Train Through Time Series Boxed Set Books 1-3

by Bess McBride

  “Did you see them? I did not realize,” Rory said, throwing a glance in the Washburns’ direction. Miss Washburn faced him and kept an inviting smile on her face.

  “Yes, I saw them through a crack in the door,” Annie said.

  He returned his attention to her and saw that she’d been following his gaze.

  “So, you and this Miss Washburn, huh?” Marie said, with what could only be described as a smirk on her face.

  “No, no!” Rory said, his cheeks bronzing slightly. “We just met. No, there is no ‘Miss Washburn and I.’”

  “Oh!” Marie grinned, quirking an eyebrow. “Annie’s right, then. You are a chick magnet.”

  “I never said that, Marie. For goodness’ sake!” Annie directed an exasperated look in her sister’s direction.

  Marie chuckled. “No, you didn’t, but I’ll bet you were thinking it.”

  Annie shook her head and turned away to survey the room.

  Rory, his cheeks unusually heated again, queried, “A chick magnet? I do not want to know what that means, do I, Miss St. John?”

  “She means women are attracted to you,” Annie interjected, “as in attracted to a magnet, but that’s really none of our business. You should probably call us Annie and Marie, by the way…since we’re cousins. How exactly are we related?” She quirked an eyebrow much as her sister had done. For all the experience Rory felt he’d had with the fairer sex, he considered himself particularly ill-equipped to cope with the unusually forthright sisters.

  “I had not thought that far ahead, Miss St. John…Annie, when I felt compelled to explain your presence on the train to the steward. In fact, I believe I told him you were my sisters. Cousins seemed so improbable. However, both of my parents live and would certainly know you are not family connections. I cannot say that either of you are distant relatives from Ireland, as neither of you speaks English with an Irish accent. At any rate, my mother would know as her parents were from Ireland. In polite society, it is quite permissible to explain that you are cousins but not specify the degree of kinship. If and when you meet my mother, we shall have to concoct another story.”

  “While I’d love to meet your mother, I hope we won’t be here for long, so that might be moot anyway,” Marie said.

  Rory’s eyes flew to Annie’s face, but she looked away.

  “Not that we don’t appreciate your hospitality and all,” Marie continued, “it’s just I have a life in Chicago that I love, and I want to get back to it.”

  “And you, Annie? Are you also anxious to return?” Rory cleared his throat. Such a frog he had in his throat this evening.

  Annie reached for her glass of champagne with an unsteady hand and took a large swallow.

  “My life isn’t quite like Marie’s,” she said. She didn’t elaborate, nor did she answer the question. Rory knew he couldn’t pursue it.

  “And what do you love about your life in Chicago, Marie?” Rory asked in what he hoped was a conversational tone.

  As they ate dinner, Marie described her life, her employment as a personal banker, which surprised him. She spoke of a fiancé named Matt, whom she adored and missed already though they had only been apart for two days. She described museums, parks, musical theater and her favorite hobby of riding bicycles—none of which seemed out of the ordinary for a modern woman in a large city like Chicago, with the exception of her prestigious employment. Most banking positions other than clerical were normally occupied by men. He gleaned little of Annie’s life through Marie’s descriptions, other than that their parents were both deceased of cancer, and that they had no other siblings.

  Annie attended to her food and smiled at many of Marie’s comments but offered no personal details of her own, much to Rory’s disappointment.

  Every now and then, Rory made the mistake of looking up and beyond Marie’s shoulder, where he caught Miss Washburn’s observant eyes and quick smile. Short of keeping his eyes fixed on Annie, which seemed to make her uncomfortable, he could do little else but stare at his glass or his food. He wondered if Annie thought him quite the glutton.

  “Did you find the rest of the clothing to your satisfaction?” Rory asked.

  “We didn’t have time to try anything else on. Dressing in these outfits took most of the afternoon and early evening,” Annie said.

  “I had no idea,” Rory said as he shook his head. “Perhaps I never paid attention to the time my mother expended on her toilette.”

  “Mrs. Sanford arranged to have the shop girls come back at eleven tomorrow morning in case we need alterations with the rest of the clothes. I have to say, Mr. O’Rourke, that they brought a lot of boxes. I’m not sure you are aware of how much you bought.”

  “I am certain they brought what I said you might need for a week or so as I directed them. In the event, you are here longer than that, we can certainly order more clothing.”

  “I can’t do a full week,” Marie chimed in.

  “We don’t know exactly how long we’ll be here, Marie, not unless you’ve figured out a way back, so…” Annie didn’t finish the sentence.

  “We’ll think of something,” Marie said with some confidence.

  Rory shamed himself by hoping they did not.

  As dinner concluded, Rory asked them if they would like to take a walk.

  “Is it safe? At this time of night?” Marie asked.

  “Certainly,” Rory replied. “You will find many people in the downtown area at this hour—some strolling after dinner, others after attending the opera or a musical performance.”

  “I’d like to,” Annie surprised him by saying. “I’m not sure how far I’ll get in this outfit, but I’m game.”

  “Me, too,” Marie said. “Might as well see something while I’m here.”

  Rory winced but said nothing. He did not begrudge Marie the need to return to her home and her affianced, but he fervently wished that Annie did not have the same desire…or a similar suitor.

  He nodded briefly toward the Washburns as he passed, guiding Annie and Marie quickly past them. Rory collected his hat from the coatroom, and they crossed the lobby, where the bellman opened the door for them.

  Annie hesitated at the top of the stairs leading to the street, a series of ten wide concrete steps. “More stairs?” she breathed.

  Rory wasn’t quite clear what her fears were, but he valiantly hoped to allay them.

  “Can I be of assistance? Will you take my arm?”

  He held out his arms and felt Annie and Marie slip their hands into the crooks of his elbows. As they took the first step, he almost tipped over, so tightly did both women clutch at his arms. He paused to steady himself, heedless of the stares of another couple passing them on the way down.

  “I cannot help but think that you ladies have never, ever worn long skirts in your time. Is this true?”

  “Never,” Annie asked. “Not to mention, I can hardly move in this corset.”

  “Miss St. John! Annie! I-I…” Rory convulsed with laughter. “I think Mrs. Sanford cannot have informed you that we do not…em…that is to say, we do not discuss unmentionables in public.”

  “I’m sure she said something like that, but that doesn’t worry me. It won’t always be that way.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” he said with sympathy. He turned to Marie.

  “Don’t worry about me. My corset fits fine. I’m just wondering how to maneuver these steps in these shoes. I usually wear flat shoes. I’ll just grab a handful of skirt and skip on down.” Marie did just that, raising her skirts above the ankle and hopping lightly down the stairs.

  “And you, Annie? How can I help?”

  “Unlike Marie, I’m having a hard time moving, so if you’ll just let me hang onto you for dear life, I’ll get through this. These steps seem steeper than the stairs inside the hotel, if that’s possible.”

  They descended the steps without mishap, and joined Marie at street level. The lights of the hotel spilled onto the sidewalk, giving the area a warm am
bience. Rory, keeping his pace slow, escorted them down the street, nodding to passersby. He felt Annie’s hand relax in his arm. Marie preferred to keep her hands free to attend to her skirts. The night air was warm and pleasant. Traffic was light, with only a few carriages and even fewer cars passing as people attended or left various social activities.

  “How do you find the city?” Rory asked.

  “Weird,” Marie said. “Different.”

  “Quiet,” Annie responded. “I’ve never been to Seattle before, but this seems like it’s much more quiet than it would normally be in our time.”

  Rory ignored the reference to “our time,” noting he was becoming quite proficient at hearing only what he wanted to hear.

  “I mean, it’s busy,” Annie continued. “There are cars and…horses and carriages, but still probably not as many cars as would normally be out at this time of night in a large city’s downtown area. We don’t really use horses and carriages anymore, especially in the middle of cities, except to drive tourists around. Well, that and the Amish.”

  Rory listened but hesitated to ask for clarification, though his innate curiosity longed to do so. His reluctance to hear any more of the references to a future continued, and he wondered if he might try to explain himself.

  “As you ladies know, I find it difficult to believe in your tale of time travel. I do not dispute that you believe it to be true, but I cannot. And yet, I am most curious about some of the things you say. Imagine my dilemma. I want to know more about you, I want to ask more questions, but I am troubled by the references to the future.” He struggled for words.

  “I think that’s something you’re going to have to work out for yourself, Rory. Marie and I have no way of proving ourselves to you. We don’t have any documents to show you our birthdates or the date when we boarded the train. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you to listen to us and not call a doctor in to examine us, but I appreciate that you don’t. I honestly wouldn’t believe you if you showed up in ‘my time’ claiming to be from the past, so I do sympathize.”

  “It’s not like we ever believed in time travel either, Rory,” Marie added. “There are books about it, and movies about it, but no one really believes it’s possible.”

  “‘Movies’ is a reference to moving pictures,” Rory murmured. “How fascinating.”

  “Well, listen, my feet are killing me in these shoes. I think I’m going to head back,” Marie said.

  They returned to the hotel, and Rory escorted them upstairs, where he collected his camera.

  “I know you will be attended by the staff of the clothing store tomorrow morning. Would you like to go for a drive with me to see the city when you are finished?”

  “Oh, yes,” Marie answered. “Carriage or car?”

  “Which would you prefer?” he asked, hoping Annie would answer.

  “You said you still like the carriage, right? So, let’s do the carriage,” Annie said.

  “Excellent! I’ll have Mrs. Sanford prepare a picnic lunch for us. We can drive to Leschi Park. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

  “Yes, it sounds wonderful,” Annie replied. He paused at the door as she held it open, with an unexpected longing to raise her hand to his lips, but the sight of Marie watching them put that notion to rest. He left and returned to his car, vowing to stay awake all night if necessary to process the film.

  Chapter Seven

  Annie awoke early the next morning to the feel of soft sunlight on her face. A faint line of warmth slipped through the partially closed velvet curtains. She started to stretch but froze for a moment, trying to orient herself to the strange room. The brightly colored flower-patterned wallpaper reminded her she wasn’t in her comparatively sterile bare-walled bedroom at home.

  She turned to see Marie breathing deeply in the next bed, her blonde hair spread over the pillow like some sort of fairy tale princess…except that Marie had never really been into princesses as a child. It was Annie who once dreamed of twirling about in long, flowing ball gowns like those of her dolls. Marie had been more interested in sports—especially volleyball and basketball—so much so that she’d grown up to become a high school volleyball coach.

  Annie slid out of bed and crossed the room to look out the window. Their room faced another large brick and stone building across the street, perhaps a hotel. She looked down to see a streetcar car moving up the street. Several horse-drawn carts hugged the curbs as drivers offloaded supplies to nearby shops and stores. Massive power poles lined the street, with innumerable lines crisscrossing the road in seemingly chaotic fashion.

  She longed to be out on the street—investigating, observing, studying and memorizing—but a glance over her shoulder toward the boxes of clothing reminded her that she couldn’t just jump into her T-shirt and capris and toodle down the road. She let the curtain fall and turned from the window. She shot a quick glance toward Marie before quietly lifting the cover of one of the boxes and peeking in.

  A beautiful, high-necked satin blouse of peach and lace lay within, and she pulled it from the box and held it up. Large puffed sleeves tapered down to the elbow and ended in a small froth of lace. She set the blouse on the chair with reverence and looked into the next box to find a garment of darker peach, almost a soft orange. Annie assumed this was a matching skirt and pulled it from the box. A belt of satin fell to the floor, and she picked it up.

  She looked toward Marie again, still sleeping soundly. Could she dress herself? Just a quick walk down the street to ease her restlessness? To see what she could see in this strange and fascinating time?

  Annie picked up the blouse again. It buttoned down the back. How was she going to handle that? And the cast-off corset? Did she really have to wear the thing? She eyed the deceivingly delicate-looking satin and beribboned garment suspiciously where she’d left it on the chair the night before.

  Determined, Annie stepped out of the soft lawn nightgown provided by the clothing store and tiptoed into the bathroom to grab the underwear she’d hand washed the night before. She returned to her discarded pile of undergarments in the chair and debated what she could do without and what she had to wear. The drawers could go—way too drafty and unnecessary as long as her underwear held out. A quick image of trying to sew some panties together out of material remnants in the eventuality of a long stay in 1906 flashed through her mind, but she pushed the picture aside with a roll of her eyes.

  She slipped the chemise over her head and stepped into the petticoat, attempting to button it behind her back at the waist. Without the corset, it simply wouldn’t close. With a sigh, she dropped the petticoat and picked up the corset. By sucking in her stomach and holding her breath, she managed to hook the corset down the front without Mrs. Sanford’s help. She noted with pleasure it didn’t feel as tight as it had the night before. She tried the petticoat again and managed to button it.

  She eyed the skirt and almost put it on until she remembered she had to wear shoes…and with the shoes, she needed stockings. Annie eyed the boxes, bags and clothing strewn about chairs, and almost gave up on her idea of simply taking a quick walk outside. There was nothing simple about dressing in 1906.

  Just short of breaking out into a sweat, she managed to pull the stockings up to the suspenders on her corset…the same corset that hadn’t allowed her to bend over last night and barely allowed her to reach her feet this morning. She eyed a pair of dark half boots, clearly meant for her due to their smaller size, with something close to despair. How was she going to get into those? Surely not everyone in this era had a maid to help them dress? She turned her back on the shoes and picked up the beautiful blouse.

  Huffing and puffing her way through the buttons at her back, she managed to button most of them before the burning in her shoulders forced her to lower her arms. She managed the skirt without trouble, tucked the blouse into the skirt and wrapped the satin belt around her waist to buckle in back.

  Marie still slept, and Annie debated waking her for help with he
r shoes. But she resisted. She wanted to experience the city for herself, alone, with no outside thoughts or influences.

  Despite the pain in her stomach, Annie forced her corset to give way as she bent to lace the boots. As she tied the last bow, she straightened and let out a gasp, her face flushed from holding her breath. A glance in the floor mirror revealed she looked fairly presentable, except for her hair. She returned to the bathroom, picked up the pins she’d dropped on the counter the night before and wrapped her hair into a chignon at the crown of her head. It would have to do. Besides, she’d have to wear some sort of hat, wouldn’t she?

  Feeling as if she had been dressing all morning, and fearful the shop girls would arrive before she had a chance to get outside, Annie hustled over to the round boxes and pulled out a small brown hat with orange silk roses adorning the top. She stuck the hatpin in as best she could and took a final look in the mirror. She had to be ready to go. It seemed as if an hour had passed since she’d started to dress. Surely, she had to be done! She skipped the gloves, thinking they were a bit too much.

  With a last look over her shoulder toward Marie, she slipped out of the door and headed down to the lobby. She kept her head down as she passed through the lobby, hoping not to notice if someone stopped and stared at the ridiculous way she wore her hat or the two buttons undone in the middle of her back, or whatever other clothing faux pas she had committed.

  The doorman held the door open for her with a greeting, and she mumbled and passed by quickly, hoping he wouldn’t stop her and announce in shocked tones that she couldn’t possibly go outside by herself. But nothing in his pleasant “Good morning, madam” made her believe he saw anything out of place.

  Annie burst into the morning sunshine and paused at the top of the steep stairs, taken aback at the sights, sounds and smells. Traffic in the street had built since she’d looked out the window earlier. The ringing bell of the streetcar caught her attention, and she watched it busily maneuver the street in front. People perched on benches on the streetcar—women in their long skirts, men in suits. She looked down at her own skirt, thinking that she looked very similar to the ladies on the streetcar, except they all wore gloves and she didn’t.