by Hatch, Marcy
They started off as soon as they finished eating and before long the road widened to allow two wagons to pass by one another. They saw a few of these, as well as a number of pedestrians and riders like her and Will.
Towards dusk they drew off to the side for the night. Katherine spread her blanket out over the ground and quickly put the hat and gloves aside. She unlaced her shoes and drew the stockings away from her legs and toes, sighing as the cool air hit her. She folded the short black jacket into a pillow for later and let the air fan her for a while. For the first time since leaving Sadie’s she was almost comfortable.
They ate in silence and made their beds in the prairie grass, but for a long time Katherine lay awake, staring up at the stars.
They are the same, she thought, the same stars she had always seen. The only difference was the date. Somehow Louis Cade had managed to slip her between, past the barrier of time.
At first, she’s dreaming of those last moments, hearing Miss Adjani repeating the rules she must follow, reminding her where she could not go, what she must hold dear. But even before Miss Adjani finishes speaking, Katherine feels herself fall the same way she did before landing in that storeroom in Leavenworth.
Only this time she falls into a desert. The sun is blinding, scorching the earth to a dry, cracked mud cake. Dead scrub trees dot the landscape along with brittle brown clumps of grass. Off in the distance low hills waver on the horizon, their hazy image shimmering in the stifling heat.
She’s sweating, of course, dripping wet and dressed in a long-sleeved, close fitting, black gown. The skirts are immense and weighted down by dozens of layers of petticoats. Her arms are tired, tired and aching from trying to lug the heavy valise through the sand and keep her skirts from dragging. Her throat is dry and her lips are cracked and burning.
With an exhausted cry she slumps to her knees, too hot, too sweaty, and too tired to take another step. Her breath comes out in hard ragged gasps.
And then, as if in answer to her silent prayers, a figure emerges from the shimmering haze, a figure on horseback. A man.
He wears a hat that hides his face and there is a rifle slung over the saddle in front of him, the accoutrements of travel tied into a bundle behind him. For a minute she thinks it’s Jack. But as he draws closer she sees that it isn’t Jack and when she sees the stupid, boyish grin she begins to scream.
“Katherine! Wake up.”
“No! Let go of me!”
She swung hard, hitting something and hearing a satisfying grunt in response. But when she tried to swing again her hands were caught and held before her.
“Katherine, stop! It’s me, Will.”
The grinning boyish face melded into something older and more mature, a face shadowed in darkness but without a trace of mockery. Will. Will Cushing.
He let go of her and sat back on his heels, the first light of dawn behind him. He sighed and waited.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered after a bit. “I . . . I didn’t mean . . .”
“It’s all right,” Will said gruffly. “Here, have some water.”
He handed her his canteen and she drank, slowly. Then she wiped her face with her sleeve and rose, brushing the dirt from her skirts. She glanced over at Will who still watched her warily.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked.
“Nah, li’l fists like that ain’t enough to hurt me.” He gave her an easy smile and straightened. “But you do pack a pretty good wallop.”
“I am sorry,” she said again.
“Forget about it. Let’s just get a start.”
Katherine nodded and rolled her blanket up in imitation of Will, packing it behind the saddle of her horse. She donned the hat and gloves, the hated veil, and buttoned herself into the black once more.
Will waited patiently then gave her a hand up before turning to his own horse. The morning’s light was spreading over the plains as they led their horses across the field to the road. Shortly the whole prairie was awash in sun, the tips of the bluestem grass glistening gold.
Katherine arranged her skirts as best she could, aiming for modesty even though if she had her way she’d be wearing proper riding pants and boots, and a helmet for Heaven’s sake. At least there was a bit of a breeze, and throughout most of the morning it kept the heat at bay, making for a relatively pleasant ride. Katherine found herself noticing the surroundings she had ignored.
Not that there was a great deal to see; for the most part there was nothing but prairie grass rippling gold and green, the occasional dirt road snaking away, and a glimpse now and then of a homestead in the distance, the thrust of a chimney or the hard angle of a rooftop. There were sounds, too, birds whose calls she didn’t know, the whisper of the breeze rustling through the grass, and somewhere far beyond her sight, a bell ringing.
School? What would it be like? A single room with a myriad of children? Nothing like the schools she had known.
“We’ll be comin’ into the outskirts of Kansas City come noon,” Will said, drawing her attention. “You ever been there before?”
Katherine shook her head.
“Well, it’s pretty much like anyplace else, folk’ll be curious about strangers, maybe wantin’ news. Best we don’t say much, if you know what I mean.”
“I’ll let you do the talking. I am much too distraught to speak to anyone, what with the loss of our dear, sweet mother.”
“Yeah, right,” Will smirked, remembering the story they had decided upon. “I’ll do my best to put ’em off.”
❧
Will proved to be adept at dissuading inquiry, even managing to look a little grief-stricken himself, Katherine thought. Most people, however, respected the black of mourning and merely nodded sympathetically or passed by without a word.
Katherine hid behind the veil, hating it but thankful it hid the bruise, which was at peak color. As they drew closer to the city she took the opportunity to study everything from the shacks along the outskirts with their dirty, barefoot children and ragged dogs to the cute cottages, manses, and small shops of the inner city. Traffic grew heavier, with fancy carriages and wagons and pedestrians with handcarts all vying for space in the streets.
When they came at last to Union Station there was a crowd of people. Men in suits and women with parasols, children in pantaloons and patent leather, newsboys trying to sell the dailies. There were farmers and cowboys, matrons in prim gowns and ladies dressed in the latest New York fashion. Bustles, Katherine noted; nearly all the women wore bustles and hats of one sort or another. Gloves were also quite popular with the more well-to-do women and she was glad she’d kept hers on.
As the train had not yet arrived they waited in the welcoming shade of the platform, standing at one end and peering down the tracks for sign of the approaching train. They heard it long before they saw it. There was the distant echoing click of the wheels over the tracks and then the high-pitched whistle of the train’s horn, blasting three times before it came around a bend and into view.
To Katherine, it seemed ancient and huge, a massive lumbering piece of machinery with a protruding grille. Smoke billowed out from the engine, smelling of oil and burning wood. It came to a long grinding halt, wheels screeching against the steel tracks. Katherine winced, resisting the urge to put her hands over her ears.
They boarded almost immediately, moving toward the rear of the train, which, according to Will, would be the last section to fill up. Dozens of wooden seats sat facing one another, separated by a narrow aisle. They chose one in the center of the car, setting their belongings on the seat opposite them.
“If the car fills up we’ll have to move ’em,” Will said quietly.
Katherine nodded. She had hoped they might have a private compartment like she’d seen in the old history holos, but Will said that luxury wouldn’t be available unt
il they reached St. Louis. Katherine couldn’t wait to take advantage of it. She had plenty of money, both in bills reproduced perfectly for her trip, as well as an assortment of gems. More than enough to buy some well-deserved comfort, she thought, turning her gaze to the window and her thoughts toward their destination.
Boston was practically home as far as she was concerned. She’d gone to school there, vacationed all along the south shore, and still owned an apartment in Cambridge. But what would home look like now?
Chapter Fourteen
Will’s Story
Katherine woke suddenly, to the darkness and the sound of the train. She was surprised she’d slept at all. The train was noisy and the seats were hard. She shifted and turned her gaze to the window, barely able to make out the countryside through which they passed; great long stretches of prairie grass that went on forever, distant stands of trees, an occasional homestead sitting in the midst of fields and pasture. There were no lights but for the train and the stars and moon above. The land looked bare and unnatural to her, empty.
Will sat across from her, sleeping, snoring a little. She supposed she should dislike him. After all, he was a criminal, a murderer and a thief. And yet she couldn’t quite find it in herself to do so—even a little. Probably because he was both exceptionally unlucky and unfailingly honest. She remembered his hesitant explanations.
“You left on Tommy’s word that she’d been captured? On the chance you might be able to get even?”
“Yep, like an idiot,” Will admitted. “I guess I couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
“Why?”
Will had shrugged.
“Tell me about her. Tell me about Alanna.”
He almost didn’t. He almost shook his head, as if the tale kept better as a secret. But then he gave another shrug and began to speak.
“I met her in Boston. She had just killed some guy. She was goin’ through his pockets and I happened to come across her. I went to go but then she came after me and we got to talkin’. Next thing I know we’re in New York and she’s workin’ in a house, you know, like Sadie’s, only better. She came to see me when she was free, introduced me to people. It was her idea to rob the Adams Express.”
“But she was from Boston?”
“That was the impression I got, along with the fact that she came from money. She had expensive tastes.”
“But if she came from money, what made her decide to rob trains?”
“I think she liked the excitement of it, the possibility that she might be killed. She wasn’t fearful at all, and I never saw anyone steadier with a gun. She wasn’t the best shot but she knew how to take aim and not flinch a bit. And I think she liked it, the killing.”
Katherine shuddered, unable to imagine ever killing anyone. “What happened?”
“Damned if I know. I never saw it coming. As far as I knew we were on our way to San Francisco. Alanna said she knew someone out there. I woke up one morning an’ she was gone.”
“You don’t think she went ahead without you?”
“Maybe. But I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“Just a hunch. She used to talk about Boston, sayin’ how she was gonna live high among the mighty, in one of them fancy brick houses with a maid and a butler. I think she headed back there.”
“Do I really look like her?”
Will had studied her for a moment before answering. “Yes, and no,” he said. “There’s . . . well . . . ya know, and I expect you’re a few years younger than she is, but otherwise . . . you look exactly like her, and you’ve got that same disposition.”
“Oh?” Katherine arched a brow. “And what disposition is that?”
“The annoying one that expects everyone else to step aside.”
Katherine bit her tongue.
“That’s the other reason I’m sure she came from money,” Will went on. “An’ of course she always had to have the best of everything.”
“She sounds unpleasant,” Katherine said shortly. “What made you stay with her? Love or money?”
“A bit of both,” Will admitted with a grin. “Money first, I guess. I knew she was smart, a whole lot smarter than me. An’ she could find things out, had a way of gettin’ what she wanted. An’ of course, she stayed with me. I never expected that. I was a nobody. Not a bit respectable. But we got along all right. She never played me like she did everyone else, or at least I didn’t think she did. I spose I just got played a bit longer.”
“And you didn’t quarrel?”
“Nope.”
“And you’re sure she wasn’t mad at you for something?”
“Yep.”
“Then why did she leave you?”
Will gave a shrug. “I guess we can ask her when we find her.”
Before you kill her? Katherine wanted to ask. But she didn’t, not wanting to think of it. Maybe Will’s anger would cool before they reached Boston. It would be better to turn Alanna in, better for both of them. If Alanna was brought to justice then Katherine’s name could be cleared and she could go home.
The sudden scream of the whistle served to draw her out of her reverie and back onto the train, which rapidly came to a halt. Outside, the skies were beginning to lighten and she could see the station they were coming into. St. Louis. She could have that private compartment now.
❧
Five hours later they were comfortably ensconced and while the style and color left something to be desired, the sofas and chairs were plush in comparison to anything Katherine had yet experienced. She might be layered in petticoats but they had done little to cushion her from the hard wooden seats on the train. Better yet was the additional trunk, which held the results of a brief shopping excursion that had bored Will to tears but cheered Katherine immensely. She held up the cloak, admiring the satin lining and elegant hood, and the three dresses, one formal, two everyday. She had also bought Will two suits, despite his protests.
“I expect Alanna is living well wherever she is, and if we wish to travel in her circle then we must appear equally well to do.”
Will had rolled his eyes and lit up a cigar. “It’s your money.”
Katherine wrinkled her nose. “Do please open a window,” she said, missing modern America’s public smoking ban.
They should stay somewhere nice, she decided, some place where she could have an actual bath with hot water. She sighed at the thought and almost laughed. Imagine, one of the wealthiest women in the world dying for a hot bath!
“You all right?” Will asked her.
“Fine,” she answered.
He nodded and blew the smoke out through the open window. A few minutes later the train began to move, slowly at first, chug-chugging along, until it picked up speed and began to run along the tracks with a rhythmic clickety-clack.
Chapter Fifteen
Review
Jack withdrew the envelope from his jacket, removing each clipping one at a time and laying them out in chronological order. The first announced the marriage of Rory McLeod, son of Alastair McLeod, one of the city’s chief benefactors.
The bride was an heiress with a sizeable dowry, and there was a pretty description of the event, the naming of names, and even a picture of the unsmiling couple. The second clipping was from the Boston Herald, dated September 6 of 1853, and accompanied by a small grainy picture recognizable as the Liverpool wharf.
The article announced the launching of a newly built clipper ship, the sixth in its line, designed by the famed Robert McKay especially for McLeod Shipping. She was called the Alanna Rose, named after the owner’s first grandchild. The third article was from the same paper, eight years later, telling of the tragic loss of the Alanna Rose and all her passengers, including the owner’s only son and daughter-in-law.
The last was an obituary,
February 22, 1880, for one William H. Shepherd, who left behind his wife, Rose A. and young son, also named William. A small hand-written note had accompanied the clippings: “Have you guessed what the A stands for? Silas.”
Why on earth would a respectable girl, an heiress no less, turn to thievery? How could he possibly believe that this girl, this young woman, who could’ve had her heart’s desire, would throw it all away? And for what? To be a whore? A thief? No one would believe it. Even he was having trouble making the pieces fit.
Perhaps it was time to have a sit down with Silas and see what he had to say. And with that thought Jack pulled his hat down over his eyes and stretched his legs out, carefully.
❧
The first time Jack met Silas was late summer, 1879. He had recently bought the Munroe House, a nice federal that had fallen victim to fire.
“It’s haunted you know.”
An old man stood at the gate, his cane tapping the stone, his sharp eyes examining Jack.
“Excuse me?” Jack had asked.
“This place, this house you’ve bought. It’s haunted, didn’t they tell you?”
Jack looked at the house he had just purchased, a house half gutted by fire. It was a fine house nonetheless, with a nice view of the Charles River to the rear and a high wall fronting the street. With a small investment it could be restored, and Jack knew enough about carpentry that he felt up to the task of overseeing such a project.
He shrugged at the old man. “I guess they declined to mention the fact. And you are?”
The man had stepped forward and offered a hand. “Silas Beadle. I’m with The Herald. I wrote about the last family that lived here.”
