“As the proverbial tack, according to Becky.”
“You haven’t spoken to her yourself?”
“Not yet. Apparently she’s wary of strangers. That’s another Indian trait, but Becky and Tiffin have been softening her up for me. Besides, I wanted to learn as much of the story as I could from other sources first – especially the journal – so I could, well . . . ”
“Test her memory?” Maryellen ventured.
Regan let the answer lay. “Dealing with someone that old – my great-grandmother’s ninety-one and there’s some major gear-slippage. I mean, you’ll be talking along fine, feeling like you both have a grip on your end of the conversation, then she’s suddenly talking about what she’s going to wear to the cotillion next weekend. Anyway, I feel like I need to have specific questions to get the ball rolling.” He held up the journal and shook it slightly. “She’s the main reason I made the trip this time.”
“I’m surprised you put it off so long. I mean, if she’s eighty-seven . . . ”
“Like I said, there’s no way to rush it.”
“She lives with the Conllans?”
“No. She lives on the Jicarilla reservation in Dulce, a little town west of here.
“You mentioned it before.”
“Did I? Anyway, it was her choice.”
The thought seemed to take Maryellen away somewhere. She didn’t reply.
“Dulce means ‘sweet’,” said Regan, filling in the silence.
“Hm? Oh! Sweet. Dulce. Indian or Spanish?”
“I’m not sure. Indian, I think. Apache.” Regan nodded. “Tiffin’s hoping to take me over tomorrow.”
“I’d like to go with you.”
“That wouldn’t be a good idea. Not this time, anyway. Let Tiffin and me test the waters and see if we think she’s up to another stranger.”
Maryellen nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“Sorry.”
“Oh, no problem. I understand. It’s just that I feel like, I don’t know, it’s like a chance to touch history. Like finding out Mary Lincoln is alive and I could go talk to her.” They laughed. “Strange.”
She looked up the track and across the road to the buildings that lined Main Street. “I wonder what’s going to happen to all this.”
Regan was recalled from distant thoughts. “All what?”
“This,” Maryellen said, sweeping the view with her arm. “When the train stops running, do you think everything will just dry up?”
Regan shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s the passenger train that’s going to stop.”
“They’re not shutting down the whole thing?”
“No. The freight will still run.”
“Oh. Well, that’s not so bad. I just pictured the whole town dying on the vine, like some of the textile towns in New England. Some of them are just mainly empty buildings. Sad.”
Regan looked around. “I don’t think that’s going to happen here. Folks are too stubborn to just fade away. They’re good people, you know, once you get to know ‘em. It just takes a while.”
“I’m not going to ask how long.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Regan laughed.
“Maybe the passenger train will run again.”
“Maybe. You never know.”
But they both knew.
Second Ward
Jersey City, New Jersey
Monday, October 19th, 1879
In the space of minutes, Thomas had gone from a law-abiding immigrant, to the unwitting accomplice of a maniacally giggling bandit. Confronted with the accusation that she had prostituted herself for criminal gain she simply said, “Wot you fink I dun afore you come along, my Prince Charmin’?” and tickled him under the chin.
It may have been a truth she had lived with for years, but it was a revelation to Thomas, and he had no mental compartment for it. “But, those men, you . . . ”
“I caught ‘em with their knickers in a twist, you might say,” she chuckled.
“But how?”
“You really want to know?”
On quick reflection, he decided not.
“Didn’t fink so. Now, like I said, we got packin’ to do.”
“What did you get? My boots?”
“Boots, check.”
“The gun?”
“Gun, check.”
“Everything?”
“An’ then some, check.”
“What do you mean, ‘and then some’?”
“All that wot he took from them bleedin’ suff’rer’s back on the train.”
This didn’t seem possible. “All of it!?”
“That’s wot I said ‘bout ten times now, ain’t it?”
“But how?”
“You said you didn’t want to know.”
“I don’t.”
“Then stop askin’.”
This needed another approach. “Where is it?”
“I ‘ad some gennl’mens pack it up and take it to the station f’r me.”
Thomas felt his head was about to combust. “You had someone pack it up and take it to what station?”
“The station we jus’ lef’.”
“They just . . . packed it up for you and . . . ”
“Took it to the station. ‘at’s right.”
“Why?”
“That’s like askin’ ‘how’, ain’t it?”
“I’ve got to know.”
Sadie settled herself against the bars. “Well, turns out this ‘takin’ from the poor and keepin’ it for ‘emselfs lark is an ol’ dodge f’r Feathers an’ ‘is friends. They been doin’ it f’r years, an’ some on the railroad’s in on the game, see?”
Thomas nodded.
“Well, in the course of the evenin’s entertainment, wot with ‘a little likker judiciously applied’ as the fella says wot wants y’er vote, I finds out they keep it all in a ware’ouse, just back o’ the Swan an’ Onion, which landlord is in on the take.
“So, let’s say I did a bit’ve jugglin’ an’ some’ow Feathers an’ his cronies find ‘emselfs wot the Frenchies call sans coulotte – which means butt neked,” she burst out laughing and swearing all at once, ‘til Thomas was afraid she’d choke. He slapped her on the back a couple of times and soon she was able to recommence. “Ar’ter emptyin’ the pockets, I chucked their clothes out the window an’ into the river.”
“They were all there . . . together?” Thomas said, twisting his neck ‘til it held his head a little better. He didn’t want his brain to host the image that was taking shape in his mind.
Sadie was truly stunned. “‘Course not! Each of ‘em was in a different room, none the wiser of the others.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Wot kinda girl you take me for, Tommy?”
Whatever kind of girl he’d thought her, the image had undergone a drastic revision in the last hour. A new image had yet to fully form, but its suggestion was disturbing in the extreme.
“But, didn’t they recognize you?”
“They wasn’t lookin’ at my face.”
Thomas flushed suddenly. “So, you . . . you went to the warehouse?”
“Bless y’er ‘eart, no. Amongst what I got from their pockets was the key to the ware’ouse wi’ ‘WARE’OUSE 14A’ printed in big letters on a tag tied to it.” Clearly she’d been paying attention to Tiffin’s reading lessons aboard the Crimea. She tapped her temple. “Superior intelligence we’re dealin’ with, ey? Then I collected what I could carry – your gun an’ the boots an’ other such like as they ‘ad on ‘em – in a coupla pillowcases an’ hoofed it outta there. Whilst they wuz in blissful, neked ignorance waitin’ f’r their paramour.”
“Their what?”
“Nevermin’, darlin’. Down I goes an’ into the street and wot should I find a coupla doors along but another tavern. And wot’s in that tavern, surprise, surprise, but a couple of nother gen’lmen’s wot’s ‘ad a tip beyond the limit an’ I tells ‘em, I says as ‘ow I got this big ol’ box in a ware’ouse wot needs movin’ to the
train station, don’t I? An’ would they please ‘elp a poor girl out an’ move it an’, bein’ Irish and drunk they tells me to bugger off, which I figured on, but thought it was worth a try. Then I reaches out ol’ Feathers pocketbook and ‘ands ‘em each a fiver an’ all on a sudden like, I was the Queen’ve Derby Street.
“So, I takes ‘em to the ware’ouse, which I found out from the landlord where it was, an’ opens the door wi’ me magical key and, Bob’s your uncle. If that box ain’t waitin’ fer the next train west, I’ll eat your ‘at wi’ bells on.”
Returning alone to the station early the next morning, for fear Sadie might be recognized, Thomas found, against all odds, that the box was where she had told the men to leave it, and a hasty inspection confirmed it was packed with the personal belongings of their companions on the train. Now he was confronted with the dilemma of restoring the property to its rightful owners. Where were they? Certainly not still on the tracks a mile up the line, which is where his searches – coming up empty everywhere else – ultimately took him, and precisely where, to his disbelief, they were. Still waiting for the train that was “sure to be on its way once they set right wotever’s wrong w’it.”
“What’ve you done!” said Cian O’Malley, when Thomas explained the reason for his return. “Now they won’t take us on the rest the way! They’ll think we’re all thieves!”
Nothing he could say would convince them, nothing induce them to return with him to the station to reclaim their things. In fact, a general grumbling grew against Thomas and quickly became so threatening he had to flee, if not for his life, certainly for his health.
At the station, Sadie refrained from telling him she said so, which she had, and used some of the money from the ample supply in Feather’s pocketbook to have a baggage handler package what she considered their rightful belongings and ship them to St. Louis – the end of the Pennsylvania Rail line. The box, they left where it was.
In the end, the only thing Sadie had taken – apart from Feather’s personal money – that either wasn’t theirs, or hadn’t been taken from the travelers under false pretenses, was the bullwhip. For some reason it fascinated her and struck her as the kind of weapon a lady would protect herself with. And she was determined to be that lady. She tucked it in the box for shipping as well.
All that remained was for them to find a way to meet their belongings in St. Louis. The train was out of the question. Their crime, however just, had been against agents of the railroad. Their descriptions would be telegraphed up and down the line in hours, if they hadn’t been already, and every engineer, conductor, security guard, brakeman, fireman and, probably, passenger, would be on the lookout for them.
As they made their way through the morning throngs choking the platform – passengers coming and going in all directions, vendors of all stripes, and an irritating portrait photographer whose bursts of lycopodium powder clouded the vicinity with a morning after Gettysburg surreality – a whippet of a man broke from the crowd and seized Sadie by the elbow. “Gotchya, you connivin’ whore!”
“‘ere! You’d bes’ get that hand off me if you wanna keep it!” Sadie spat, twisting away from the man who accosted her. It was ‘Much’ Adoo, and it struck him, in the instant it took him to fall to the pavement, that he had misjudged his quarry.
Had anyone clustered close enough, as he creaked and groaned to his feet, brushing off the spittle and chewing gum that littered the platform, they would have heard him say, as he watched Sadie disappear amongst the masses – all but unaware of the young man beside her – “I fink I’m in luv.”
Whether it was love or greed, however, that animated his pursuit, it was insufficient to overcome the discrepancy in their ages, which betrayed him at every step. No sooner had he lost sight of her, than his breath flagged and he doubled over, huffing and puffing like a fairy tale villain, one hand on his knees and the other massaging his back, bemoaning his misfortune with Saxon clarity, shocking female travelers into a trot.
This was one tale that would never reach Feather’s ears, or he’d never hear the end of it. He oozed sheepishly back into the crowd that had birthed him, nursing the wounds to his self esteem. But he had nothing but respect for Sadie. “If I were thirty year yoonger.”
Thomas collapsed on a barrelhead. Sadie threw herself over another nearby. “That was one of the men from last night.”
“Aye.”
“What did he want?”
“Wot you fink?”
Thomas didn’t have the energy for debate. He studied her for a minute.
“Wot’re you gawpin’ at?”
“You.”
“Wot fer?”
“You’re too much of a girl . . . even if you dress like a Chinese laundry.”
Sadie gathered a fringe from somewhere and tossed it regally over her shoulder. “You gettin’ fresh, Tommy boy?” she said in a way he found disturbing.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what.”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I don’t know wot y’er talkin’ ‘bout.”
He grabbed her suddenly by the shoulders, took her chin firmly in his hand and riveted her in the depths of his eyes. “Don’t do that . . . with me. Not ever. D’you hear?” Then he shook her and pushed her away so hard that she tripped over her feet and went sprawling among some bales of cotton. He reached out his hand to help her to her feet, but she wouldn’t take it.
She didn’t say anything as she stood up. She simply walked away, and he fell in behind her. It was a long time – as measured by people of their age – before they talked again; when they did, it was as if the incident between them had never happened. Neither ever again spoke of it, or alluded to it. Neither did Sadie ever play the coquette with Thomas again.
From that day on, she was his sister and that was that.
Chapter Seventeen
By early afternoon, with only a brief stop at a wayside inn, they had put fewer than twelve miles between themselves and Jersey City. The turnpike was busy with traffic. At first, suspecting they were being followed, they would jump into whatever cover they could find at the approach of a horse, coach, or wagon. As a result, they spent the better part of each hour in the ditch.
“This is no good,” said Thomas, dragging himself, soaked to the knees, back up onto the roadbed. “We gotta do somethin’.”
Sadie, likewise sodden, drew up beside him. “Like wot?”
Thomas thought for a moment. Nearby stood a stone farmhouse, with laundry flapping lazily in the warm autumn breeze. “I’ve got’n idea.”
“Wot?”
“We’re gonna make you a boy.”
“By ‘ell you are!”
He looked at her directly for the first time since that morning’s incident. “That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier. You’re too much of a girl. That’s what everyone’s lookin’ for, if they’re lookin’ for us. A boy an’ a girl. Well,” he jerked a thumb toward the laundry which, upon closer inspection, proved to include a pair of breeches and a shirt about her size.
“You want me to dress like a boy?”
Thomas nodded. “It’d be an improvement.” He flicked a loose end of the fabric surrounding her.
She almost hurt herself trying not to laugh. “Wot ‘bout this?” She twiddled her luxuriant hair.
“I dunno. Maybe we c’n find a hat.”
“I ‘ate ‘ats.”
“Then we’ll get it cut off.”
“ . . . but I’ll wear one if you thinks I should.”
“I thinks you should.”
“‘ow we gonna steal ‘em?”
“Steal what?”
“Them clothes, ye daft bugger. Ain’t you been sayin’ as ‘ow . . .”
Thomas took a little bundle of cash from his pocket and stuck it under her nose. “We’re gonna buy ‘em.”
The notion they could buy something, with cash, hit Sadie like a sharp-edged ob
ject from another dimension. “Coo, I never thought’ve that.”
The housefrau was a solid German Protestant named Swanzy. Negotiations for the clothing included the explanation that they wanted to dress Sadie up as a boy because there would be times when Thomas would be unable to accompany her and it was not wise for a girl to travel alone. The gentlewoman’s skepticism was obviated when Thomas showed her cash and expressed his willingness to pay for the old clothes – which belonged to her son, Adolph – what they had cost new. And to add an extra two-bits if she’d be good enough to burn the pile Sadie had removed.
Swanzy concluded negotiations with the proviso that they must first bathe in the tub out back – ladies first – ‘unt shtint neidder vater nor zoap, which I shall supply ‘till the county’s exhausted. For truly, clothes ist redundant ven you ist bot’ layered in flith tick enough to grow potatoes.’
The back yard was canopied by oak, elm, and maple trees, all of which contended with one another to make the gaudiest show of their fall finery. Leaves of gold, orange, red, yellow – performing an arboreal burlesque – released their grip on the trees and drifting lazily to earth in a perpetual shower. Many fell into the wash tub, and Sadie made boats of them.
“All that come of’n me?” she said, swishing the mud-gray water in which she sat. She drew a sharp breath as Swanzy emptied a bucket of cold water over her head.
“Zorry. Ist all I ‘ave left. Ist colt.”
“No bleedin’ bloody jokin’ it’s cold!” Sadie screamed, jumping up. “I’ll be froze ‘til spring thaw!”
Swanzy, appraising Sadie’s figure doubtfully, handed her a towel. “How you’re going to be a boy! Look at you!”
Sadie smiled. “Not bad, ey?” She shimmied into the towel.
The biology lesson young Adolph got that day, framed by a crack in the barn siding, rendered him speechless for several hours and would remain with him the rest of his life.
The Swanzy threw a flopsy wool hat and a pair of suspenders in free.
“I don’t know ‘ow you do it. These itch like Billy O.” Sadie pulled at various folds of her trousers. She fingered the buttons on her fly. ’ow’m I s’posed to do me business?”
Silence the Dead Page 18
