by Diana Palmer
“Were they all in the military?”
“Not all. A few were friends I made at college.”
“I just had a thought,” she said. “If you were at the Citadel for a time, you must know Charleston fairly well.”
He smiled. “Yes, I do. However, that isn’t going to help us find Calverson.”
“We could search the train,” she suggested.
“How would we explain that to the porters? I have no credentials as a lawman.”
“You could say that you were a Pinkerton man.”
“And they’d telegraph the nearest office and discover that I was not. Modern communications make life hard for robbers, and that’s a good thing.”
She glowered at him. “While we sit here talking, Mr. Calverson is no doubt hidden—with his ill-gotten gains—somewhere on this very train!”
‘I’m afraid that may be true,” he replied. “But we’ll have to wait until we get to Charleston to find out.” He leaned back again. “You might as well rest while you can. Stretch out on the seat, if you like.”
“It’s rather chilly.”
“Here.” He took off his overcoat and handed it to her. She took it gingerly.
“It won’t contaminate you,” he said sharply.
She looked up. “I know that.” Her shoulders moved. “I was just thinking about how it will be for Diane when she discovers that her husband has run away and left her behind to be gossiped about even more.”
He didn’t tell her what he suspected about Diane—that she was, in fact, running away with Eli. His lips pursed thoughtfully. “Yes. It will be bad for her, for a time.”
She searched his eyes, but they gave nothing away.
He reached out and touched her cheek gently. “You care so much about people,” he said slowly. “Even rivals. I never realized how warm your heart really was until we married. Warm, and very fragile.”
The heart of which he spoke jumped sharply in her chest and began to beat recklessly.
He smiled. “And you still find me desirable, even though you can’t manage to confess it,” he added in a deep whisper, bending. “I find that…reassuring.”
As she formulated words, his mouth gently settled on her own. She was too surprised to fight, or protest, she told herself. But that didn’t explain her sudden desperation to be close to him, to incite him to ardor.
Her arms reached up blindly and pulled him down to her on the seat. He wrapped her up close, turning her so that she lay across his lap with the duster and his overcoat in a pile on the floor. He kissed her hungrily, with no thought for consequences or the unshuttered glass of the compartment, through which they could easily be seen.
“I can never get enough of your mouth,” he said against her lips, his breath ragged. “I could die kissing you and die happy. Come closer!”
She kissed him back with a rough little moan, remembering the pleasures they’d shared in his bed in the darkness, the hunger of his body, the yielding submission of hers, the aching pleasure of ecstasy.
He lifted his mouth just a little, and his eyes were black with hunger. “I want you,” he whispered unsteadily. “Here, on the bench, on the floor, anywhere! Oh, God. Claire!”
His mouth ground into hers again. His hand went between them to the soft curve of her breast and covered it. His thumb and forefinger traced it, teased it. She gasped and then moaned, and her fingers covered his, pressing them even closer to her aching flesh.
She tasted the coffee he’d had for breakfast on his mouth, breathed in the delicious scent of the bay rum cologne he was wearing, savored the raspy warmth of his face under her fingers. Marriage was still exciting and new, and she had a secret that he didn’t know. She carried his child under the heart where his hand lay. If only she could tell him! But she wasn’t sure of him—not until Eli Calverson was caught and returned to Atlanta…not until John’s true feelings for Diane were known.
Even as their hunger threatened to go out of bounds, the door suddenly opened and an elderly face gaped at the two young people entwined on the seat.
“Well, I never did!” the elderly woman in a black dress and hat and veil exclaimed. “Such carrying on, in public!”
“This is hardly a public place, madam,” John said, rising to his feet shakily but respectfully. “And the lady in question is my wife,” he added, with a mischievous smile, “from whom I have been parted for some weeks.”
The elderly face relaxed a little as it took in the young woman’s red cheeks and demure glance. She smiled and made a little sound in her throat. “I see.” She glanced from one to the other. “Are you on your honeymoon, then?”
“We’ve been married for several months,” Claire responded.
“How lucky you are,” the old woman said wistfully. “I have my husband of fifty years in a coffin in the mail car. I am taking him to Charleston to be buried with my family and his, in the old cemetery.” Even through the veil her eyes were sad. “Forgive me for thrusting my sorrow upon such a young and obviously happy couple, but this seems to be the only vacant seat left. The train is quite crowded.”
“Please sit down,” John invited, moving beside Claire to give the elderly woman a seat. He picked up the duster and the overcoat and put them aside. Without a qualm, he reached for Claire’s hand and held it warmly in his. “My wife and I are on holiday,” he added untruthfully, and with a smile. “Charleston is a city I know well, having graduated from the Citadel.”
“Did you really?” the old woman exclaimed, pushing back her veil to reveal warm, dark eyes. “My son was a student there. Perhaps you knew him: Clarence Cornwall?”
John hid a grin. “Yes,” he said. “In fact, I did know him. He was in the class behind mine.” He smiled. “I am John Hawthorn, and this is my wife, Claire.”
“I am Prudence Cornwall,” the widow said, introducing herself. “How very nice to meet you both.” She sighed. “Clarence hated the Citadel, poor boy. He didn’t graduate, I’m sorry to say. It was a great disappointment to my husband.”
“What is Clarence doing now?”
“He’s captain of a fishing boat. Isn’t that ironic?”
“Indeed it is.” John turned to Claire. “Clarence hated the water. He couldn’t swim.”
“He still can’t.” The widow Cornwall chuckled. “But he’s very good at his job, and he earns his living from it. He married, John. He and Elise have six children.”
“How fortunate for him,” Claire said warmly. “He must be very happy indeed to have children.”
John moved restlessly. He hadn’t thought about a family at all. “I find children a bit unnerving,” he remarked, without looking at his wife—which was, perhaps, a good thing. “It isn’t something we have to consider right away, however.”
He sounded as if he were relieved about that, and Claire began to worry. If he didn’t want children, what would she do? And what about Diane? As John and the widow spoke of Charleston and old times, Claire stared out the window with her worries like a knot in her soft throat. She had plenty of problems—and not one single solution in sight.
The widow Cornwall tucked her veil back in place. “I wish I had a happier reason for going to Charleston,” she said wistfully. “It is a sad trip for me. And for that other young woman, who refuses to leave the side of her dead husband. Poor dear. It must be so uncomfortable for her in the mail car. She did look well-to-do, but the coffin is only a pine box.” She frowned. “Her husband must have been a very large man. I must say, I have never seen a coffin of such size. Still—” she dismissed it with a wave of her hand “—the shipping cost should not be monumental.”
“Did the other widow board the train with you in Atlanta?” John asked, with unusual intentness.
“Why, no,” she replied. “I did not board the train in Atlanta, but in Colbyville, where my husband and I were visiting his sister when he died suddenly. Although,” she added, “at our stop in Atlanta, the young widow did have two trunks loaded into the mail car. But the c
offin came aboard at Colbyville. That’s why it has taken me so long to look for a seat,” she added. “I did not feel comfortable leaving her there alone, even though she was anxious to be alone with the coffin.”
John’s eyes were wide and curious.
Claire looked at him. “You don’t think…?”
“Oh, don’t I?” he murmured coldly. “Shall we go for a stroll, Claire?”
“I’d be delighted. You’ll excuse us?” Claire asked the widow softly as they stood.
“Certainly. You go right ahead. I never like being cooped up in these compartments on such long journeys. I fear we will tire of each other’s company long before we reach our destination!”
“And I’m certain that we will not,” John said gallantly, smiling at the widow.
She laughed with enjoyment. “You’re a flatterer, young man. Your wife will have to keep a close eye on you!”
“Indeed I will,” Claire replied, reaching for John’s hand in a shy attempt to maintain the fiction of togetherness.
If he was surprised at her action, he concealed it quite well. He returned the pressure of her soft fingers in their white glove and drew her from the compartment.
They were down the walkway a good piece before Claire spoke. John hadn’t released her hand, and it thrilled her to feel its gentle pressure.
“Do you think it’s Diane?” she asked warily, because even now, she wasn’t sure of his feelings.
“Of course I do,” he said, and sounded actually indifferent! “There were two trunks packed in the hall of her home earlier when I went there. Those were the ones Matt and I broke into at the station in Atlanta. I didn’t tell you,” he added, with a grin, “but they were full of Diane’s gowns and dresses. I knew then that she was probably going to go with Eli.” He chuckled wickedly. “Eli and the money, I should have said. Diane would have been hard-pressed to let him take the money and not her, as well.”
“I’m very sorry, John,” she said, with genuine regret. “I know that she…means a lot to you.”
He slowed, looking down at her with tenderness in his dark eyes. “She did,” he said, emphasizing the past tense. But while Claire hung there with bated breath, and before he could enlarge on that, the porter came past. John stopped him.
“Where is the mail car?” he asked. “A friend of ours is there with her late husband. We wanted to pay our respects.”
“Mail car’s that way, sir. Just go down through the passenger compartment and out the door. It’s the car just behind this one. Watch your step, now,” he added, and smiled at them.
“Thank you.”
They walked through the rows of passenger seats and to the back of the swaying car until they reached the platform.
“I wish Matt could have come with us,” John murmured. “I don’t know what Diane will say when she sees us.”
“She needn’t see us,” Claire replied. “Can’t you peer through the door and see if it’s really her?”
“Not if the shade is drawn,” he said. “But I’ll try. You stay here.”
He crossed to the next car, looking around to make sure there was no one observing them. He stood beside the door. The curtain was drawn all right, but the swaying of the cars on the tracks made it swing back and forth. He glimpsed two coffins through it—one ornate and one a pine box. And he saw Diane, in widow’s weeds with a black veil momentarily lifted from her face, sitting beside a coffin whose lid was open; Eli Calverson’s bald head was just visible above it. He was obviously discussing something with Diane, who looked worried and out of sorts. He moved quickly away and back to Claire, chuckling as he bustled her inside the passenger car.
“It’s them,” he said gaily. “Now if we can just find the Pinkerton man in Charleston…” He paused, snapping his fingers. “Claire, we’ll stop over in Augusta on the way! I’ll rush in at the next stop and telegraph the Pinkerton office and have them meet the train at Augusta! If the money’s in that coffin, we’ll have Eli dead to rights!”
“What if it’s not?” Claire asked worriedly. “What if he sent it on another train, or if it’s in a trunk he left behind?”
“We’ll have to take the chance. But he wouldn’t be likely to leave that much money behind,” he said. “And Diane wouldn’t be with him if he had, either.”
“You sound so bitter.”
“I am.” He glanced down at her with regret. “I was obsessed with her for years, and in all that time, I never once let myself see what she really was. I’ve wasted part of my life chasing fox fire.”
Her heart jumped with renewed hope. “No time is wasted if we learn a lesson from how we spend it, John,” she said solemnly. “But it must be hard for you, all the same, to have to see her arrested.”
He glanced at her. “In a way it is, Claire,” he said, smiling. “But by and large, people get what they deserve, sooner or later.”
Claire thought very hard for a moment. “Is there a reward for capturing someone who embezzles money from a bank?”
“Yes. The reward would be paid by our bank.”
She smiled. “Let me try something, then.”
“What?”
“Let me talk to Diane.”
“Absolutely not,” he said shortly. “I won’t put you at risk. He might have a gun, for all I know.”
His concern flattered her. “I would do nothing to put myself at risk,” she said at once, thinking of the tiny life inside her that he didn’t know about, and might not even want. “I think I might be able to speak to her alone. I think I have an idea that might work. I can sit there in the back of the passenger car and watch for her to come out.”
“Alone? Oh, no.” His fingers tightened on hers. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, Mrs. Hawthorn. I’ll wait with you.”
She grinned at him, overcome with delight. “Don’t you want to talk to Mrs. Cornwall?”
“I do not!”
She chuckled. “Then I would be glad of your company. Some people must be in the dining car, or there would be no seats here. And it may not be long before they return.”
“Then we’ll have to hope that she comes through here soon.”
Claire was betting on it, because there wasn’t a restroom in the baggage car. Perhaps there were restrooms farther down the train, but this would be closer. She had to hope that Diane would arrive long before any other passengers came to reclaim their seats.
John retained her small gloved hand when they sat down, fascinated with its smallness and strength.
“I like your hands,” he remarked. “They’re very capable little hands, too. They can even fix automobiles.”
She smiled up at him, her face radiant and adoring. “They can fix meals, as well.” Her smile faltered a little and she looked away. “Of course, there’s no need, since Mrs. Dobbs does it so well.”
He watched her averted face with disquiet. His hands tightened on hers as he saw the pain there. “Claire, I never even asked if you might prefer a house of our own. Would you?”
She tried to speak and couldn’t.
“Oh, my dear,” he said softly, and bent to kiss her eyes closed. “Of course you would.” He answered his own question. “We can start looking when we get back,” he said firmly. “I know of at least two small houses near Mrs. Dobbs. Unless you want something elaborate?” he added, smiling with barely contained excitement. “We could have one with gingerbread trim and crystal chandeliers, if you like.”
She laughed with such joy that she felt she might burst. “Oh, no. Crystal chandeliers are far too grand for me! But I would like a small house,” she said. “If you’re sure that you want to live in it with me,” she added, with a painful lack of self-confidence.
His arm went around her thin shoulders and drew her close, easing her head back so that he could search her radiant face with quick, possessive eyes. His breath warmed her face. “Yes, I want to live with you,” he whispered ardently. “But not as we have. I want a much closer marriage.” His arm contracted. “I want to
be your husband, my darling, in every way there is. I want to hold you in my arms every night and wake up beside you every morning of my life.”
Tears pricked at her eyes. “Oh, I want that, too!” she said huskily. Her gloved fingers touched his firm mouth. They trembled with the depth of her feelings. “John, I love you so!” she whispered.
Without caring about their fellow passengers, he bent and kissed her mouth with such tenderness that she shivered in his arms.
He smiled against her welcoming lips, so overcome with joy at her words that he could barely breathe. “And I love you,” he whispered back, to her surprised delight. “With all my heart. With all my soul. With all that I am, or ever will be.” He whispered the last words against her mouth as he kissed her again, a kiss that was more than a touching of lips. It was a vow.
Murmured laughter caught his attention and he lifted his head to meet indulgent smiles from the people around them. His cheeks actually flushed, and he chuckled self-consciously as he sat up, still possessing Claire’s small hands.
“The rest will have to wait,” he whispered with a wicked grin. “This is hardly the place to discuss our whole future, and we’re stuck here.”
She beamed at him. “It will only be for a little while, though. In fact—”
The door to the car opened; Diane came in. She didn’t look to the left or right, passing by their seat without even noticing them. Claire pressed John’s fingers, got out of the seat quickly, before he could protest, and followed Diane right down to the restroom. When Diane went inside, Claire pushed right in behind her and shut the door, closing them in together.
“What…?” Diane exclaimed, grabbing her throat.
“Don’t be afraid. It’s only me,” Claire said gently. “You’re in a lot of trouble. We know that your husband is hidden in a coffin in the luggage car. A Pinkerton man will be waiting for both of you at the next station,” she lied. “We arranged it in Atlanta.”
Diane leaned her head against the wall and let out a ragged sob. “I knew this would happen! I told him. I told him it wouldn’t work!” she wailed. “He dragged me into this and made me help him. He hasn’t been the same since he took the money. He threatened me if I didn’t go along with it. He said that he would provide for me handsomely if I helped him, but that I would be in great danger from that little weasel-faced man he employs if I didn’t. I was afraid of him,” she confessed, her eyes meeting Claire’s. “He has been cruel—and I was weak and I agreed to help him. I am lost, you see! I am disgraced, and so is my family—all because I couldn’t bear to be poor!”