off train passengers, she made it inside, quickly scanning the selection of women’s clothing available off-the-shelf.
On one hand, Emily thought it was rather a shame to spend good money when her suit still had plenty of wear left in it. On the other hand, Stanton was right about the excessive memorability of the ugly plaid. Also, the thought of not having to use the gentlemen’s rest anymore appealed to her greatly.
It took very little deliberation to settle on a simple black dress, for that was about all there was to be had. Even so, Emily was able to bargain the clerk down considerably because it was made of heavy wool and too warm for the coming spring. She also bought a chemise and petticoat and pantalettes—all the things she’d left behind when assuming her disguise in San Francisco. It was a shame she couldn’t afford different shoes; the heavy men’s boots were bound to look odd under the skirt of a dress. She bought a hat, too, with a heavy dark veil.
Crossing back to the station, she was faced with a thorny dilemma: Where was she going to change? Should she enter the men’s restroom and emerge as a woman, or risk the brouhaha that would certainly ensue if she were caught entering the ladies’ restroom as a man?
She decided that both options were far too risky, and instead ducked into a small broom closet conveniently located between both restrooms. It was cramped, but she managed to effect the change without too much indignity. She very much appreciated the opportunity to remove the bandaging that flattened her chest; she’d forgotten how nice it was to take a deep breath.
While she was changing, she checked the injury on her arm. To her surprise, the bullet wound was completely healed, leaving behind only a faint pink scar where the laceration had been. She threw away the dirty bandage and crumbling moss, not bothering herself to wonder how it could have healed so quickly. Having encountered so many strange things that worked to her detriment, it was downright refreshing to run across a strangeness that behooved her.
She folded her men’s clothes into a neat pile. Stepping out of the broom closet, Emily dropped them into the first garbage can she passed. The only thing she kept was the safety pin Rose had given her. One never knew when a safety pin would come in handy, and Emily felt like having a memento of the poor, sweet girl whose chatter she’d already begun to miss. She fastened the pin inside her sleeve and smoothed fabric over it.
When she returned to the platform, she searched the crowd for Stanton’s lanky form. They hadn’t thought to agree on a meeting place, and as they were switching to a Pullman she had no idea what car they would be getting on.
“Miss Edwards,” a voice behind her said, making her jump. It was Stanton, his head low and his hat pulled well over his eyes. “Put your veil down. Word has finally caught up with us.”
She followed Stanton’s eyes to where two men in shiny gray suits stood side by side, scanning the platform. Emily put her veil down casually.
“Maelstroms?”
“Maelstroms, Pinkertons, undercover police … who knows. But they’re not waiting for friends. Come on. We have to pass them to get to our car.”
“How do I look?” she whispered to him.
“Better,” he whispered back. “Who’ll bother a man traveling with his widowed aunt?”
“The compliments just drip like honey from your lips, don’t they?” she muttered as he extended his arm to her. She took it, keeping her head down and drawing herself against his body as if for support in a time of mourning. Taking the cue, Stanton bent his face close to hers and patted her arm tenderly.
“Walk slowly,” Stanton murmured as he felt Emily’s urge to run. They were passing directly in front of the men in gray. Emily could hear them breathing, feel their tense energy like big cats ready to spring, see the knives sheathed at their belts.
“Never give them cause to chase you.” Emily spoke the words in an exhaled breath as they put the men behind them, neither one having given the poor man and his widowed aunt so much as a second glance.
They stayed hunched down in their seats until the train was well out of the station, after which time they could relax and enjoy the comfort of the Pullman. Once they were enfolded in its profusion of scrollwork and