound loudly in her ears.
“Why don’t you sit down again, dear. George, she must have some tea. Could you ask the steward for some? And then I think we must send for the conductor.”
“Yes, dear,” he said.
Gem was no match for the determined lady who placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and pushed her down. At five feet one inch, Gem was unequal to fighting the taller woman off. Not that she would have. The woman’s concern was genuine.
“Where am I?” Gem asked again. She turned to look out the window. Apparently they had left the suburbs of Seattle behind long ago and had entered a forested area. Mountain peaks shimmered in the distance.
“Where are we?”
The woman looked out the window.
“I believe we approach Livingston in Montana.”
“Livingston! That’s not on the schedule! How did we get down here? I didn’t think the train came this far south!”
“I am certain I do not know how to reply, dear. I believe the train follows its usual route.”
“This is so strange! I was going to take a rental car down to Livingston. I wonder if I’m dreaming!”
“You are wide awake, dear.” The sweet lady looked toward the compartment door as if hoping for reinforcements.
“If I’m awake, then I misunderstood the train route, and that isn’t possible. I studied it for a long time!”
A man in a crisp black-and-white three-piece waiter’s uniform appeared at the door carrying a tray of tea things.
“Oh! Even the staff is different!” Gem exclaimed. Everything on the antique car was luxuriously first class, even the steward. Oddly, the paneling, furnishings and upholstery looked remarkably new, hardly refurbished or restored.
The steward blinked and paused when he saw Gem. Like the husband, his eyes dropped to her legs.
“Don’t mind me,” Gem said with a weak smile. “I’m just visiting.”
“Will there be anything else, Mrs. Vandingham? Your husband said to say he has gone to speak to the conductor.”
Gem swallowed hard, imagining the conductor dragging her back to her compartment by her hair.
“That’s not good,” she said hastily. “I should return to my compartment.”
“No, I think you must stay and take some refreshment, miss. Thank you, Thomas. I will pour.”
The steward nodded, threw Gem a last dubious look and left the compartment.
Mrs. Vandingham turned to Gem.
“I should have introduced myself. I am Sylvie Vandingham. My husband, Mr. George Vandingham, and I are from Seattle. We are traveling to visit family in Chicago. And you are?”
“Gemima Holliday.”
“And where are you traveling to, Miss Holliday?”
“Gem, please. Well, I’m headed to Livingston to do some genealogical research, then off to Chicago as well.”
“Genealogical research?”
“You know, look up ancestors, visit history centers, cemeteries.”
“I see! And do you have family there in Livingston?”
“Not living, no.”
“Oh, that is too bad. So you are making a pilgrimage of sorts.”
“Of sorts. Listen, I wonder if you could tell me. What kind of train car is this? Is this a special historically themed thing? I have no idea how I got here, to tell you the truth.”
“Historically themed? Not at all! This train is quite modern!”
“I’m sure the train is, but this car, this compartment?” Gem raised her eyes to the beautiful mahogany ceiling. “Not this ceiling.”
“I imagine you have come up from tourist class?”
Gem sipped her hot stout tea and shook her head.
“Tourist class? I didn’t know they had tourist class. No, I had a sleeper. As far as I know, there’s only coach and sleepers.”
Mr. Vandingham appeared in the doorway, followed by a conductor, though not the same female conductor who had greeted Gem as she’d boarded. The tall, husky mustached man studying her with narrowed bushy gray eyebrows wore a brass-buttoned charcoal-gray three-piece suit and equally shiny wheel hat, unlike his more casually dressed colleague. Dressed more appropriately for fall or winter, apparently the warm summer attire of shirtsleeves was not for him.
He presented an imposing figure, and Gem eyed him nervously, the vision of him dragging her away by her hair growing stronger.
“Hello,” Gem said in a high-pitched voice. “Somehow, I lost my way. I’m in one of the sleeping compartments.”
“Good day, miss. You are indeed in the sleeping compartments, but this compartment belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Vandingham. Mr. Vandingham feels you may be lost. May I see your ticket?”
Gem set her teacup down on a small wooden table secured to the wall.
“I don’t have it. I stuck it in my backpack after I boarded. And I don’t seem to have my backpack with me. It’s in my compartment.”
“Do you remember the compartment number?”
“Not really. It was the last sleeper car? On the end?
You have a list of passengers, right?” Gem rose. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I just go back to my own compartment? My steward knows me. Steve?”
The conductor shook his head. “We do not have a steward by that name. And we have only the one sleeping compartment.” He turned to Mr. Vandingham.
“I think the young lady should come with me.”
“No!” Mrs. Vandingham said. “Sit down, dear.” She pulled Gem down to the bench seat again and turned back to the conductor.
“I think Miss Holliday must stay here with us for the time being. She said that her stop is Livingston. We will be there shortly, at any rate.”
“Are you certain, Mrs. Vandingham? It is quite possible that Miss Holliday has stowed away.”
“What?” Gem tried to jump up again, but Mrs. Vandingham stayed her with a hand on her arm. “I am not a stowaway! I can’t believe you just said that!”
“It happens quite often,” the conductor said, eyeing her narrowly.
“Well, I’m not. I have a ticket. It’s in my backpack which is in my compartment. At any rate, Mrs. Vandingham, thank you so much, but I have to return to my compartment to get my backpack if we’re approaching Livingston. Thank you for the tea.”
Gem resolutely stood. She nodded in the direction of the couple and faced the conductor.
“Let’s go find my compartment!”
The conductor allowed her to precede him out of the car, shutting the door behind him. Gem looked up and down the corridor.
“Which way?” he asked.
“Well, I don’t know! You’re the conductor!”
“You may have fooled the Vandinghams, Miss Holliday, but you cannot bamboozle me. Tell the truth. You are not assigned to a sleeping compartment on this train. You jumped the train at our last station.”
Gem pivoted and faced the tall, burly man. “You have got to be kidding me! ‘Jumped the train’? What do I look like? A hobo?”
“Well, I do not like to comment on a woman’s appearance but...” Like Mr. Vandingham and the steward, he lowered his eyes to Gem’s legs.
“What are you looking at?” Gem said, rather belligerently.
“Your trousers, frankly,” he said. “No proper lady travels in such clothing.”
“What?”
He pressed his lips together, his thick gray mustache unyielding.
“Okay, I don’t know what to do,” Gem said irritably. “If you aren’t going to help me get back to my compartment, can you get the other conductor? The lady? She may not remember me, but then again, she might?”
“I am the only conductor aboard this train, young woman. We do not have lady conductors. And I do not have any more time for this nonsense. Come with me to my office. You can wait there until the train arrives in Livingston. Then, I am putting you off!”
“Not without my backpack, you’re not!” Gem folded her arms and dug in her heels, still thinking that he might forcibly drag her away.
By then, doors to compartments were busily sliding open as passengers started to investigate the commotion in the hallway. Behind them, Mrs. Vandingham opened her door.
“Come inside, for goodness’ sake! You are shaming the young lady out there. I did not send Mr. Vandingham to find you only so that you might humiliate the poor thing.”
She took hold of Gem’s arm and pulled her back into the compartment.
“Really! You should be ashamed of yourself, Conductor!” Mrs. Vandingham muttered. “Mr. Vandingham, do pay for the young lady’s fare and let’s be done with it.”
Mr. Vandingham dutifully reached for his wallet while Gem watched in stunned muteness.
“No, not here, Mr. Vandingham. Out there.” She nodded toward the corridor.
“If you are certain, Mrs. Vandingham?” the conductor asked. “We cannot encourage this sort of behavior.”
“Goodness, sir! We do not even know what kind of behavior we are encouraging. This young lady did not ‘jump the train,’ as I heard you charge. Yes, please go. Thank you.”
Mr. Vandingham smiled wryly at the conductor, and they left the compartment.
“Mrs. Vandingham, I can’t accept! I do have a ticket! I do. I have a compartment, and I need to get back to it!”
“Gem, my dear, I cannot say what has happened, but you seem very confused. I wish I knew how to help you. Seeking out that conductor proved to be a terrible idea! Odious man! Now, sit down. You look quite ill!”
Mrs. Vandingham poured out another cup of tea and handed it to Gem, who took it gratefully. Her heart pounded, and cold sweat had broken out on her upper lip. At some point in the past half hour, she had begun to suspect that something extraordinary had happened to her.
“What’s the date, Mrs. Vandingham?”
“The date, dear? Why, it is June 19, 1905. Surely you know that, don’t you?
Chapter Three
John Morrison looked in the mirror and straightened his tie. His dark hair appeared to be in order, and he turned away. Even now, two years after the accident, he still loathed the sight of his reflection. Though he had grown a dark beard to hide the jagged line across his right cheek and down his neck, the hideous scars were still visible. He supposed he should have been thankful that both his eyes had been spared. However, he often failed in that quest for gratitude.
John crossed over to his desk and settled into his chair. Picking up some papers, he weighted them down while he scrawled his name at the bottom with his left hand. Formerly right handed, he hoped he would someday finesse the signature he’d been forced to teach himself two years before.
A tap on the door caught his attention.
“Come in.”
Cedric, his clerk, thrust his head inside the doorway.
“Mrs. Sarah Stewart is here, Mr. Morrison.”
John sighed inwardly. The widowed Sarah Stewart visited his office more often than was necessary. Her husband had died the previous year, and the estate had been settled. She truly had no further legal business, but still she came.
“Thank you, Cedric. Please show her in.”
The sound of a train whistle filled the office, and John looked over toward the window. Even now, he despised the sound. He checked his pocket watch. The train was early. He knew the train’s schedule by heart.
“Could you close the window, Cedric? I had it open to admit the warm summer air, but I would like to close it now.”
“Yes, sir.”
John was fully capable of maneuvering the window with one hand—he had learned to do so—but he was happy enough to have Cedric close the window since his clerk was already in the office. John welcomed one less opportunity to see the black monster of a steam locomotive roll into the depot across the street.
Cedric closed the window and left the room. John gathered even more papers and piled them into a stack, as if awaiting his attention. He looked up when Cedric tapped once again to usher in the attractive widow. A fanciful black concoction with red ribbons covered Mrs. Stewart’s darkly shining hair. Married young to Mr. George Stewart, a well-to-do land baron, the widow did not appear to mourn her husband’s passing to excess...if at all.
“John, how lovely to see you!” she exclaimed, sailing in and taking a chair in front of his desk. She settled the skirts of her stylish black silk skirts.
John rose quickly and gave her a short bow before seating himself again. He watched as Cedric discreetly closed the door.
“And you as well, Mrs. Stewart. How can I be of service today?”
“Why must you always be so formal, John? It is Sarah. I must have told you twenty times.”
She paused as if waiting to see if John would use her given name. He did not. He quirked an eyebrow and awaited a response to his question.
When Mrs. Stewart saw that he would not concede, she sighed and spoke.
“Will you offer me a cup of tea?”
Now John sighed, albeit inwardly. He could hardly refuse her. She was, after all, a client.
“Yes, of course.” He rose
and crossed the room to open the door.
“Cedric, some tea for Mrs. Stewart, please.”
“Two cups, sir?” the young man asked.
John shook his head. On the point of turning, he looked at Cedric and tapped on the doorknob.
Young and devoid of artifice, the twenty-year-old did not understand John’s unspoken message. John looked over his shoulder to see Mrs. Stewart had turned in her chair to watch him. He nodded politely and approached Cedric to speak in a low voice.
“In future, please leave the door open when Mrs. Stewart is in the office. Thank you.”
John pivoted away and returned to his office, taking his seat once again.
“Cedric will bring tea directly. Now, how may I help you, Mrs. Stewart?”
“Well, there were two things I wanted to speak to you about.”
The widow pulled a handkerchief from her purse as if she was about to start crying. John stiffened. He truly hated the sight of a woman sobbing. Tears weakened his resolve, turning him into a puddle of mush.
“Yes?” He tightened his jaw.
Fortunately, Mrs. Stewart used her handkerchief to pat her wrists, not weep.
“It is so warm today, is it not?” she asked.
“Indeed.” Warmer still now that the window was closed, John thought privately.
“Are there any other papers to sign regarding George’s estate? There were so many that I fear I must have missed some.”
Cedric appeared at the door with a tray upon which he had set a single teacup and saucer as well as a bowl of sugar. He brought the tea to the desk and set it in front of Mrs. Stewart.
“Sugar?” he asked.
“Yes, two lumps, thank you.”
“I am afraid we don’t have any cream here in the office,” Cedric said, spooning in the sugar.
“That is fine. Thank you so much.”
Cedric nodded and left the room. John watched as his clerk reached for the doorknob, paused, looked over his shoulder and then left the door open as he passed through.
