Out of habit, Ivy tightened her hair pins, straightened her battered felt hat, and pulled the faded green scarf around her neck and high on her chin. She went to brush off her worn coatbut then stopped lest she smudge any soot deeper into the cloth. Cora had warned her to travel in old garments since she’d arrive smelling of smoke.
Around her, passengers stirred and stretched, gathering belongings and shuffling toward the exits. Ivy's stomach growled in a most unladylike fashion. Luckily, no one glanced over. Even after days of travel, they were still strangers, focused on their own affairs. The noise of the train made conversing difficult, and most didn’t even try.
After removing her crocheted reticule from her satchel and looping the strings around her wrist, Ivy stepped onto the wooden platform, wrinkling her nose at the stench of lingering smoke and pulling her coat tighter against the March wind. The depot was little more than a clapboard building with a hand-painted sign, but the smell drifting from within made her mouth water—fresh coffee, frying bacon, and something sweet that might have been cinnamon. During the trip, she’d learned to choose food that was quickly eaten or could be carried back on the train. She longed for a chance to linger at a table for a leisurely meal.
Inside, passengers crowded around a long counter where a heavyset man with a walrus mustache dispensed food with surprising efficiency.
Ivy found a spot at the end and ordered the easiest item on the board to hurriedly finish—an egg and ham sandwich wrapped in brown paper and a mug of coffee. She carried her breakfast to a bench near the window. The food so far was hit or miss—sometimes well cooked and other times barely edible. She would have preferred tea. But at least the hot mug warmed her gloved hand.
She took a bite, relieved to find the eggs were fresh, the ham salty and satisfying. For a moment, she allowed herself to simply enjoy the meal without worrying about what lay ahead.
Movement near her feet caught her attention, and Ivy looked down to find a cat staring up at her with the most pitiful expression she'd ever seen on any creature.
The poor thing was barely more than a kitten—a scrawny, half-grown bundle of dark gray, almost black fur, with ribs showing through its patchy coat. One ear had a small notch torn from it, and its whiskers drooped.
“Oh, you poor dear,” Ivy whispered.
The cat stared up with plaintive blue eyes and mewed.
The thin, reedy sound went straight to Ivy’s heart. She glanced around. No one seemed to be paying attention to either her or the bedraggled creature at her feet. Before she could think better of it, Ivy pinched off a bit of egg from the remnants of her sandwich and held it out.
The cat didn't hesitate, darting forward and gobbling the offering. Those blue eyes fixed on her face with an intensity that demanded more. She pulled off the rest of the ham, breaking it into bits, which she carefully fed to her new friend.
The cat ate the ham with equal enthusiasm, then did something that surprised her—it leaped directly into her lap, turned three circles, and began to purr. The sound was enormous, far too loud for such a small body, rumbling against her limbs like distant thunder.
Ivy found herself smiling for the first time in weeks. She stroked the cat's bony spine, feeling each vertebra beneath the rough fur. “Well, aren't you a sweetie?”
“Don't be feeding that one.”
The voice startled her, and she placed a protective hand on the cat’s body to keep it from falling off.
The depot owner had come up beside her, his walrus mustache bristling with disapproval. In one hand, he held a coffee pot. He jerked his thumb toward the cat in her lap. “I'moverrun with cats as it is. Don't need more of 'em hanging about, expecting handouts. Coffee?” He lifted the pot.
She shook her head but didn’t push the cat off her lap.
His small eyes narrowed. “That one there's been nothing but trouble. Gets into everything, won't leave the passengers alone. I've been hoping it'll wander off into the forest and get eaten by something. Do us all a favor.”
The cat chose that moment to look up at Ivy with an expression of such pure trust that her heart clenched. “Eaten?” she repeated faintly, repulsed by the idea.
“Mountain lions. Wolves. Take your pick.” The man shrugged with the casual cruelty of someone who'd long since stopped seeing animals as anything but pests. “Circle of life, Miss. That cat's got no value to anyone, and it's taking food that could go to the ones that earn their keep catching mice.”
He moved away to serve another customer, leaving Ivy staring down at the small creature in her lap. The cat had stopped purring and watched her with those solemn blue eyes, as if it understood every word that had been spoken and was waiting to learn its fate.
Get eaten by something.The cold callousness of the words echoed in her mind. Ivy knew what it meant to be valued only for what she could contribute. The pain of that thought made up her mind.
She spotted a woman near the platform selling provisions from a small cart—bread, cheese, and several baskets filled with various goods for travelers. The baskets were woven willow, sturdy and deep; lined with cloth, and had hinged lids that could be latched shut.
Setting down the cat, she walked over. “How much for the basket?” Ivy asked, pointing to the smallest one. “Just the basket, empty.”
The woman named a price that made Ivy wince.A dollar for a basket that would cost twenty cents in New York!But she pulled a coin pouch from her reticule and counted out the coins without argument. She couldn't afford to haggle—the train would leave with or without her.
She carried the basket back to the bench where the cat still waited, watching her with an expression that seemed almost hopeful.
“Now then,” Ivy murmured. “I'm going to need you to cooperate with me. Can you do that?”
The cat mewed.
“I'll take that as a yes.”
