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Damn. He had to quit thinking about Maria. She was no longer a part of his existence. His main concern now was for the welfare of this new group of immigrants and what the success of his findings could mean to the success of the unions in Southern Illinois.
“This private car of this train,” he said, looking around him, seeing the plushness of the seats, the velveteen-covered bed at the far end, and the fringe-trimmed curtains at the windows.
“Did you say something, Michael?” Alice asked, eyes wide.
“I feel a sense of guilt, knowing I am traveling in such luxury, and the immigrants having to travel in such crowded, smelly quarters as the car they have been directed into. Is it even fair that I have the money to use to rent such a private car as this?”
“God, Michael. You carry the burden of the poor on your shoulders. Must you always?”
“I was just as poor once,” he mumbled, pushing himself up from the chair. He walked to Alice's side, bending to turn the pages in the journal. He suddenly smelled the aroma of her perfume as it circled upward and into his nose. Why hadn't he noticed it before? Wasn't it even the perfume he had brought back, to her from France? He cleared his throat nervously, pointing to an entry.
“Do you see this?” he said. “This was entered on a day that two bodies were thrown over the ship's side. These two women died from consumption. They left behind two families in need of mother and wife. Their journey started on the mournful side, wouldn't you say? And I have many more of these same entries. This ship is a death ship. And even the ones who do make it to America too soon fin
d that they wish they had been the ones tossed into the hungry claws of the sea when they find what is awaiting them.”
“Did you speak with many of these people?”
“Those who were not too afraid to speak to a stranger.”
“And each spoke of Nathan Hawkins?”
“They had only the deepest respect for the man who had paid their passage.”
Alice rose from the chair, taking Michael's hand in hers, guiding him toward the bed. “Michael, you must relax. You must let me massage your neck and back muscles. I have never seen you so tied up in such bleak thoughts before. Let me help to ease this all from your mind.”
Michael unsnapped the tie from his shirt, then slipped his suit jacket and shirt off, revealing his massive chest that was heavily covered with curly blonde chest hairs. He sighed deeply as he stretched out onto the softness of the bed. “Yes. I'm sure you're right,” he said, turning to lie on his stomach.
He closed his eyes and let Alice's fingers begin to knead and rub his flesh, already feeling it loosening beneath her touch. When her lips exchanged places with her fingers, he tensed for a moment, then flipped onto his back and yanked her down atop him, crushing his lips against hers. She wasn't Maria but she was with him, ready, willing to help possibly erase Maria and all the mounting problems from his mind.
His fingers went to her blouse and reached beneath it. In no way did this woman's breasts compare with those of Maria. Maria's had been so large, so firm, so inviting to the touch from both his lips and hands.. But as the need for a woman … any woman … built inside him … he grabbed Alice's breasts and began brutally to squeeze them.
“Oh, Michael,” Alice moaned, reaching down to unbutton his breeches with trembling fingers. “It's been too long. I almost went wild without you. Darling, please . .. don't… leave again for a long time. These trips? They just mean loneliness for me. …”
Michael pushed her gently away from him. “Undress, Alice,” he said thickly, kicking his shoes off, then slipping his breeches and undergarment down. He watched her hungrily as she removed the combs from her hair, letting her hair cascade in red waves around her shoulders.
Michael felt the familiar heat rising in his loins. The last time he had experienced these feelings, Maria had been the cause. Oh, Maria. My Maria, he thought sadly to himself, then reached his arms outward as Alice stepped from the last of her garments.
When Alice was beside him on the bed, he rolled over and climbed atop her, not wasting any time as he thrust his manhood inside her and began working anxiously in and out. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, moaning, and when the spasms began, he whispered the wrong name. …
Alice kicked and scratched, screaming. “Get off me you bastard,” she shouted. “Do you hear? I hate you, Michael Hopper. I hate you.”
Michael scooted to sit upright next to her, furrowing his heavy blonde brows. “Damn it,” he growled. “What did I do?”
Alice began gathering her clothes, stomping angrily around the room. She glared toward him. “You don't know?” she whispered between clenched teeth, stop-ping to study him, not even knowing him any longer. He had changed. The voyage … someone on that voyage … had changed him. Someone named .. . Maria….
“What the hell are you talking about?” Michael asked, stammering.
“Who is this . .. Maria .. . Michael.. . ?” Alice asked, stammering.
He turned, swallowing hard, paling. “What did you say .. . ?” he gasped.
“Who is this Maria whose name you just whispered when we were … making love … ?”
“God. Oh, God. Did 1… do .. . that. .. ?” he blurted. He turned his back to her, hanging his head. He began to knead his brow, now knowing that he had to find Maria. He would look for her .. . even until his death, if need be. …
Chapter Seven
Placing her nose against the pane of glass next to her, Maria watched the land race by outside the train window. It seemed to her the further they traveled, the flatter the land became.
