80. George
George
My gritty eyes protested a second sleepless night as I combed through every rumor, report, and contradictory account from the chaos of the derailment.
I blinked until the words stopped blurring.
The barrage of telegrams I’d sent on the first night led to contact with a local newspaper and a list of those confirmed dead.
Thankfully, Jacob wasn’t on it. I raked a hand through my tangled hair.
At least not yet. The knot in my stomach tightened.
Hold to hope.
My seven lucky pennies stayed with me, a talisman to ward off bad news.
I lined them up along the edge of my desk, seven soldiers of good fortune.
Ridiculous, maybe, but I needed every scrap of luck.
Please let this be my last vigil at the office.
Knightley never had to face the day without sleep.
If only wise old Jane were writing my story…
Mr. Muntz would arrive on the scene tomorrow.
If anyone could walk into chaos and find an answer—find Jacob—it was the mustachioed, soft-spoken man.
I had hints and whispers from thirty sources that gave me hope.
But it was all vague. Nothing to sink my teeth into. Nothing confirmed. Nothing certain.
Lenny shook my shoulder. “Boss. Hey Boss.”
I cracked my eyes open. He set a steaming cup on my desk, and the scent of strong coffee cut through the fog in my head. I massaged my neck. “Morning, Len.” I took a long swallow of coffee. “Thanks. Needed that.”
“Any updates?”
“Nothing much overnight.”
“Get out of here. I’ll send word the second we hear anything.”
I swept my pennies into my pocket. “You’re a good man.” Too little sleep set my legs wobbling.
Once home, the stillness of the house tightened like a trap around me as I climbed the stairs.
Without the bustle of the newsroom, panic’s whisper was impossible to ignore.
I splashed water on my face and changed into fresh clothes.
Breakfast and then a nap—that was the plan.
But piano music dragged me down the hall to the conservatory instead.
Viola sat hunched over the keys. Her unruly auburn hair fell in a wild tangle as she pounded away. Nonstop. A haunting melody that vibrated into my bones. She took no notice of me. If only I knew how to help her. Sarah. Sarah would know. I pushed through the hedge to knock at her door.
She appeared quickly. “Is there news?”
I shook my head. “Need your help. Viola’s playing the piano.
” Sarah raised an eyebrow but grabbed her wrap and followed me through the hedge, steadying me—not with her hand but with her presence.
I dragged my weary body to a chair just inside the conservatory door, and Sarah sat beside me.
The morning sunlight streamed through the many windows and stung my tired eyes.
Warmth crept in, loosening the tight band between my shoulders.
Still, Viola played on. “Should we interrupt her? She looks close to collapsing.”
Sarah studied Viola, tilting her head. “No. I think she needs to play. Music is her outlet. She needs to release her feelings.”
I nodded and slumped farther down in my chair. “Right.”
“Any leads?”
“Vague whispers that give me hope, but… Mr. Muntz should be there now.” I rubbed a hand across my face. “He’ll discover the truth of it.”
Sarah reached to cover my hand with hers. “You look terrible.”
“Making me blush with your compliments.” I strained to produce a smile.
“I can stay and watch over Viola if you want to sleep.”
I tilted my head back on the chair. “Will rest here awhile… with you.” Her warm hand stayed on mine, soothing my frayed edges. Slow as sunrise, I turned my hand to lace my fingers with hers. I didn’t mean to hold so tightly, but I couldn’t let go.
After untold minutes, Sarah nudged my arm. “She’s stopped.”
Blinking away the remnants of a strange dream, I oriented myself with some effort. Conservatory. Sarah. Viola. My stomach growled with a fierce hunger. “Breakfast. Let’s get her to eat.” Sarah nodded, and we stood together. Faced it together. Partners.
That afternoon, a runner handed me a folded note. Viola appeared at the top of the stairs, drawn by the sound of the door.
Please.
I scanned the telegram. “He’s all right.” My words echoed through the house. Merciful heavens above.
Viola flew down the stairs and into my arms, sobbing, laughing, delirious with joy. I guided her into the library, and sat her before the fire, then read the telegram.
Several witnesses confirm he was in the second-to-last car, which tilted off the rails but remained intact. They remember the kind Chicago newspaperman who helped them to the door after the crash and say he appeared uninjured aside from minor bumps and bruises. Am trying to locate.
I wrapped a heavy blanket around her. She collapsed onto the library couch and fell asleep.
She’d probably slept even less than I had.
Dear little knucklehead. The fire burned low in the hearth behind me as I tucked the blanket around her legs.
The unbearable wait was over at last. My ribs loosened enough for a deep breath.
I needed to tell Sarah. I ran a hand over my bristly face as I pushed through the hedge to Sarah’s door.
When had I last shaved? When had it gotten dark?
As I entered her parlor, I glanced down and caught sight of my sorry state.
My clothes were rumpled from my nap, and I’d brought a bit of the hedge along with me.
Knightley couldn’t pull this off. Disheveled charm was entirely my domain.
Sarah jumped up from her chair. When I smiled and nodded, she clapped her hands together. “Good news?”
“He survived the crash. We have definite confirmation.”
Mrs. Everson’s voice carried from the other end of the room. “Such a relief. We have all been anxious for the young man. Terrible thing, trains.” Mr. Everson stood and clapped a hand to my shoulder.
Then I was beside Sarah, but I couldn’t remember my feet moving. My arms reached for an embrace, but I stopped them before they wrapped around her, raking both hands through my hair instead.
“A tea tray, yes, Mipsy. We need to feed our George.”
Sarah raised a brow at her mother and huffed out a small chuckle. “I think she likes you better than me.”
“I like you better than me.” What was I saying?
A little furrow appeared between her brows.
Perfectly normal to like her. Entirely ordinary. Should be no surprise. Friends and all. Nothing dangerous or…
Sarah’s father said, “Sit with us, George.”
He was too polite to say I was hovering like a dolt. Was I too close? “Thank you. I’d happily sit for a spell with you all.” But Sarah made no move to sit, so I stayed standing.
“Yes, Mipsy. George should rest after all his tireless effort.”
“You know, Sarah’s strength and support through this ordeal.” I nodded. “She’s an excellent friend.”
She stared at me like I’d grown an extra eye.
Why did my compliments always seem to land sideways with her?
I motioned to the settee by the fire where Sarah had been sitting and gave her a tiny nudge in that direction with my elbow.
We sat side by side, shoulders pressed together.
It was a small couch—and yet, too large.
Deep breath. Almond soap. I resisted the urge to take her hand. “Viola was so happy she immediately curled up and fell asleep.”
Sarah chuckled. “My heart is light knowing he survived. Buzzing and floating with relief. I’m almost giddy.”
“Me, too.” I leaned into her and flattened a hand on my chest. “Buzzy indeed. Ha. There’s a whole hive of bees in here.” Sarah snorted. “At this rate, I’ll be dripping honey in time for the tea tray.”
Sarah’s father smiled at our laughter, which had a hysterical edge after the stress and sleep deprivation.
Mipsy surely heard all about it at the other end of the room, but I didn’t care.
I’d always had an easy laugh, the sort that popped out with the least encouragement.
But Sarah’s musical laugh was hard-won. And when it broke loose, something in me brightened.
There was some alchemy in the joining of our laughter that gilded parts of me that had never been shiny before.
Shiny like the gold in her eyes today. Was that a flutter? Couldn’t be.
Laughing with Sarah was one of my favorite things. In that moment, it felt like everything. I would not risk losing it. Not ever.