Part 2 (1/2)

Gathering her wits, she prayed for courage. ”There's something you should know before we proceed.”

He c.o.c.ked an eyebrow.

”There is no question that you can hit me and force me to your will. You are bigger and stronger. But if you do, then you'd better never go to sleep.”

He frowned. ”I beg your pardon?”

”I mean it, Hoke. If you do this, you'd better never, ever, not even once, close your eyes for a bit of rest. Because the moment you do, I'm going to slip down into the kitchen, get the meat hammer, come back to your chamber, and break your arm. Your right arm. The one you swing with.”

He blinked.

The door at the bottom of the stairs opened. ”Anna? Where the devil are you? It's time for the main course and the cutlets are burnt.”

”Let me up,” Anna whispered.

”Anna?” Helen placed a foot on the bottom step. ”Are you up there?”

After a slight hesitation, Hoke rolled off her.

Scrambling to her feet, Anna rushed down the stairs, past Helen's astonished face and straight out into the alley. Ignoring the icy slap of winter, she continued to run until she reached the tiny attic room she let at the Hadley House.

Anna yanked her carpetbag from underneath her bed, unbuckled the latch, and widened its mouth. It wouldn't take long to pack. She'd sold everything of value she owned except her mother's watch pin. All she had left was a spare dress, a second set of underclothes, her seash.e.l.l collection, and her father's letters.

She lifted the false bottom of the bag. The bound stack of correspondence she'd hidden was still in place. Slamming the divider down, she effectively shut the contents from her view, but not from her mind.

Every letter her father had sent was written on her heart. She laid her spare dress on the bed, placed several pouches of seash.e.l.ls in its center, then quickly rolled them up inside it. All the while, the closing line of her father's final letter repeated itself in her mind like a mantra.

”Don't you realize that when you and Leon argue and misbehave, the rebel bullets come closer to me? But if you and Leon are good, then G.o.d will take care of me and bring me home safely.”

Her behavior had been particularly reprehensible the day that letter had arrived. The horror she'd felt at its contents still ricocheted through her. She'd immediately promised G.o.d that she would change and had begged Him to bring Papa home.

He'd brought him home all right, in a big pine box. And no one but she and G.o.d knew her actions that day had killed him, just as surely as they had eventually killed her mother and little brother.

Cramming the dress into the bag, she gave no regard to its condition, then swiped up her underclothes. She may think Hoke despicable and without honor, but she didn't wish him dead. And that's exactly what would happen to him or anyone else if they got too close.

So she'd leave. She'd go to the Was.h.i.+ngton Territory and secure a position as a domestic, a schoolteacher, or a nanny. But she'd never marry and she'd never have children. The risk was simply too great.

Latching the bag, she touched her chest to be sure her watch pin was in place, then grabbed her cape. The stagecoach office was just up the road. She'd secure a ticket to Amherst. From there, she'd catch the Boston & Maine to New York City.

A corner of Anna's cape whipped back, allowing the frigid New York wind to beat against her tattered woolen gown. Clenching the edges of her cape with one hand and her carpetbag with the other, she stopped in front of a modest brick building on West Street.

The markings on a square plaque next to the entrance were worn and difficult to read. The first numeral was either an eight or a nine. She squinted but couldn't make out the second.

A mule-drawn dump cart full of coal crunched past on the snow and ice, pulling Anna's attention to a sign across the street where the American Express Company's deliverymen came and went.

When Ladies Or Children Are About To Cross The Street, As They Are Frequently Uncertain And Confused In Their Movements, TEAMS SHOULD BE BROUGHT TO A FULL STOP UNTIL ALL UNCERTAINTY IS REMOVED.

Anna looked up and down the walkway but saw no evidence of any women, and she certainly couldn't imagine children in this part of town. Gone were the street vendors along with the carriages and sulkies carrying gaily dressed patrons about town. Instead, commercial vehicles, dray carts, and delivery sleds populated the streets, their drivers yelling out curses to both their animals and each other.

She turned her attention to the plaque once again, but with no more luck deciphering it than before. Still, building number 93 was next door. So this should be it. Placing her hand on the oversized doork.n.o.b, she pushed.

A gust of wind jerked the door from her hand and crashed it against the inside wall. Hurrying across the threshold, she dropped her bag and used both hands to close the door. Leaning against it, she pressed a hand against her frozen nose and tried to wiggle her toes.

The dim entryway led to a series of doors and a narrow staircase. The building wasn't much warmer than the outdoors, but at least there was no wind. She blew onto her gloved hands, then rubbed them together.

”h.e.l.lo?” Her breath produced a puff of condensation while her voice bounced off the silent walls. ”Is anyone here?”

A m.u.f.fled shuffling from down the hall was followed by the creaking of a poorly oiled door. A swath of light cut across the hall, illuminating the tall, thin man who stepped into it.

”May I help you?” he said.

She straightened, shaking the snow from her skirts and retrieving her bag. ”Yes, please. I'm looking for Mr. A.S. Mercer.”

”I'm Asa Mercer.” He moved toward her.

She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but this lanky young man with a shock of red hair wasn't it.

”Good afternoon, sir. I'm Miss Anna Ivey. I saw your ad in the Tribune and am here to inquire about pa.s.sage to the Northwest.”

He quickly took in her shabby clothing but gave no visible reaction. ”Excellent.” He took her bag. ”If you would join me in my office?”

His ”office” was no larger than the cook's closet at Pitchawam House. After hooking her bag on a peg, he hurriedly gathered numerous papers from a stool.

He looked to the right and left, but there was no clear surface to set them on. His half desk was completely covered, and rolls of paper had been crammed into every pigeonhole above it. Even the floor was covered with his papers.

Giving her an apologetic grin, he set the stack on the floor next to the stool and held out a hand. Taking it, she picked her way across the room and settled on the stool.

”Now,” he said. ”Tell me where you are from.”

”Granby, Ma.s.sachusetts. I've only just arrived, so please forgive my appearance.”

His long legs filled the s.p.a.ce beneath his desk. ”No need for apologies, Miss Ivey, is it?”

”Yes. Ivey with an E-Y.”

Picking up a pen, he wrote her name in lovely script across the top of a fresh piece of parchment. ”Tell me, Miss Ivey, why do you wish to emigrate to the Was.h.i.+ngton Territory?”

”I read your pamphlet, The Great North-West, and found myself caught up with the idea of going to this Eden you've described.”

Pleasure touched his rust-colored eyes. ”You read my booklet?”

”I did, sir. I have it with me now, though it is quite dog-eared, I'm afraid.”

He smiled. ”Can you write as well as read?”

”Proficiently.”