Time of Fog and Fire

by Rhys Bowen

  “So am I, my dear. So am I. But I do know my limitations. I hope you understand them.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Let’s hope I can report back to you with good news in a week or so.”

  She rang the bell and had her maid bring down albums with various photographs of Mr. Endicott in them. I could see from the expression in his photographs that he was indeed a masterful man; one rather pleased with himself. In any pictures of them together she appeared a mere shadow beside him, looking out fearfully at the world. I selected a couple of pictures to take with me and promised I would send a telegram as soon as I had any news.

  I took my leave then, turning down her invitation to stay for luncheon. I had much to do and wanted to be under way as soon as possible. I had once been as far as Albany by train and I knew that the route continued on to Chicago. I wasn’t quite sure how one proceeded from there. My mother-in-law had taken the train to Minneapolis and had complained how wild and primitive it was. Even Sid and Gus had not made the trip across the whole continent. And yet I, Molly Murphy from a peasant’s cottage in Ireland, was expected to undertake the trip with my young son. I felt sympathy with Mrs. Endicott when she said that travel was too much for her. At this moment it seemed an enormous undertaking for me. It was true I had crossed the Atlantic, but Liam had been a small baby then, easier to handle than a rambunctious toddler. And several days on several trains would undoubtedly be more of a challenge than a pleasant cabin on a boat.

  As I pushed the buggy back home worrying thoughts were flying around inside my head. Why did Daniel want me to come? He was not an impulsive man. Presumably he needed me for a very good reason. And that reason could only be that he was in danger. But if a trained police captain was in danger, what could I, a mere woman hampered by a small child, do to help him? And how exactly did he expect me to help him? It was extremely puzzling. If he needed help, surely there were other policemen he could call upon in a big city like San Francisco. Or he could telegraph Mr. Wilkie and have another agent sent to him. The more these worried thoughts flew around inside my head, the more I questioned whether I had misinterpreted the letter and would be making a stupid mistake by going out West. There had been upheavals in my life. I had been in danger myself and undertaken great journeys, but I don’t think I had ever felt as sick or as scared as at that moment.

  Eight

  There was no sense in putting it off. I started to pack the valise. I had no idea what the weather was like in San Francisco. If Daniel was in a sea of fog, it could well be cold. So I made sure I included a shawl for myself and a warm jacket and hat for Liam. Daniel’s letter said he was staying in a mansion. I stood with my wardrobe door open, staring at the dresses hanging there. Two of them were evening gowns. Would I need such a dress if I were to fit in with fashionable San Francisco society? But that would necessitate bringing a bigger suitcase with me. Maybe even my cabin trunk. And if I was only there a few days, that that would seem to be superfluous. Then I reasoned that Daniel had written that letter from a mansion. If he were staying there, then I too would be invited to stay. And I didn’t want to let my husband down by appearing dowdy and poorly dressed. And small children needed frequent changes of clothes.

  So I sighed, went up to the attic, and dragged down the cabin trunk I had taken when we went to Paris. Then I packed the evening gown and the rose silk day dress in tissue paper, as well as my evening cape. For travel I would wear something more sturdy—the dark-blue two-piece costume I had had made in Paris last year, and my overcoat in case the weather was cold along the way. The trunk was then filled with Liam’s clothes and diapers. I was glad that potty training was well under way as it would mean less accidents and less laundry. But who knew whether he would go back to more babyish ways when he was far from home on a long journey?

  After I closed the trunk and dragged it down the stairs I packed a carpetbag for the train. I expected the trunk would travel in the luggage van and I wouldn’t be able to get at it until we arrived in San Francisco. To our nightclothes and toiletries I added his favorite toys—some blocks, a little wooden train, as well as the stuffed bear he slept with. Then I stood looking at the pile of luggage and couldn’t bring myself to move. Should I try to catch this evening’s train, or wait one more day, just in case?

  Just in case what? I demanded of myself. Don’t put it off. If you’re going, go.

  I waited expectantly for the mailman, just in case another letter arrived saying: Forget everything I told you yesterday. All is now well. Or something along those lines. But the mailman passed by without putting anything into my letter box. When Bridie came home from school I told her the plan. She looked at me with big eyes, obviously scared by this sudden turn of events.

  “How long will you be gone?” she asked.

  “I really don’t know, my darling girl. Not long, I hope. But Miss Walcott and Miss Goldfarb will take good care of you. You know that.”

  She nodded. “I know they will. But I was thinking about you. How will you manage with Liam on your own? You know he likes me to sing him to sleep. And I make him laugh when he’s in a bad mood. I could come with you if you like.”

  “I know you’re a marvel with him,” I said. “But your schooling is more important right now. I don’t want you to miss your lessons. So you stay here and study hard and the ladies have said you can read the books in their library … and you know how many books they have?”

  She managed a brave little smile then and I realized that it was being separated from me that worried her. She’d had enough upheavals in her young life. She’d been taken from Ireland as a small child. She’d lost a mother, then a father. No wonder she didn’t want to let go of me.

  “I’ll write to you every day. I’ll send you picture postcards of the places I visit and I’ll be back before you know it,” I said, sounding a lot more cheerful than I felt.

  Then I walked her across the street to my neighbors. They greeted her warmly. Gus took her up to show her the room they had prepared for her. She had even chosen a few books she thought Bridie would like and put them on the bedside table.

  “And while you’re with us we’ll teach you to cook all kinds of interesting food, so that you can cook for Molly and Captain Sullivan when they come home,” she added.

  We went down to the front parlor to say good-bye to Sid. She made a big fuss of Liam and then hugged me. Since Sid wasn’t normally the effusive one this made me all the more uneasy, realizing that she believed I was going into unknown perils.

  “Take care of yourself, please,” she said, holding both my hands and looking up at me. “Don’t do anything too risky. Send us a telegram if you need to. Tell us to get in touch with Mr. Wilkie and we’ll have help sent to you in a jiffy.”

  “Hardly a jiffy,” I said. “It takes at least four days to cross the country.”

  “The government does have troops stationed out West, you know. I’m sure they could be mobilized into action on your behalf if necessary.”

  I had to laugh at the thought of the army rushing to save me. I held on to her hands tightly. “Let’s hope it won’t come to that. But please do say some prayers for me. I’m not quite sure who you both pray to, but I’m sure any prayers will get to the right place.”

  Gus walked with me to the front door.

  “Godspeed, Molly. Come back to us safe and sound.” Then she handed me an envelope. “Just a little something to make you think of us,” she said.

  It was their emotional farewell, more than anything, that made me realize how far away I was going. Bridie was wiping away tears, and Liam, sensing the heightened emotion, burst into tears himself, holding out his arms to go to Bridie, as the front door closed between us.

  With such drama I set off for Grand Central Terminal. At the booking office I found that travel across the country was not as simple as buying a ticket. There were too many choices. Did I want to travel on the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy Railroad to Denver, then westward on the Denver and Rio Grande
Western Railroad to Salt Lake City and the final stretch on the Western Pacific? Or maybe I’d want to take the Chicago and Northwestern to Omaha and then the Southern Pacific via Ogden, Utah? And did I want a first-class Pullman? A second-class Pullman? A tourist ticket? A regular ticket?

  When I said the quickest and cheapest way possible the clerk shook his head. “If you don’t mind my saying so, ma’am, you don’t want the cheapest way if you can afford better. If I sell you a third-class ticket you’ll be sitting on a wooden bench. Awful hard and nowhere for the child to sleep. And your car could be attached to a freight train, shunted off into sidings. It could take you up to ten days.”

  “Ten days!” I exclaimed. “So what do you recommend?”

  “I’d take the Overland Limited,” he said. “Pay for a second-class Pullman out of Chicago but it will get you there in just four days. And you’ll just change the once in Chicago. If you want to save some money buy your food at stations and skip the dining car.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll have to do it.”

  “So when do you want to travel, ma’am?” he asked. When I said today’s train he burst out laughing. “Sorry, but the Overland Limited is booked up for weeks in advance. Everyone wants to go by the fastest and most comfortable route. I could probably get you out on the Western Pacific, Denver Rio Grande and Western routes, but it would mean changes and layovers.”

  “Would you take a look and see if you have any seats for today?” I said. “I’ve been summoned to my husband in California as quickly as possible.” Having plucked up all of my courage to undertake this foolhardy journey I didn’t think I could face going back home again for another night and then repeating the good-byes all over again.

  He flicked through the pages of a ledger. “Very well, but I can assure you that—” He stopped. “Well, blow me down. Would you look at that?” he said. I tried to see what he was pointing at but couldn’t read upside down. He looked up at me, as pleased with himself as if he’d produced a rabbit out of a hat. “There’s been a cancellation. You’re in luck. I’ve no sleeping berth between here and Chicago, but it would mean just sitting up the one night. But the cancellation is for a second-class berth between Chicago and San Francisco. That will be sixty-five dollars, please.”

  My heart was in my mouth as I counted out the bills and handed over the sixty-five dollars. What would Daniel say to this extravagant purchase? Was I really doing the right thing?

  Nine

  My anxiety turned to anger as I came away with my ticket and followed the porter with our luggage across the station to the waiting train. The air was heavy with smoke as massive locomotives hissed and puffed. Whistles and shouts competed with the sound of running feet. I hurried to keep up with the porter. Why couldn’t Daniel have told me clearly what he wanted of me? Why did he have to put me through this?

  Liam wriggled and squirmed in my arms and I wished there had been a way to bring his buggy with us. I’d have to try and rent or borrow one when I arrived in San Francisco because I certainly couldn’t carry him around until we found Daniel.

  My bags were safely stowed in the baggage car. My seat was located for me—certainly not a wooden bench but a comfortable plush seat in a long car. The porter put my bag on the rack above my head and I settled down. Liam had been fascinated by the trains and was happy to stand on the seat beside me, looking out of the window. When I opened my purse to find my handkerchief I pulled out Gus’s envelope, which I had quite forgotten. I opened it, expecting to find a funny card or letter and was overwhelmed to see instead five twenty-dollar bills.

  For emergencies, was written on the note with them.

  My eyes misted over at their kindness. Who knew what emergencies I might encounter before I was reunited with my husband?

  The platform became a hive of activity. Porters wheeled mounds of luggage past our window. Smartly dressed couples headed for the first-class section of the train. For the first time I felt a small thrill of excitement. I was, after all, going across a vast country. I’d be seeing things I’d only dreamed of. And at the end of it I’d be with my husband, whether he actually wanted me there or not.

  A whistle blew. A shout of “All aboard!” There were running feet. Then almost imperceptibly slowly we started to move forward. Then a little faster. At the end of the platform we plunged into the darkness of a tunnel. The air in the railcar became smoky and I tasted soot on my lips. Liam had been standing up, looking at the trains with fascination, but flung himself back into my lap with a wail as we went into the tunnel.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “We’ll soon be out again.”

  And we came back out into daylight. We were moving fast now and the streets of Manhattan soon gave way to the jumble of new rows of houses, old shacks, and market gardens that made up the northernmost reaches of the city. Then we crossed water on a bridge and were soon traveling along the edge of the Hudson River. Twilight was falling and the snow-clad hills were tinged with pink. The river glistened as it opened up to that lake, the Tappan Zee. Lights twinkled from small riverside towns, but we didn’t stop. We passed them one by one—Irvington, Tarrytown, Peekskill. I had had adventures in these towns, in my days as a working detective. I remembered the dangers I had encountered and felt a shiver of fear go through me. I was now a married woman with a child. Surely my life was now supposed to be safe and secure, and yet here I was setting off once again into the unknown.

  Night fell completely as the river narrowed and we were in the wild, rocky country of the Catskills. Liam, exhausted by the emotions of the day and the new experiences, fell asleep. I continued to stare out of the window, as more old memories stirred. The mansion where I had stayed with Senator Flynn. And then the barn where Daniel and I had first made love. I remembered that all too clearly. I should never have let it happen. He was engaged to marry another woman at the time and I thought there was no hope for our future. But if I had pushed him away then, would I be sitting here now with a ring on my finger and a fine son lying in my lap? What strange twists and turns there are to our lives? I thought. One small decision can change the course of our histories. I paused, considering this. Would this small decision change the course of mine?

  I had brought some food with me, not knowing if any would be available on the train. When Liam woke up again I fed him some hard-boiled egg and mashed vegetables. In a way I wished he were still nursing, as that would have solved the food problem, but then again it would have been hard with such lack of privacy. We’d both have to make do for a few days. I had a cold beef sandwich for myself, and then we shared some cake I had baked. I changed Liam for the night, glad that there was a lavatory close by, and he fell asleep easily enough, lulled by the rocking of the train. I didn’t find it so easy to sleep. It was hot in the car with some kind of forced-air heat in operation and Liam’s heavy body against me made me feel clammy and rather sick. The cold beef lay heavy on my stomach. I had never thought of myself as a poor traveler before and I sympathized with Mrs. Endicott when she had said that she would have been travel sick within the first hour. This thought made me question what I was doing yet again. Had Daniel been writing the truth and really meant that this journey was too difficult for me? How could sitting in a comfortable chair for several days be too demanding? I longed for a drink of water and wished I had brought some.

  When we stopped in Albany around ten o’clock at night I lugged the sleeping Liam with me and found the station restaurant. There we both had a drink of milk and I bought cheese rolls for the morning. The milk calmed my stomach and we both slept as the train moved through the night. Morning dawned over a rural landscape still tinged with snow—neat farms and red barns making splashes of color against snowy fields. Liam awoke ready to play. I walked him up and down between the seats, pausing when older ladies wanted to make a fuss of him. Then he sat on the floor at my feet and played with his blocks. He was being amazingly good, I thought, and decided I had worried too much. Let us both enjoy this trip.


  We pulled into Chicago’s Union Station at midday. I found a porter without too much trouble and my bags were taken to the ladies’ waiting room as the Overland Limited did not leave until four o’clock in the afternoon. That gave Liam plenty of time to run around and we both ate a good meal at the station restaurant of pot roast and vegetables followed by rice pudding. I bought several postcards and wrote the first one to Bridie, as I had promised to do, mailing it in the box at the station. I also bought food for the journey, hoping I could buy more plus milk for Liam at the various stops along the way.

  Then at three thirty a porter took us and our luggage to board the Overland Limited. I found I was given what looked like a normal seat, until the porter explained to me that at night he would fold out the upper berth and turn the seat below into a bed. The porter was an older Negro man and Liam looked at him fearfully, having seen few colored people in his life. But when the man smiled at him and said, “Well, hello, big fellah, are you taking good care of your mama?” in his deep rumbly voice Liam smiled shyly back.

  I had just taken my place and stood Liam beside me to watch the trains when I was joined by a young man.

  “Here’s your berthmate, ma’am,” the porter said. “Mr. Paxton. This is Mrs. Sullivan, sir. And I’m Roberts. You just call on me if you want or need anything.”

  It hadn’t crossed my mind before that men and women might be required to share sleeping quarters on a train. It obviously hadn’t occurred to him either. He looked quite flustered and said, “Mrs. Sullivan.… I hadn’t realized … I thought…”

  “So did I, Mr. Paxton,” I said. “But I only got this berth because there was a cancellation, so I suppose the original occupant was a male. I hope you will not find it too disagreeable to be faced with a young child for several days. He’s usually quite well behaved.”

  He gave me his best smile then. “Not at all. I’ll welcome the company. It’s the first time I’ve made such a journey myself and I’ve left my own wife and baby behind.”