“Cold, Katie Knepp?”
“Only on the inside,” Katie answered cryptically.
Nellie, however, missed the double entendre. “It will be nice on the inside, none too cold. You’ll see.” She came to an abrupt stop. “And here we are. The Met.”
Katie drank in the ornate facade of the building. The sign above the door boasted letters, the same letters she’d learned to read, but in words she didn’t fully understand. “Romani Opera. Headliner: Minerva Dika.”
She glanced at Nellie.
“This is the first opera, or performance set to music, of its kind. Told entirely in the Romani language.”
“Is that like English?”
“No. It’s Gypsy.” Katie noticed Nellie’s sideways glance and wondered if the worldly Englischer was growing tired of schooling her in the ways of the world. “They are a persecuted people who live in caravans, or traveling wagons pulled by spotted horses with long flowing manes.”
“These Gypsies sound like something out of a dream.”
Nellie nodded. “And I’ve heard of Minerva Dika. Her beauty is known the world over,
and her singing voice too. She migrated here with her father after her mother was burned as a witch in England, the same country we set sail for tomorrow morning. She then married a Union soldier and both of them contracted smallpox. He left her a widow. Somehow, her scars have faded and left her even more beautiful than before her infection, so the legend goes.”
Katie blinked and released the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
“Shall we go see the Romani opera?”
Katie nodded wildly. “Yes, we must!”
“So we shall!”
Chapter Eight
Bound for NYC
After a cramped and uncomfortable night spent trying to make the best of the train depot as a sleeping place, the train whistle blew just as Rebekah found a comfortable place to lay her head. Her shoulder ached from the run-in with the doorjamb the night Samuel took sick. As she sat up, she realized something else felt strange. It was her neck, and it refused to behave as it should.
She shook her head, awkwardly, feeling much more tired than she had before she finally went to sleep. Peter and Joseph had camped outside on the boardwalk in front of the depot’s doors, which had disheartened Rebekah a bit. She liked having them to talk to, and perhaps it was her imagination, but it seemed Joseph was being a bit standoffish since arriving in Montgomery.
She shrugged her shoulders and rolled her head this way and that in a futile attempt to entice a relieving pop.
Peter, with a spring in his step, jounced through the unlocked doors. He carried a bag under his arm, and there was no sign of Joseph anywhere. “Well good morning, Sis!”
Rebekah studied him through her sleep-heavy eyes. “You’re awfully chipper this morning. I pray you slept better outside than I did inside.”
Peter’s smile flickered and dimmed. “Oh, we stayed outside in hopes you’d sleep well inside.”
Rebekah hung her head. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’m a bit cranky.” When she looked up, she saw her brother’s face was full of jest.
“I can’t wait to tell Joseph I found one of your flaws. Your only flaw, to hear him tell it.”
Rebekah flushed at Peter’s words. So in true brotherly fashion, he continued.
“All night, I listened to how his wedding to his fiancé was right around the corner...”
“Okay, okay Peter. That’s enough.”
“Here.” Peter sank down beside her on the unforgiving bench that had doubled as Rebekah’s bed. “I bought us some breakfast.”
Rebekah brightened. “Smells delicious.”
Peter reached into the brown sack and produced two biscuits, each stuffed with eggs and bacon. “One for you and one for me.”
Rebekah accepted hers. “And one for Joseph?”
Peter held his hand out to Rebekah. “Let’s pray.”
Brows furrowed, she took it.
“Lord, bless everyone on this journey. Rebekah and Joseph, Katie, and last, me. Please keep Samuel Stoll in your hand, as well as his family while he’s ill. In Jesus’s name, amen.”
“Amen.” Rebekah studied her brother. “And Joseph? Where is he?”
Peter spoke through a mouthful. “I thought you’d never ask. I certainly hope you’re more aware of where he is when he’s your husband.”
Jest fairly dripped from his words.
“Good morning, kids.” In their reverie, Rebekah didn’t even hear the old ticket taker come in. “The missus sent you all some vittles for your trip. We are both mighty sorry you had to wait here, but hope you rested well.”
“Thank you.” Peter rose to accept the large paper-wrapped parcel. He extended his hand. “Good morning, and thank you again for your kindness.”
The glass windows rattled as the eight o’clock to New York City rolled into the station. The old man shuffled across the floor before taking his place behind the counter. “Hey, my spectacles!”
Rebekah studied her breakfast biscuit.
“They’re, they’re perfectly mended!” He shuffled from around the counter to Rebekah. “Thank you, little lady. Thank you.”
Rebekah smiled and swallowed her bite. “You’re welcome. It was the least I could do.” She shifted her gaze to her rumpled quilting bag. “I mend some things better than I do others.”
They shared a smile.
“How did that fabric work out for you?”
“Would you like to see?”
Joseph dashed in and stashed something behind the counter as Rebekah dug in her quilting bag. “I’m here folks, no need to worry!”
Rebekah cast a glance in his direction. Of course, he was staring at her. Emotion flamed in her neck. “Good morning, Joseph.”
“Good morning, indeed.” He came out from behind the counter. “Today we start our journey into the heart of the English world. Are you ready?”
