The Alleluia Files (14 page)

She was pleased to note that Ellen had not lied: The cart was outfitted with not only the cushioned seat that the driver could share with a passenger, but two padded benches facing each other in the rear of the wagon. As she’d expected, there was a light frame built into the back of the cart, over which a tarpaulin could be stretched if the weather turned bad. It wasn’t luxury, but it wasn’t contemptible either.

“Do you mind riding in the back of the wagon?” Sophie asked her anxiously before they had even climbed in for the first time. “It’s just that Edward and I have so much to talk about, and I’d really rather sit next to him for the whole trip.”

Tamar smiled. On the whole, she would prefer not having to make conversation with either of her fellow travelers. “The back suits me just fine,” she said. “But you can tell Edward I’m willing to take a turn driving if he gets tired. I’m a pretty good hand with horses.”

Edward, overhearing, looked doubtful. “They’re my uncle’s horses,” he said. “I don’t think he’d want me to trust them to just anybody.”

Tamar shrugged. “I’ve worked at the Lamphouse and the Banner,” she said, naming two of the better-known stables in Luminaux. “And I used to drive passengers from the Exton Hotel to Port Clara in the hotel’s carriage. You can trust me with horses. But I don’t blame you for being cautious. You don’t know me.”

“She’s a hard worker,” Ellen put in, having audited all this from the sidelines. “Always shows up on time. You can trust her.”

“Well, maybe,” Edward said, making no promises. “Are you ready?”

Sophie quickly hugged her mother one last time. Tamar hopped into the back of the cart and made herself as comfortable as possible. In a few moments she was waving good-bye to
Ellen, to Luminaux, to the life she’d known best, and they were on the road to Stockton.

The first two days passed in utter and complete boredom, punctuated only by moments of severe discomfort, as the cart jounced briskly down the road toward Stockton. The road, at least these two days, was relatively good—paved and in excellent repair—since it was one of the country’s major highways and accommodated a great deal of vehicular traffic. Of course, any time a truck or bus roared up behind them, Edward was forced to pull his wagon to the side of the road, and even then the horses neighed and strained against the traces. The fumes left behind by the big vehicles were noxious and enduring, and they were all coughing by noon of the first day.

But the weather held fine and the horses appeared to be in good condition, and she was on her way, so Tamar gave herself up to monotony and let the hours roll indifferently by.

The first night, they stopped in a town so small it had not been on Conran’s map, but it did boast a couple of decent-looking inns. Edward chose one at random and bespoke two rooms. The three of them ate a somewhat awkward dinner together, Sophie making attempts at conversation with Tamar, who was not greatly interested.

“So, my mother tells me you have a friend in Stockton that you’re going to visit. What’s her name?”

“Elizabeth,” Tamar replied.

“And where did you meet her? Did she used to live in Luminaux?”

Jovah save her, she was going to have to make up an entire history. “Yes. We were neighbors while I was in school. We were very close.”

“Why did she move away?”

“To marry.”

Edward looked up. “Really? Maybe I know her husband. I grew up in Stockton, you know.”

Sweet god singing. Worse and worse. “His name is James Shelton. I don’t know that he was raised there, though. I think he moved to Stockton to take a job.”

Edward raised his eyebrows. “Not much commerce in Stockton. Unless he’s in banking. There’s a branch office of the Exchequer in Stockton, you know.”

“Banking. I think that’s it,” Tamar said faintly.

“Do they have children?” Sophie asked.

“One. Born a couple of months ago. That’s why I wanted to visit.”

Sophie clapped her hands together (a gesture she must have copied from her mother). She appeared to be one of those unfortunate women who became sloppily romantic at the very thought Of holding an infant. “Oh, how wonderful! What did you buy her for a baby gift?”

“I didn’t have time to get one. We left on such short notice—”

“Oh, but you have to bring them something! Their first baby!”

“I’ll pick something up in Stockton. See what they need.”

“No, no, you should have something in your hands when you arrive. Maybe if we have time tonight or tomorrow night, we can find something in one of these little towns along the way.”

Tamar’s protests were quickly overruled, and she inwardly seethed for the rest of the meal. As if she had any additional dollars to be throwing away on the fictional child of imaginary friends! She had best guard her tongue every minute for the rest of the journey.

The meal once over, they experienced another strained few minutes as they ascended the stairs to their rooms, side by side in the well-lit corridor. Tamar headed straight for her door and unlocked it, making no comment to Sophie. “I’ll be right in,” the girl said, and Tamar nodded. She closed the door behind her but left it unlocked, and true to her word, Sophie entered a few minutes later.

Tamar had already gotten herself ready for bed and climbed under the covers. Sophie moved moodily around the room, brushing out her long hair and sighing before the mirror.

“It’s very hard to be seventeen,” she burst out at last, setting down her brush and turning to face Tamar.

Oh, dear god, no
, Tamar thought, but Sophie rushed on before Tamar could stop her. “No one realizes that I am a grown woman—that I know what I want and am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and making wise decisions. Everyone tells me, ‘Oh, when you’re older, you’ll understand, you’ll see why we didn’t want you to do such and such. You’ll thank us for making you do thus and so.’ But they’re basing everything on
their own lives! On their own experiences! They don’t realize that mine are so much different! My feelings are so much different than theirs.”

Tamar didn’t quite have the heart to flounce over in bed and face the wall, but she did close her eyes. Sophie appeared not to notice. “From the time I was quite young, I was very mature. I helped my mother with my younger sisters and brothers—and I worked, too! I know how to be responsible with money and I know how to hold together a household. Do you know how much it costs to feed five people for a week? I know, to the penny! And yet everyone says I am too young to marry. They even think I’m too young to fall in love.”

Don’t ask my opinion
, Tamar warned her silently.
Don’t invite my comments. I’ll tell you, I swear I will.

“Don’t you think it is one of a parent’s duties to know when to let go?” Sophie went on, unheeding. “Don’t you think a mother should realize when her daughter is old enough to be responsible?”

Tamar’s eyes flew open. “My mother and father were murdered when I was a baby,” she said flatly. “I was raised by friends of theirs who didn’t have enough time to take care of their own children, so I was passed from hand to hand according to who had a free moment to spare that day. By the time I was ten, I was deciding where to live, what to eat, and who to trust. By the time I was seventeen, I had taken a lover, been abandoned by a lover, seen a friend kill herself, seen a friend kill another man. I think if you’re seventeen, and you have a chance to be your mother’s daughter for another year, or another minute, you should take that chance. Life on your own is not nearly as glorious as you might think. It is hard, it is bitter, and every minute of it wears you down. That’s what I think.”

And in the absolute silence that followed, she closed her eyes again and turned on her side. Sophie did not say another word, but switched off the light and climbed into bed. Tamar fell instantly asleep.

So she was not surprised when, the next morning, all of the awkwardness of the previous day returned. On the front seat, Sophie sat as close to Edward as his grip on the reins would allow, whispering endearments or gossip in his ear. Tamar sat with one elbow on the back of her bench, watching the countryside roll back behind them. If her life had depended on it,
she could not have come up with a single conciliatory thing to say.

Dinner that night was more relaxed, because they shared a table with a family of six traveling southward to Luminaux. Sophie, of course, instantly commandeered the baby, while Edward talked road conditions with the patriarch. Tamar concentrated on her food. When she was done, she excused herself and went up to her room.

Again, she was half-asleep before Sophie entered. The girl stood uncertainly in the middle of the room.

“I hope I didn’t wake you up last night,” she said. “I’m a restless sleeper, and my sisters have often complained that I talk through my dreams.”

“Didn’t hear a thing,” Tamar said. “I fall asleep instantly and never wake up again till dawn. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Sophie said. “I’ll try to be quiet.”

So of course Tamar simply had to turn over and feign sleep right away. Sophie waited a good half hour, sitting motionless on her own bed, before rising to her feet and tiptoeing from the room. The door made almost no sound as she closed it behind her. Tamar grinned in the dark and allowed herself to drift off to sleep.

After that, things went a little better. Edward seemed more at ease and Sophie simply glowed, radiant with the retained fire of passion. Tamar couldn’t help envying her a little—youth, innocence,
and
happiness; it seemed unfair that someone should have all three—but it was no part of her plan to thwart the young lovers. She did not care what they did in the dark as long as, by daylight, they continued on toward Stockton.

The third day, Edward had even mellowed enough to ask Tamar if she was still interested in driving. No doubt he merely wanted an opportunity to put both arms around his beloved as they cuddled in the back of the wagon, but the offer suited Tamar just fine. Accordingly, she took a hand at the reins, and the next fifty miles passed a little more pleasantly.

“You drive well,” Edward told her that night over dinner. “It’s a little odd for a woman to be so used to handling a team.”

Tamar grinned. “I can do a lot of odd things,” she said. “I can drive a horse. I can shoe a horse. I can cook a meal for fifty. I can make a campfire, and I can repair an electrical line, if it isn’t too far gone. I can drive a truck if I have to.”

“You must have lived a strange life,” Sophie said, her face shadowed by the memory of what Tamar had told her the other night.

Tamar looked at her and shrugged. “It was my life,” she said. “It seemed natural to me. But I admit there are things about your life that appeal to me more.”

It was on these terms of tentative goodwill that they continued the trip into Stockton, They arrived at the little town a few hours after noon on the fifth day of their trip, and Edward carefully negotiated the narrow streets.

“Where do you want me to let you off?” he asked. “Where does your friend live?”

Tamar had debated this point for most of the morning, and now she answered with partial honesty. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “My friend lives a little outside of town, and I’ll be traveling on to find her.”.

Sophie shot her a quick, troubled look. “We could take you to her farmhouse, or wherever she lives,” she offered.

“No,” Tamar said. “But thank you.”

“We plan to leave for Luminaux again in four days,” Edward said over his shoulder. “Where should we pick you up again?”

“I won’t be ready to return that quickly,” Tamar said gently. “So just go back without me.”

Now Sophie looked even more troubled. “My mother will be unhappy,” she said.

“I know. She’ll think I lied to her. But I think you will be as responsible without me along as you have been with me.”

“I meant—she likes you. She’ll be sorry you’re not coming back. Or do you plan to come back sometime?”

“Not anytime soon, I’m afraid. Tell her I’m sorry. She was always kind to me.”

“Are you sure we can’t take you to this friend’s place?” Edward persisted. He had pulled the cart to a halt and now was turned on his seat to look back at her. Like Sophie, he looked grave and worried.

“I’m sure.”

“Is there really someone you’re going to?” Sophie asked.

Tamar smiled. “Yes, there’s really a person and a place I’m going to,” she said. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

And before they could voice another concern, she had gathered up her belongings and hopped from the cart. It was not her
wish to be rude, so she waved good-bye a few times as she began easing her way down the sidewalk. Edward merely nodded, but Sophie lifted her hand and waved dispiritedly, as if she was watching her best friend say farewell for the last time. It was a strange experience, Tamar found, to have virtual strangers anxious over her welfare. It was not quite as annoying as she would have expected.

There were several hours of daylight left, and she had no reason to dawdle in Stockton, so she set out immediately on foot. Ileah, she judged, was forty or fifty miles due south; she could not possibly make it there before nightfall, but she would get a good start. And she didn’t need to be wasting any more money on hotel rooms. She could camp out for the night.

Accordingly, she settled into a steady pace, not too taxing, and headed southward. This side road was not nearly as good as the northeastern highway had been—indeed, it was little more than a trail, and it obviously saw very little use. Which was good for Tamar, excellent for the Jacobites. She was not much of a tracker, but she studied the dusty road, trying to determine if other travelers had passed this way recently, or if she would be the first to arrive at Ileah. She thought she discerned hoof-prints in the dirt; soon enough, she would know.

She made a cold camp when it got too dark to see, and slept on a patch of grass that looked softer than it really was. Her bones hurt when she rose in the morning. She cleaned herself up as best she could and continued on. The morning sun was barely strong enough to chase away the chill she had acquired from sleeping on the ground, but by noon, walking had made her hot enough to wish for a cool breeze. She was remembering now why she had always hated traveling on foot.