Before the Dawn

by Denise A. Agnew

  He stood, his expression wry and self-deprecating. Her gaze snagged on the front of his breeches, and she stared as his manhood pressed hard and thick against his trousers. Power surged through her at the thought she had done this to him. She created a desire within him this strong, and that astounded her beyond anything else. Thaddeus had become aroused, but the feelings she shared with Elijah overpowered anything she had felt for the professor. For a man who had given her nothing. No protection. No dignity.

  “I could have continued,” he said. “But I won’t take what you’d regret giving me later. But I’ll be wishing all night I had. Five years of living in an eight by twelve cell, never seeing anyone but my jailer…it does things to a man, Mary Jane. Things dark and strange that he can’t rid himself of no matter how he tries. My need for revenge is deep, and I won’t be swayed from it.”

  “You aren’t a dark soul, Elijah McKinnon, no matter how much you claim it.”

  One corner of his mouth tilted. “You don’t know me at all, Mary Jane. Not at all. And maybe you shouldn’t.”

  That stung. Stony coldness swamped his features. “Let us go downstairs and eat before the dining room closes.”

  Chapter Ten

  Alleghany Portage Railroad

  I am closer to home.

  As they train plugged along through a new thunderstorm, Mary Jane rejoiced. They were on the final stretch westward down the mountains. Conversation stayed muted on the train, as if no one possessed energy or will to speak. The steady clacking noise of wheels against rails continued with monotony.

  The previous night returned to her thoughts again and again. After they had eaten dinner and gone back to their room, the evening had passed as if Elijah never revealed his tragic past and his desire for revenge against Amos. As if everything had drained clean out of him, he went silent and retreated to the chair to sleep. This surprised her. She thought for certain he would want to share the bed again.

  You should be happy you did not share the bed with him again.

  He might not be a murderer yet…but he soon could be.

  No.

  She did not believe he had it in him.

  The idea of waking up with his body so near hers, with his hand caressing her, started a panic and a yearning. She spent a restless evening waking every two hours, her mind spinning nightmares of hiding in a dark alley with a faceless murderer stalking her every move. Only the realization that Elijah slept in the chair nearby kept her from lighting the lamp. She sighed. It was just as well he had not shared the bed. Soon her journey would finish. She could leave Elijah and his troubled life behind. They shared nothing in common other than the strange situation they had found necessary to create. Yes, she would feel relief when they parted ways.

  Somehow that did not feel as satisfying as it should.

  The train had just lowered onto a long plain with a gradual down slope when things changed.

  A huge rumble jerked her from musings. The train shook.

  Impressions flew at her too fast to process. She heard another explosion, and her heart lurched.

  Elijah sat to her left and he tensed, one hand gripping the back of the seat in front of him. “That’s an explosion.”

  “Are you blinkin’ daft?” an English accent said somewhere in front of them. “That’s not—”

  A high-pitched shriek of metal and brakes laboring came from somewhere near the front of the train. The whistle blew. Murmurs started all around her. As the train swayed, she wondered if the earth convulsed as it sometimes did when the land was angry and split and shuddered. More metal screamed, the whistle blew again, and fear rose up like a beast to grab her throat.

  As the train slid to an unceremonious halt, a shout came from somewhere in the carriage. “Everyone, hands up.”

  Haughty woman ejected a blood-curdling scream. Mary Jane jerked around to face the threat. Blond man and skinny man both stood at the door of the train car.

  Skinny man held a weapon in his hand, and it pointed straight at Elijah. “Don’t anyone move or we’ll put a hole in you bigger than Virginia.”

  Blond man sniggered. “Yeah, we’ll put a hole in ya.”

  Time seemed to slow. The O’Gannon brothers were in front of her and too far away to disarm the skinny man. Elijah could not do anything without being shot. The men closest to skinny man and blond had to be in their seventies at least. She doubted they could help.

  Fritz grunted. “What do you men want? Money? Is this a train robbery?”

  “Oh, it’s a train robbery all right,” the skinny cretin said. “But it’s a whole lot more. By the way, my name is Herbert Jackson Claypool. You need to remember my name. I want it in all the papers.”

  Blond man threw a dagger-filled look at his gun-toting friend. “And I’m Stanton Archer. Hoop is what my friends call me. But you ain’t my friends, so you can call me Stanton to show respect. And if you don’t show respect, well—,” he chuckled, “—then you are just gonna be dead.”

  Mary Jane glanced at Elijah. He sat with his right arm on the back of his seat, the other hanging almost casually at his side. His waistcoat was buttoned, but she remembered the weapon hidden there. Her mind whirled. Would he use it? How could he unbutton his waistcoat and get to the gun quickly enough? He would be killed. Her heart, racing in time to the frantic throbbing of her pulse, stopped at the thought of these men hurting Elijah.

  One of the O’Gannons made a movement.

  A loud report split the room and the haughty woman screamed. Mary Jane pressed one gloved hand over her own mouth to stifle a cry. O’Gannon’s hand went to his shoulder as blood spilled from a hole in his waistcoat. His eyes rolled up, and he fell as his brother, wide-eyed and with denial on his lips, lunged to catch him.

  “Son-of-bitch. You goddamned son-of-a bitch,” Elijah said just under a growl, his accent thick with reproof.

  She was unable to look away from the rage in Elijah’s face. In the short time she had known him, she had seen his anger and witnessed his disdain. This…this was something darker, more feral. His mouth turned to a hard line, eyes bleak and determined. Recklessness and valor etched in every line of his handsome features. She feared deep in her heart he would try something that would get him killed.

  “Now see here,” one of the elderly men said. “We will give you our money. Please do not shoot anyone else.”

  Hoop smiled smugly. “Yeah, you’ll give us yer money. Now. One by one, empty yer pockets and give us them purses.”

  Gladly. She’d gladly give him her money to make them leave. One by one the crooks tromped down the aisle as men removed pocket watches, rings, and their money. Elijah kept his attention on the two criminals. She felt his tense awareness as if it belonged to her. He reminded her of a coiled snake ready to strike.

  They reached her, and she started to slide the reticule off her wrist, when Hoop grabbed her arm. She gasped in surprise and pain.

  Elijah jerked, his body starting to come out of the seat, his mouth curled with anger, eyes blistering with contempt. “Get your black-bellied, whore lovin’ hands off her.”

  Claypool cocked his weapon. “Uh-uh-uh.” He moved his gun back and forth in a shame-shame motion. “Don’t move. We’d kill you right now, but there’s someone that has a bone to pick with you, murderer.”

  Mary Jane stiffened, her mind reeling as Hoop’s fingers tightened to the bruising point. “Please, I will give you my money. Just let me go.”

  “I don’t think so.” Hoop’s grip tightened. “We have plans for you.”

  Horror rose up inside her, but she fought it. The haughty woman sobbed.

  Hoop swung on the frightened woman. “Stop yer howlin’, bitch.”

  The woman pressed a handkerchief over her mouth, eyes wide with terror. Conscious of her own almost paralyzing fear, Mary Jane made a pact with herself. She would not lose control. She would take some of that grit and vinegar her mother had insisted was her downfall and use it to good advantage.

  “I
will go with you,” she said to the criminals, her voice as low and calm as she could manage. “Just don’t hurt anyone else.”

  As she said it, she caught Elijah’s gaze for a split second. He shook his head enough for her to see the movement. She chose to ignore his admonishment. She feared he would place his life on the line for her…for anyone on this train.

  “Get up.” Hoop pulled Mary Jane into standing position. “Walk in front of me down the aisle.”

  As Claypool continued collecting money and valuables and stuffing them in a bag, Hoop kept his hand fastened to her arm. They reached the O’Gannon brothers, and the unwounded O’Gannon held his unconscious brother in his arms, pressing a hand to his wound. The uninjured brother hurried to empty his pockets and his brother’s.

  Once finished there, the criminals came back at a methodical pace. They moved past Elijah as if he didn’t exist.

  How odd.

  Hoops prodded her to walk in front of him. They passed the haughty woman and her husband, who looked more frightened than anyone else. All the bravado the woman had displayed in previous days had vanished. Her husband did not try to console the woman.

  Claypool stepped into an empty seat, and Hoop squeezed passed Mary Jane. Hoop manhandled the back door until it opened.

  He turned back to Mary Jane and snagged her arm. “Come on.”

  “What? No—”

  Hoops pushed her inexorably towards the door connecting their car and a baggage car. “Come on. Get down there.”

  She took each step carefully, trying not to trip over her crinoline and holding her skirts up. Fear breathed down her neck. As she took that last jump to the ground she wavered on her boots and almost fell on one rail. She heard the locomotive belching and hissing. Up ahead, at the front of the train, smoke rose.

  Hoops jumped down behind her and clamped his beefy hand around her forearm. “Come on, sweetie, let’s go.” He started towards the thick forest ahead. “Hurry up.”

  She tripped as he dragged her ruthlessly forward. “Unhand me—”

  She struggled, and he smacked her across the face. Flesh stung as her head snapped back, a cry escaping her throat. Tears of anger, fear and pain rose in her eyes.

  Claypool stood at the opening, his weapon trained on those inside the car. “Don’t anyone try and follow or we’ll kill her.”

  She placed one hand over her stinging cheek as Hoop yanked her forward with a painful grip. “Get a move on.”

  Rocks threatened to trip her at every turn and as they entered a thick stand of trees, she twisted her foot and fell to her hands and knees with a yelp.

  Hoop’s fierce snarl lashed her ears. “Damn it, wench. Can’t ya walk?” Once more he gripped her arm and pulled upward with brute force. “Walk or we kill ya. That’s all there is to it.” He leered into her face, his crooked teeth giving him a monstrous appearance. His foul breath gusted over her face and she flinched away. “Maybe I’ll take my pleasure on ya before my friends join up with us, eh?”

  Something hard and determined surged inside her. She would be damned if she would allow him to put one more hand on her flesh.

  “Please,” she said, “I think I twisted my ankle.”

  More angry and frightened than she’d ever been, she leaned over as if to inspect her ankle under her crinoline. She reached for a sizeable rock and came up with a rapid swing.

  And connected with his temple.

  Hoop’s eyes opened wide as he groaned, then his eyes closed, and he fell like the stone that clobbered him. His eyes stayed wide open, unblinking, his lips slightly parted over that ugly mouth.

  It took several moments to register what she had done to the odious man.

  She had killed him.

  Nausea boiled up inside her, and she clutched at her stomach. I’ve killed a man.

  Shaking and aware that Claypool would not be far behind, she dropped the bloodied rock. She lifted her skirts and ran. Heart hammering, she splashed through a puddle and raced to find somewhere to hide. Thunder crashed overhead. She flinched and scrambled over larger rocks, hampered by heavy, damp skirts. A sharp report from the direction of the train dared her to look back, but she did not see the train or anyone behind her.

  Rain poured in huge sheets, and she shivered as the coldness soaked her. Her breath rasped in her throat, her side aching, her body protesting rough treatment. Another loud report echoed in the air.

  Shooting. At me. Must get away. Where to go?

  Dark clouds lowered into the valley as terrain became steeper, more unforgiving. Shoving aside thoughts of how she would survive out here, she hurried forward. If Claypool caught her…

  Now is not the time to think about that. Hurry. Hurry.

  Mary Jane ran forever. She dropped down behind some thick scrub brush. Her heart pounded so hard she panicked and gasped for breath that would not come. She put her hand over her mouth and tried not to groan.

  Calm. Must calm down or they will hear.

  As she kneeled in the dirt, rain pounding her unmercifully, her mind whirled. What happened to Elijah? Had they hurt or killed him? Anguish gripped her already raw throat.

  Rain reduced to a steady but less forceful deluge. She did not know whether to feel grateful or dismayed. The rain would slow Claypool and other accomplices if they meant to chase her. She did not dare think what they would do if they caught her. Escape was her only option. She stayed crouched behind the bushes, shivering and quaking. Senses heightened, she peered through the sheltering brush. Time crawled onward. She looked at the timepiece on the chain around her neck. Thirty minutes had elapsed.

  Cold, so cold.

  The shivering turned into a desperate need for heat. She disregarded her desire for warmth and concentrated on not moving. Then she saw Claypool coming from around a tree about a hundred yards away.

  “Hey, little girl, I’m going to find you and you’re going to pay. You killed my friend, you bitch. You heartless bitch!”

  Tears surged into her eyes as Claypool, weapon in hand, advanced on her. She swallowed the whimper clogged in her throat.

  “Where are you, bitch? Huh? Come out and I’ll make it easy on you.”

  Oh God. Please.

  She heard another shot and saw Claypool jerk, mouth opening in a silent gasp, eyes wide in surprise. He tumbled forward and lay still.

  What on earth?

  Mary Jane clamped both hands over her mouth, trembling, anticipating anything. She looked around for a stick, any weapon she might use. A figure came out from behind a stand of trees, not far from where Claypool fell. The man was tall and familiar. He held his revolver at the ready.

  Elijah.

  The dearest sight she had ever seen.

  He scanned the woods, looking frantically in every direction, his chest rising and falling as if he had run for miles. She shifted and a twig snapped.

  Elijah’s attention pinpointed in her direction, and he walked towards her. Relief made her legs weak, her knees practically knocking together as she came to her feet slowly.

  “Elijah?” Her whisper was low and tentative.

  “Mary Jane?”

  “I am here.”

  “Shhh…keep your voice low. They’re coming.”

  She stumbled from the bushes, and relief filled Elijah’s face in a rush. He walked towards her, and she dashed forward.

  He crushed her to him. His face buried in her hair, lips close to her ear. “By all the saints, darlin’.” His voice sounded broken, deep with unguarded emotion. He pulled back, cupped her face in one hand. “Are you hurt? Did that feckin’ bastard—”

  “I killed that man. I killed him.” Horror mixed with disbelief.

  Her fingers twisted in his shirt, and she was more relieved than she could say, shaking with reaction and residual fear.

  “We’ve got to go. More are coming to kill us.”

  “What—how—” She could not force the questions passed her lips.

  Rain poured down his face as he urged her deeper
into the woods. “We must keep moving.” His eyes blazed down into hers, anger and something so manic within his face that she feared what he might do. “There are two more men on our trail and they’ve got horses. One was my overseer at the penitentiary. The other is my brother Amos.”

  They crashed through underbrush and swerved around trees. It was hard not to make noise. Elijah’s firm grip on her hand didn’t let up. Her side burned, her breath coming hard, her legs ached.

  She could not continue.

  She must.

  Elijah darted between two large boulders. Giving a burst of power, she hurried to follow.

  Her skirt caught and jerked her to a halt. “Wait.”

  He stopped as she tried to yank her skirts through the rocks. She pulled and the dress ripped.

  “Damn it,” Elijah hissed his words.

  He reached down and grabbed her skirts and the material caught. It tore in his hand. “Hold this.” He stuffed the material into her hand. “Come on.”

  “Why am I holding this?” She gasped the question as he snatched her hand and they ran.

  “We can’t leave anything behind for my brother to track us.”

  She did not have the breath to ask more questions and knew he would explain…maybe, when and if they had time later.

  If.

  Renewed fright gripped her and she corralled it with effort. Memories of how this adventure started crowded through her headlong flight for survival. Grief had tangled her emotions when she left Pittsburgh, but she never suspected that less then two weeks later she would find herself most of the way home and halfway to her death.

  No.

  She refused to give in that easily. She barely kept up with Elijah’s endless plunge through brush and stands of hemlock. Without remorse he pushed onward, his grip on her hand ruthless. Her legs became leaden but she forced them forward. Until the toe of her boot caught under a rock. Her toes stung, and she fell forward, straight into his back. He stumbled, lost his hold on her hand. She went straight down on her left side. Pain ripped up through her ribcage. She gasped and closed her eyes, rolling through a painful wave. Angry tears shot to the surface but she squeezed her eyes shut to ride it out.