Chapter 15
While they were stopped in Buffalo, the porters had been busy in the baggage car.
A dozen square cages had been stacked toward the back, each cage holding two or three unhappy chickens.
Malcolm knew they were unhappy because they seemed to be complaining all the time, squawking and flapping their wings against the cage.
He hoped they’d settle down, but even if they all went to sleep and the noise ended, the worst part about sharing space with a couple of dozen caged chickens was the smell of their shit.
People thought about chickens as little egg-makers who pecked at the dirt and were delicious when fried.
Those people never had to spend time with them in confinement.
The broken window had been temporarily solved with a piece of plywood nailed into place. It would make the onward journey warmer and dryer, but with the chicken stink, Malcolm thought he would have preferred the cold wind whipping through the broken window.
The goat didn’t stink. Or if it did, he couldn’t discern its particular odor from the smell wafting from the chicken cages.
A porter had tied the goat to a metal railing screwed into the rear wall of the car and left it with a pile of hay and a bowl of water.
Malcolm wasn’t sure if this was the appropriate meal for the goat, but given its apparent disdain for those offerings, he suspected not.
Other items had been added to the baggage car, too.
Several trunks had been removed, and suitcases had appeared in their place.
Five barrels that might have contained anything from grain to whiskey had been arranged on the right, just a few feet from where the window had been boarded over.
The amount of work the porters had done loading and unloading impressed the hell out of him.
“Luxurious digs, brother,” Elias said, propping himself on top of a wooden crate whose labels were in French. “You know how to really live it up.”
“You should have seen the nest Violet made for herself,” Malcolm replied. “Now that was luxury.”
Elias smiled. His face had thinned, and the smile turned up the edges of his lips so he looked almost like a fox, prowling for small prey. “Oh, Vi’s had her share of hard travels, haven’t you, darling?”
The Wise brothers both turned to look at her. Violet had tied her hair back and wrapped herself more fully in her coat and borrowed sweater. Malcolm thought the trunk with that sweater had been taken off in Buffalo, but there was nothing to be done about it now.
The sweater’s not important, he told himself, but he would grasp at anything to release the tension of being in the room with Elias and Violet, and the secret that hung in the air.
“If you’re expecting me to greet you with open arms, you oughta get past that right now,” Violet said.
Malcolm stiffened. His future with Violet had been so close he could taste it—a trip to Reno to divorce Elias, a quick wedding, and they would look backward in later years at the way Elias’s boyish charm and immaturity had been the thing that had brought them together. Now this.
“I don’t blame you for being angry,” Elias said.
“That’s big of you.”
“I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. I’m a terrible husband.”
The goat bleated loudly.
Elias jerked a thumb toward it. “Even he agrees.”
If he thought Violet would laugh, he’d misjudged.
“I’m sorry Maggie’s gone,” she said, gaze locked on his, unwavering.
“She treated me like another daughter. I loved her for that. Loved her so much that over the past few months, with her candle burning low, I lied to her about you constantly. That you’d sent me a love letter.
That you’d be home soon. That you had called while she was sleeping to check on her. ”
The train rattled over a rough section of track and began to curve northward.
Elias leaned into the curve, trying to keep from shifting off the crate.
He looked silly, almost playful, jarringly discordant with the demands of the moment.
Malcolm wanted to speak, but Violet’s words had put the spotlight on Elias.
Tired and jaundiced and scruffy, nevertheless, he seemed about to try to escape recrimination yet again.
It had worked so often in the past, and the dimples were still there.
Malcolm could almost predict what his brother would say next.
You were there for her, Vi. And you were there for me.
I’m so grateful. I really don’t deserve you.
Malcolm had heard this kind of shit from Elias his whole life. He cared for his brother, but the ragged reality of combat had lowered his threshold for bullshit, and bullshitters.
Elias stunned him.
“You don’t know the first goddamn thing about growing up with Maggie Wise as your mother,” he said, almost a growl.
His eyes flared in the poorly lit baggage car.
“So she treated you like a daughter and your own mother set herself on fire, so you figure Maggie gave you something. Let me tell you something: She treated you like a servant, the way she did almost everyone, and that’s what you became.
She sure as hell didn’t treat you like you were her own child, because she never made you want to scream and run off to join the fucking circus. ”
Violet looked as if he’d struck her.
“That’s enough,” Malcolm said, rising to his feet. He didn’t realize his fists were clenched until he saw Elias’s gaze flicker toward his hands, taking note.
Elias didn’t rise from the crate. “You’re going to hit me now, little brother? That what they teach you in the army—to mind other people’s business?”
He stood and crossed to the crate that held Maggie’s body.
Went down on one knee, both hands on top of the crate.
“I’ve got plenty to grieve, Mal. All the things I never said to her, the good stuff and the bad.
All the times I should have told her how she crushed the both of us by being so damn cold, and all the times I loved her anyway.
Jennie had it better—she was Maggie’s little project.
Hell, she was the only one allowed to call her Momma.
Even you, Mal … you were her little golden boy.
When she felt like doting on anyone, it was you. The baby of the family.”
Elias turned and sat on the floor, back to Maggie’s crate. The circles beneath his eyes had grown darker, his yellowed skin even paler. “I’ve been chasing freedom my whole life, Violet. I won’t say I didn’t do wrong by you, but…”
His words trailed off, and he dropped his gaze. Malcolm heard a scratching from inside the crate and thought it was in his own head until he noticed the frown on Elias’s brow, and the way his brother glanced over his shoulder at the crate.
Violet went to an unbroken window. She leaned on the frame and stared out at the rain. “Let’s just get this done. We’ve still got a long way to go.”
Elias slapped the floor. “What the hell are you doing here, anyway? The way Keates told it, Maggie gave this job to Malcolm. He’s a big war hero, remember? He doesn’t need you to hold his hand, so why are you here?”
Malcolm fought the urge to look at Violet, but he failed. Elias caught the glance, and his frown deepened.
“Elias, I—” Malcolm began.
“Me, Malcolm, and Maggie,” Violet said. “We were a family. You could have been a part of that, but you chose not to be. If anyone’s presence on this trip isn’t necessary, it’s yours.”
Anger simmered on Elias’s face.
A loud knock came at the door. It opened on squealing hinges, and Alfie Hannigan poked his head inside. He didn’t bother smiling. They’d already had a long day and night.
“The dining car is going to close. If we want to eat something, it needs to be now,” Alfie said.
Elias waved a hand in frustrated dismissal. “Not now.”
“Thank you, Alfie. I’ll have whatever you’re having. I’ll settle up with you later,” Malcolm said.
“Your mother gave us money to cover it,” Alfie revealed.
Elias looked irritated. “Oh, did she? Fine, then. Get me something hearty, and whiskey to wash it down.”
A moment ago, he had been criticizing their mother for treating everyone like a servant, and here he was, the apple falling so close to the tree. Malcolm felt like he’d never seen his brother so clearly.
“I’ll come with you,” Violet said, striding toward Alfie. “Give these two a chance to continue their conversation.”
The chickens erupted with complaint as Violet passed them, as if angry she would dare come so near.
When she was gone and Alfie closed the door behind them, the birds settled down.
Malcolm watched them, wondering what to say to his brother, wishing Elias had stayed with whatever woman he’d charmed most recently.
He’d always been good at presenting the illusion of a man on his way up—the better to fool hopeful young women, so they’d have no idea they had tied themselves to an anchor on the plunge.
“I don’t like the way you’re looking at me, little brother,” Elias said.
“I don’t like the way you’ve got me thinking about you, big brother.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Interpret it how you like. We grew up in the same house, in the same circumstances. You’ve been running away from family and responsibility your whole life, and Jennie’s no better. You left me to hold it together.”
Elias turned to press his cheek against Maggie’s crate. “You hear that, Mags? Baby boy’s a martyr now. I guess he never realized war wasn’t the only way to leave Elkhart.”
“Someone had to be there for her,” Malcolm said. “She deserved that much.”
Elias sagged against the crate. He seemed so diminished, like a snowman under warm sun. “You made a choice. I didn’t make the same one. I was looking out for myself, and I’m not gonna deny that. Life goes by fast.”
“You married Violet and left her there to rot. That wasn’t her choice.”
“It was her choice! She didn’t have to stay.” Elias’s eyes flashed with anger. “Anyway, what’s it to you?”