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Meg had straightened, her elbows on her knees, her eyes now alert and solemn. No doubt recalling the day they all met, the day of his first big battle, the day Simon died. At his feet. Shot with a bullet that could’ve hit him. Could’ve hit any of them.
“I—They were meant to be friendly.” Initially. He paced to the window and pulled back the curtain, staring into blackness as if he could view the lamp-less Ohio countryside rolling by.
He pressed his palms against the cool glass. “But things got out of hand.” He bit his lip at the image of Amalia, her nightgown hitched over her thighs, straddling his naked chest in a guestroom of her parents’ house well after midnight. A mistake. He should’ve known better.
“How ‘out of hand’?” Meg’s stern question broke him out of his reverie.
“Let’s just say it’s a very good thing Thad and his father know none of this or I’d be missing some key parts.” He glanced over his shoulder at her for a moment, before facing the darkness again.
“Christ, rabbi.” Meg spit loud enough he turned again. “Though, I’ll admit, a perverse part of me is impressed. Who’d have thought you had it in you? At what, eighteen? Your English must have been more fluent than even I believed to pull off that kind of seduction. As long as you destroyed all the evidence...” She frowned. “You did destroy all of the evidence, right?”
“I might have kept a photograph.” He didn’t turn around, and instead, closed his eyes.
Meg made a whimpering, pitying, frustrated noise.
“Or two.” He laid his forehead against the window, as if the vibrations could stop the memories. Or every single tintype she sent. And a few letters. Fine. All the letters. Because despite the impracticality of it, and worse what she said to him at the end, there had been moments when he almost believed she cared and those moments were precious. Got him through more dark times than he’d want to admit.
Before David could grumble a quasi-joke to deflect any more questions, the door groaned open and Will ducked through. The tall, slender man lumbered over to the nearest seat and sank down, his mantis-like legs kicked out, his eyes already closed.
“Thank goodness. Took you long enough.” Meg slapped their half-asleep partner on the back of the neck. “All right, boys, now that I have everyone’s attention—” A loud snore rumbled from Will’s direction. Meg’s face fell and David flinched.
“Bed, I’m going to bed. I’ll see you all in the morning.” Meg stomped from the room, slamming the door to the servant’s compartment behind her.
Will swiveled his neck around to meet David’s eye. “What was that about?”
He pressed his hands over his mouth to force it to work properly. “Are you really asking that?”
“No. I’m just playing with her a little, before...you know.” Will winked at him.
Shmuck. David sighed. “Please don’t toy too long. Meg’s in a mood. She hasn’t warmed to the youngest Truitt, that’s for sure.”
“It took a while, but Thad grew on me. Especially after he apologized.” Will shrugged and settled back in his chair. He kicked up his feet, muddying the crimson footrest.
David winced at the memory of Thad not realizing Will had a degree from Oberlin, or that he was equally well-versed in literature. It was the moment when he’d fully understood how much the color of a man’s skin mattered in America.
How goyim weren’t just goyim. How, in America, even as a Jew, even with his accent, he had benefits Will never would have. Well, not unless thin
gs could be made right.
“Making sure you didn’t get your leg blown off at Weldon Railroad helped a bit too.” David reached over his head and turned down the first gaslight. Only seventeen more to go.
“That it did.” Will tapped a finger to his lips. “He’s always been an egotistical, oblivious, rich white boy, but he was willing to do better. And shut his mouth. Occasionally. Which is why I’m here.”
“That and Meg.” David snickered a little. “When do you plan on sneaking into her room?”
“As soon as you dismiss me. You’re playing ‘boss’ this time, after all.” Will grinned. “That’s another reason I’m here. I wouldn’t miss watching you try to run an operation for the world.”
“You’re a shmuck.” David crossed his arms.
“Probably.” Will flashed him a dimple. “But I’m a shmuck who’s getting married. Somehow.”
“As soon as you ask her, confess that you resigned, that this mission is your last hurrah, and convince her to go to Boston with you.” The location of the law school he wanted to attend. The perfect city as it had plenty of hospitals Meg could work at if she didn’t want to transfer offices. And would accept them as a couple. But Will, despite all evidence that Meg would say “yes” in a heartbeat, still hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask.
“I will. Soon.” Will grimaced. “But we weren’t talking about me, were we? We were talking about you and the Truitts. Little Amalia in particular.” Will craned his neck towards David. “There’s, or there was, something between you two.”
Not another smug, knowing partner—worse, one who had eyes sharp enough to spot a gray hat miles away, beneath underbrush. David blew out the candle on the table—or desk, because that’s what he was making it and he was in charge. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He laid himself down on a couch and pulled his coat over his body. “Come on, we should get some shut-eye.”
A sharp scream split through the air. For a moment, every muscle in David’s body locked as the air thickened around him and the memories of other screams invaded his sense. No. This was the present and he need to perform, act, help. He forced his limbs to move and rose. “Go cover the door.” He glanced over his shoulder at Meg, who’d returned to the main portion of the car, her knife out and ready. “Behind me, in case I need you. Will, see that no one gets in or out of this car without my say-so and until we figure out what’s going on.”
