They moved past booths where passengers were finishing their meals or enjoying after-dinner coffee, but as Violet found an open booth, the waiter scurried toward them. The urgency in his demeanor told her all she needed to know.
“My apologies, miss—”
Violet held up a hand. “Consider your words wisely, sir.” She pointed to Alfie. “This gentleman is a furnace in need of fuel. Not only will he collapse if you don’t feed us, he might also weep openly, and that would be embarrassing for all of us.”
She slid into the booth on one side. Alfie hovered, smiling at the waiter, who stared dumbfounded at him, as if he feared Alfie might decide to eat him to satiate his hunger.
“Miss, really,” the waiter said. His mustache did nothing todisguise his youth. If anything, it only emphasized his immaturity. “The kitchen is closed.”
Violet sighed. She reached out her hand to take his. Her time working in nightclubs had begun because of her charm as much as her voice, and she hadn’t forgotten the indulgent smile such moments required.
“What’s your name, darling?”
“Wilbur.”
“Wilbur, sweetheart, if I was Marilyn Monroe or Grace Kelly, would you let us starve?”
“Of course not. I mean… that’s not…”
Violet took her hand away. “I know I’m not as beautiful as those women, but I am hungry. Surely you can give me even a tiny bit of the kindness you’d show me if I were a Hollywood glamour girl.”
“But you are,” Wilbur protested. “Beautiful. It’s only that…” He reddened.
Alfie slid into the booth across from her. “Tell you what, Wilbur old pal. There are four of us. Talk the cook into putting together whatever he can rustle up. Steaks would be welcome, but we’re not choosy right now. Bread and cheese, tomorrow morning’s fruit. If you can persuade him to fry some meat, I promise you will be this lovely woman’s hero for the rest of her life.”
“But—”
“Just do your best, son.”
Wilbur glanced helplessly from Alfie to Violet, then turned and hurried toward the narrow door that led into the kitchen section of the dining car.
“You’ve got that poor kid completely muddled,” Alfie told her.
Violet laughed. It was nice to laugh. Nice, also, to know she could still muddle the head of an impressionable young man, despite being cooped up in a house in Elkhart. She glanced around the car, feeling almost normal for the first time that day.
Then she saw the boy coming toward them.
His face and clothes were dirty. His eyes were open wide, and he smiled as if he knew her, walking through the dining car toward their booth.
“Alfie,” she said. “Look behind you.”
He looked, but of course he hadn’t seen the child’s hand clutching the curtain of that lower bunk in the second sleeper, after that wretched stink had made her sick. Other diners watched the boy walk toward them, and it occurred to Violet that they might think the boy belonged to her, although she’d have been a scandalously young mother for a boy this age. Part of her wanted to protest that of course this wasn’t her son. If she’d had a son, he would be dressed in something clean, something appropriate, instead of like a farmhand. And he’d have his face washed, and he wouldn’t be gazing at her with the mix of aloof amusement and painful knowledge.
“Excuse me, son,” Alfie said, sliding partway out of the booth. “Can we help you with something?”
The boy ignored him, reaching out instead for Violet’s hand. “My name is Benjy. You need to come with me.”
Violet smiled nervously. “I don’t think so, Benjy. We’re waiting for our supper.”
The boy cocked his head and studied her. His eyes were splintered with tiny broken blood vessels. If he’d been an adult, she’d have thought he drank too much. She noticed a dark patch on his shirtsleeve, but in the golden light of the dining car, it took a moment for her to realize the stain was a deep red.
“Are you bleeding?” She reached for him, thinking she would roll up his sleeve and investigate, worried that she had misjudged the moment. That the boy might be in danger, and sought out a young woman, perhaps one who reminded him of his mother.
“Has someone hurt you?” Violet asked.
The boy smiled thinly, an expression far too mature for his age. “I’ll wait for you.”
Benjy turned and left them there, heading up through the dining car, back toward the sleepers. Violet started to rise to pursuehim, now that she feared someone had hurt him. Alfie grabbed her wrist.
