Chapter 16
The sleeper cars were already quiet, though surely it was too early for most passengers to have turned in for the night.
Some would still be in the dining car, or playing cards in the bar, but Violet found it strange not to hear conversation.
There were no businessmen standing in the narrow corridor, nor young mothers trying to settle children.
She expected at least to hear the rustle of surreptitious lovers doing their best not to draw attention in the cramped confines of a single berth.
It began to trouble her as they passed through the second of three sleeper cars.
It’s too quiet, she wanted to say to Alfie, but somehow, breaking the silence seemed unwise.
The train trundled along. They’d been aboard so long now that its motion no longer seemed to affect her.
Violet swayed with it, trembled with it, as if this were the natural state of being.
The corridors on the sleeper cars were too narrow for her and Alfie to walk alongside one another—barely wide enough for a man Alfie’s size to begin with—so she led the way.
She was pleased to have her back to him, and she dreaded the moment they were in the dining car together, because then she would have to look him in the eye.
Either he would ask questions about her husband, or she would see the curiosity in his face.
Elias, why did you have to come?
His mother had died, of course. But if anyone had asked, she’d have opined that nothing short of pirate’s treasure could draw Elias away from his quest to drink and gamble himself into the stupor he required to forget how much his life had disappointed him.
Or how disappointed he was with himself, if she were feeling generous enough to allow for that variation.
Goddamn Elias.
Her husband.
At the rear of the second sleeper, a wave of nausea racked her body.
Violet swore aloud, grabbed hold of a curtain, and held on as she stumbled, swinging herself into an empty lower berth.
A chill bit into her, sweat beaded on cold skin, and she breathed rapidly through her nose, trying to control the urge to be sick.
Alfie grunted. Steadying herself, she looked up and saw him go from pale to paler. He hung on to the edge of an upper berth, hissing through his teeth, fighting the same battle.
“Christ,” he said. “Do you smell that?”
Violet realized she did. The smell of wet leaves in late fall, of rotting wood, of an animal that had died and begun to decay. Her stomach convulsed, and she vomited onto the thin pillow in that lower berth, damp with sweat and humiliation. She slipped from the berth and yanked the curtain closed.
Standing, she saw a couple of faces poked out from upper berths, back the way they’d come.
Not everyone had gone to the dining car after all.
Embarrassed, she turned so they could not get a good view of her face, and she yanked the door open and stumbled into the third sleeper.
Glancing back at Alfie, ready to reach for his hand and pull him through, she saw the curtain moving on the lower berth, right across from the one she’d soiled with her vomit.
A child’s fingers wrapped around the fabric, as if the person within had peeked out at them.
Then Alfie blocked her view and closed the door behind them.
“That was awful,” he sputtered.
She’d have replied, but voices greeted them.
Two men smoked cigarettes and laughed in baritone, apparently sharing stories about their mutual alma mater.
A lithe brunette sat on an upper berth with her long legs hanging over the side, mocking them as she punctuated the air with her own cigarette.
Married to one of the men, Violet thought, based on how comfortable she seemed.
Lucky you got this car and not the next one, she would have said, if she hadn’t been breathing through her teeth, trying to clear her nostrils of the stink.
“I’m not sure I still have an appetite,” Alfie said.
“I don’t blame you, but it’ll come back,” Violet replied. “And we’ve got to get food for Malcolm, anyway.”
“Malcolm and Elias.”
“Elias can go to hell,” she said, the sour taste of bile still in her mouth.
Alfie smiled, showing dimples that made him look like a little boy, despite his size. “Fair enough.”
They quickened their pace, grateful that the passenger coaches were at the end of the train and that the dining car was next. The smokers pressed themselves back against their berths to allow them to pass, and Violet opened the door into the dining car.
Sound washed over them, along with more cigarette smoke and the aroma of cooked steak. Violet only realized how exhausted she’d been when that smell caught her, and her hunger perked up. A hearty meal would revitalize her.
They moved past booths where passengers were finishing their meals or enjoying after-dinner coffee, but as Violet found an open booth, the waiter scurried toward them. The urgency in his demeanor told her all she needed to know.
“My apologies, miss—”
Violet held up a hand. “Consider your words wisely, sir.” She pointed to Alfie. “This gentleman is a furnace in need of fuel. Not only will he collapse if you don’t feed us, he might also weep openly, and that would be embarrassing for all of us.”
She slid into the booth on one side. Alfie hovered, smiling at the waiter, who stared dumbfounded at him, as if he feared Alfie might decide to eat him to satiate his hunger.
“Miss, really,” the waiter said. His mustache did nothing to disguise his youth. If anything, it only emphasized his immaturity. “The kitchen is closed.”
Violet sighed. She reached out her hand to take his. Her time working in nightclubs had begun because of her charm as much as her voice, and she hadn’t forgotten the indulgent smile such moments required.
“What’s your name, darling?”
“Wilbur.”
“Wilbur, sweetheart, if I was Marilyn Monroe or Grace Kelly, would you let us starve?”
“Of course not. I mean … that’s not…”
Violet took her hand away. “I know I’m not as beautiful as those women, but I am hungry. Surely you can give me even a tiny bit of the kindness you’d show me if I were a Hollywood glamour girl.”
“But you are,” Wilbur protested. “Beautiful. It’s only that…” He reddened.
Alfie slid into the booth across from her.
“Tell you what, Wilbur old pal. There are four of us. Talk the cook into putting together whatever he can rustle up. Steaks would be welcome, but we’re not choosy right now.
Bread and cheese, tomorrow morning’s fruit.
If you can persuade him to fry some meat, I promise you will be this lovely woman’s hero for the rest of her life. ”
“But—”
“Just do your best, son.”
Wilbur glanced helplessly from Alfie to Violet, then turned and hurried toward the narrow door that led into the kitchen section of the dining car.
“You’ve got that poor kid completely muddled,” Alfie told her.
Violet laughed. It was nice to laugh. Nice, also, to know she could still muddle the head of an impressionable young man, despite being cooped up in a house in Elkhart. She glanced around the car, feeling almost normal for the first time that day.
Then she saw the boy coming toward them.
His face and clothes were dirty. His eyes were open wide, and he smiled as if he knew her, walking through the dining car toward their booth.
“Alfie,” she said. “Look behind you.”
He looked, but of course he hadn’t seen the child’s hand clutching the curtain of that lower bunk in the second sleeper, after that wretched stink had made her sick.
Other diners watched the boy walk toward them, and it occurred to Violet that they might think the boy belonged to her, although she’d have been a scandalously young mother for a boy this age.
Part of her wanted to protest that of course this wasn’t her son.
If she’d had a son, he would be dressed in something clean, something appropriate, instead of like a farmhand.
And he’d have his face washed, and he wouldn’t be gazing at her with the mix of aloof amusement and painful knowledge.
“Excuse me, son,” Alfie said, sliding partway out of the booth. “Can we help you with something?”
The boy ignored him, reaching out instead for Violet’s hand. “My name is Benjy. You need to come with me.”
Violet smiled nervously. “I don’t think so, Benjy. We’re waiting for our supper.”
The boy cocked his head and studied her.
His eyes were splintered with tiny broken blood vessels.
If he’d been an adult, she’d have thought he drank too much.
She noticed a dark patch on his shirtsleeve, but in the golden light of the dining car, it took a moment for her to realize the stain was a deep red.
“Are you bleeding?” She reached for him, thinking she would roll up his sleeve and investigate, worried that she had misjudged the moment. That the boy might be in danger, and sought out a young woman, perhaps one who reminded him of his mother.
“Has someone hurt you?” Violet asked.
The boy smiled thinly, an expression far too mature for his age. “I’ll wait for you.”
Benjy turned and left them there, heading up through the dining car, back toward the sleepers. Violet started to rise to pursue him, now that she feared someone had hurt him. Alfie grabbed her wrist.
“We have our own troubles,” he said. “Let’s not ask for more. Tell the waiter, or a conductor.”
She deflated and slid back into the booth. “You’re right. He’s just so…”
“Creepy.”
Violet laughed. “I was going to say broken-looking.”
“Either way. Let’s focus on the task at hand.”
She agreed, but all the while as they waited for their food, she thought of the little boy, and the child’s hand on the curtain of that lower berth in the second sleeper.
They would have to walk right past it on the way back.