The first porter began to argue, the other two rushing over to do the same, but Paxson put a twenty-dollar bill in each man’s right hand. The trio exchanged a curious look, and then the bespectacled man pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.
“Better not get us fired,” he said. “I need this job.”
“You have my word,” Pax replied.
The train whistle screamed again. The porters shrugged in unison and even helped to lift Malcolm and Violet—the latter in the most gentlemanly manner possible—up into the baggage car. Pax handed up their traveling cases.
The train seemed to sigh, then began to roll slowly forward, as if breaking free from polar ice. Malcolm stared at Pax Keates and realized he might not see the man again, that he might not seeElkhart again. This had all happened so quickly, and it only now occurred to him that fate might not bring him home. He opened his mouth without any idea how to put what he felt into words.
“Thank you,” he managed. So many questions, but no time for anything save gratitude.
Pax reached inside his jacket and withdrew a cream-hued envelope, then handed it up to him. “I don’t know what she wrote to you, but I guess it’s important.”
Malcolm almost laughed.
Violet grabbed his arm as the train lurched twice, bumping them against one another, and then began to pick up speed.
The younger porter walked alongside the moving train. “Careful you don’t fall right out.”
Malcolm and Violet supported one another, as they’d done for the past year in various ways. He looked out at Elkhart, wondering if he would miss the place, and his breath stilled in his lungs.
The Oldsmobile 88, maybe black or blue or gray, skidded to a stop at the steps of the station. Violet hadn’t seen it, and neither had Pax, and Malcolm didn’t want to draw attention to it. The raven had been shot in the leg, maybe worse, but somehow, he’d gotten the upper hand on the Hannigan brothers.
He inhaled sharply, glanced at Violet and then at Maggie’s crate. What could Pax Keates do for him now? Not a damn thing. The crate was too unwieldy to move quickly, and even if they got it back into the hearse, where would they go? He didn’t own a vehicle in good enough condition to make it all the way to Shediak, Maine, in two days.
The Oldsmobile’s doors opened, but instead of the raven, both Hannigan brothers climbed out. Joe had been in the passenger seat, holding a bloody handkerchief to his face. Alfie had been driving, but now he dropped the keys into his brother’s open palm. Alfie cupped one hand behind Joe’s neck and shook him, as if he meant to knock some sense into him. Whatever the brothers said to one another, they were much too far away to be overheard.
Alfie ran through the station. As the train continued to pickup speed, he raced onto the platform. Hatless, his orange hair seemed almost gold in the sunlight.
“Looks like Mr. Hannigan’s keeping us company on this journey,” Violet said.
Malcolm settled back on the floor of the baggage car, leaning against the crate. “They were driving the other fellow’s car. I don’t think we need to worry about him anymore. But I’m glad to have Alfie along. I’ll rest a little easier, I guess.”
“I won’t,” Violet said.
“Why not?”
She stood by the open window of the baggage car, looking out at the ominous gray sky. Cold wind whipped her hair back. “People with nothing to fear don’t need a man like Alfie Hannigan to look out for them.”
Malcolm gave a last wave to Pax Keates. As they left the platform behind, he saw no trace of Alfie, which meant he’d managed to board the train. Back in front of the station, Joe Hannigan leaned against the grille of the Oldsmobile. He’d lowered the bloody handkerchief, but even at this distance, Malcolm could see red smeared all over his face.
Violet settled beside him, the two of them leaning against the crate. She laid her head on his shoulder and exhaled heavily. “Well, this is going to be cozy.”
The click-clack of the train over its tracks filled the awkward silence that followed her remark. Had the joke referred to how terribly uncomfortable they would be during these days in the baggage car, or about the intimacy that had been thrust upon them?
Maggie had died.
Elias might be anywhere else, but he wasn’t here with his wife and his brother.
Malcolm and Violet had shared a thousand wordless moments. Propriety had constrained them, these two who had been lonely and felt abandoned.
Until now.
He leaned against her, shoulder to shoulder. “Here we are again, the two of us and Maggie.”
She laughed softly. “I’m afraid she’s no longer a suitable chaperone.”
“Don’t worry. You’re safe.”
