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Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The western city was nothing like its eastern cousin. The tri-point burg in no way resembled cobblestone covered Philadelphia, the place where he’d lugged his cart every day, selling scraps and rags. The place he’d landed, to find and take hold of any opportunity America could offer.
A stranger in a strange land. Alone.
Until he wandered into a synagogue and heard Rabbi Einhorn speak. And was urged to join the fight. To force America to fulfill the promises it offered: real equality, for everyone.
The words rekindled the fire in him, alighted a purpose as clear as Joseph’s dreams from the story.
Not to mention the pay, something he couldn’t refuse, especially as the days grew colder and his own garments—certainly no coats of many colors—wore down regardless of how many times he patched them. After all, he’d never spur on fair wages for every job if he starved. Thus, he traded a cart for a pack, a brown coat for a blue uniform.
Once upon a time, he aspired to study. And his mind had earned him a chance, despite his family’s poverty.
But he’d been betrayed, fed to the Russian army. The most disposable member of his family, sacrificed to the tsar’s plan to decrease the Jewish population. He’d barely escaped. And once he’d arrived in Berlin, he’d been so lost. However, never once had violence tempted him.
Not in his wildest dreams had he suspected that he actually could fight, and more, kill. But he had. Easier than he could’ve ever imagined. A fact that bothered him less than it probably should.
David stuffed a slice of toast into his mouth as he stuck his head outside the door of Amalia’s car. He brushed a few flecks of dust from his worn, dark navy coat—the only presentable one he owned aside from his old uniform. One didn’t need more than a shirt to spy. Sentinels didn’t care about dirt or soot. Or accents.
To protect. To serve. To push the world forward. This was his purpose, his destiny. And if that destiny involved a fancy promotion and title, all the better. He’d write his family, for the first time ever, and thread in the information, in the most casual manner...
He blinked as a breeze rustled his hair against his brow. The joint between the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers glistened in the distance. David pulled out his pocket watch. Almost eleven.
At least they weren’t taking their originally scheduled second train. Meg might be unfair to Amalia in certain respects, but even he had to admit the woman possessed a ridiculous amount of luggage and took forever with her cosmetics and the like.
Though... He bit his lip. Thad had included some financial records in the dossier. He was good with numbers and had been in the garment industry long enough to have a sense of what material cost.
Amalia Truitt had far too little money in her bank accounts even considering her volume of gowns and jewels. She received a generous monthly allowance and was paid for her columns. Where were the funds going?
Did she have a costly vice? One that could make her enemies?
“Where to?” Will, arms filled with carpetbags and leather cases, nudged his shoulder while Meg shuffled behind, similarly occupied. He handed the bulkiest down off the train to two more uniformed men with a cart.
Onlookers stopped and stared. Not good. They didn’t need people to notice them, or worse remember them. And the three of them together made an interesting picture. A tiny red-haired woman, a wiry black man, and a bespectacled Jew walk into a train station... Quite the setup.
After Meg placed her load onto the cart, he herded them into a dark corner behind a stack of barrels. Hopefully not filled with something dangerous like gunpowder. He shuddered.
Pushing back memories, David dipped back inside. Time to work. He addressed his partners. “We’re going to Cedar Street. Apparently, that’s where Ethan Bloomenstock, the first ‘Mr. Truitt,’ now lives. With his parents. Only a little over a mile from here.”
“We’re not lugging Thad’s sister’s belongings for over a mile.” Meg stomped her foot. “This place is hilly.” She frowned as she searched the horizon. “Very hilly.”
“No, you aren’t lugging anything.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Either of you. Will—you’ll stay here to stow and guard the trunks.” His friend nodded in agreement. They couldn’t just leave everything unattended, not after the rat, but they couldn’t haul the load anywhere without attracting even more eyes. Whomever was responsible could be anywhere and if they were going to lose them...
David stuck his hand in his pocket and shoved a fistful of bills at his friend. Funds Major Allen had handed him when he accepted the assignment. “Purchase us tickets for the midnight train. I don’t care what Amalia says, I don’t trust Bloomenstock. I don’t want him to know anything about where we will be after we leave his home.”
He turned to Meg. “You’re going to continue playing maid. Fit in with the servants, or as much as you can.” He smirked a little at her horrified expression. “You’ll be my backup in case there’s any trouble.”
Will grumbled in the affirmative and nodded. “And that’s why they call you the ‘smart one.’”
“I thought that was you?” He winked at his friend.
“Depends on the day.” Will adjusted his cap. “But I’ll go do my best spy patrol. Keep to the shadows. The usual.” The taller man gave him a quick salute.
“I’ll keep my head down too, follow close behind, the usual.” Meg wrinkled her nose. “Are you dragging her out of the bedchamber, or should I? She’s been staring at this tiny hand mirror for hours. It isn’t going to tell her she’s the fairest of them all if that’s what she wants.”
David groaned in his head. Amalia had dropped her cutlery at least a dozen times—in the most obvious and shamelessly purposeful manner—to force his partner on her feet over and over that morning. Amusing. Not nice, but still amusing.
Though Meg had given as good as she got with snide comments about everything from Amalia’s jewelry to intimate acts she might have done with her husbands. It was a wonder they hadn’t come to blows yet. Amalia might be bigger, but Meg had a mean right hook. Thad would not be pleased.
If only Meg and Will could’ve had some “private time,” or whatever they called it when they were teasing him. Or more, if they could settle their future. But that was easier said than done.
