by Bess McBride
Gem glanced at the money and ticket before thrusting them into her pillowcase. She looked so transient with her makeshift satchel. John wanted to stop the whirlwind that was Gem and slow down for a moment, but she hurried on.
They reached the train station early. Even as they approached the depot, a cold chill gripped John, and he wiped perspiration from his brow. But he could not distinguish whether he reacted to the proximity of the depot or Gem’s imminent departure.
She turned at the door.
“Please go now, John! Please go!”
John blinked with the sense that time was racing away from him. He could not think clearly.
“No! I will not leave you!”
A couple approached, and John fell silent as they nodded pleasantly and entered the station.
“Goodbye! Thank you for everything, John. I’m just going to love you forever! Don’t follow me inside! Please do the right thing and don’t follow me inside!”
The train’s whistle blew, distracting John momentarily at its early arrival. Gem slipped into the door, leaving John standing on the platform.
Please do the right thing and don’t follow me inside, she had said. He stared at the closed door.
I’m just going to love you forever!
The words resounded in his ears. Amelia Morrison had loved him, of that he was certain. He supposed Sally had loved him in her way. In hindsight, he did not think Cassandra had truly loved him.
But Gem’s sweet pledge of eternal love tore at his heartstrings more than anything he had ever heard.
He was going to love her forever. He knew that now. There was no sense in denying it, in lying to himself, and to Gem. He loved her. He wanted to marry her, to spend the rest of his life with her. He wanted to start a family with her. And someday, someone would come to look for their descendants.
The train’s whistle blew, galvanizing John into action. He pulled open the door of the station to find passengers milling about, most of them moving toward the platform to board the train. He couldn’t see Gem anywhere.
The locomotive hissed ominously on the platform—dark, dangerous, deadly. Cold sweat now saturated his brow, and he pulled his handkerchief out to dab at it.
John walked toward the platform on leaden legs. He had to stop Gem from leaving, to beg her to stay! But his legs locked with each step. He merged with boarding passengers through the rear doorway of the station.
Gem was not on the platform. He swallowed hard as he realized she must already have boarded the train. He scanned the monstrosity for the sleeping car. Spotting it at the rear of the train, he forced himself to approach the beast. A conductor stood at the bottom of the steps, taking tickets.
A burst of steam blew out from near the tracks, and John froze. The hiss brought back memories of screaming, of pain, of tragedy. He shook his head and forced himself on toward the conductor.
“Miss Holliday,” he muttered, the close proximity of the train car robbing him of air. “I must speak to Miss Holliday. She is in a sleeping compartment.”
The conductor, a tall, officious-looking gentleman, shook his head.
“I’m sorry, sir. I do not know who that is. We have many passengers.”
“She is in a sleeping compartment. Beautiful, auburn hair. Gemima Holliday,” John ground out between clenched teeth. “I must speak with her.”
The conductor, whom John had come to dislike intensely, shook his head again.
“I’m sorry, sir. We leave in ten minutes. I have no time to look for passengers.”
“Let me onto the train, Conductor. I will look for you if you will not.”
“No, sir! You must have a ticket to board the train.”
John, seeing no further point in arguing with the implacable man, stepped back and scanned the train windows. He saw no sign of Gem.
He turned back to the conductor, who had one foot on the stairs as he prepared to board the train.
“I have to have a ticket,” John repeated dully.
The conductor paused and turned.
“Yes, sir, if you want to board this train.”
“I do not want to board the train. Do you not understand that?”
John heard the unsteadiness in his voice, but he could not bring it under control.
“Then there is no problem, sir. If you will excuse me, I have to step aboard.” The conductor climbed the stairs, entered the front door of the car and vanished from view.
John thought about ignoring the conductor’s instructions and hopping onto the train, but so dizzy was he, he could barely stand upright, let alone jump a train.
He turned and stared at the station.
You must have a ticket to board the train.
John tried to run back into the station but could only manage a faltering trot on his shaking legs. He wiped at his brow again.
Presenting himself to the ticket agent, he pleaded. “I need a ticket right away, a sleeping compartment.”
“I’m sorry, sir. The sleeping car is full.”
John shook his head.
“No, that is not what I need to hear. Give me any ticket at all!”
“I only have tickets in coach. How far are you going, sir?”
John didn’t know. As far as it took to find Gem and pull her back from traveling through time.
“Seattle!” he barked. “Now!” He looked toward the train, emitting another burst of steam.
“That’s a long way to travel without a comfortable sleeping compartment, sir. I just want to warn you. You’ll have to sleep on a bench in tourist class.”
“Very well! Give me a ticket!”
The agent took John’s money and pushed a ticket toward him. John grabbed the ticket, swung away and headed back out to the platform. His arm throbbed, his heart ached, and he was terrified that he was going to lose Gem forever. He moved stiffly toward the sleeping car, but the conductor who had denied him entrance reappeared on the steps of another car and called out to him.
“What is that in your hand, sir? Is that a ticket?”
“Yes, it is the ticket!” John waved it in the air, turning toward the conductor. As he reached the stairs to show his ticket to the conductor, the train whistle shrieked, and John faltered, his head spinning.
“Sir?” the conductor called out through a fog.
John grasped the stair railing for support.
“Better come aboard, sir! We are about to leave.”
The conductor descended the steps and took John’s arm for support, almost pulling him up onto the railcar platform. He opened the door of the car and helped John to a bench seat just inside the doorway.
“May I examine your ticket?”
John handed him the ticket, then wiped at his brow again. With little time to lose before the train left, he pushed himself to a standing position, leaning against the bench for support.
“Uh-oh, sir. This ticket is for tourist class. I thought your party was on the sleeping car.”
“Yes, no sleeping compartments were available,” John said. “But I can now hurry and make my way down to seek out Miss Holliday before the train leaves!”
“No, sir. I am afraid that you cannot enter the sleeping car. Did you purchase a ticket only to say goodbye to someone?”
“Yes! Yes, that is all! I cannot ride the train!” John heard his voice raw with emotion.
“Calm down, sir. Calm down. If you do not wish to ride the train, then perhaps you shouldn’t. I suggest you get off now. We leave in one minute.”
“Get off?” John repeated hastily, scanning the car. Passengers settled into the tourist benches, some watching him curiously.
“Yes, sir. I apologize if you purchased a ticket in tourist on the assumption that you could get to the sleeping car. The agent should have explained that is not permissible.”
“I may not have explained my intention to him well enough.”
“I see.” The conductor checked his pocket watch. “I must ready the train for departure, sir. Are you comi
ng or going?”
John imagined the lurch of the train as it would begin to move, the piercing shriek of the train’s whistle, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the rails. He did not know how he could manage.
But Gem was on the train, the woman he loved. He would find her, no matter what.
He lifted his chin.
“I will remain aboard the train.”
“Very good, sir. Make yourself comfortable.” The conductor strode away down the aisle, disappearing through the vestibule that connected to the next car. John followed his progress.
A sharp blast of the train’s whistle screamed in John’s ears, and he dropped back onto the bench seat just as the train began to move. Gripping the armrest, he held on while the train began the rhythmic jostling that he once found pleasantly calming. Now, the motion wreaked havoc with his equilibrium, and he felt dizzy. He closed his eyes to concentrate and block out the passing scenery as the train sailed along the tracks.
Chapter Nineteen
Tears blinded Gem as she watched Livingston fade away into the distance. She imagined John crossing the street to his office and climbing the stairs.
At the moment, she couldn’t think about traveling back to the future. She wanted only to stay in the present, to stay with John. But he didn’t want her to stay. If he had, he wouldn’t have bought the ticket. He would have balked at taking her to the train station. He would have pleaded with her to stay. He had done none of those things.
No, John was a committed bachelor. He didn’t need love...or at least he thought he didn’t. Gem knew he did, but apparently it wasn’t her love that he needed. She had already promised herself that if and when she returned home, the first thing she would do is check genealogical records again to see if John had in fact married after all.
Her heart ached. Her throat and chest hurt from holding back the sobs that threatened to erupt. She might never see John again, but she hoped above all that he would find love, that he would have a family.
She drew in a ragged breath and wiped at her eyes. If she didn’t focus on what she was doing, she would most definitely end up in Seattle in the wrong century.
Gem had given some thought to the mechanics of trying to get back, though not as much as she should have. John, his presence, his absence, the thought of never seeing him again, had consumed her thoughts to the exclusion of the practicalities of time travel.
She tried to put him from her mind, unsuccessfully, as she turned her attention forward. She imagined a scenario where she sat in a historic Seattle hotel “penning” a letter to John to tell him that she hadn’t managed to travel back to her own time.
He would respond to that letter...because he didn’t hate her. He just didn’t love her. He would repeat his offer to help her settle in to life. She would get an apartment, a job. Maybe she and John might correspond as cousins could. They could be pen pals! Maybe one day she could visit Livingston again.
No, if the train carried her no farther than Seattle in 1905, things might not be so terribly bad. The heavy weight lifted from her chest, and the pain in her throat eased. She had loved John long distance for years. She could manage again.
Gem forced her thoughts toward the prospect of traveling through time. She remembered that she had fallen asleep and awakened in 1905, so she supposed that she would have to sleep once again to go forward to her time.
She opened her pillowcase and fingered the money John had given her. The bills were oddly colored, the presidents not the same as on modern bills.
If she did manage to make the jump through time, she wouldn’t be able to prove she had bought a ticket that would pass muster on a modern train. Given that any conductor would most likely toss her from the train at the next stop, she wasn’t sure the money John had given her would work to purchase train fare home, or a rental car, or a plane.
Gem opted to wait for her attempt to repeat the time travel until later in the evening when the train crossed into Washington. She might coax her neighbor to come pick her up if she couldn’t convince the conductor to let her stay on until they reached Seattle, with a promise of reimbursement once she found her backpack...if that ever happened.
Having worked out the most basic details, Gem’s shoulders slumped as she fell into despair again. John’s blue eyes gazed at her, unreachable, unattainable. She didn’t know if she could ever look at his photograph again. She had lost him in the present...and in the past.
Restlessly, she pushed herself off the bench seat and left her compartment to explore the train as a distraction. With the luxury of time and an authentic first-class ticket, she studied the railcar in detail, committing it to memory. Beautiful polished woods shone throughout. Gleaming brass sconces and metalwork sparkled. The upholstery and carpeting were plush and grand.
The interior of the train exuded the warmth and style of a bygone era, yet not so bygone, as it happened.
“Good day, ma’am,” a tall man said, the conductor by the looks of his uniform and hat. He worked his way down the aisle.
“Hello,” she replied.
“Do you have everything you need?” he asked, pausing.
“Oh, yes, thank you. When is dinner, do you know?”
“Dinner begins at five o’clock, ma’am. Your steward will let you know.”
“Thank you.”
“Good day.” He moved on, greeting other passengers through the open doors of their compartments.
Gem, thirsty and in need of something to drink, made her way to the end of the car but found no coffee or juice stand. The door at the end of the vestibule opened, bringing with it a gust of wind and the strong smell of coal. A short dark-haired man in a white coat and black trousers appeared carrying a tray with a coffee service.
“Oh, excuse me,” Gem said. “Do you know where I could get some juice or water?”
“I can bring you some, ma’am. What compartment are you in?”
Gem couldn’t face the idea of sipping on a lonely juice in her sad little compartment.
“I’d rather explore the train for a bit. Is there a snack car or dining car?”
“We do have a lounge car. The steward there can get you something to drink.”
“Good! That’s what I’ll do. Through there?” She pointed toward the way he had come.
“Yes, ma’am. Two cars down. Be careful crossing through the connector.”
“Okay, thanks.”
She passed him and reached for the door of the car. Pulling it open, she withstood the blast of wind before grabbing up her skirts and jumping across the jostling connector into the next car.
The dining car, elegant in its appointments, was empty, and she continued through, repeating the process of jumping onto the next car.
She emerged into a lovely car that really did its name justice, lounge car. Ladies and gentlemen lounged on maroon velvet cushioned wicker benches and chairs, reading books and newspapers, sipping coffee and tea or just chatting. The beautiful plush green carpet and large viewing windows gave the car the feel of an atrium.
But as charming as the lounge car was, Gem almost whirled around and headed the other way. She didn’t want to sit in her compartment and drown in her grief, but neither did she want to be the center of attention, as she was at that moment. Heads turned to look at her with curiosity.
She smiled faintly and nodded. Some people returned her smile, most nodded, and thankfully, all seemed to return to their business.
A steward approached and showed her to a chair.
“Do you have any juice?” she asked.
“What kind would you like, ma’am?” Short and husky, he smiled politely.
“Orange juice?”
“Yes, ma’am. Right away.”
He disappeared, and Gem drew in a deep breath and tried to relax. She had spent very little time in 1905 alone, without John’s steady presence at her side, and she felt out of place and very obvious.
She reassured herself that to the visible eye, she passed muster as
a turn-of-the-century woman as long as no one tried to pull her into a conversation.
Gem settled in to study her fellow passengers. A wave of nostalgic affection swept through her as she looked around, knowing that she might never see people dressed like them again, knowing it was likely they were all someone’s ancestors. Whimsically, she wished she could take their names, even photographs, and visit all their descendants to let them know their great-grands were alive and well in time.
The waiter returned with her glass of orange juice, and Gem thanked him. She sipped her juice and gazed out the windows at the passing landscape.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Gemima Holliday!” a female voice said, slipping into an empty seat beside Gem.
Gem almost spit out her drink as she turned to see the bright-red hat on Sarah Stewart’s head.
“Where are you off to, Gem? Returning to Seattle?”
Gem gritted her teeth at the obvious pleasure in Sarah’s voice, not at encountering Gem, but at the thought that she might be leaving.
“Yes, that’s right, Sarah. Where are you going?”
“Oh! Just to Spokane. I have some shopping to do. John is not with you, is he? You’re traveling alone?”
Sarah might as well have stabbed Gem with a knife. She nodded faintly.
“Yes, alone.”
“I see.”
The waiter approached, and Sarah ordered some coffee, apparently prepared to stay. Gem would have moved, but there were no other seats available. Her only other alternative was to return to her compartment. Perhaps loneliness and grief were a better alternative to Sarah Stewart, possible future wife of John Morrison if Sarah had her druthers.
“Now, how are you related to John again, Gem? I wasn’t quite sure.”
Gem pressed her juice glass to her mouth. She didn’t want to share any personal information with the woman. Sarah waited.
“Cousins,” Gem said.
“Oh, yes, cousins. Are your parents related or...” Sarah quirked an inquiring eyebrow.