The train rocked in a hard wind. Above the sound of the wheels on the tracks, she could hear a patter on the roof and windows. It had begun to rain. They were charging their way into a storm, the sky gone ominously gray.
“Maggie was always good to you,” Malcolm said.
Violet looked at him, then dropped her gaze. “She was. But I’m not here for Maggie, and I think you know that.”
“I know we’re long overdue for a conversation. Got some hard decisions to make.” Malcolm tapped out a cigarette and clicked a flame out of his lighter. He inhaled, firing the tip of the cigarette, then flipped the lighter shut. “But I made Maggie a promise, and that comes first.”
“Of course.”
It was more than they’d ever said to one another about the heat smoldering between them. Both had acknowledged it in other ways, in lingering gazes and the gentle touch of a hand, in words that echoed with deeper meaning. But Maggie’s death demanded they be more direct, and though Violet mourned her, she was eager to speak the words that had been waiting so long, and propriety be damned. Elias had captured her like an enemy flag. She’d grown to despise him. Malcolm was everything his brother was not.
“Are you going to tell me what’s in Maggie’s letter?”
He drew the envelope from his pocket. “You’d think there might be some wistful final words, but it’s not. Just instructions about the train route, what to do when we get to Shediak.”
“No heartfelt farewell message?”
“I guess that was too much to hope for,” he said. His tone was light, but she saw the pain it caused him.
“Stories train us to believe people have these incredible epiphanies at the end of their lives, try to make amends, see things in a new light,” Violet said. “I wish I believed that. I guess it must happen sometimes, but not in my experience.”
She reached over, throne of luggage creaking beneath her, and plucked Malcolm’s cigarette from his lips. She took a long drag, then exhaled as she settled back again. The cigarette had become hers, just as she had become his. That easily. Despite what he’d said, there were no hard decisions to make—just fate to pursue.
With a clank, the latch turned at the end of the baggage car, and the door swung open. Violet scrambled to her feet, cigarette pinched between her lips. Malcolm shot up beside her, put himself between her and the door, and slid the Browning out of its holster. She’d been glad when he’d taken it from his valise. She hated guns, but the skirmish in front of the house that morning had given her fresh perspective.
The baggage car rocked as it rounded a curve and the big man who came through the door staggered against the frame. Violet stumbled into Maggie’s crate, but somehow Malcolm stayed upright, ready to fight.
Alfie Hannigan looked at the gun, then glanced at them almost with pity. “Aren’t you two adorable.”
“I’d say we are,” Violet replied. She sat on the edge of the crate and puffed on the cigarette, trying to act as if her heart weren’t pounding full speed.
“Mr. Hannigan,” Malcolm said, putting his gun away. “We’re grateful you didn’t miss the train.”
Alfie stepped farther into the car. The rush of air that swept through slammed the door behind him. Someone had blacked his left eye, turned it swollen and bloodshot. His hair and clothing were in disarray. The pocket of his coat had been torn and hung down like an elephant’s ear.
“A bit jumpy, aren’t you? Best be careful or you’ll end up putting a bullet into a porter coming through the door.”
Violet wanted to at least smile politely at this warning, but couldn’t make herself do it. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever have the heart for small talk again.
Malcolm put out a hand to introduce himself.
Alfie shook firmly. “I know who you are.” He glanced at Violet.“I should say I know who you both are, though I wasn’t told Mrs. Wise would be making the trip.”
“I have no idea who you are, aside from your name,” Malcolm said, “and I wasn’t told to expect any of this. Pax Keates said my mother hired you. Maybe you can elaborate on what that means.”
The train rocked, but Alfie and Malcolm kept their balance.
“It’s like it sounds,” Alfie said. “I only met Maggie the one time. Talked to her on the telephone twice after that. We were told Mr. Keates would call when the time came, that he’d be the one to pay us the second half of our fee when the job was done.”
“The job being?” Violet nudged.
Alfie gestured toward the crate. “To see that she got all the way home, and to make sure any of her family who were along for the trip made it, too.”
“Why you?” Violet asked.
“I assume someone gave us a referral—me and my brother, Joe—and she liked us when she met us. Or trusted us. I guess what matters is that I’m here now and she’s gone.” The big man’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry for your loss, both of you. She seemed like one hell of a lady.”
“She was,” Malcolm agreed.
