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Mabel pulled the tarp over the back of the truck, and the three of them crouched down behind the stacked milk crates. Mabel cracked open one of the bottles and handed it to the boys, who swigged generously and coughed just as heartily. The truck jostled down the rutted road—just a dairy farmer and his wife making the morning rounds. But soon they slowed to a stop.
“Why are we stopping?” Luis whispered.
Mabel peeked out from under the tarp and her heart sank. “Pinkertons. Blocking the road,” she whispered.
“We’re done for,” Aron said.
“Shhh. Have faith,” Luis said.
Mabel lifted the tarp ever so slightly and saw an agent approach the driver’s window. Arthur snugged his cap down lower over his newly darkened hair. There was coal dust on his shoulder. She hoped the agent couldn’t see it.
“Morning. My wife and I saw the fire,” Arthur said, making his voice calm and country. “What’s the trouble?”
The agent looked at Arthur for a long time. Mabel was sure her pounding blood could be heard from under the tarp. If they were discovered, they’d go to prison for certain. But there was always the chance the agents might just shoot them there and then, and be done with it.
“Anarchists just blew up the mine,” the agent answered at last.
Arthur shook his head in disapproval. “That a fact? Well, I’ll be.”
“It isn’t safe anywhere nowadays,” Gloria said.
“No, ma’am. It sure isn’t.”
Let us go, let us go, let us go, Mabel prayed silently.
“Mind if I check the back of your wagon, there?” the agent s
aid.
Mabel pressed a hand to her mouth to keep the scream in. Beside her, she saw Luis’s lips moving in silent prayer. Aron trembled, his eyes tightly shut.
“Not at all,” Arthur said. “Just getting a jump on the morning run. Got a long drive ahead. Taking the cream all the way to Camden today. Care to wet your whistle? Got a bottle right here. Finest milk in New Jersey, if I do say so myself.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” the agent said. He took the bottle from Arthur and swigged half of it down. His rifle gleamed in the fire-tinged night. “That is awfully fine cream.”
The agent peered at the tarp again. He took a step forward. Mabel held her breath as he sipped from the bottle. But then he stepped back, smiling. “Well, I’ll let you get on your way, then. You folks be careful, though. Don’t pick up any strangers out here. We got orders to shoot to kill.”
“Will do. Thank you, sir,” Arthur said.
The truck lurched forward, and Mabel didn’t let out her breath till she could see the agents and the fire receding into the night.
EVERYTHING WAS DIFFERENT NOW
By the time the Secret Six had made it back to Manhattan, it was nearly four in the morning. After they’d ditched the truck on the West Side, the adrenaline loss left everyone limp and sleepy. Arthur promised to see Mabel back to Evie’s hotel, where she’d told her mother she was staying for the night.
“Come up for a second first?” he said as they stood outside the bookshop.
While he searched for his key, Mabel leaned her head back to take in the full scope of the night sky. Were those the same stars and moon she’d seen before they’d blown up the mine? Everything felt different now. She was different. When they entered Arthur’s flat, it also seemed different with just the two of them in it, the street light shining through the window and pooling onto the floor. It was both threatening and exciting. Mabel was nervous. She let her fingers trail over the back of a chair. The sensation made her dizzy.
Arthur lowered the blinds and Mabel’s heartbeat quickened. In the slashes of light, she could see the outline of his firm body, the sinewy muscles cut like a navy yard brawler’s.
“Why do you do that?” she asked.
“What?”
“Raise and lower the blinds so much.”
“I don’t know. I like the street light at night, I guess. It’s comforting. I know I’m a little old for that, but…” He shrugged, sheepish. One minute, Arthur was streetwise and bold, full of swagger. The next, he was boyish and sweet. Right now the way he was looking at her was anything but boyish.
