Chapter Thirteen The Wrong Train
In which two fugitives find safety, and a bride finds the wrong hair on the right man
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Through the open window Graham saw the reason for their sudden stop — a long freight train barreling across the crossing ahead at a startling clip for mere freight cars, as though it knew exactly what it had interrupted and took a certain satisfaction in it.
Their driver had plainly hoped to beat it across and lost the gamble.
On one side of the street rose a wall of high buildings; on the other stretched a lumber yard, and between the two, close against the cab, stood a covered delivery truck loaded with boards, its tailgate jutting out just enough to offer cover — and it sat, by some small miracle, on Calie's side of the cab, exactly where the door would open.
Graham's heart leapt. Their driver had stopped just short of the truck, close enough that the cab door would swing open directly into its shadow, letting them slip across behind it without ever coming into the two men's line of sight up front.
The clatter of empty freight cars rolling past would cover whatever small sounds they made.
He eased the door latch open without a sound and breathed, close to her ear, "Go. Now. Straight to the fence, into the shadow. Don't look back, don't speak. I'm right behind you."
Calie slid from the cab like something made of smoke, trembling head to foot but moving without a single wasted motion, and vanished into the deep shadow along the lumber yard fence, her plumed hat swallowed instantly by the dark.
Graham gathered both suitcases, pulled the door shut behind him with careful precision, and followed, scarcely able to believe, even as he did it, that the escape was actually working.
A few feet along the fence stood a gateway, its posts thick and deep enough to offer a narrow recess, the gate itself set back just inches from the fence line.
They pressed into that shallow shelter and flattened themselves against the wood, holding their breath while the endless freight cars clattered past, one after another, loud enough to swallow every other sound in the street.
Graham watched, heart in his throat, as the driver glanced back once toward the cab's empty window, and the second man leaned to check his own side — the dull gleam of something metal catching the signal light for one bare instant.
Then, apparently satisfied by whatever silence they'd expected to find, the cab lurched forward and rattled on up the cobbled street without either man so much as climbing down to check.
Graham let out a long, shaking breath and allowed himself to unclench, just slightly, from the rigid stillness he'd held.
There was no time to waste, though — the moment those men discovered their catch had slipped free, they'd come straight back to this spot, likely with reinforcements, and a second escape would not be nearly so easy to manage.
He caught up the suitcases and drew Calie's arm through his.
"We need to move quickly now," he murmured. "Are you all right?"
"Yes." Her breath came in a small, shaking sob, though her eyes held steady and bright.
"Poor thing." His voice gentled entirely. "Were you very frightened?"
"A little," she admitted, steadier now.
"I don't know how I'll ever forgive myself for putting you through that," he said. "But we can't talk now — we have to get clear of this neighborhood before they realize we're gone. Lean on me and walk as fast as you're able."
They half-ran through the dark streets, turning corner after corner in the general direction Graham hoped led back toward safety, until at last, three blocks on, the welcome hum of an approaching trolley reached them, and they caught it at a dead run.
Neither of them cared where it went, only that it was bright and full of ordinary, unremarkable people.
Calie had never in her life found the sight of a conductor's brass buttons so purely comforting, and the plain, homely warmth of it very nearly undid her — now that real safety had finally arrived, the tears she'd held back through the whole ordeal came at last, quiet and unstoppable.
Graham watched her with a tenderness he made no effort to hide, grateful beyond words that she had no real idea how close that danger had actually come.
His own heart was still hammering from the narrowness of their escape, and his sense of responsibility had sharpened accordingly.
No more risks. Crowded streetcars, well-lit stations, safety in numbers until they were well clear of this city entirely.
At East Liberty a long sleeper train was just pulling in as they arrived, a conductor's voice booming down the platform: "Special for Harrisburg, Baltimore, and Washington — all aboard!
" — and at the far end of the platform, unmistakably, the same lean detective Graham had dodged an hour earlier at the main station.
There was no time to think it through. He hurried Calie forward and they swung aboard just as the train began to move, and it was only once they were seated and the wheels turning steadily beneath them that Graham remembered, with a stab of guilt, that Calie had eaten nothing since noon.
What kind of fool forgets to feed the woman in his care?
?
It took some time to catch the conductor's attention — he was occupied with a dispute between two passengers who both claimed the same berth — and when Graham finally showed their stateroom tickets, the man only shook his head.
"Wrong train, son. This here's a special. Every berth's spoken for but one upper."
"Then we'll need to get off at the next stop," Graham said, sinking slightly.
"Ain't no next stop till the middle of the night. This one runs straight through."
"What do you suggest we do, then?"
"Not my problem to solve," the conductor said, not unkindly, just badly overworked. "Stay put, unless you fancy jumping."
"I have a lady with me who isn't well," Graham pressed, with as much dignity as he could summon.
"Then she'll want that upper berth worse than most," the conductor said, already turning away.
"An upper berth won't do at all," Graham said firmly. "She needs a proper bed."
"Suit yourself. Might not even hold that long — somebody else'll likely ask for it inside the minute."
Graham glanced back at Calie, seated with her face turned wearily to the window, wedged between two loud men in loud checked suits and a heavily powdered woman with an enormous hat. Not, he reflected grimly, the company he'd have chosen for her.
"Isn't there anything at all you can do?" he tried once more, softer now. "Some gentleman who'd trade down for her? She's not accustomed to upper berths, and she's had a very hard day."
His eyes went, unguarded, to the bowed golden head across the aisle, and something in the conductor's tired face shifted at the sight of her.
"That the lady? Let me see what I can do." He stumped off toward the next car, and Graham allowed himself a small, grateful breath. Even overworked conductors, it seemed, were not entirely immune to Calie's quiet effect on a room.
He crossed to her and explained, low, that he hoped to have something arranged shortly, that he was deeply sorry for the blunder of the wrong train, that supper looked doubtful for the moment.
"It doesn't matter in the least," Calie said, though the weariness in her voice belied the words.
"I'm not hungry." She managed something close to a smile as she said it.
He understood well enough that what she truly wanted was some resolution about the letters — but saw just as clearly that there was no privacy anywhere on this crowded train for that conversation tonight.
She even seemed to feel for his obvious distress, offering him a small, tired smile despite everything, and Graham felt, watching her, like the worst kind of careless guardian.
He went in search of food and returned more successful than he'd hoped — a candy bar from the newsboy's cart, an orange, and a paper cup of ice water, which earned him a smile nearly as warm as any she'd given him that whole bright morning.
He couldn't sit with her — every seat was taken — and standing to talk in the aisle proved impossible with the porter constantly threading past to make up berths.
The whole train, he now noticed, was crowded with men wearing matching lapel pins — some fraternal convention, evidently, whose delegates had commandeered the entire special.
Good-natured, loud, and entirely without any quiet corner where he and Calie might finish the conversation the cab chase had so rudely interrupted.
Eventually the conductor returned to report that a gentleman had agreed to trade his lower berth for the upper, already made up and ready.
Graham exchanged the tickets at once and led Calie to it, and found her more than ready to go — exhausted past caring about anything but somewhere quiet to lie down.
He carried the bags through to the next car, hoping for some private moment there, and found it just as crowded as the first. He arranged what comfort he could for her — settled her hat safely, positioned her suitcase within easy reach — while people pressed past them the entire time, making any real conversation impossible.
When everything was as ready as he could make it, he stepped back, held the curtain aside for her, and bent close.
"Try to trust me until morning," he said quietly. "I'll explain everything then — you'll understand I had nothing to do with those letters. Try to rest now. Will you?"