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Plus, her father loved it, which is the main reason Anna chose it for the night’s journey. It serves as a reminder to the others of all that had been taken from her.
The train lurches again, this time with purpose. A moment later, someone raps four times on the door.
Seamus.
Here to tell her what she already knows.
The train is in motion.
There’s no turning back now.
Anna hurries to the door, feeling the train picking up speed beneath her bare feet. A strange sensation that, for a second, wreaks havoc on her balance and makes her reach for the wall to steady herself. No matter how many times she travels by train, it always takes Anna a moment to navigate that unwieldycombination of standing on solid ground while also being in motion. “Train legs,” her father had called them.
Removing her hand from the wall, she stands in the middle of the room, waiting for her legs to learn how to absorb the gentle rocking of the train. Once they do, she’s able to reach for the door, unlock it, and pull it open.
As expected, Seamus is on the other side, filling the narrow corridor that runs the length of the car. The windows behind him show nothing but blackness. They are now in the tunnel on their way out of the city.
“Everything going as planned?” Anna asks, unconcerned that she’s standing at the door wearing only her slip. Seamus has seen her in far less.
“So far.”
“And the engineer? Is it still Burt Chapman at the controls?”
Seamus responds with a nod. “Yeah. Watched him climb into the locomotive myself.”
A relief. Burt Chapman has been guiding the Phoenix since the very start. He is, Anna knows, a good man. He sent a condolence card when her father died. It was the only one Anna and her mother had received. That act of kindness made her think Burt could be trusted to take them to Chicago without any hiccups. The massive amount of money she paid him certainly helped.
“You’re certain he’s capable of doing it by himself?” Seamus says. “Thirteen hours is a long shift without any breaks.”
“Burt will be fine. He’s run this route so many times that he could probably do it with one hand tied behind his back. What about the rest of the crew?”
“They’ve been taken care of,” Seamus says. “Every conductor, cook, porter, and brakeman. Here’s hoping they still have jobs after this.”
Anna lets the comment pass. Seamus had made clear hisconcerns that the night might ruin the livelihoods of the innocent men who work on the train. Anna had considered it, too. Concluding that there was no other choice, she provided all of them with ample compensation. Three months’ salary, in cash, with a little extra going to those most vulnerable to punishment from their boss.
But the fates of the train’s workers are the least of Anna’s worries. She’s more concerned about its passengers.
“And the others?” she says. “Did everyone come?”
Seamus scowls, which worries Anna. Although he rarely smiles, Seamus’s scowl is equally elusive. Without it, she would have assumed the answer was yes. She knows these people. She knows what they can and cannot resist. But the look on Seamus’s face suggests something has already gone wrong.
And this is a journey during which nothing can go wrong.
“Yeah,” Seamus says, hedging. “But there’s a wrinkle.”
“What kind of wrinkle?”
Just then, a voice rises from the door at the end of the car. A man. Clearly impatient and self-important. Jack Lapsford, Anna guesses.
“Can I get some goddamn help over here?”
Anna ducks back into her room. He can’t see her. None of them can. Not yet. She nods to a still-scowling Seamus, reminding him that, for now, he needs to keep pretending he works for the railroad.
“Coming, sir,” he says, forcing an obsequious smile.
Anna closes the door and presses her ear against it, listening to Seamus make his way to the end of the car.
“How may I be of assistance?”