by Jane Shoup
“I’ll be back,” he said, and then he turned and left, pulling up a suspender strap as he went.
The door closed and she held her breath, waiting for the sound of the lock, only it didn’t come. She looked at the vanity table and saw the key. He’d left without it. She looked at the door again, expecting it to open once he realized his mistake, but there was only silence. She got up so quickly, the blood rushed to her head. She moved to the vanity, staring down at the items left behind, his money bound by a monogrammed silver clip, the key and his pocketknife. She reached for the knife with a trembling hand, knowing she had to go. Now. This very minute. No! He’d realize his mistake and be back, and to be caught leaving—
She withdrew her hand, but continued to stare at the knife. She tied the belt on her robe and a tear slipped down her face. She swiped it away angrily and picked up the knife. Damn it, this was her opportunity and she was squandering it. She started toward the door, but stopped short when she heard the soft squeak of the doorknob twisting. Staring at the brass knob, she stuck the knife behind her, clutching it so hard that the mechanism sprang the blade. He would demand to know why she had the knife, and what would she say?
The door opened, and Veronica, wearing a nightdress, leaned in and grabbed up the key from the dressing table. By the look of her sleep-creased face, she’d been rudely awoken. Em experienced simultaneous jubilation that it wasn’t Sonny and dread that her chance was about to disappear. Her only hope was to place some kind of block in the crack of the door once it was closed. The blade of the knife. But already Veronica was shutting the door. “D-did you hear?” she called, stepping forward on wobbly legs.
The door opened again. “Hear what?”
Em closed the distance between them, careful to keep the knife from view. “The President was shot.”
Veronica blinked in surprise. “All he said was to lock the door,” she croaked, obviously dazed from being awoken so abruptly.
“It’s terrible, isn’t it?”
Veronica grunted and shut the door.
Shaking with equal measures of fear and adrenaline, Em leaned against the door and stuck the blade in the right spot to prevent the lock from catching. Her breath caught as the bar pushed against the blade. This was it. If Veronica realized what she’d just done, she’d force her way in and it would all be over. Em waited, half expecting the door to fly open and knock her backward, but it didn’t. She managed a deep breath and then another. All she had to do now was to open the door and make her escape. But what if Veronica was still standing there? Or Sonny? What if it had all been a trick? A test of some sort? Memories of past punishments paralyzed her. “Stop it,” she whispered.
She hesitated a moment more and then pulled the door open far enough to release the metal tongue. She tossed the knife onto the rug behind her and peeked though the crack. No one was visible. Slowly, she opened the door and looked out at the empty hallway. This was it. This was her chance. She had to move. Get to the side door, slip out, and get down and around to the cellar without being seen.
She took a step, but the floor creaked beneath her and she stopped, shaking violently. Her muscles wanted to seize, but she forced herself to start moving again and, once in motion, she kept going. Muffled voices and laughter from the rooms she passed reminded her that anyone could emerge at any time, and anyone who spotted her would immediately alert Sonny.
She reached the door at the end of the hall, opened it silently and stepped out into a balmy night. Shutting the door behind her, she pressed her back against the wall and gulped breaths to help quell her dizziness. The warm breeze tickled her skin and urged her on, although her knees were dangerously weak as she started down the steps of the rarely used exit. She heard hoofbeats and carriage wheels from the street, and distant voices, but the cover of trees, in full summer leaf, shielded her from view.
She crept around the perimeter of the building and down the steep steps to the cellar. Her stomach lurched when the doorknob offered resistance, but then it gave with a squeak, and she disappeared into the dank, inky darkness and felt her way to the soft-sided traveling bag she’d stashed there. Her eyes were wide and unblinking as she untied her belt and slipped off her robe. She heard the soft scratching of rodents at the same instant she felt the brush of silk against her ankles, and felt a painful chill up her spine. As quickly as she could, clumsy with nerves, she dressed in the same traveling gown she’d worn on the day of her arrival and stepped into her shoes, not even bothering with stockings. She extracted her reticule from the bag, which held a purse with money, the exact same amount she’d possessed upon arrival, minus the ticket she’d purchased, a small brush and hair combs, a handkerchief and her train ticket.
As she started back out, it was with full awareness that she had to move quickly, but also warily, because if this opportunity was lost, there wouldn’t be another. Again, she crept around the building to the rear edge of the hotel. It was the quietest street nearby and it was empty for the moment. She took a deep breath, exhaled and then began walking, clutching her reticule tightly. Head down, keep moving. Walk, don’t run. You can do this.
She knew the least frequented paths away from here. She’d made mental notes of the shadowy alcoves and dark, side alleys on each and every excursion away from the hotel. She’d thought long and hard about this moment. The hardest thing was not to run.
The prostitutes were housed in the north wing of the hotel, but with the addition of several new ones, a few had been temporarily installed in rooms on the far more elegant south wing, which was why Katie-Louise happened to be walking by Em’s room a few minutes before eleven. The girls all called Miss Wright ‘the princess’ because of her looks, and because of the way she was treated, as if she had to be watched all the time, as if she might break or something.
The princess was slender, with perfect posture. Her hair was brown, which would have been nothing special, except that it was nice hair and went so well with her golden-brown eyes, which were more almond-shaped than round. Katie-Louise had round eyes. In fact, everything about her was roundish. Luckily, she had yellow hair, which a lot of men seemed to favor, a pretty face and the right opening between her legs, which allowed her to make a living. She’d be alright for a few years, and during that time she’d find herself a husband. That was her plan.
“How come you didn’t take your top off?” Ned complained behind her. “You didn’t show me your tits.”
“Maybe I’ll do that next time,” Katie-Louise replied agreeably. “For a dollar extra.”
“Aw, Katie-Louise, that ain’t fair. It oughta be part of the package.”
She gave him a look over her shoulder. “You can be so crude when you want to,” she murmured as she noticed the door to the princess’s room was standing wide open. Strange, since she was usually kept locked up tight—a princess in her tower. ’Course, she also got silk dresses made just for her and she got waited on hand and foot. She got to have dinner every night in the fancy, private dining room and she got Sonny Peterson. Not a bad life, in Katie-Louise’s opinion. She would have traded in a flat minute.
“You oughta show me your tits and you ought not insult me after paying you, is what,” Ned muttered.
“Fine,” she gave in. “Next time I will. Alright, already?” They weren’t allowed to go into the hotel lobby and so she turned the hall toward the back staircase, aware that Ned was still muttering complaints under his breath. The big baby. Stopping abruptly with an impatient huff, she turned to face him and lifted her top. Tugging it back down in place, she gave him a look. “Alright?” she demanded.
“Alright,” he echoed, appeased for the moment.
She turned and walked on with a roll of her eyes. They started down the stairs to the saloon, but slowed in confusion at the sight of the roomful of people below. Everyone had a tense look, the talk was hushed and the whole crowd had converged in the less than half hour she’d been upstairs with Ned.
“Wha’cha think’s goin’ o
n?” Ned asked as he stopped beside her.
She shrugged and walked on, ready to be done with him. She made her way over to Nancy and Golden, who were leaning against the back bar taking it all in, their fans in continual movement. “What’s happened?”
“President Garfield was shot,” Golden replied solemnly. “He’s probably going to die.”
Katie-Louise’s jaw dropped. “Why? Who shot him?”
Nancy shrugged. “Some crazy man.”
“I wouldn’t want to be president,” Katie-Louise confided as she looked over the crowd. “They’re always getting shot.” Her lip curled to see Veronica Peterson standing across the way. The woman had a hard look about her, the same look men got on their faces when they wanted to cause pain rather than to receive pleasure. Or maybe causing pain was their pleasure, although that made no sense to her. They called her V.P. and frequently followed it with, ‘is creepy.’
Sonny, on the other hand, was anything but creepy. She didn’t even see how the two of them were related. He was standing at the head of the group like he was holding court—like he was the governor or something. She pictured herself standing next to him, dressed in a silver, satin gown. Sonny would give her that half smile of his, as if they were sharing a joke. It was a beautiful fantasy. “Where’s the princess?” she asked without taking her eyes off Sonny.
“Locked away, as usual,” Nancy replied. “You know, I kinda feel sorry for her.”
“Sorry?” Golden scoffed. “What’s there to be sorry for?”
“The door to her room was wide open,” Katie-Louise said.
The others looked at her as if she’d just spouted pig Latin.
“You sure?” Nancy asked doubtfully. “You probably saw another room.”
“I know which one’s her room. It wasn’t wide open, but it was open.”
Nancy blinked. “Uh . . . if she’s not down here—”
“Did you look in her room?” Golden asked. “Was she there?”
“I didn’t look in, but it’s open and it’s never open.” She paused. “Should we tell?”
“You better,” Golden warned. “If she’s gone missing again, there’s going to be hell to pay, and you best make sure you ain’t the one paying.”
“Should I tell Sonny?” Katie-Louise asked, hopefully.
Nancy glanced over at Sonny and his group and then shook her head. “Viper lady. I’ll wave her over.” All three girls looked at Veronica in time to see the scathing look she gave them before starting toward them. “I hate that old witch,” Nancy said under her breath.
“Me, too,” the others agreed.
“What is it?” Veronica demanded when she got close enough. She always kept a certain amount of distance, as if they had something catching.
Katie-Louise crossed her arms. “The door to the prin—” Katie-Louise barely caught herself in time. “To Miss Wright’s room is open.”
Veronica flinched. “That’s impossible.”
Golden noticed that even though it was impossible, the notion sure made VP blanche. It almost made her smile.
“It was,” Katie-Louise said with a shrug.
Veronica looked at the people gathered around Sonny, then turned and headed upstairs with a scowl on her face.
“Wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t just soil her knickers a little bit,” Golden said to the amusement of the others.
As Veronica stared at the sprung lock, cold tendrils of fear seeped through her system. She heard voices behind her and turned to see one of the whores, Betty or Betsy or something like that, coming toward her followed by a short, fat man, who was readjusting his trousers as he walked, low-class scum that he was. “Betty—”
“It’s Bitsy,” the young woman corrected without slowing her pace.
“Go tell Mr. Peterson I need to see him,” Veronica snapped.
Bitsy halted in her tracks. “What?”
“You heard me. Now, hurry up.”
Bitsy blinked.
“Go!” Veronica barked.
Bitsy huffed. “I’m going.”
“Bitsy,” Veronica called a moment later, halting the young woman yet again. “Tell him Miss Wright seems to be . . . missing.”
Bitsy looked horrified at the prospect. “I’ll tell him to come up here, but I’m not telling him that,” she said in a low voice. “Uh-uh,” she added with a shake of her head.
“Go, then,” Veronica hissed furiously.
Across the street from an establishment called Boxley’s Bordello, Em pressed a hand to the stitch in her side and stared at the horses tied to the hitching post. She’d cleared enough distance from the hotel; now she needed a horse. Or better yet, the horse and buggy at the end of the row. She glanced around and then crept toward the hooded buggy. It was a two-seater, by no means new, but it was exactly what she needed. Inside the bordello, a piano was being played, and there was a bout of drunken laughter. She glanced around one more time and then climbed in and released the handbrake. “I need you,” Em whispered to the animal before giving a flick of the reins.
As she rode away, she expected a hue and cry to go up, but it didn’t. The sides of the buggy shielded her from view, which was a relief, and yet her posture remained rigid. It was possible the hunt for her had already begun and, if not, it would soon. She didn’t want to think of Sonny’s rage, but nor could she help it. She needed to formulate a plan, but mostly she just needed to get out of Richmond. She didn’t dare go to the train station; it would be one of the first places searched. So, for now, she’d run. A plan would come later.
Sonny’s eyes darted around the room. Behind him, Veronica clutched her hands in front of her. “I . . . I locked the door,” she stammered.
He turned toward her, not bothering to conceal his wrath. “Did you check it?”
Veronica looked as though she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite form the words. Behind her, his men waited in the open door. “Get Morgan, get Hayworth, get everyone,” Sonny ordered furiously. “My fiancée is on the loose again. I want her found and I mean fast.”
The men nodded grimly and hurried off and Veronica was right behind them. Sonny walked over to the large, cherry wardrobe and yanked it open. He rifled through, growing more and more baffled because nothing seemed to be missing. He moved to the chest of drawers and began looking through the contents. He’d purchased each dress, each pair of shoes, each undergarment she possessed, and nothing seemed to be missing. If she had no clothing, where the hell was she, and what was she thinking? She knew he’d have to punish her now, harder than before. She knew that. He’d used his bare hands, a razor strop, even a cane and, apparently, none of those measures had worked. He’d threatened her with the branding iron last time and, now, what choice did he have but to follow through? What choice had she left him? “Damn you, Em,” he whispered.
Chapter Three
After traveling for three days, pushing herself and the horse beyond exhaustion, Em gawked at the post marker. She was nearly to Charlottesville, which meant she’d been going northwest rather than due west as she’d intended. She was miles off course. There was no choice but to go into town for food and a rest. She was weak with hunger, not to mention filthy and smelly. So much for being invisible, she thought. People would smell her coming.
In Charlottesville, she left the horse at the livery and then went into an inn for a meal. She felt as if she was being watched from every direction. It was time to formulate that plan. When she left the inn, she went to the train station, extracting her ticket as she walked. The ticket was for Richmond to Green Valley, but her hope was that the stationmaster would allow her to use it anyway. If he refused—
No. She would cross that bridge when she came to it.
She entered the depot, which was empty of patrons. A spectacled, red-haired young man looked up at her from behind the barred window and blinked. “May I help you, miss?”
She walked to the window, placing the ticket on the counter. “I bought this planning to use it
in Richmond, but then . . . it wasn’t possible.”
He looked from her to the ticket.
“Could I possibly use it here?”
He looked up at her sheepishly.
“Please,” she pleaded. “There were circumstances. I am . . . I’m desperate to get home.”
“Miss, the train’s getting ready to pull out now.”
She clutched at the counter, unable to breathe.
“Come on,” he said urgently as he rose from his stool. “We’ll catch it.”
“Oh, thank you!”
He donned his cap and led her out a side door, taking long strides. She followed, nearly breaking into a jog to keep up with him.
“The stationmaster goes home at half past to eat his dinner,” he confided as he walked. “And he’s a stickler for the rules.” He grinned and shook his head. “You don’t even know, but your timing was perfect.”
The train began to move and her heart experienced a jolt.
“Wait! There’s one more,” the young man called to a conductor.
The conductor reached for her hand and assisted her aboard the slowly moving train. “Almost didn’t make it,” he said. “Must be your lucky day.”
She tried to reply, but her voice failed her.
“I approved her ticket,” the young man called.
Em turned to wave at him, filled with gratitude. He must have seen because he reddened to his hairline and beamed a smile.
“Your ticket, please, miss?”
She grabbed the rail with one hand and offered it.
“I hope you didn’t have a trunk that got left behind,” the conductor said as he took it.
“No.”
He glanced at her questioningly and then led her to the second-class accommodations. She sat in a hard, too-upright seat next to the window, unclenched her fists and pressed her hands to her stomach. Could it be that maybe luck was finally with her? As the train picked up speed, she felt a wild surge of hope. She was not home yet, but, if luck held, she soon would be.
