By the door, the goat bleated.
Malcolm jerked, startled by the sound. “They’d better take that thing off in Albany.”
The goat said nothing, though the chickens fluttered their wings and banged against the insides of their cages. Whether this signified agreement or protest, Malcolm didn’t know.
He didn’t want to know.
Maine seemed very far away.
16
The sleeper cars were already quiet, though surely it was too early for most passengers to have turned in for the night. Some would still be in the dining car, or playing cards in the bar, but Violet found it strange not to hear conversation. There were no businessmen standing in the narrow corridor, nor young mothers trying to settle children. She expected at least to hear the rustle of surreptitious lovers doing their best not to draw attention in the cramped confines of a single berth. It began to trouble her as they passed through the second of three sleeper cars.
It’s too quiet, she wanted to say to Alfie, but somehow, breaking the silence seemed unwise.
The train trundled along. They’d been aboard so long now that its motion no longer seemed to affect her. Violet swayed with it, trembled with it, as if this were the natural state of being. The corridors on the sleeper cars were too narrow for her and Alfie to walk alongside one another—barely wide enough for a man Alfie’s size to begin with—so she led the way. She was pleased to have her back to him, and she dreaded the moment they were in the dining car together, because then she would have to look him in the eye. Either he would ask questions about her husband, or she would see the curiosity in his face.
Elias, why did you have to come?
His mother had died, of course. But if anyone had asked, she’d have opined that nothing short of pirate’s treasure could draw Elias away from his quest to drink and gamble himself into thestupor he required to forget how much his life had disappointed him. Or how disappointed he was with himself, if she were feeling generous enough to allow for that variation.
Goddamn Elias.
Her husband.
At the rear of the second sleeper, a wave of nausea racked her body. Violet swore aloud, grabbed hold of a curtain, and held on as she stumbled, swinging herself into an empty lower berth. A chill bit into her, sweat beaded on cold skin, and she breathed rapidly through her nose, trying to control the urge to be sick.
Alfie grunted. Steadying herself, she looked up and saw him go from pale to paler. He hung on to the edge of an upper berth, hissing through his teeth, fighting the same battle.
“Christ,” he said. “Do you smell that?”
Violet realized she did. The smell of wet leaves in late fall, of rotting wood, of an animal that had died and begun to decay. Her stomach convulsed, and she vomited onto the thin pillow in that lower berth, damp with sweat and humiliation. She slipped from the berth and yanked the curtain closed.
Standing, she saw a couple of faces poked out from upper berths, back the way they’d come. Not everyone had gone to the dining car after all. Embarrassed, she turned so they could not get a good view of her face, and she yanked the door open and stumbled into the third sleeper. Glancing back at Alfie, ready to reach for his hand and pull him through, she saw the curtain moving on the lower berth, right across from the one she’d soiled with her vomit.
A child’s fingers wrapped around the fabric, as if the person within had peeked out at them.
Then Alfie blocked her view and closed the door behind them.
“That was awful,” he sputtered.
She’d have replied, but voices greeted them. Two men smoked cigarettes and laughed in baritone, apparently sharing stories about their mutual alma mater. A lithe brunette sat on an upper berth with her long legs hanging over the side, mocking them asshe punctuated the air with her own cigarette. Married to one of the men, Violet thought, based on how comfortable she seemed.
Lucky you got this car and not the next one, she would have said, if she hadn’t been breathing through her teeth, trying to clear her nostrils of the stink.
“I’m not sure I still have an appetite,” Alfie said.
“I don’t blame you, but it’ll come back,” Violet replied. “And we’ve got to get food for Malcolm, anyway.”
“Malcolm and Elias.”
“Elias can go to hell,” she said, the sour taste of bile still in her mouth.
Alfie smiled, showing dimples that made him look like a little boy, despite his size. “Fair enough.”
They quickened their pace, grateful that the passenger coaches were at the end of the train and that the dining car was next. The smokers pressed themselves back against their berths to allow them to pass, and Violet opened the door into the dining car.
Sound washed over them, along with more cigarette smoke and the aroma of cooked steak. Violet only realized how exhausted she’d been when that smell caught her, and her hunger perked up. A hearty meal would revitalize her.
