Hazel was asleep next to me, and I could hear the steady breathing of Sam on the floor. Noise from the gambling hall never ended, but there was a new sound. The torn canvas flapping in the wind.
I wasn’t sure how long I had been asleep here, but only a few hours had probably passed since Sam ran his thumb over my cheek. Yet, I had spent the day in 1929 and stayed with Spencer far too long on the gambling ship before he had taken me home.
The S.S.Tangohad been luxurious, and Spencer had been right. I knew dozens of people there. They’d been surprised to see me, and several seemed curious about me and Spencer. But most of them ignored us.
Spencer had disappeared for almost an hour while I sat at aroulette table with Charlie Chaplin and Clara Bow. When he came back, his face was grim, and I saw Kent Parrot and George Cryer leave the room, moving in the opposite direction.
As I lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but wonder how I had ended up in the lives of two men who partook in such questionable activities. And I prayed I wouldn’t be taken down with them. I wanted to ask Spencer why he met with those men, but I doubted he would tell me. Was he invested in their businesses? Why else would they have regular meetings?
For the rest of the night, Spencer flirted with me and lavished so much attention on me, no one on that ship would question his intentions toward me. He was so convincing, I even forgot several times that it was an act.
There was movement on the floor, and soon Sam rose from the pallet. He tried to be quiet, but he saw that I was awake and smiled.
My heart did a funny flip, and I smiled back, all thoughts of Spencer fleeing from my mind. I sat up, trying not to disturb Hazel, and pulled the quilt up to my neck.
Sam motioned to the kitchen, a question in his eyes.
I nodded as he stood, gathered his things, and left the room, allowing me a little privacy.
The room was cool as I stepped out of bed and reached down to lift Johnnie off the floor. He moaned—the only sound I’d ever heard him make—as I laid him on the bed next to Hazel. Neither woke, and I hoped they would continue to sleep for a few more hours.
I dressed as quickly as I could and then went to the kitchen door.
Sam had pulled on his shirt. It was buttoned and tucked in his trousers. He was at the stove, lighting a fire, and the flames flickered across his handsome face while a candle on the table gave scant light to the room.
I left the door open in case someone else tried to enter through the hole in the canvas and walked over to the pail of water I had brought in the night before.
“Good morning,” Sam said as he closed the firebox door and stood, wiping the sawdust and debris from his hands.
Something had shifted when he’d said my name the night before and touched my cheek, but I wasn’t sure if the shift was in me or him.
“Good morning.” I set the bucket on the table.
He was about to speak when someone pounded on the back door.
The suddenness made me jump and slosh the water.
“Open up, Sam! I know she’s in there.”
Sam’s body tensed, and his hand came out almost like he was shielding me as he pushed me behind him.
My heart beat hard as the man outside continued to pound on the door.
“I’ll tear this building down if you don’t give her back to me.”
“Who is it?” I whispered.
Sam didn’t answer me as he walked to the door and unlocked it. When he opened it, English Jim stood in the doorway, the light from the candle reaching his angry, scarred face.
He glared at Sam. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know—”
Jim stepped into the room and pressed his face close to Sam’s.
Sam tried to hold his position, but Jim forced him backward.
“I know she’s here.” Jim put his hand on the hilt of the large knife he wore at his side. “I’ll cut you limb by limb until you tell me where she’s at, and I’ll take down anyone who stands in my way.”
