by Bess McBride
He picked at his food and rose as soon as was polite to return to his compartment, eschewing an after-dinner drink in the observation lounge. He wanted no company, unless it was Emily’s. And that was not to be.
Darkness had fallen in earnest while he was at dinner, and there was nothing to see outside the window. The porter had drawn his curtains against the night. Matthew scanned the daily newspaper but could not concentrate on the news. Tossing the paper aside, he crossed his arms and stretched out his legs as he contemplated the woman in his dreams.
Why had he not dreamed of Emily? What trick of the mind gave him the image of a strange woman to ponder? He could not remember ever dreaming of another woman. He could not actually remember dreaming of Emily either, for that matter, but never another woman. In actuality, he wasn’t quite sure what he dreamed of, nor had he given it much thought.
The train’s whistle blew, and he pulled aside the curtains. The lights of Spokane twinkled in the distance. A pleasant enough sight and a fine city, if about half the size of Seattle. Neither one of those things accounted for the sudden sensation of anticipation that now overcame him. He had never eagerly anticipated arrival in Spokane before unless it was his final destination, which it rarely was.
Was he meant to disembark the train and return to Seattle? Had Emily changed her mind, and he somehow simply knew it? Had some mystical force come to him with a message?
Matthew snorted derisively.
Again, logic and familiarity with Emily’s character dictated that she had not changed her mind, and if she had, no inexplicable sense of expectation would tell him so. He pushed back the curtain and stared into the night, willing himself to calm down.
But to no avail. A restless power claimed him, and he rose to pace the compartment, keeping a sharp eye on the approaching lights of Spokane.
If nothing else, he would have to disembark from the train if only to look around, to take in some fresh air. He suspected other passengers would as well. The hour was early enough for a pleasant stroll along the station platform.
The train lurched as it often did, and Matthew grabbed the overhead hat rack. A series of further lurches, and the train pulled into the station. Matthew retrieved his hat and strode through the door of the compartment and toward the exit. He waited impatiently for the conductor to open the door before descending to the platform.
As he had predicted, other passengers shared his desire to step off the train. He regarded the small station, but no explanation for his sense of expectancy seemed to await him there.
Several newly arriving passengers boarded other cars of the train. He turned around to study the train itself. Lights glowed from many of the windows in the various cars, even from his own compartment. He had left his curtain partially open. Nothing seemed particularly extraordinary in the presentation of the train.
The evening air in Spokane was chillier than that of Seattle, and he pulled his jacket about him more tightly. A practical man by nature, he attempted to examine the odd sensation in his breast of an erratic heartbeat. Could he be sickening? Had he assigned some metaphysical influence to what could be nothing more than the beginnings of a common cold? He hoped not. He had no time for illness and was rarely ill.
Matthew surveyed the platform one more time. Seeing nothing that would arouse curiosity much less an unusual event, he sighed heavily, returning to the train and to his compartment. He pulled open the door and froze. A woman lay on his bench seat, seemingly fast asleep, her lower limbs pulled up in a childlike pose, one hand curled under her cheek.
The roasted almond color of her hair and the dark long johns encasing her limbs marked her as the woman of his dreams.
Chapter Two
Sara startled awake at the sound of a sharp click, like the sound of a lock. She opened her eyes to see a tall man standing by the wooden door of some sort of room. The rumbling and swaying of the velvet bench underneath her cheek gave her no doubt that she was still on the train.
With a sharp hiss, she pushed herself upright.
“Who are you?” she blurted out. With one eye on the stranger, she scanned the compartment quickly. “Where am I?”
Sara jumped up almost as soon as she spoke. She faced off against the man who looked as stunned as she felt. Had she walked in her sleep? Did people really do that?
She remembered awakening to the sound of a clicking lock. He had locked them in together.
“Listen, I’ll just get out of here, wherever here is,” she said hastily with a cheesy grin. She moved toward the door, hoping he’d just step aside. So far, she’d kept her eyes from his face, thinking it best to avoid direct eye contact, which might incite him to action.
He didn’t move but held a slate-gray bowler hat with the fingers of both hands. If he was going to do something, he would have to toss the hat. Sara thought she’d keep an eye on the hat. If the hat moved, then he was moving!
In her anxiety, she barely noted the luxurious furnishings of the compartment. Having never traveled in anything other than coach on a train before, she had no idea first class was so opulent. Green velvet curtains matched the forest-green upholstery on two opposing bench seats. Mahogany furniture and paneling contrasted well with the plush maroon carpet. Globed sconces provided a soft golden glow.
“Excuse me?” Sara said a little more loudly. The man rotated his hat in a circular motion, clearly agitated about something. She noted long legs encased in well-pressed dark-gray trousers. “Could you let me out?”
Still, he made no move to stand aside, and Sara was forced to either scream or look into his face. Maybe he was deaf. She opted to stall on the scream for just a minute and chose to face him.
Sara caught her breath as their eyes locked. Long dark lashes framed aquamarine eyes under dark eyebrows. Well-groomed chestnut-brown hair, slightly lighter than his eyebrows, framed a handsome, angular, clean-shaven face. His mouth was firm, the lips neither full nor thin but just about perfect, in her opinion.
Sara thought she could get lost in the blue of his eyes, now staring at her with something like shock.
“Hello?” she said, waving her hand. “Can you hear me?”
At her words, the stranger blinked and spoke.
“Who are you?” he asked. His voice, a deep baritone, curled her toes.
“I’m Sara Reed, but don’t worry about that,” she rattled. “I think I must have walked in my sleep. I’m not supposed to be here. My seat is in coach.”
“I think perhaps you are supposed to be here, madam,” he said quietly, almost in a mutter.
Sara took a step backward. This was creepy. Not yet ready to scream, she thought fast.
“No, no,” she said, trying a soothing note. “My husband is waiting for me in coach. That’s where I’m supposed to be. Soooo...if you’ll just let me get by. I still don’t know how I ended up here.” She presumed this was his compartment. His well-tailored gray suit and matching vest suggested he had some money...or a great laundry service.
She raised her eyes to his face again and saw him search for her left hand, which she quickly tucked behind her back.
“You are married?” he asked. She didn’t think his voice held disappointment so much as disbelief. Not that her marital status was any of his concern.
She still wasn’t at screaming stage, but she was leaning toward it. If he made a sudden move toward her, she was prepared to bellow.
“Yes, I am,” she said firmly, “and like I said, he’s waiting for me. In fact, he’s probably looking for me now. So, again, if you’ll let me by, I’ll just get out of your way and apologize for barging into your compartment. I feel a bit like Goldilocks! I promise I didn’t eat the porridge.” Again, she rattled nervously.
To her surprise, he moved to the side.
“I would not hold you prisoner,” he said.
An odd statement, but the sentiment was what she wanted to hear.
“Good. Thanks!” Sara said. She moved toward him slowly and kept an eye on him
while she fumbled with the brass lock. Even the fittings were opulent, if a little old-fashioned.
“It is not locked, madam,” he said, still working his hat around in his hands.
“Oh, really?” She eyed him sheepishly. “Sorry, I thought I heard you lock the door. Okay, well, I’m off. It’s nice to meet you. Thanks for your patience!”
Without waiting for his reply, Sara pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped into the hallway. Disoriented, she wasn’t sure which way to turn to get to the coach cars. Even the aisle, done in mahogany and the expensive maroon carpet, exuded luxury. Elegant globed chandeliers provided lighting, if somewhat dim.
Anxious to get away from the stranger, she quickly pulled the door shut and chose a direction. Turning right, she hurried down the corridor. Even if she went the wrong way, she could retrace her steps and stealthily pass by his compartment without detection. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder.
She passed several more compartments before reaching the end of the car. In keeping with the rest of the décor, the door was wooden, not metal, and she grabbed the brass knob and pushed it open.
A gust of cold wind and the smell of coal assaulted her nose. Unwilling even now to turn around in case the stranger followed her, Sara pulled the door shut behind her and braced herself on the small platform between the two cars. She hadn’t remembered the connector between the cars being made of a canvas-like material, but that was the last thing on her mind. She hopped across and pulled open the door of the next car, noting absently that the door had brass fittings once again, and it opened outward rather than slide as the rest of the train did.
She stepped inside and turned around to look through the window. The stranger hadn’t followed her. With a sigh of relief, she turned and stopped short.
That she wasn’t in the coach car was immediately apparent, but she had no idea what car she had entered. Similar to the sleeper, the walls were mahogany and the carpet luxurious. A long corridor led away on the right, but she couldn’t see beyond that.
A middle-aged man of African descent who sat in a white wicker chair just inside the entrance jumped up. From his white coat, Sara assumed he was a dining car attendant. Was this the dining car?
“Hi, I’m a bit lost,” she said with a shrug and an awkward smile. “I don’t know how or why, but I wandered away from my seat in coach. Which way is that?”
The dining car attendant stared at her open mouthed, his dark eyes blinking as he seemed to study her yoga pants. She looked down at her legs but saw nothing to capture his interest. Her fleece jacket covered her curvier parts.
“Do you know the way? Is it that way or that way?” She pointed in both directions. “What car is this, by the way?”
“Th-the observation car, miss. I don’t know about a coach car.”
The door behind her opened, bringing with it the strong odor of coal she’d smelt, and Sara felt a shiver run up her spine. Without turning, she hurried past the porter and trotted down the narrow aisle to get to the next car.
A new odor assaulted her nostrils. Cigars? No one smoked on trains anymore. Was it possible Amtrak actually had a smoking room? She didn’t care. She passed several closed doors and didn’t pause to look in through the windows.
“Miss!” she thought she heard the porter call out, but she ignored him. Bursting into a six-foot domed room lined on both sides with wicker chairs, she gasped and stilled. Some passengers sipped hot or cold drinks and chatted with each other. Others held newspapers or books in their hands. At her entrance though, every single one of them looked up at her, and if they were talking, they stopped. It seemed as if, uniformly, they all dropped their eyes to her legs.
Sara swayed and propped a hand on a wall for support. The men were formally dressed in dark three-piece suits, high stiff white collars stretching their necks. Some wore bow ties, others elaborate neckties at the base of the collars. Almost all the men sported thick mustaches, and a few had well-groomed beards as well. The large bouffant hairdos on all of the women were a sight to behold, and Sara suspected a lot of hair supplements were used to achieve the puffy styles. High-necked blouses and jackets were topped by long skirts in varying shades from light to dark that draped over their knees and dropped to their ankles.
Sara was reminded of a favorite movie—a time travel romance in which the heroine had sported such a lovely coif and beautiful flowing skirts. It had been set in 1912. She was surprised she could remember that bit of trivia at the moment.
In a daze, she noted that the silence ended as a general buzz of conversation began, and she seemed to be at the center of it as they kept their eyes on her.
The attendant, or porter, or whoever he was, arrived on her heels.
“Miss, you can’t be in here,” he said urgently. She needed no further urging.
“No, I don’t think I can,” Sara muttered. Unable to run the gauntlet of oddly dressed people to get to the next car, she turned and darted past the porter. As she trotted back down the corridor, she slowed near several of the closed rooms that she had bypassed. Behind glass windows in the doors, she could see more well-dressed men lounging in chairs, reading newspapers and books, a drink or cup at their sides, cigars dangling from their fingers.
Where on earth was the coach car?
She hopped back across the connector and pulled open the door of the sleeping compartment. Her step quickening, she was fairly running by the time she reached the end of that car. Although she had worried the stranger would see or hear her, his door was closed, and he didn’t pop his head out or grab her by the arm to drag her in.
Sara pulled open the door on the other end, the now familiar smell of coal hitting her. The next car looked no more like the modern steel train she had boarded than the last two cars, but she didn’t care. She was going to find coach if it killed her, and she didn’t need the help of an obviously confused car attendant.
She pushed open the door on the other side of the vestibule and stared. Opposing bench seats faced each other the length of the car. Slightly less luxurious than the first-class compartments, the furnishings were still opulent compared to the steel-framed and blue stain-proof fabric seats of the coach car she had been on. The majority of the passengers were women, all sporting the same hairstyle as the women in the other compartment. High-collared white shirts were tucked into skirts. Even from her position at the door, Sara could see ankle-length skirts peeking out from the booths.
As in the other car, wide eyes were followed by silence and then a hum of conversation, again with her at the center. Nearing panic, Sara turned and retreated to the sleeping compartment. There was only one place she could go for answers.
She ran to the stranger’s compartment and beat on the door, simultaneously trying to pull it open. Now, it was locked.
“Can I come in?” she pleaded. The door opened instantly, and Sara almost fell into the room.
The stranger caught her in his arms and steadied her.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” she whispered. “I don’t know where I am. Please help me.”
Chapter Three
Matthew settled Mrs. Reed onto the bench. She wrung her hands together, clasping and unclasping her fingers. Her eyes looked wild, much wilder than when she had run from the compartment earlier. He had fought a hard battle with himself against following her but ultimately decided against it.
It had not been easy to let her go, knowing that he had seen her in his dreams even before he had met her. At least, he assumed so. There was always the possibility that he had absentmindedly observed her when he boarded the train, and then somehow dreamed of her, but he felt almost certain that he had not seen her before.
“Can I get you some tea or coffee, Mrs. Reed? Some water?” He reached for the door, but she put out a staying hand.
“No! Don’t call the attendant,” she said. She almost panted, and he grew more alarmed.
“Mrs. Reed, do you need a doctor?” he asked. He took her cold hand
s in his, a shock running up his arms at her touch. It was not the temperature of her hands nor the smoothness of her skin that affected him, but something else.
She shook her head and pulled her hands from his to bend over, placing her head in her lap.
“Just let me sit here a minute,” she said in a muffled voice.
“Whatever are you doing, Mrs. Reed?” Matthew asked.
“I’m trying not to pass out. Surely you’ve seen someone put their head between their legs before, haven’t you?”
“I have not, actually,” he said, trying not to be shocked by her language or her actions. “Will that work?”
“I sure hope so. I haven’t tried it myself before, but things are spinning, and I’m seeing black spots.”
“All the more reason for you to take some refreshment, Mrs. Reed. Let me call the porter.”
She lifted her head, her cheeks now flushed where they had been white pale. “The porter?” She shook her head. “I don’t have any luggage.”
“Luggage?” Matthew repeated. “I do not understand. I wish to call the porter to bring you something to drink and eat. Perhaps you are faint from hunger?”
“I’m so confused,” she said with a shake of her head. She lowered her head to her lap again, and Matthew sat back in some confusion himself.
“Yes, I can see that you are, Mrs. Reed. How can I help you?”
“I don’t know,” she murmured into her lap. “Where am I?”
“You are on the train to Chicago.”
“Well, that’s the good news anyway.”
“Good news?”
“That I’m on the train to Chicago. That’s where I’m supposed to be, though I was going to get off in Grand Forks.”
“Do you have family in Grand Forks, Mrs. Reed?”
She lifted her head again and regarded him.
