Robin Lee Hatcher - [Coming to America 02] (26 page)

Again she was silent a spell before answering. “Me son, Keary Malone.”

The boy bore more than a slight resemblance to his mother. He had the same wavy black hair and the same large brown eyes. But he knew how to smile, something Blanche suspected his mother hadn’t done freely in quite some time.

Keary leaned forward, staring at Nugget, his arms outstretched.

“Oh, I see you like dogs.” Blanche lifted her pet off her lap. “This is Nugget.”

The child laughed and bounced his pudgy hands against the dog’s back.

“Be careful, Keary,” his mother said softly. Then she looked over her son’s head, staring out the window with an anxious gaze. “I’m thinking we should be under way by now. Could there be trouble?”

“Trains hardly ever leave on time.”

Mary worried her lower lip with her teeth. Fear was stamped on her pretty features as clearly as anything Blanche had ever seen. Oddly enough, it bothered her.

Blanche Loraine was not a charitable woman by nature. She knew the value of a dollar, and she didn’t squander her money on anything she didn’t believe might bring her a profit. Still, there was something about Mary Emeline Malone that tugged at her life-hardened heart.

“Tickets,” a man called from the rear of the car. “Tickets, please.”

Mary started as if she’d been pinched. Fear was replaced by an expression of near-panic as the conductor drew closer.

Blanche reached forward and squeezed Mary’s knee, drawing her gaze. “Sit still and say nothing,” she warned. “Do you hear me?”

Mary nodded.

“Give me your passenger ticket.” She held out her hand. After Mary obeyed, Blanche continued, “Now, take that boy in your arms and turn toward the window. Rock him as if you’re trying to get him to sleep. That way your face won’t be seen, and no one will remember you were here.”

By the time the conductor reached their seats, Blanche was ready for him. With one hand, she stroked Nugget. In her other hand, she held their tickets. “My good man,” she said in her most authoritative voice, “someone has sold my niece the wrong ticket. As you can plainly see from mine, we are on our way to Whistle Creek, but she has been given one to Omaha.”

The conductor frowned as he took the tickets from her. “She shoulda said something ’fore now.”

“Well, don’t you think she would have if she’d noticed? She thought she was dealing with competent people. Goodness, it isn’t easy, traveling with a child and an irascible aunt. Now see
that her ticket is exchanged for one to match my own. There’ll be a handsome reward in it for you if you can do it quickly.”

“I’ll see to it, ma’am. Don’t you worry.”

As soon as the conductor was gone, Mary Malone turned from the window. “I’m wondering altogether why you did that, Mrs. Loraine.”

“There’s no missus in front of my name. Folks back in Whistle Creek call me Miss Blanche. You can, too.” She cocked one eyebrow. “And to tell you the truth, I’m not sure why I did it. I suppose because there’s a look about you.”

“A look, mum? What do you mean?”

“Nothing really.” Blanche lowered her voice so as not to be overheard. “Where in Ireland are you from?”

Mary’s reply came softly, “I was born in County Armagh.”

“How long have you been in America?”

“More than a year, just.” She held her son more closely. “But you’ve not answered me question. Why did you do what you did? I can’t be paying you back.” She tilted her head, thrusting her chin slightly forward, the gesture filled with pride and a bit of bravado.

Blanche waved her hand. “I’m not asking you to pay me back, girl.” Her own retort surprised her, and she wondered if she spoke the truth. She frowned as she sought a believable explanation. “I’m not a well woman, Mary. I came to New York to seek the advice of medical experts.” She laughed sharply.
Experts. Ha!
“Now I’m headed home, and I need a companion to make the journey more enjoyable and to help me should my health worsen.”

“But you know nothing about me.”

“I know you’re in some sort of trouble.”

Mary paled.

Perhaps that was why she was helping her. Because Blanche remembered a time, many years ago, when she’d been
in trouble and afraid, and there had been no one in the world who would help her. She’d fought for everything she’d ever had in this life. No one had cared about her, about whether she lived or died. Maybe she didn’t want to leave this world without helping some other poor girl avoid what she’d been through.

“Where’s your husband?”

A pause, then, “Me son’s father is dead and buried these many months.”

Ah, so he never married you, the blackguard.

Blanche’s gaze dropped to the toddler in Mary’s lap. The boy had fallen asleep. He looked cherubic. He was plump and well cared for. Loved, the way a child ought to be loved.

She looked at his mother again. “Let me help you, Mary Malone. If you decide you want to get off the train at any time, you’re free to do so. You’ll owe me nothing. But if you want to come all the way to Idaho with me, then you’ll be welcome.”

“Idaho?”

“Yes, that’s where I live. Whistle Creek, Idaho.”

Mary was silent for a long time, her dark gaze searching Blanche’s face. Finally, she gave the smallest of nods. “I’ll come and be glad of your help. May God bless you, mum.”

Later that night, Mary lay on the top bunk in the sleeper car, staring at the ceiling that was hardly a foot from the tip of her nose. Beside her, Keary slept on his stomach, his tiny bottom stuck up in the air.

She wondered where they were now. It was well past midnight. How many miles from New York City had they traveled? Was it far enough?

Every time the train came to a stop that day, she’d feared the authorities would swarm into the passenger car and drag her away. Every time the train pulled away from a station, she’d breathed a fresh sigh of relief.

She closed her eyes and commanded her breathing to slow. Worrying would not help. She had locked the master’s study from the outside, then slipped from the house without seeing another person. She’d worn the cook’s spare apron to cover her ripped blouse. She’d forced herself to walk with unhurried steps along the sidewalks of Madison Avenue. No one could have guessed by looking at her that she’d killed a man. Besides, the wealthy rarely noticed servants on the street. It would be beneath them.

No, she was worrying needlessly. Even if the police wanted to question the missing housemaid, they wouldn’t know where to look for her. In the few months she’d worked for the Kenricks, she’d never told anyone where she lived. She’d kept to herself, doing her work and then going back to the Dougals’ apartment and her adorable baby son. She supposed most of the servants thought her unfriendly. Now she was thankful for it.

A wave of something akin to seasickness swept over her. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

May God have mercy. I’ve killed a man.

She hadn’t meant to kill him. She’d hated Winston Kenrick for what he’d tried to do. She’d wanted to stop him, but she hadn’t meant to kill him.

Truth be told, she hadn’t meant for many things in her past to happen. She hadn’t meant to lie with a man who wasn’t her husband, a man who was destined to betray her, fool that she was. She hadn’t meant to bear a child out of wedlock, although she loved her Keary more than anything. She hadn’t meant to find herself a penniless immigrant, dependent upon the charity of strangers.

But all of that had happened to her, and there’d be no changing any of it.

In the berth beneath her, Blanche Loraine suffered another coughing spell. Mary had seen the flecks of blood on the woman’s handkerchief, listened to her labored gasps for breath. She knew the signs of a dying woman when she saw them. She was sorry for her, to be sure, but she was thankful they’d met.

Idaho. Sure and it was nothing short of a miracle. Aye, a miracle, for her brother Quaid could be somewhere in that state. She’d not heard from him in many a year. She’d still been in service near Belfast, before leaving for England, when the last letter from Quaid had come. He was working in a mine in a place called Idaho, he’d written. True, he might not still be there. He might even be dead for all she knew.

But she’d not believe Quaid was dead. Not when a miracle was taking her to Idaho to find him. Though why God would help the likes of her—a fallen woman and a murderess besides—was beyond her. Still, she wasn’t one to spit into the wind.

It was to be Idaho, then. Mary had no idea where exactly that was, but she was given to understand it was far from New York City.

That made it a good place altogether.

Book One of the Coming to America Series!

Dear Lady

Robin Lee Hatcher

Lady Elizabeth Wellington travels from England to Montana to take a job as a rural schoolteacher, fleeing an engagement to a brutal man—and finds herself falling in love with a rancher who doesn’t seem to be able to escape the memory of his first wife.

In the big-sky country of Montana, the past doesn’t always stay buried. Circumstances have a way of forcing secrets into the open, sometimes bringing hearts together in unlikely ways, and sometimes tearing them apart.

Softcover: 0-310-23083-7

Pick up a copy at your favorite bookstore!

Book Three of the Coming to America Series!

In His Arms

Robin Lee Hatcher

Mary Malone comes to America to join the father of the child she’s carrying. Instead she has to flee New York when she thinks she has killed a man. So she escapes to Idaho where men go to find their fortunes and lose their pasts in the silver mines. But as Mary Malone discovers, sometimes the past is not so easily shaken. It will take a good man’s strong, persistent love to penetrate the young immigrant’s defenses and disarm the secret that makes a hostage of her heart. Mary eventually finds love, family, and faith.

Softcover: 0-310-23120-5

Pick up a copy at your favorite bookstore!