Train Through Time Series Boxed Set Books 1-3

by Bess McBride

  “He looks kind of old, doesn’t he, but he seems pretty steady on his feet,” Marie noted. “I’m sure he’ll be all right.”

  Annie sipped the last of her coffee as the train slowed.

  “We must be getting into Wenatchee,” she said. “It’s still kind of dark outside. Are those mountains?” She studied the horizon.

  Marie squinted. “I can’t tell.” She rose and tossed her cup into a nearby trash container. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to head back to my seat for some more shuteye until breakfast.”

  “I’ll come with you. I don’t think I slept a wink last night. Too much reading.” Annie rose, disposed of her coffee cup and followed Marie toward their car. “That coffee isn’t helping me wake up. Maybe I’ll just take a little catnap with you. I’ll set the alarm on my phone for about ten to seven.”

  They returned to their seats and burrowed in—Marie in her corner and Annie positioning her pillow on her sister’s shoulder, a position they had adopted off and on since the beginning of the trip. Annie closed her eyes.

  Chapter One

  Rory set his newspaper down on the small table beside his bed and rose to turn off the lights. The new “compartment-observation” car in which he rode was much to his liking. Although the recently launched Oriental Limited lacked the library he had come to enjoy on previous trains, the new observation car offered four staterooms, and he had secured one and advised the steward he would stay the night and dispense with his sleeping compartment.

  Earlier in the day, the steward had attended him with tea, reading material such as newspapers and the daily telegraphic bulletin, and he felt himself quite satisfied overall, especially in light of the especially large fifteen-seat observation room and the constant foot traffic and noise generated by the opening and closing of the door leading to the observation platform. While he enjoyed scenery as much as the next person, he abhorred the dirt and grit, which flew in the door every time it was opened.

  However, most first-class passengers had returned to their sleeping compartments, and the only sound was the rhythmic rumbling of the train along the tracks. He had no idea whether the other three compartments were in use, but if so, the occupants seemed to be of the quiet sort.

  A light sleeper, he knew he would awaken when the train stopped at Wenatchee, so he had waited until the train left the station and picked up speed before he folded his newspaper and settled in for a few hours of rest. He stretched his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, willing sleep to take hold of him.

  A nearby crash startled him, and he shot up and listened carefully. Voices, presumably coming from the next compartment, caught his attention, and he reached for the lamp above his head to turn it on. Soft light filled the room. The voices, possibly female, continued, and with exasperation, he grabbed his dressing gown and threw it on over his pajamas. He pulled open the door of his compartment and peered out into the hallway. The car was silent save for the sibilant whispers coming from the next compartment. He was surprised that no one else in the remaining two compartments opened their door to raise an objection. Could they not hear the ruckus?

  He rapped on the door sharply and stood back.

  One voice squeaked, much like a mouse, and the room fell silent. Rory waited and listened for a few moments but could hear no further movement and no further commotion. Although fully prepared to express his displeasure at the late night carousing, the occupants had apparently taken his knock as notification and silenced themselves. Having achieved his goal with no further need to pursue the matter, Rory turned to return to his own compartment.

  No sooner had he reached his room than the door of the other compartment opened, and a young woman stuck her head out into the hallway. He could not see her clearly in the darkness of the hall, but her voice marked her as a woman.

  “Yes?” she said in a breathless voice.

  Rory shoved his hands in the pockets of his dressing gown.

  “I wondered if anyone in your compartment needed assistance?” he said, though he suspected not. “I heard a crash and then loud voices.”

  “Oh, sorry,” she said, though her tone did not sound apologetic. “We bumped into something.”

  “I see,” Rory said. “I will return to my own compartment to sleep then.”

  “Wait!” The squeak he had heard earlier. Definitely not a mouse.

  “Yes, madam?”

  “Where are we?”

  Rory sighed. Now he was to be a conductor?

  “We left Wenatchee twenty minutes ago.”

  “Wenatchee,” she said without purpose.

  She looked over her shoulder. “Just a minute! I’m trying to find out,” she whispered to the person in the room behind her.

  Rory, tired and in an unaccountably bad mood, waited.

  “When do we get to Seattle? We are going to Seattle, right?” the woman asked.

  “In a little over seven hours, madam, which is why we should all get some sleep.” Apparently, the woman did not understand his emphasis.

  “Seven hours? Are you sure? It’s only supposed to be five hours from Wenatchee to Seattle!”

  “Not in my experience, madam. This train is known for its speed—the reason I took it in the first place—and I have not heard of anything faster. Seven hours is excellent time!”

  She shook her head. “This isn’t possible,” she muttered. “I don’t know, Marie,” she whispered over her shoulder.

  The door opened wider, and another woman thrust her head through the door to survey him. Although the car was dark, Rory was certain he could see the whites of her widened eyes.

  “What the…?” she breathed. “Who are you?”

  Rory, feeling somewhat at a disadvantage standing about in his nightwear, introduced himself.

  “Harold O’Rourke, Junior, madam, at your service. I apologize for my state of undress, but I heard a crash and loud voices and thought someone might be injured. If you ladies are well, I shall return to my room.”

  “Wait!” the first woman called out. “Harold! Don’t leave us! I mean, wait—we need to ask you some questions.”

  Rory, in the act of turning toward his room, froze. No one called him Harold. He detested the name. That his father was a Harold O’Rourke did nothing to endear the name to him.

  “Rory, madam, please. How may I be of assistance?”

  “Can you help us turn on a light? We can’t even see, and neither one of us knows what’s going on.”

  “A light? In your compartment? Is it malfunctioning? I could certainly take a look at it if possible in the darkness.” It seemed a small matter, and it did not appear as if a steward attended to the compartment-observation car at night. He wondered briefly now if the other compartments were occupied, as surely someone would have opened their door to discover the cause of the noise in the hallway.

  The women stepped back to allow him to enter. The shades were drawn against any possible moonlight and the room was indeed dark. No wonder the ladies struggled to find their way around. He felt along the wall for the switch, and the lights came on—an overhead globed chandelier and two wall sconces.

  He stiffened as he surveyed the two young women standing before him, barely aware that they eyed him with equal expressions of surprise.

  One of the young women, the first one who had addressed him, wore black slacks that appeared to be molded to the curves of her body. The other wore shorts such as young children might, her long limbs bared. Both women sported short-sleeved, jersey-style shirts in bright colors. With a lifelong appreciation of the female form, Rory could not find fault with their figures although their attire seemed very risqué. He considered himself well traveled, but he could not for the life of him speculate as to their country of origin based on their costumes. They spoke English with an American accent.

  They looked at him and then at each other.

  “There you are, ladies. The lights needed only to flip the switch,” Rory said to break the onerous sil
ence. “May I ask where you are from?”

  The smaller of the two, the young lady who first addressed him, responded in a tentative voice.

  “Ummm…Chicago?”

  “Are you asking me?” Rory said in an attempt to lighten the palpable tension in the small compartment. He noted the bed had not been slept in.

  “No, I’m just…” She turned to her sister. “We’re just…ummm…confused. Is this the Empire Builder?”

  Rory eyed the chestnut-haired woman with misgiving. Her pale brow wrinkled with apparent confusion and her eyes darted around the room as if she hadn’t seen it before. Her companion, the blonde one called Marie, bore much the same expression but said nothing as she clasped and unclasped her hands.

  Rory shook his head. “I have not heard of an Empire Builder. What is it?” He forced himself to speak with patience, although his inclination was to leave the two women to their confusion. Still, he could not in good conscience simply turn his back on them and say good night. Clearly, some untoward event had occurred to frighten these women.

  “Can I assist you ladies further in some way? Forgive me for prying, but I feel I see apprehension on your faces, and I am reluctant to depart without ascertaining the cause of your concern.”

  “My gosh, Annie, what’s going on?” Marie said. She grabbed Annie’s hand.

  “I have no idea,” Annie said with a glance toward Marie. She turned back to Rory.

  “The thing is, Rory, this isn’t exactly where we’re supposed to be.” She surveyed the vermillion wood paneling and dropped her gaze to the plush-upholstered maroon bench and olive carpeting.

  “I’m afraid I do not understand. Where should you be? Are you in the wrong compartment?”

  Annie shook her head, her shoulder-length hair bouncing around in a ponytail.

  “I don’t think so. If anything, we’re on the wrong car, but I don’t remember leaving ours, and neither does my sister apparently.”

  “Were you in the tourist sleeper perhaps?”

  The young women shook their heads in unison.

  “No, we didn’t have a sleeper,” Marie responded.

  “What car were you in?”

  “I don’t remember which car exactly, but it was coach.”

  “Ah! The day coach. Yes, I think I saw it when I boarded the train, but that is four cars away toward the front of the train. We are at the rear. And you do not remember leaving your car to come to the compartment-observation car?”

  Annie shook her head, and Marie followed her example.

  Rory thought quickly.

  “It is late, ladies, and I do not think we can pass the sleeping cars and the dining car to return you to the day coach tonight. As this compartment appears to be vacant, I suggest you rest here until morning, at which time you can sort out your arrangements with the conductor.” He had another thought. “However, that might not even be necessary as we arrive in Seattle at eight-fifteen. All you will need to do is collect your baggage and be on your way. Unless you left any personal belongings in the day coach?”

  The sisters looked at one another again.

  “I left my purse and my backpack in coach, and I don’t see your purse anywhere either, Marie.” Annie scanned the floor. “Did you say coach was four cars up? We’ll have to get back there as soon as they open up the dining room and the sleeping cars because I have to get my stuff.”

  Stuff? Rory almost smiled. Her language belonged to that of the working classes. Not that he did not degenerate into slang himself on occasion—the hazards of traveling the world and living amongst a wide variety of people from other cultures and backgrounds.

  “I think that is the wisest recourse. Do not concern yourselves, ladies. This will right itself in no time at all.” Rory ended on a breezy note, hoping to reassure the women. “Good night.” He turned and left the compartment, forbidding himself to turn around. He had no doubt the expressions on their faces—reminiscent of lost babes in the woods—would compel him to stay and render assistance, and he wished himself rid of the matter. He hardened his heart and entered his compartment, where he shrugged out of his dressing gown, turned off the lights and climbed back into bed.

  Perversely, he noted the silence from next door was almost deafening, and he strained to hear any voices at all. Surely they did not just retire for the night without further discussion, did they? As bewildered as they had appeared? Of course, the walls of the compartments were sturdy and probably acted as an effective soundproof barrier under normal circumstances—that is, in the absence of shouting or furniture being overturned. What had made that crashing sound? He had forgotten to ask.

  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The image of supple limbs encased in close-fitting dark trousers, as well as bare legs below a very short skirt, came unbidden, and he smiled in the darkness. Chicago? He had been to Chicago many times and had never seen women attired thus.

  Something about Annie’s speech reminded him of someone. He had not heard Marie speak enough to judge her accent, but the slang of Annie’s speech tugged at his memory.

  Dani Sadler? And Ellie Chamberlain? Both women used odd turns of phrase on occasion.

  He had just returned from photographing the Flathead Forest Reserve and Lake McDonald in Montana for the National and World Magazine, and while there, he had stayed at the lakeside cabin of his college classmate, Stephen Sadler, and his wife, Danielle. Ellie Standish and her husband, Robert, had been visiting for a few weeks with their children as had Stephen’s sister, Susan, and her family. Dani Sadler’s mother had been there as well—another unusual woman, progressive in her sentiments.

  A knock on the door startled him, and he rose from bed, slipped on his robe and flipped the light switch.

  Annie stood on the other side of the door. Rory had all he could do to keep his eyes on her pale face and ignore her skimpy leg coverings, which resembled nothing so much as thick stockings…without a skirt. Her hair was now unbound, falling to just below her shoulders.

  “Yes, Miss…?”

  “St. John,” she said. “Annie St. John. My sister is Marie.”

  “Delighted to meet you, Miss St. John. How may I be of assistance?”

  “Well, I don’t know exactly, but you’re the only person on this car right now, and you say we can’t go through to the other cars.”

  Rory shook his head. “No, I don’t think it is possible. The dining car is usually locked at night, and you must go through that car to reach the first-class sleeper car. An attendant would probably be there.”

  “It doesn’t make sense to have people flailing around here at the back of the train, and you can’t contact anyone,” Annie muttered. “Well, look, I didn’t want to mention this to my sister because I might be way off base, but I was wondering if you could tell me the date?”

  “Certainly,” Rory said, unclear why the date must be of such great importance at midnight. “June 5, 1906.”

  “1906?” she whispered with a stricken face, clutching her throat as if she could not breathe. “This can’t be happening. I-I…” she began.

  Rory jumped forward to catch Annie as she slumped to the floor, but he lost his balance and used his body to cushion her fall. Winded, he rolled over and looked down at her. Cradling her head carefully in his arms, he called her name softly.

  “Miss St. John! Miss St. John, can you hear me?” He laid a hand gently along her cheek and patted it. “Miss St. John.”

  Dark lashes lay against pale cheeks. He remembered her eyes as brown. Her hair—silky and wavy—fell across his arm and the carpet in wild abandon. Soft-looking lips parted slightly as she breathed. The skin of her face felt like satin to his touch, and he stilled his hand and let it rest against her face.

  “Miss St. John,” he murmured.

  “What are you doing?” A shriek erupted from behind him, and Rory felt himself unceremoniously grabbed by the shoulders of his dressing gown. “Get off her! Get off her!”

  Marie St. John screeched as she
pulled against him with a strength he did not think women could possess.

  “Miss St. John!” he shouted, attempting to free himself. “Let go! Please release me! Your sister’s hair is caught up under my arm.”

  “Get off her, you creep! What do you think you’re doing? Annie! Annie?”

  Rory lifted Annie’s head and removed his arm—no easy feat, as Marie pulled at him as if she would drag him away and bodily throw him from the train. In the midst of the chaos, he realized what she thought—that he had attempted to ravish her sister. Such an odd pair of women. Rather than take advantage of the sisters, he could not wait to see the last of them!

  “Unhand me, woman!” Rory barked as he attempted to raise himself to a sitting position. “Your sister fainted in my arms, for goodness sake. I did not—” He stopped abruptly. One did not simply shout such things to young women.

  Marie dropped to her knees beside her sister. Unlike Rory, she showed no tenderness, and she smacked her sister’s cheek twice.

  “Annie! Annie! Wake up!”

  Rory stayed Marie’s hand when she would hit her sister again.

  “Miss St. John, I must protest. Stop slapping your sister in such a vigorous manner. I fear I see a lifetime of repressed sibling rivalry in your enthusiasm. She will come around in good time. She has simply had a shock.”

  “What shock?” Marie asked with narrowed eyes. “What did you do, Rory?” She surveyed Rory’s person with suspicion, and he shook his head at her implication but was prevented from retorting by Annie’s revival.

  “What happened?” Annie said as she opened her eyes. She looked from one to the other with confusion, raising a hand to her cheek. “Did I faint?”

  “Yes, Miss St. John, I am afraid you did,” Rory said as he helped her to a sitting position. “Your sister was just…ah…attempting to revive you.”

  “He means I slapped your face…several times,” Marie said. “What made you faint? Rory said you’d had a shock? What? More than we’ve already had?”

  “You slapped me?” Annie said, rubbing her cheek once again. “You’ve been watching too many movies, I swear.” She turned to Rory. “Please tell me you didn’t slap me, too. I’d be lucky to have any teeth left if you did.” She eyed his hands, now clasped in his lap.