Walking Into The Unknown

by Ginny Dye

  “There have been too many trials to keep track of,” John said lightly. He grew more serious. “I’m glad to see you made it through the war. I imagine you were on some of the battlefields.”

  Matthew pushed back the memories he was certain would never quit haunting him. “Just one was too many.”

  “I’ve read your work since the war,” John continued. “I was appalled—as was the rest of the nation—with the riots in Memphis and New Orleans. Your coverage created quite a stir and managed to change the political influence in this country.”

  Matthew gazed at him, not sure if he heard approval or censure. “I simply told the truth.”

  “A truth that was greatly needed,” John said. “It opened our country’s eyes to doing the right thing. Well done, man.”

  Matthew smiled. “Thank you. How is Agnes?” He remembered a vivacious young woman who had joined them for a few meals.

  John frowned. “Agnes died several years back.”

  “I’m sorry, John. I hadn’t heard.”

  “No reason you should have. I’m hardly that important.” John’s expression warmed. “She gave me two fine sons, though. Walter and Willie. They are at home waiting for me to return.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  John smiled. “I actually found a second woman who will take a chance on me. I’m getting married.”

  “That’s wonderful news!” Matthew exclaimed. “Who is your bride-to-be?”

  John hesitated a moment. “Clara Green.”

  “She is indeed fortunate,” Matthew replied, wondering about the hesitancy.

  John nodded but watched Matthew closely. “You don’t know who she is?”

  “Should I?”

  “Most journalists in this country seem to have made it a point to know everything about her,” John revealed.

  Matthew shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m not one of them. Of course, I suspect that is a good thing in your estimation.” He saw no reason to go into the fact that most of his time was spent working on his book.

  John nodded. “That would be true. I can’t believe I’m about to tell you the story, but you’re a friend, not just a journalist.” He hesitated again. “Are you on assignment?”

  “Not when I’m talking to you,” Matthew promised, glad when John looked relieved. He obviously needed to talk to someone who didn’t have an agenda.

  “Have you ever heard of the Malden murder?”

  Matthew frowned. “I seem to remember hearing something, but I know none of the details. It was during the second year of the war? I believe I was a guest of Libby Prison in Richmond during that time.”

  “What?” John exclaimed.

  Matthew held up his hand. “That is a story for another time. Tell me about the Malden murder.”

  “It was in 1863 that a postmaster in Malden, Massachusetts decided to rob a bank. His name was Edward Green. He has the honor of having committed the first armed bank robbery in American history. He had a bad drinking habit and was heavily in debt. Anyway, he went into the bank one day to get change and discovered there was only one clerk on duty. Frank Converse was the bank president’s seventeen-year-old son.” John sighed heavily. “Green saw his chance. He went home, got his gun, and went back to the bank. Converse was still alone. Green shot him in the head at point blank range, and then went into the bank vault and helped himself to five thousand dollars in cash.”

  Matthew was horrified. “What happened to Green?”

  “The case went unsolved for a while, but people began to wonder how he was paying off his debts. They arrested him about a year later. He confessed everything when they questioned him. They hanged him in April of ‘66”

  “Yes, I do I remember hearing about that,” Matthew acknowledged. “I just didn’t remember the name. What’s all this got to do with you?”

  John looked him steadily in the eye. “I’m marrying his widow.”

  Matthew whistled.

  “Clara was only twenty-three when Green murdered the boy. She was nine months pregnant and had no idea what her husband had done. When he was arrested, she still couldn’t believe he would do such a thing, but she gradually realized the truth. Their daughter was three when her father was hanged. She just turned four.”

  John took another deep, steadying breath. “Clara is also Agnes’ sister. We fell in love after Agnes died. The coverage has been merciless. The newspapers have named her the ‘Wife of the Malden Murderer’.”

  “Ouch,” Matthew murmured. “And now you are about to become even more of a public person by extension.”

  John nodded. “I’m hoping that getting her away from Malden will help. In time, the fact that she no longer has Green’s last name may make it fade away. But regardless,” he said firmly, “I love her and want to marry her.”

  “Then I’ll repeat what I said before. She is a lucky woman.”

  *****

  Harold Justin paced the platform, scowling at the clock. He walked over to the ticket office again. “Any word, Davison?”

  The manager of the ticket office nodded his head. “I got a wire a few minutes ago. They should be passing through Angola soon. Should be here in about an hour.”

  Harold glared at his friend. “They are late.”

  “This train and most every other train,” Davison said imperturbably. “Look, my friend, it’s coming. That is the most I can tell you right now. Train travel is notorious for not being on time. Combine that fact with winter weather, and you may as well count on it.”

  “Did you make it late because I beat you in poker last night?” Harold asked suspiciously, his blue eyes glaring out from under red hair.

  “Not even I have that kind of power,” Davison responded with a laugh. “Besides, it’s about time you won. I was getting tired of taking your money.” He cocked his head. “It’s your brother on that train, isn’t it?”

  Harold nodded. “Matthew and his wife are coming. I haven’t seen him in ten years.”

  “Then two and a half hours shouldn’t bother you,” Davison observed. “Go over to the diner and get something hot to drink. You’ll hear the whistle blow when the train is approaching.”

  Harold nodded but hesitated. “Did you feel it this morning?”

  “The earthquake? Everybody who isn’t dead felt it. It wasn’t as big as some I’ve read about, but it woke me.”

  Harold had felt the earthquake, but it had not alarmed him. Too much had happened during the war for a mild shaking of the ground to bother him. He started to turn away again but something held him. “Feel anything else?”

  Davison eyed him. “What’s wrong with you today? Did I feel what?”

  Harold shook his head. “I just have a weird feeling. Like something isn’t right. I don’t know what it is.”

  Davison smiled. “You and most of Buffalo. The earthquake shook people up. That and the uncommon cold snap, and people are a little edgy. Don’t worry about it. Your brother and his wife will be here soon.”

  *****

  Janie woke from a deep sleep when Matthew settled into the seat next to her. “Hello,” she murmured, rolling her shoulders to relieve the stiffness, and raising her arms to stretch. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  Matthew smiled. “You’ve been asleep for a while now. We should be arriving in Buffalo in an hour. We’re about to pass through the town of Angola.”

  Janie yawned. “I didn’t think it was possible to sleep being so uncomfortable.” She glanced toward her new friends. Both Emma and Christiana were sleeping soundly. Minnie was snuggled into her mother, and Christiana’s children leaned against her shoulders. “Emma will be glad to disembark in Buffalo, and Christiana and the children will be glad to get off the train for a while. They disembarked in Erie to let the children run around outside the station, but this trip must seem endless to them.”

  “I’m sure,” Matthew commented. “I learned our two-and-a-half-hour delay in Erie was caused by a mechanical breakdown with another train. Thankfull
y, we should be there soon. I hope they were able to wire ahead so Harold knows why we are late.” A sudden stir at the front of the car caught his attention. His eyes widened as he saw who was making his way to the middle of the train. He laughed and rose to his feet. “Thaddeus Culligan!”

  “Matthew Justin!” A large man with uncommonly wide shoulders reached over to shake hands. “If you’re not a sight for sore eyes.” He grinned. “And I would thank you to call me Doctor Culligan.”

  “They gave someone like you a medical degree?” Matthew asked with an answering grin. “Medical education must be going downhill in this country.” He turned to his wife. “Janie, please meet Doctor Thaddeus Culligan. He went to college with Robert and me. We shared a suite for one term before he decided he was too good for us and left.” He turned to his friend. “Meet my wife, Janie Justin.”

  “Well, the medical establishment might be going downhill, but we should all be questioning the intelligence of beautiful women if this one agreed to be your wife.”

  Janie laughed with delight, immediately liking the gregarious man with sparkling blue eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Culligan.” She pushed aside the concern that the doctor standing in front of her might share the same disdain for homeopathy that the majority of medical practitioners had. He was Matthew’s friend and that’s all that was important.

  “You must call me Thaddeus,” he said. “Dr. Culligan is only meant for my inferiors.” He laughed again heartily. “Now, the two of you must come up to the next car with me. My wife, Susannah, will want to meet you. The two people who were seated next to us left the train back in State Line.”

  Matthew exchanged a look with Janie before nodding. “We would be delighted. How did you know I was here?”

  “John Chapman warned me. He came wandering through the car and told me had talked to you, and also met Janie at the stop in Erie.”

  Matthew pulled Janie to her feet. “Do you want to bring the gifts with us?”

  Janie shook her head. “No. I’ll want to come back and say good-bye to my new friends. I can get them then.”

  Thaddeus took her hand warmly and leaned in close. “You really married this mountain man?” he whispered theatrically.

  “You may find this mountain man knows more about life than you do, Dr. Culligan,” Janie said sweetly. “I would tread carefully.”

  Thaddeus’ laugh boomed through the car, causing heads to turn from every direction. “You did well, mountain man. You did well.”

  Matthew grinned. “You don’t know the half of it, my friend.”

  “Ten minutes until Angola! Ten minutes until Angola.”

  Matthew barely registered the call that rang through the car. As they made their way down the aisle, he nodded at John, smiled at Josiah, and then locked eyes with three other young men he had interviewed. Young professionals, they were all on their way to New York City to celebrate Christmas. He had enjoyed his talk with them, and believed his editor would be pleased with the stories he had gathered.

  Moments later, he and Janie were settled in their new seats next to Thaddeus and his wife Susannah.

  Thaddeus turned to Janie. “So this big mountain man is a famous newspaper reporter. Do you roam the country with him?”

  Janie smiled. “Not usually. I am a student at the Homeopathic College in Philadelphia. I graduate next year.” She waited for his reaction.

  Thaddeus raised a brow, while Susannah smiled brightly and leaned forward to respond. “How wonderful! How did you get involved in medicine?”

  “I served in Chimborazo Hospital during the war,” Janie replied, watching Thaddeus. He was surprised, but she saw none of the disdainful judgement she had seen on many doctors’ faces. “I worked under my best friend, Carrie Borden, who served as a doctor there. She will finish her degree this year, as well.”

  Thaddeus continued to stare. “That was quite an undertaking,” he murmured.

  Matthew smiled. “Are you still the same old-fashioned man you were when we graduated, Thaddeus? If so, prepare to have your world shaken. My wife is just one of a group of powerful women who aren’t content to let us men go along with outdated thoughts.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Thaddeus murmured with something that was not quite amusement. “You said Carrie Borden. Any relation to Robert? What is the old man doing now anyway?”

  Matthew saved Janie the pain of an explanation. “Robert is dead, Thaddeus. Carrie was his wife.”

  Sadness filled Thaddeus’ eyes. “The war?”

  Matthew shook his head. “He was murdered on Cromwell Plantation this spring by Ku Klux Klan vigilantes,” he said. “He managed to live through the war, but was killed by a fellow veteran.”

  Susannah gasped and covered her mouth. “How horrible!”

  Matthew could tell the moment Janie’s pain overtook her politeness. There were moments she was almost philosophical about Robert’s death, but the pain could still overwhelm her quickly. Her sensitivity made her feel Carrie’s pain as strongly as she felt her own. Combined with the long hours on a crowded, dirty train, she had reached her limit.

  Janie stood abruptly. “I hope you will excuse me for a few minutes,” she said, a polite smile plastered on her face. “I realized I forgot to give little Mary’s doll back to her.” She turned and threaded her way back to the car behind them.

  A deep silence followed her.

  Matthew smiled slightly, wishing he could follow her to make sure she was all right. “Mary is the daughter of a woman Janie made friends with on this journey. I imagine Janie stored her doll in with my brother’s gifts while the little girl was sleeping.” Matthew really had no idea where Janie was headed, and he could tell his companions saw through the excuse. “Robert’s widow, Carrie, is Janie’s best friend,” he admitted. “Janie was also very close to Robert.”

  “The poor dear,” Susannah murmured. “I can tell by the kindness in Janie’s eyes that Robert’s death must have been so difficult. Do you want to go to her? We can connect when we get to Buffalo.”

  Matthew wanted nothing more than that, but he felt compelled to stay in his seat. “I’ll go back in a few minutes if she doesn’t return.”

  Thaddeus was regarding him somberly. “Robert was your best friend. How are you handling his death, Matthew?”

  Matthew drew a deep breath. “I learned during the war to handle death, but Robert’s murder was so senseless that it has made it even more difficult to comprehend. I miss him every day.” Memories of times with his friend swarmed through his mind. He forced himself back to the present. “I’m angry, but I promised Robert I would take care of Carrie, so most of the time I’m able to swallow those feelings.” He shook his head. “To know the political climate in our country is going to do nothing but increase these types of violent killings…” His voice trailed off.

  “Then all the stories about the vigilantes in the South are true?” Thaddeus asked. “I was hopeful that it was more media sensationalism at work.”

  Matthew opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a sudden lurch that jolted them all forward in their seats.

  “What was that?” someone called. All talking ceased as anxious looks were exchanged.

  Matthew tensed, knowing that what he had just felt was far from common. The jolt had been powerful, and felt very much like the release of a car coupling, which could only mean one of the rear cars had derailed and detached from the train. He locked eyes with Thaddeus, his friend’s grim expression saying he suspected the same thing.

  He stood to reach for the rope dangling close to his head, but someone had beat him to it. A clanging bell cut through the afternoon air as he looked out the window and realized they were crossing a high bridge. As he strained to see further back, his blood froze.

  “Janie!” Matthew leapt up just as another strong jolt threw him off his feet headlong into the aisle. His head cracked against the side of a wooden seat, and he struggled to regain his footing before darkness swallowed him. />
  Chapter Eleven

  Janie had just handed Mary her doll when a strong jolt knocked her back into her seat.

  “What was that?” Emma cried as she clutched Minnie close to her chest.

  Janie shook her head and stood again. “I don’t know.” All she was certain of was that she wanted to be with Matthew. Her earlier feeling of uneasiness had instantly turned into full-blown panic. “I need to go to my husband.”

  Another jolt knocked her off her feet. A bell began clanging as she struggled to push herself free of her seat again. A scrambling sound from the rear of the train made her look back in time to see several people rush through the door from the rear car.

  “The train is derailing!” one man hollered, his eyes wide with fright.

  And then the screams began.

  Janie gasped as she leaned over to look out the window. “No!” Her scream rose to join the rest of the horrified passengers as she watched the rear car sway precipitously and then begin a slow roll from the high bridge they were flying across.

  “God help us!”

  “Oh, dear God!”

  “Mama!”

  “Hold on!”

  Screams and cries for help from the rear car faded and then disappeared, but rose in volume all around Janie. She looked toward the door that led to Matthew, but the swaying of the car made it impossible to see through the crush of people being tossed around.

  This is how it would end? Separated from Matthew and everyone she loved? She would die alone?

  The seconds that passed felt like minutes as the scene unfolded around her. Mothers clasped their children. Husbands grabbed their wives to hold them close.

  “Stop the momentum of the swaying!” Somehow the scream cut through the confusion. A young man shouted from the aisle. “Every time the train sways we have to throw our weight the other direction to keep it on the tracks,” he hollered. As the train swayed to the right, he lunged at the left side of the car and pushed against the siding. Several men jumped up to help him, their determined shouts mixing with the screams and the clanging bell.