Chapter 13
The baggage car had been cold to begin with, but with the window broken, a constant blast of autumn chill blew around inside the car. Rain soaked the floor beneath the broken window, and they had moved vulnerable baggage away from the worst of it.
Violet wore a thick wool sweater she had appropriated from a steamer trunk.
As a little girl, she had pocketed the occasional chocolate while the druggist wasn’t looking, but beyond that, she despised thievery, and intended to return the sweater before the train pulled into Boston.
For now, this bit of unauthorized borrowing had been necessary.
The train began to slow.
Through the broken window, they could hear bells from up ahead.
Alfie poked his head out the broken window, blinking away the rain. “Approaching the station now. This’ll be Buffalo.”
Violet had been watching Malcolm carefully for the past couple of hours. She hated the silence that had fallen between them, hoping she could blame it on Alfie’s presence or the shock of fighting off the man who’d tried to kill them.
It’s not me, she told herself. It’s not us.
Her heart ached as she watched him. She had waited so long for him to recognize what they had between them, to put aside his loyalty to a brother who didn’t deserve either of them.
Maggie’s suffering and dying had drawn Violet and Malcolm closer than ever.
Fear and danger had erased the last hesitations between them, made them see how much they needed one another.
She could still feel the warm echo of him on her skin, and inside her, and yet now he felt so far away.
This needed to be over. Malcolm needed to fulfill his promise to his mother and put it all behind him.
Violet had loved her, too, but she’d been nurturing a vision of her own future and she burned with the desire to make it come true.
She looked at Maggie’s crate and wrinkled her nose.
Strange odors drifted from it, a stale stink of death and an acrid chemical smell that she thought all three of them were only pretending not to notice.
The broken window made it so cold in the baggage car, but the swirling air took some of that smell away, at least.
Alfie turned from the window, face bruised from the fight with the raven, numb fear and worry in his eyes. His orange hair looked as red as the devil in the dark. This was the man who had been hired to make sure they reached Shediak safely, and his fear made her feel unmoored.
“What is it, Alfie?” Malcolm asked.
“I need to ask Mrs. Wise a favor,” the big man said, and it took Violet a moment to realize she was the missus he meant.
“Of course,” she said.
Alfie took out his wallet, removed a couple of dollars, and folded them into her hand. “Go into the station and get the evening papers. Anything that might report something awful in Elkhart.”
Violet clutched the money. Her fingers were so cold. “Your brother?”
Alfie nodded.
“It’s too soon to worry,” Malcolm said. He didn’t look up, instead running a hand along the rough wood of the crate. “The car you took from the raven might’ve broken down. And Joe was injured, too—you said so yourself. It may be that he just hasn’t caught up to us yet.”
“I hope you’re right,” Alfie replied. “But I’d rather know than hope.”
The train slowed further, the sound of the rain softening.
Malcolm turned toward them. “You shouldn’t go on your own, Violet. The two of you go together.”
Alfie looked out the broken window again. “I can’t get off the train. Those were the instructions I had. ‘See Maggie Wise’s body safely home. Stay with her. Don’t get off the train until you’re carrying her off.’”
“Oh, really,” Violet said. “That didn’t seem to stop you from finding a more comfortable place to rest your head.”
She kept her tone light, but Alfie took the jibe seriously. “Nobody’s taking her body off while the train is moving,” he said. “Besides, the two of you were here.”
Malcolm shoved himself to his feet. He dug into his pockets for his cigarettes. “Time to break some rules, I think,” he said, placing a cigarette between his lips and mumbling. “I’ll get your papers.”
He reached for the dollars Alfie had given her, but Violet held on to them.
“Maggie wanted you to stay with her,” she reminded him.
Malcolm turned his hand over, palm open and empty.
“Alfie’s not the only one who’d like to know what happened to Joe, but I’m not happy with the idea of you going alone.
It may not be safe, and it’s definitely not smart.
The raven didn’t give me the impression he’d be the only one trying to stop us. ”
“You think someone else will get on in Buffalo,” Violet said as the train hissed and hitched, and came to a stop. They had twelve minutes here, maybe fifteen.
“I’ll be surprised if they don’t.”
Alfie took the bills from Violet and handed them to Malcolm. “Go quickly.”
Violet bristled. “I’m not some delicate flower, no matter what my mother named me. And I don’t like you two making decisions for me.”
“He’s looking out for you,” Alfie said.
“By leaving me behind?” The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she was saying. Then she glanced at the crate with a shiver.
Malcolm came to her. Slid his arms around her and held her close. It was the first time they had ever shared any kind of intimacy where someone else could see them. He brushed her hair back with one hand and kissed her cheek.
“He’s pretty good in a scrape,” Alfie went on, “but no offense to the war hero, I’m scarier and harder to kill. He wants to go so that I’ll stay here with you and the crate.”
“I don’t like it,” Malcolm added, “but it’s the smartest move.”
“Shut up about it, then,” Violet said. “Hurry. You’re wasting time.”
They were startled by the door opening. All three of them turned to see the conductor enter, hooded beneath a dark raincoat.
The man had a comically thick mustache, but his reaction to the sight of the broken window was anything but amused.
He jerked to a halt and stared at the window, then gave them all a mystified look.
“What in the hell happened here?”
Violet almost told the truth.
Malcolm saved her. “Window blew in. I spotted some kids. I think they were throwing rocks.”
The conductor’s eyes narrowed. “Any sign of the rock?”
Alfie shrugged, looking around for the mythical stone. The conductor didn’t look like he believed them, but he grumbled and went to the loading door.
“I get you folks a broom, maybe you could sweep up the glass.”
They all muttered assent, but he hadn’t waited for them to agree. The conductor rolled open the door and waved to the two porters who waited on the rainy platform with trunks and crates to load into the car.
Violet leaped down from the baggage car and stood aside, enjoying the burn of cigarette smoke in her chest. She took another puff and let it plume from her nostrils. Malcolm jumped down to land beside her. The rain had weakened, but the wind remained.
“Go do what you need to do,” she said, gesturing toward the station with the burning tip of her cigarette. “I’ll be right here.”
The porters started their work, loading and unloading.
Malcolm took her hand, studied her eyes as if searching for some revelation, and then kissed her with enough heat to make her forget the train, the cigarette, and the November rain.
She felt herself flush, and when he walked off toward the station, she went uncharacteristically silent.
Kissing her in public like that had crossed an invisible line, shattered it, and Violet’s heart felt full.
Hurry, she thought, more eager than ever for them to lay Maggie to rest. To start again. To be the kind of wife she longed to be, with the kind of husband she’d wished for on every first evening star since the age of twelve.
They were in real danger. She could taste the fear of it on her tongue. But she believed in Malcolm, and she believed in herself—they would get through this. No matter who tried to stop them.
Malcolm moved fast, weaving through traveling families and men with briefcases commuting for work.
His heart kept time with his stride, and he swiveled his head as he rushed across the puddled platform and through grand double doors into the vast, echoing hallway of Buffalo Central Terminal.
The art deco style of the place made him feel as if the future and past had merged.
All these people, the smoke of cigars and pipes and cigarettes, the cacophony of voices, the bustle of umbrellas closing and opening, combined to make him feel safe for the first time that day.
He indulged himself in a moment of wonder about what life would be like if he kept going and never climbed back aboard the Imperial Limited.
He wouldn’t do it, because he’d made a promise to Maggie, and because he loved Violet.
Goddamn him, but he loved her.
The board showing arrivals and departures rattled, numbers and station names flipping inside the mechanism.
Malcolm spotted a flower seller, and beyond that, an overstuffed newsstand.
He crossed toward the newsstand, looking over his shoulder to see if he’d been followed.
Not yet, but soon, he thought. At the newsstand, he grabbed a package of Wint-O-Green Life Savers and began scouring the papers for news about what happened in Elkhart.
“Not a library, pal,” said the clerk, scratching at a red patch of skin on his neck. “You want to read, buy it first.”
“Yeah, of course.” Malcolm piled up newspapers from Chicago and Cleveland and even New York, though he doubted any news would have piqued the interest of those Big Apple papers.
He hadn’t expected to find The Wakarusa Tribune or The Goshen News—they were local to Elkhart and the most likely to have run a story about any shocking incidents there—but he did manage to find a copy of The South Bend Tribune.