by Vivi Holt
Harry jumped back out of the way and stood watching Stan with guarded eyes. “I’m no thief, Stan. I won fair and square. You shouldn’t drink so much when you gamble if you don’t want to lose.”
“I’ll drink what I like when I like, you rotten scoundrel!” He ran at Harry with a roar and, when Harry dodged him, rammed headfirst into the weathered timber wall, thudding to the floor in a heap.
“I think ye’d better get outta here, Harry boy,” said Bevan Smith with a nod of his head. Bevan owned the hotel beneath them and ran a syndicate of quiet card games in the space above the hotel every Friday night, on payday. His greasy hair hung in long tendrils down the sides of his face and his mustache drooped over a thin mouth filled with rotting teeth.
“I think you might be right.” Harry scooped his winnings into his upturned hat and pulled on his coat.
“Ye’ve fleeced the man two weeks in a row, boy. I think ye should leave town for a while. He’s likely to come after ye with a gun, if’n ye’re not careful.” Bevan pulled a dustpan and brush from a closet and walked over to the pile of broken glass that swam in a puddle of beer by Harry’s feet.
“You really think he would?” Harry eyed the unconscious man with distaste and a little fear.
“Hmmm. I’d leave town, if’n I were ye.”
“Probably a good idea,” Kip McGill sat at the bar, watching the melee with raised eyebrows. “At least for a while. Until he calms down. Come to think of it, I’d be happy to see the back of you myself. I have to go home and face the wife with not a penny to my name, now. Thanks to you.” He frowned, and swallowed the last of his beer.
“Well, I’ll be off then. Sorry about the mess, Bevan. And the money, Kip. Good night all.”
Bevan grunted and bent down to sweep shards of glass into his dustpan. Kip waved, and Harry tipped the contents of his bowler hat into his coat pockets and pushed the hat down on top of his head. Without a backward glance, he ran from the room and down the back stairs.
Outside, the cold of the evening pricked his skin and he shivered, pulling the collar of his coat up around his ears and shoving his hands into his coat pockets, where they scrunched into small balls against coins and wrinkled bills. He hurried home as quickly as he could, running until he lost his breath, then walking until he caught it again.
Before long he saw the thin gray line of smoke curling skyward in the darkness at the end of the lane that betrayed the location of the cottage. He ran to the door and pushed it open with a bang. “Great heavens above!” cried Camilla, clutching a hand to her heart in fright. “You scared the life out of me. Shh, the children are already in bed.”
“Sorry, I’m just in a hurry.”
“Apparently. What’s the rush?”
“It could be that I’ve made an enemy of Stan Goode.”
Harry watched the blood drain from his sister’s face and she slumped onto a rough-hewn chair in the living room. “Stan Goode? Why would you do that, Harry.”
“I didn’t intend on it – it just happened.”
“How?”
“Well, we were gambling and …”
“Gambling! Harry, you promised Mam you’d finished with all of that! She knew it would lead to no good and look what’s happened. Stan Goode isn’t a man to trifle with – he’ll kill you as soon as look at you. How could you do this, Harry?”
“In hindsight, it wasn’t my best idea.” Harry grinned at her and she rolled her eyes with a sigh. “He says I cheated him, but I didn’t. I won, that’s all there is to it. He was drunk, I was sober, he lost, I won. Simple.”
“Only it’s not simple, innit? Stan Goode isn’t a man who loses well, and now you’re in trouble.”
“Yes, so it seems.” Harry sat down beside her on an upturned bucket and drummed his fingers against its side while he thought. “If I stay here, he’s bound to catch up with me.”
“How much did you win from him? Perhaps you can just give it back?”
Harry glared at her, his eyebrows drawn low over his eyes. “Give it back? Not on your life. It’s quite a lot of money and we need it. I’ll leave some with Mam, for her and the kids. The rest is for us, so we can get out of here and go anywhere we choose.”
“If you’re dead, we won’t get far,” Camilla retorted. She stalked to the kitchen and scrubbed the dirty dishes vigorously in a large pail of hot soapy water.
“Well, we’ll just have to leave sooner than we’d planned. I have the money now, so let’s just go. There’s nothing stopping us. You spoke with Aunt Petunia and she’s happy to move in with Mam and Da since she’ll be able to give up paying rent over at her place. You and I can just leave, then Stan Goode won’t be able to find me.”
Camilla stopped scrubbing and looked at him with her mouth open and her face pale. “Leave? Now? But I …”
“I know it’s sudden, but we were planning to anyway, weren’t we?”
“Yes, but … I haven’t even said goodbye to anyone. I haven’t packed or planned …”
“Well, I’m leaving. If you want to come, you can, but you certainly don’t have to.”
“No, I want to come.”
“Then you’d better get packing. We’ll stop at Aunt Petunia’s on the way.”
“All right, Harry.” Camilla looked at the dirty dishes in front of her and gazed around the disheveled room, still messy from the day’s activities. She usually tidied up, then did some mending and ironing and went to bed.
“Leave it,” said Harry. “They’ll all have to learn to get by without you sometime – they might as well learn it tonight.”
Camilla hurried off to the shared bedroom to start packing, and Harry stepped outside to the lean-to, where his sleeping quarters were located. His bedroom was tiny, just bigger than the mat he slept on. The room itself had been erected after the little stone cottage was already built, added on with slats of oak, the gaps filled with mud from the nearby creek bed, and the entire room insulated with sheets of newspaper.
He pulled a rucksack from his makeshift closet and hurried around the room, shoving clothes, shoes and other personal items into the bag. Before long, everything he owned of value was packed and ready to go, including his winnings from the poker games.
He strode back into the house and found his mother in the kitchen brewing a pot of hot tea. Her face was pallid, but she looked better than she had in weeks. She smiled at him through brown teeth. “Evenin’, Harry dear.”
“Hello, Mam. how are you feelin’ tonight?”
“I’m feelin’ much better, thank you, m’lad.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Mam. I have something to tell you …”
“You mean that you and Camilla are leavin’ us?”
“Well, yes. How did you know?”
“I overheard you talkin’ about it.”
“I’m sorry, Mam.”
“Nothin’ to be sorry about, m’boy. I knew it was just a matter of time. You want a life, adventure, fun – you won’t get none of that here raisin’ children that aren’t your own. You’re an adventurer, an explorer. You can’t be housebound like this. I understand what that feels like.” Her eyes were wistful and she blew on her tea, dispersing the cloud of steam that hovered above it.
“You wanted more, Mam?”
“I did once, my son. But then I had you. And before you believe otherwise, I want you to know that you are and always have been the light of my life. I don’t regret you for a moment. There are other things I do regret … but not you.”
Harry ducked his head and let his mother wrap her arms around him in a brief embrace. “I promise to write, Mam.”
“I’ll look forward to it. Do you know where you’ll go?”
“I was thinkin’ we might aim for Birkenhead. There are ships at the port there that go to far-off places, all over the world.”
“So you won’t stay in England then?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe America.”
His mother’s eyes widened and glistened with unshed tears
. She took a slow sip of tea. “Oh.” She opened a drawer in the sideboard and pulled out a wrinkled envelope. She handed it to him.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a letter from your uncle, Sam Todd, my aunt’s husband. I don’t know if you remember me speaking of him …”
“Vaguely.”
“Well, he lives in America, a place called Cutter’s Creek. I think it’s on the west coast somewhere. Anyway, his address is on the back there. You should write to him, find out what you can about the place. He’s a good man, and if he can he’ll help you.”
“Thanks, Mam.” Harry shoved the letter into his vest pocket.
Camilla walked into the room, her eyes red-rimmed and damp. She scurried to her mother’s side and threw her arms around her. “Oh, Mam! I hope we’ll see you again.”
“I know you will, my dear. I know you will. Don’t fret, my sweet – Harry will take care of you. You’re meant for bigger things than marryin’ a drunkard or a gambler in Greyburn and workin’ yourself to the bone to care for his children. Bigger things. You just remember that, won’t you? Don’t settle for less, my darlin’ girl.” Their mother pulled a tattered handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her wet eyes.
“Yes, Mam. I’ll remember.” She sniffled into her mother’s neck, hiccuping.
“Well, we’d best be leavin’. We’re stopping by Aunt Petunia’s on the way out – she’s agreed to come and live with you. Hope that’s all right with you, Mam.”
His mother’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that is good news. I’ll enjoy havin’ her here, that’s for sure. I was dreadin’ bein’ on my own with the kids.”
Harry and Camilla kissed their mother and took turns kissing the cheeks of the sleeping children before they crept from the cottage for the last time. Out in the lane, they turned back to watch the smoke rising from the chimney and the lamplight flickering through the small square front window for a few moments. Then, lowering their heads against the rising wind from across the marsh, they pushed on toward Greyburn.
Chapter Ten
Charlotte’s eyes drifted closed and her head nodded against her chest. She’d passed through Greyburn an hour earlier and hadn’t seen anyone since. The rhythmic clip-clopping of Amber’s hooves on the dirt road and the silence of the darkened countryside were lulling her to sleep.
Just then, she heard a voice, just a murmur in the distance. The voice was followed by rustling in the tall grasses beside the road just up ahead. Startled, she sat up straight and strained her eyes toward the direction the noise had come from. “Hello?” she called.
“Who’s there?” asked a man’s voice from the darkness.
Oh dear, who could that be? Perhaps I should urge Amber forward – it might be a gypsy or a robber. She felt her heart rate rising in panic and lifted the reins, ready to bring them down hard on the horse’s back.
“Is that you, Lady Charlotte?” the voice asked. and a smiling face appeared beside the wagon. It was the man she’d almost run over in Greyburn a few weeks earlier.
“It is. Mr. Brown?”
“Yes. What are you doing out here at this time of night, m’Lady?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” Charlotte pulled Amber to a halt and watched with caution as another face appeared beside Harry’s – this time it was a woman. The woman’s face was familiar as well, but Charlotte couldn’t think of her name.
“Good evening, m’Lady. I’m Camilla, Harry’s sister.”
“Oh, of course, Camilla Brown – I remember you. You sang at the Spring Fair last year.”
“Yes, m’Lady, that was me.”
“You have a beautiful voice.”
“Thank you, m’Lady.”
“So?” asked Harry, folding his arms across his chest.
Charlotte lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “I’m running away from home.”
“Are you now?”
“And you?”
“Same thing,” replied Camilla, with a smile.
“You’re running away as well?” Charlotte was confused. Why would these two need to leave town in the dead of night? She blanched – perhaps they were criminals, murderers even. What if they planned to rob her and leave her for dead by the side of the road?
“Yes, my brother here got himself into trouble with the local thug, Stan Goode. We were planning on leaving soon anyway, but we had to get out of town in a hurry after he beat Mr. Goode in a poker game.”
“Oh, I know all about Stan Goode. My father’s had a few run-ins with the man over the years. He’s certainly someone I wouldn’t want chasing me.” Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief.
“Yes, well, I suppose we best be on our way, then.” Harry looked at her with wide eyes and rubbed his hands down his arms in a warming motion.
Charlotte lifted the reins again, ready to move on, then shook her head and wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t just leave them out here in the cold and dark. She should at least ask them where they were going – perhaps they could all travel together. It certainly would make her own journey seem less daunting. “Where are you two headed?”
“We’re going to Birkenhead, just outside of Liverpool. The steamships bound for America leave from that port. That’s where we’re going – America.”
Charlotte gasped. America! She’d heard of people doing it, of course – she’d just never considered doing it herself. But hearing it come from Harry’s lips in the darkness like that, it sounded awfully appealing. Just imagine the adventures she could have in the New World. Just think of all the opportunities, the freedom, the chance to be anyone she wanted to be, to do anything she wanted to do.
Her eyes widened and shone with excitement. “Well, fancy that – it’s just where I’m going as well! Why don’t we travel together. You can climb up here into the wagon – I’m sure Amber won’t mind pulling all three of us, although we’ll have to give her regular rests and can’t expect her to go too fast.”
She didn’t have to ask them twice. Harry and Camilla quickly pulled their rucksacks from the undergrowth lining the side of the road and threw them into the back of the wagon before climbing up to join Charlotte on the long, flat wagon seat. Camilla wriggled close to Charlotte, rubbing her hands together and blowing to warm them. Charlotte glanced across at Harry and caught him watching her, his eyes full of curiosity.
He quickly turned to face the road. “Let’s get going,” he said. “We’ve got a long way to go. We should probably keep going all night tonight and find a place to rest tomorrow.”
“Yes,” agreed Charlotte. “Good idea.” She clicked her tongue and Amber set off at a trot.
Chapter Eleven
The steady beat of hooves on the hard road drummed a bass note, over which the trill of meadowlarks and the hum of bees wove the melody of a new day. Charlotte’s head lay against Harry’s strong shoulder, with Camilla taking the other side. His eyes on the road ahead, the reins in his hands, he considered what lay before them.
What was he thinking, bringing Camilla with him? He was selfish, wanting her company, wishing to bring something of family along for comfort. But what about what was best for her? He hadn’t planned on taking her overseas to America. That was an idea that had dawned on him when he was speaking with Stan Goode before he won the man’s money and everything turned bad.
Stan had spoken about the hills that were streaked with gold and the land where people believed so much in life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness that they included the phrase in their Declaration of Independence. A land where anything was possible, where station and rank meant nothing, where a man could follow his dreams to be anything his heart desired. Heck, Stan had said, the government over there was giving away large parcels of land to anyone who’d take it and farm it.
And to Harry, that was the moment his heart was set on going there. For him, growing up in a village where all the land belonged to the landlord and everyone who farmed it was a tenant farmer, paying taxes but never actually owing the land or their h
omes – the idea of owning his own farm and working for himself sounded like the Holy Grail.
He let his eyes fall for a moment to the golden head on his shoulder and fought the urged to run his fingers through her hair and down her cheek. Lady Charlotte’s skin looked as soft as a peach, and her breath tickled in slow, steady bursts against his chest. This woman was the landlord’s daughter, a man who was known throughout the Greyburn area as a tough but fair man. Someone who Harry had never spoken to directly, but whose pockets were lined with his tax money. What would he think of his daughter running off in the middle of the night, her head on the shoulder of a boy from the village?
What was she really doing here? Why had she left the manor? It made no sense. No doubt she’d had some kind of childish tantrum and decided to run away in a fit of rage. She’d change her mind and want to go back home as soon as she opened her eyes, he was sure of that. He just hoped to get as far down the road as possible in her wagon before she left them. Camilla needed the rest and it gave him the chance to consider their options.
He had enough money to get him and Camilla to America on a steamship. They’d travel third-class, below deck, of course. He knew the amount left over should give them a chance in New York City. It was where the steamships docked and as good a place as any for them to get started.
He pulled the letter from his uncle out of his vest pocket and looked over it again. The address on the back read “General Mail, Cutter’s Creek, Montana Territory.” It must have been a small place not to require a street address of any kind. He’d write to his uncle when they arrived in New York and ask him about the land the government was giving away. Maybe he’d get a piece of it, or perhaps his uncle could help him to find a job and get established that way.
Regardless of what he decided to do, they’d have to spend some time in New York first while he earned enough money to take them west. They might even decide to stay there, although Harry doubted he’d want to settle in a city. The country always beckoned and he’d never been able to stomach the idea of living in close quarters with a bunch of strangers for too long.
