Rewriting Rita

by Kristy Tate

  “That doesn’t give us much time to seek out Mrs. Kidrick.”

  Christian pressed back against the cushion and studied Miss Ryan. How could he convince her to come away with him? What promises could he make? What gifts had he to offer? “We are not seeking Mrs. Kidrick.”

  Miss Ryan sniffed. “We shall see. Soon you will come to realize that I’m not so easily left behind.”

  That was something that Christian had learned too late.

  ***

  She smelled him before she saw him. Again an eerie sense of déjà vu swept through her. Same players, a different dressing room—but still a dressing room—and that horrible odor of licorice, tobacco, and whiskey.

  “Imagine finding you here,” Rita said.

  Then door flew open and Clarisse breezed in, stopping short when she spotted Kidrick standing bull-like in the center of the dressing room. Clarisse stepped toward the screen as if to protect Rita and glared at Boris. “What are you doing back here, Mr. Kidrick? Unlike the Grand in Seattle, you don’t own this stage, therefore you are not at liberty to wander at will, and you are most certainly not invited into my dressing room.”

  Kidrick grinned. “Do not worry, I’m not staying.” He jerked his head at Rita. “And neither are you. As soon as I dispose of yer boyfriend, I’ll be hitching up with you.”

  Rita emerged from behind the screen and placed her balled fists on her hips. “I’m not hitching with anyone, and if I was, it would not be you!”

  He laughed a low growl. “By the time I’m through with ya, you’ll be screaming my name for a good hitch.”

  A chill crawled down Rita’s spine and settled in the small of her back. Her mind raced—where was Christian?

  “So, where is he?” Kidrick asked.

  “Who?” Clarisse asked, stepping between Kidrick and Rita’s screen.

  “You know who—Roberts.”

  “Christian Roberts?” Clarisse’s voice squeaked, and Rita again congratulated herself on Christian’s makeup and disguise. She found it amazing that after so many weeks no one in the troupe had recognized Christian.

  “Don’t play so innocent,” he said to Clarisse with a snort. “If she’s here, he’s here somewhere.”

  Rita swallowed and met Clarisse’s gaze.

  Clarisse’s face flushed the moment she guessed the truth. “Mr. Roberts was arrested for murder in Seattle.” She drew herself up to her unimpressive height of five feet and squared her shoulders. “You might think us low because of our occupations, but we are not so low as to associate with murderers. Nor are we so low that we entertain men in our dressing room.” She took two steps forward and placed her hands on her hips. “Now, are you leaving, or do we need to call the police?”

  Kidrick gave her a slow, ugly grin that exposed all his tobacco-stained teeth. “I’ll find him. And after I do—prepare for hitching.”

  Rita’s shuddering began after he slammed out the door.

  “Odious man,” Clarisse said.

  With shaking fingers, Rita struggled to button her gown. After she coerced her fingers into cooperation she wobbled out from behind the screen and pulled her cloak from the wardrobe.

  Clarisse narrowed her eyes. “Where are you going?”

  “I have to warn Christian.”

  Clarisse strode across the room and plucked the cloak from Rita’s shoulders. “Are you daft? Do you want to be hitched to that man?” Clarisse pointed at the door with a finger that quivered in outrage.

  “Of course not, but we can’t let him find Christian and have him hanged for murder.”

  “Can’t you see? He didn’t come here for you. He wants you to go to Christian Roberts so that he can follow you!”

  Rita sat hard on the bed. “What am I to do?”

  Clarisse frowned and pulled at her blond locks. After a moment she turned to Rita. “Do not move.” She crossed the floor and after a glance over her shoulder, she slipped out the door.

  Rita went to the window and stared into the dark night. A shadow moved in the alley. Rita squinted. Kidrick! Clarisse was right. He was waiting for her to lead him to Christian. She rubbed her arms as a chill passed over her. It probably was a good thing that she really didn’t know where Christian was.

  Minutes later Clarisse reappeared and motioned for Rita to follow. They went down the stairs to the basement. Rita bit her lower lip to keep from asking questions while Clarisse opened a costume trunk. She drew out several long sheets.

  “Lift up your arms,” Clarisse said, tucking the sheets around Rita’s torso. Rita watched in the mirror as Clarisse secured the sheets with pins. A man’s white shirt, a felt hat and an oversized coat later, Rita looked like a barrel-chested man.

  “I feel ridiculous.”

  Clarisse considered her handiwork and then returned to the trunk. She fashioned a scarf about Rita’s neck. “Keep your chin down and your hands in your cloak.”

  “Where am I going?”

  “To the train. Pierre will take you to meet Mr. Roberts.”

  “But what about the show?”

  “I will tell Ivan that you will meet up with us in New York.”

  Rita fell into Clarisse’s arms. “Thank you,” she breathed.

  ***

  Every noise seemed amplified as Pierre opened the theater’s back door.

  Rita glanced up and down the dirty alley, searching for Kidrick’s squat shadow. He remained invisible, but she worried that he lingered nearby. She sucked in the cold night air and let it fill her lungs. She didn’t smell licorice, whiskey or tobacco.

  Following Pierre, Rita stole through the alley, relying on him to guide her past the towering rows of dark shops. When they reached the avenue, light from the street lamps twinkled on the dew-covered sidewalk. Her flat leather boots made no sound on the cobblestone street. An alley cat kept watch on a windowsill, and a rat scurried beneath a trash bin.

  Rita lowered the felt cap and hunched her chin into the scarf when she passed a pair of streetwalkers. The ladies, bruised and blue with cold, called out, but Rita ignored them. Pierre threw a few coins their way.

  Rita felt sorry for them and wondered if their plight was much worse than entering a marriage contract with someone like Kidrick. Shivering, she resisted the urge to take Pierre’s arm. She wanted to thank him, to reimburse him somehow for this kind and generous act, but she didn’t dare speak until they passed the train station.

  “Pierre? I thought we were going to the station.”

  “No one said anything about the station.”

  “But—” Nerves clenched in her belly until she saw Christian’s familiar form lurking behind a tree. Relief swooshed through her. She took Pierre’s hand and pulled him into a strong, brief hug, no longer caring if anyone should witness her ungentlemanly behavior.

  Pierre held her and whispered in her ear. “Remember, remain in character.”

  She ignored his advice and gave him a quick peck on his cheek. Then Rita raced to Christian.

  He picked her up in his arms and held her. So much for staying in character. “We haven’t much time.”

  Rita understood what he meant when she heard the train whistle. “We’re going to jump on the train?”

  “Are you afraid?” Christian asked, his eyes dark in the moonlight.

  She shook her head. “I have always wanted to train hop.”

  ***

  The train thundered beside them. Rita ran as hard as she could and, when Christian told her to, she jumped. His hands circled her waist and lifted her into the empty boxcar. She landed on her hands and knees, ripping a hole in the knee of her trousers. Her hands stung, and she shook them to ease the pain.

  Christian ran beside the boxcar, and for a moment she feared he would not jump. Then he leapt forward. She wanted to reach for him but instead stepped back, making room.

  He stood breathless before her, legs braced, smile wide. He looked so pleased that she had to laugh.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

&n
bsp; “Does it matter?” He drew her into his arms.

  And as he lowered his lips to hers, she realized it did not matter. As long as she was with him, nothing else really mattered.

  ***

  Rita woke hours later. The train was stopped, and she sat up to brush loose straw from her coat.

  Christian, who had spent the night sleeping beside her, had disappeared. For the first time since their escape, panic and something akin to common sense gripped her. Now what? What if Christian didn’t return? She hadn’t any money. No means of help. She didn’t know anyone to call on… She didn’t even know where she was.

  And she was wearing a man’s suit.

  It was one thing to be disguised as a man in the dark, but she was certain her hips would never let her carry on the ruse in daylight. And daylight had arrived. Sunlight poured through cracks in the wooden boxcar.

  Rita put her head on her knees, offering a prayer for the return of sanity.

  What returned instead was Christian. Breathless, he swung into the car as the train jolted. He tossed something at her as the train rolled into motion. Rita unwrapped what turned out to be a blue and white dress and a dark gray cloak.

  He settled beside her, back onto the pile of hay where they had spent the night. “From the charity bins outside a local church.”

  “I will look like a missionary.” She held the dress up in front of her.

  “Which is better than looking like a brush salesman.”

  “I look like a brush salesman?”

  Christian fought a smile. “A little. Do you need help with your buttons?”

  “What do you know about buttons?”

  “Only that women often have a hard time managing them.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She twirled her finger. “Turn around.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “I mean it. I’m very modest.”

  “Which is a difficult thing to hear from a woman who has shared my bed on numerous occasions.” Christian turned away and faced the wall.

  Rita kept her eyes on him as she shed the menswear and donned the dress. “You can turn around now. I need your help after all.” She turned her back to him so he could button her dress.

  “It’s too big,” he said.

  “I’m sure you did the best you could.” She smoothed the dress around her hips.

  The train lurched unexpectedly and threw her against him. He caught and held her. She looked up at him and saw the seriousness in his expression.

  “Where do we go from here?” he asked.

  “To New York, of course.”

  “I can’t go to New York.”

  “Why not?”

  He shook his head. “It’s impossible.”

  “But if we go to the authorities and explain Kidrick’s involvement with the Priceless Princess men—”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what?”

  He opened his mouth but then closed it, shaking his head.

  “Do you trust me?” Anger welled in her. “Have I not proven my trust in you? Can’t you repay me with the same level of trust?”

  “Come away with me.” He tightened his arms about her. “We will go to Europe together as husband and wife.”

  “As husband and wife?” She stepped away, as horrified as if he had said as hedgehog and warthog. “Have you learned nothing?”

  He stared at her blankly.

  Rita’s voice felt rough with emotion. “Kidrick’s marriage shams—the feuding Smythe and Jones families. Marriages, families—they are but archaic shackles.”

  “Shackles?” Christian swallowed. “Do you not see—I am already bound to you. I don’t need chains or shackles to hold me to you.”

  Rita ran her fingers through her hair. Dimly, she realized she had lost the hat somewhere. Of course, it no longer fit her costume. Thinking of costumes reminded her of just how far she was from her original goal. “Then you’ll come with me to New York.”

  “I will not.”

  She grabbed his hand and pulled him to her. “We won’t stay long—just long enough for me to arrange contacts to the European stages.”

  “If you love me, you will not ask such a thing. Can you possibly love me as much as I love you?”

  It was her turn to open her mouth to speak but then close it.

  “I see,” he said.

  “I don’t know if I love you.”

  “That is the answer then.”

  “How can I possibly throw away all my dreams when there is so much about you I don’t know? You shouldn’t ask it of me.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “I should know about your family, your favorite color, if you have ever had pets.”

  “Pets? Colors?”

  “Mostly I want to know why you won’t go to New York with me. If you love me as you say you do, you would follow me.”

  “And if you loved me, you would follow me. We can leave for Paris immediately.”

  “Paris? Like this?” She pulled at the ill-fitting dress and then gestured broadly. Her dreams of Paris didn’t include missionary castoffs or sleeping in boxcars. “How will we get there? Will we stow away in a steamer trunk? Sneak food from the ship’s galley?”

  “Here.” He reached into his pocket and handed her a key.

  “What’s this?” She turned it over in her hand.

  “This is the key to a box at a bank in Seattle.”

  “I’m not going back to Seattle!” She thrust it back at him.

  He slipped it into the pocket of her cloak.

  The train blew its whistle, slowed and rolled to a station.

  “Come.” He held out a hand. “We are in no danger of discovery here. I’ll buy our fare to New York and we can travel in style.”

  Smiling, she placed her hand in his and squeezed. “Then you will come with me.”

  “I didn’t say that. I said I would buy us fare.”

  She wrenched her hand out of his. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you should tidy your hair and try to act the part of a proper missionary!” He flung the words over his shoulder as he jumped out of the car.

  Not knowing what else to do, Rita followed. She knew from the way he held his shoulders that he was angry with her, but she didn’t know what to do about it. He had to go with her to New York. If he wouldn’t provide her with a good reason why he refused, she could only assume he didn’t have one.

  She would get a job on the stage, and he could be a pianist. It was a lovely scheme, and she didn’t know why he disliked it. Why would he want to marry? Why should they marry? She stopped following him when she spotted a ladies’ lounge and made a detour.

  She tried to straighten herself out in front of the mirror. Her hair really was a fright, with straw poking out at random angles. Using her fingers, she did her best to tidy her appearance and then she made her way back to a platform. From the ticket booth, Christian nodded to her to get on board.

  Rita glanced over her shoulder as she stepped onto the train. In the hall, all of the berths were closed. When a male voice spoke in her ear, she jumped.

  “My favorite actress,” Kidrick drawled. “Have you joined the Salvation Army since we last met?”

  Rita’s heart stopped. She whirled to face Kidrick. He had his shirt undone, and she saw the tensed muscles of his hairy chest. He held open the door to his berth, exposing gray, tumbled sheets.

  ***

  Christian found Kidrick and Rita wrestling in the hall. He took note of the man’s heavy musculature pinned against Miss Ryan’s wiry frame. She placed her small fist in Kidrick’s diaphragm, and the big man woofed in surprise.

  Christian resisted the urge to tell her that she should go for his face with her nails. After a moment of admiring Rita’s unflagging pluck despite her unlikely odds, Christian at last spoke in Kidrick’s ear. “Let her go.”

  Grinning, Kidrick turned in his direction and stood taller. The effect was of a rooster ruffling his feathers
to increase his size. He held Rita pinned against his chest. Despite his diminutive stature, Kidrick held her four inches off the floor.

  Rita’s feet skittered in the air and her hair spilled over her shoulders and across her cheeks as she tried to wriggle from Kidrick’s embrace. Her boots kicked and occasionally made contact with his shins, but the man didn’t seem to mind.

  Kidrick turned and swung Rita’s legs into the doorway of his berth, but before he could get in fully and close the door, Christian slammed his boot into the man’s back. Kidrick toppled and Rita spun free. She ducked beneath Christian’s arm.

  “Take this,” Christian said, handing her his bag of gold. Their fingers brushed briefly, and Christian wondered, as the thrill of her touch swept over him, if he would ever touch her again. He heard her footsteps fleeing down the hall and he knew she was carrying away all that he had ever wanted or hoped for.

  His life meant nothing without her, so once she was out of sight, Christian summoned all his anger and frustration.

  Kidrick’s arm shot out and thundered into Christian’s chest, pinning him briefly to the wall. Christian shook him off but lost his footing when the train lurched. Kidrick leapt forward, following Rita.

  Christian scrambled to his feet and threw himself, landing on Kidrick’s back. Their combined weight crashed through the door of an empty berth, shattering and splintering wood. They wrestled on the floor until Christian had him pinned.

  “You will leave her alone,” Christian said through gritted teeth. He straddled Kidrick’s chest and pressed down.

  Kidrick, red-faced, scoffed even as he wrestled for freedom.

  Christian shook him, and Kidrick’s head bounced against the floor, sending bits of wood skittering.

  The train pitched, and the partially destroyed door swung shut with a bang.

  “I should throw you off the train, but I won’t. But if you ever come near Miss Ryan again, I’ll see you hang for the triple murders in Seattle.”

  He stood and let Kidrick ease away, like grease sliding off a plate. Kidrick fumbled with the door handle and then, giving up, shoved his foot through the door, sending splintered arrows of wood flying in all directions.