The two missionary ladies beamed and then, arm in arm, headed back toward their accommodations.
The sheriff looked as if he would like to return to somewhere more hospitable as well. He turned up the collar of his jacket and stomped his feet. “I’ll be in touch, but if this storm comes in, I doubt you’ll be going anywhere.” And he lumbered back to the warmth of his office.
“Can you point me in the direction of the stables?” The Pony Express rider brushed a dusting of snow from the arms of his jacket.
Jimson indicated down the main street toward the church.
“Can you imagine? A flying machine. I’ve heard about ’em. But wouldn’t I like to ride in one! You bet! Have you ever seen one?” He stroked the nose of his mount.
“As a matter of fact, I have,” said Jimson.
The rider looked at him with envy. “That’s the wave of the future, you know—steam-powered flying machines. In a few years they’ll be as common as trains. I hear the army’s got dirigibles now. Won’t be long before convicts got nowhere to run.”
The boardwalk was deserted, and the noise from the mine was drowned by the rising wind. Jimson had rescued her! Lena felt an overwhelming desire to laugh. Hysteria, she thought, but it didn’t seem to matter.
“This way.” Jimson plunged into the snow in what Lena hoped was the right direction.
“Why wasn’t my name in the message?” She spoke close to Jimson’s ear before the wind could snatch away the words.
“The marshal’s crafty. If he left your name out, he had a reason. We’ve got to get out of here before the sheriff figures it out.”
The wind stung Lena’s face and snow sifted into the top of her alligator boots. Was the marshal trying to protect her, after all? She could barely feel her hands. Merilee trudged along in silence, her face determined, one arm still linked with Jimson’s.
Despite the snow, Jimson’s sense of direction prevailed. But it took them twice as long to make their way back to the clearing, where Mr. Beasley was waiting with the aerocopter. He had worn a path smooth with pacing. When they came into view, he bounded forward. “I knew you could do it!”
All four hustled into the coach of the aerocopter, where Mrs. Mumbles sat washing her fur. One leg was splinted, but the cat purred with contentment.
“Oh, Mrs. Mumbles, you’re alive!” Lena threw her arms around the cat, who drew back from the undignified embrace. “I saw the bounty hunter shoot her. I was sure she was dead!”
Mr. Beasley lifted the cat onto his lap. “She dragged herself back to the clearing with a broken leg. The shot must have missed her. There wasn’t any bullet hole, but something must have hit her.”
“A rock splintered. I remember that.” Lena reached over and stroked the cat’s fur. “She tried to save me. The bounty hunters heard her and thought someone had found them.”
“I’ll never berate felines again,” Jimson said.
“I can’t thank you enough for rescuing me.” Lena looked from Jimson to Merilee.
“It was Merilee’s idea. Mr. Beasley had already made the fake certificates before we left in case there was trouble crossing the border.” Jimson beamed at Merilee.
The press of bodies in the small space made it almost comfortably warm. Mr. Beasley handed around tin cups so they might draw from a pot of soup.
“Wait a minute—it’s warmer than it should be in here,” Jimson said, looking suspiciously at the boiler.
“That’s right! While you were having your own adventures, I was able to get a little help at the foundry. I’ve modified the old firebox—for coal.”
Mr. Beasley looked as delighted as a child, Lena thought.
“The good news is that the storm will keep us hidden a while longer,” he continued.
“The Pony Express arrived.” Jimson filled a tin cup from the pot. “And you were mentioned by name. The rest of us were just described.”
“Just as I feared. But I do have a solution.” He climbed out of the Aeolus. Then reappeared at the window.
The three looked at him quizzically.
Mr. Beasley held up a single pair of long wooden skis in triumph.
“BUT THERE’S ONLY ONE PAIR.” MERILEE’S BROW FURROWED. “AND they’re longer than any skis I’ve ever seen. When we lived in Scree, we used snowshoes.”
“Snowshoes would never work for our purpose. These are for the Aeolus. I had them made at the foundry as well.”
“So we’ll strap them on instead of wheels!” Jimson’s face was ruddy with excitement.
“These will allow us to leave despite the snow, unless the visibility keeps us grounded, which just may be the case.”
The warm soup and coal heat made it difficult for Lena to concentrate. She closed her eyes just for a minute. Her head slumped against Jimson’s shoulder. They would have to sleep sitting up all night. Voices blurred, a great heaviness infused her limbs. Just before falling asleep she thought she felt the brush of lips against her cheek.
In her dreams, they were gliding through the snow on long skis pursued by the sheriff and the two bounty hunters, who were riding the fearsome wolves of Scree. Ahead was the entrance to a darkly gaping maw. They were swallowed, and Lena awoke.
She and Merilee were alone in the coach. Merilee still slept, her head thrown back on the stem of her long neck, her mouth open. Lena’s own neck was stiff, and her long feet ached in the confines of her boots. First light revealed a world buried in snow, but the whine of the wind had stilled. Jimson and Mr. Beasley were loading the tent and a shovel onto the Aeolus.
“Nothing like a snow fort to keep one warm! We were quite snug!” Mr. Beasley shouted. Without his eyebrows, his smooth face reminded Lena of an overgrown baby.
“Didn’t sleep a wink; he and Mrs. Mumbles snored all night.” Jimson leaned in the coach window. “You got the best deal.”
But Lena wasn’t so sure. She was unaccustomed to sleeping in her clothes and boots. Her hair needed brushing and her face washing. A handful of snow to wash the sleep from her eyes would have to do.
“My plan is to leave immediately,” said Mr. Beasley. “The wind is still, and the visibility good except for a little fog. It’s November first. Who knows how long our luck will last.”
Excitement and expectation permeated the air. There was nothing quite like the start of an adventure, Lena thought. No matter how bleak the situation looked, each beginning promised new hope; expectations rose like mist from the snow and carried them until the next complication arose. A little thrill of anticipation shot through her. That was the problem with most people, she mused, they were so busy planning for the complications that they missed out on the anticipation.
Merilee was up now, braiding her hair into a single plait. There would be no time for tea. Mr. Beasley urged them on, as he explained what was needed for them to become airborne.
“We have to have a running start. The Aeolus needs a bit of a downhill while the rotors get fired up. Then she’ll glide with much less resistance than when we relied on the wheels.”
“It will give us a lower roll-resistance coefficient!” Jimson added.
“Exactly. But there is one task before we leave. Merilee, it’s time for your injections. Lena, if you will assist me. Jimson, go outside and make sure everything is secure for takeoff.”
Merilee turned a bit pale, but she obediently turned her back to Mr. Beasley and Lena. “They were itching something fierce last night,” she said. She unbuttoned the top of her wool dress and slid it from her shoulders.
“That’s because the wings will keep trying to reassert themselves until the entire root is killed.”
Lena found that her squeamishness was overcome by a strong curiosity. From the top of the scapula a track of red scar ran, ending just under the shoulder blade. Merilee’s skin was very white, her shoulders thin and sharp. In the center of the scar, where it stretched tightly over swollen tissue, the buds of new wings were about to poke forth. Why, it reminds me of a baby’s gums when the
teeth are about to poke through, Lena thought.
Mr. Beasley removed a precious syringe from a pack of medical supplies. “This is a hypodermic syringe used to inject a chemical to kill the fledging,” he explained.
The only time Lena had seen a syringe before was in Mr. Beasley’s laboratory at Zephyr House. Now she examined the instrument carefully. She marveled as she looked at the long, thin needle.
“I’ll inject each side. Lena, please clean the area with this cloth dipped in alcohol. The nuns at Cloister had quite good success with sterilization techniques that involve alcohol. It prevents infection from bacteria.” He stuck the tip of the needle into a vial of liquid and drew back the plunger until the cylinder was almost full.
Lena carefully poured alcohol onto the clean cloth and, taking one thin shoulder in her hand, blotted the scar. Merilee trembled under her grip. “Does it hurt?”
“Not now, but it burns when the medicine goes in.”
Lena expected to turn her eyes away when Mr. Beasley stuck the needle into the swollen skin, but she found that she could not.
Merilee shuddered and gave a little hiccup.
“You’re doing just fine. Things look just the way they should. Only one or two more rounds of injections and you’ll be done until they reassert themselves again—but that may not be for years.” Mr. Beasley carefully repacked the syringe while Merilee slipped her dress back over her shoulders. “If there had been any infection, the swelling would have been aggravated. Now, Lena, in case anything untoward should happen on this adventure, you know how to carry on in my place. Just be sure to sterilize the syringe before using it. Germs are the enemy.”
“Oh, but I don’t think—”
“You’ve seen me do it. It’s really quite simple. The amount of serum is listed in the notebook.” Lena saw that the notebook was identical to the one she had hidden in her own suitcase, the one she had found with illustrations. Guilt washed over her. How could she have ever suspected Mr. Beasley?
As a patch of blue appeared between the clouds, they turned the Aeolus until it was facing down a gentle slope. Mrs. Mumbles came bounding through the snow despite her splinted leg.
“This is it. Be prepared. Unless the mine starts up at the same time to cover our noise, we’ll have everyone and his brother down here.” Mr. Beasley looked at his pocket watch. “Mine works start at seven a.m., in ten minutes.”
They all boarded the Aeolus.
Jimson stoked the firebox. The rotors turned, whirring loudly. The Aeolus slid forward slowly, then picked up speed.
The coal was messier and smellier than kerosene, but they had a good supply—enough, Mr. Beasley assured them, to take them to the Mattacascar mine. Even now he was examining his compass and showing Merilee how to tell the direction of their flight.
Lena studied Jimson’s face. He appeared distracted, lost in his own thoughts. There had been very little time to talk to him since fleeing Zephyr House. She wondered if he missed Pansy and how his flight from Knob Knoster would affect the status of their relationship. Pansy didn’t seem to be someone who was particularly adaptable. Perhaps he regretted leaving so abruptly, but if so, he disguised it well. And had she really felt the brush of lips last night? Were they his?
“I don’t like the look of those clouds,” Mr. Beasley said as he leaned from the coach and pointed eastward. They had been flying into a headwind for several hours, but now the weather was growing more severe. Lena stuck her head out the window. The air bit her cheeks. The wind drove a heavy mass of gray, as solid-looking as concrete, in their direction.
“I’ve no experience flying blind, but we may have to. It looks like we’re in for more snow. At least we’re off the ground, even if the wind means we’re traveling no more than five miles per hour.”
“Can we fly under the clouds?” Jimson asked as he joined Lena at the window.
“Perhaps, but we’d have to be much lower than I’d like.”
Regardless, Mr. Beasley dropped the Aeolus so that the thick clouds would form a ceiling overhead.
The first snow started as a sleety rain that tap-danced on the roof and then turned to white. The heat from the boiler kept the snow from building up on the roof and propeller blades. As the wind increased, the snow came in hypnotizing swirls from every direction. It seemed to Lena that they were barely moving.
“Hold on—we’re going lower!” Again the Aeolus dropped, this time so that it barely cleared the tops of the tallest trees.
Below them, the ground was already thick with snow from the day before, the trees heavy and bent. It reminded Lena of being inside a snow globe that had been vigorously shaken. Snow fell as far as the eye could see.
“There’s someone down there.” Jimson pulled his head back into the coach. His dark curls were white with frost. He handed the brass spyglass to Mr. Beasley.
“Who would be fool enough to be out in this weather?” Mr. Beasley asked aloud.
Lena could see dark shapes moving, although they were obscured by the falling snow. She couldn’t see any road they might be following. If there had been, it was covered now by drifts. Her cheeks were wet and flakes clung to her lashes.
“I can’t be sure, but it looks like there are two women out there and at least two men. Their wagon is up to its axles in snow. They won’t be going anywhere,” Mr. Beasley said.
“I think there’s something familiar about them . . . Let me see.” Merilee reached for the spyglass. “Yes, it’s the missionary ladies. I can tell by the red poppies in the hat.”
“And the men?” Jimson asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t see their faces under their hats, but one of them has a shovel.”
“Even a missionary must have more sense than to try and travel in this.” Mr. Beasley’s voice was impatient. “Even they have to abide by the laws of nature. I hope they have enough food to last several days.”
Lena thought of Mrs. Fortinbras and Mrs. Fetiscue trapped in the snow. They had probably thought more of the souls they had planned to save than of how to survive in the wilds.
“Can we help them?” Merilee asked.
Jimson scratched his head. “They don’t even believe that Peculiars have souls. Why would you want to help them? Besides, what could we do?”
“If we land, there’s no guarantee we’d get up again.” Mr. Beasley looked at his three traveling companions.
“But we can’t just leave them there, no matter what they think.”
Lena felt no particular fondness for the ladies. In fact, during every encounter she had found them abrasive and narrow-minded. But that didn’t mean that she wished them harm. She wished the decision were as clear-cut for her as it was for Merilee. For one thing, they would be putting themselves at risk. Even now the long arm of the marshal had reached Scree. People knew about her, about all of them. On the other hand—
“We’ve come about twenty-one miles and there are at least ten more to make it to the mine. We have no idea who the men are with them. If we don’t decide immediately, we’ll be too far past them to do any good.” Mr. Beasley kept his hand firmly on the rudder.
“I say let them work it out. Either they’ll survive or they won’t.” Jimson leaned back against the seat, arms folded across his chest.
Merilee thrust her jaw forward. “That’s not the way I was raised to treat people.”
Indecision still ruled Lena. She bit her lip. Jimson was undoubtedly thinking of his Mr. Darwin again, and maybe he was right. They were just past the group on the ground now. A small clearing appeared between the trees. Lena opened then closed her mouth. “Merilee’s right. We should go down.”
Mr. Beasley didn’t say a word as he engineered their descent, but Jimson rounded on Lena. “You do know that we aren’t likely to get away again, not until the storm’s over? If we survive that long. I just got you out of jail before you could be sent into the mines. If you’d think occasionally, you’d realize how ridiculous most of your notions are!”
T
ears stung Lena’s eyes. This was a Jimson she hadn’t seen before.
“It was my idea,” said Merilee. “You can blame me, but if you were any kind of gentleman at all, you’d have thought of it first.” Her cheeks were flushed and her breath came in little gasps.
Mr. Beasley’s voice was calm. His eyes darted between Jimson and Lena. “I suggest we try not to destroy each other. We will need all the cooperation we can muster in this situation.”
They were descending quickly, almost straight down. Lena glared across the coach at Jimson, but his eyes were now closed. Why had he turned on her that way? She rested a hand on Merilee’s shoulder, and Merilee covered it with her own.
The wind buffeted the Aeolus in her descent. They were too close to the trees. A long branch pushed its way in through the window of the coach. Merilee screamed.
The whine of the rotors made the group on the ground look up. Mrs. Fetiscue began waving her arms overhead. One of the men pointed a rifle skyward.
“It’s the bounty hunters,” Lena said flatly. “They must have left Ducktown yesterday.” Jimson had been right, but it was too late to change their trajectory now.
The whine changed to a scream. “We’ve caught a branch in the rotors.” Mr. Beasley was leaning so far out the window that Lena thought he might fall.
The Aeolus shuddered and tipped, ramming against a tree. It listed sideways. Lena clung to the bench. Beyond the scream of the rotors she could hear the cries of people below. And then they were falling from the sky. Jimson was saying something that she couldn’t hear.
• • •
Mr. Beasley and Mrs. Fortinbras were bending over Lena and talking, but their words made very little sense. What she did know was that she was warm, warmer than she had been in days. Her head ached slightly as she rose up on her elbows. She was still inside the coach of the Aeolus. It was canted badly to one side. There was still heat from the firebox. It was apparent that the machine was badly damaged.
The Peculiars Page 22
