***
As they passed under a giant sign that was stuck to a post on the roadside that read East 28th Street, Katie couldn’t take it anymore. She yanked her arm from Nellie’s grasp and sunk onto some stone steps. She wasted no time in clawing at the unforgiving laces that seemed to cinch tighter as the night turned to day. Katie hadn’t been able to properly feel her toes since they left Joe’s All Night Diner, and now the cramps in her calf muscles were so severe, she had to sit down or risk falling down.
“Katie Knepp, what do you think you’re doing?”
The cold stone stairs felt strangely comforting against her backside as she battled it out with the laces. “I cannot feel my feet. At all. I think these shoes have squeezed the life out of them.”
“Those are patent Italian leather,” Nellie quipped, her bright face now unsmiling and strangely gray. “You have to wear them when they hurt. Wear them through the pain, it’s a good thing!”
“A good thing?” Exhaustion made Katie laugh as the absurdity continued to flow out of Nellie’s mouth.
“Yes. It’s called breaking them in. Everybody knows that.”
Katie shook her head. “That’s the most ignorant thing I’ve ever heard, Nellie Bly!” Katie freed one foot from the constricting boot and went to work on the other. “Back home in Indiana, we make our own clothes and shoes. And we make them to fit, not to hurt until we get used to them or lose feeling in our whole body. Whichever comes first.”
Nellie stood staring at Katie, her mouth agape. “Well I never!”
“Me neither.” Katie yanked the second boot off and closed her eyes. “Ahh, now that’s so much better.”
Katie dropped the second boot, which tumbled down the stairs, taking the first boot with it.
“Oh Heavens! They’ll get scuffed!”
“Serves them right, the way they pinched my toes.” Katie rubbed her feet and relaxed against the black, wrought-iron hand rail that lined the steps.
Nellie scrambled to collect the misbegotten articles that Katie dropped with such blatant disregard. After picking her way back down the stone stairs, Nellie hung her head and clutched the unkempt boots, that looked to be as done with Katie as she was with them, to her chest. “Come on, Katie, we have plans to finalize before we set sail for London. That starts today, you know.”
Nellie glanced up at the giant building that belonged to the stairs where Katie had taken up residence. “According to The Church of Our Lady of The Scapular of Mount Caramel, it is almost eight o’clock.”
Katie stopped rubbing and followed Nellie’s gaze to the giant watch face on the building’s front. Funny looking numbers, the likes of which she’d never seen, were there. Katie shrugged and went back to rubbing. “If you say so. But I can’t read those numbers, so I’ll have to take you at your word.”
“I’m leaving, Katie Knepp. Are you coming?”
Katie squeezed and rubbed, relaxing the knots and soothing the angry muscles. “Yes, I’m coming. Just not yet, unless you’ll have me hobble along like a three-legged mule behind you.” She dared a peek at Nellie. “What is this place where I’ve chosen to rest anyway?”
Or the place that chose me.
“It’s just a church, Katie Knepp. A Catholic Church.” Nellie glanced at it with a huff. “It will probably be torn down this time next year, like so many more before it.”
“Why would they tear down a church?” Katie stopped rubbing. The icy feeling of fear returned with a fresh vengeance. “Do the English not believe that churches are God’s house?”
“I suppose so. But if New York City wants apartment buildings here, like they usually do on corner lots like these, God had better find a new place to live.”
Such talk is blasphemy. A deep kernel, planted years ago somewhere in her heart or maybe even in her soul, throbbed because of Nellie’s unashamed words. Katie’s heart thundered in her chest. “Nellie...”
Slowly, Katie forced herself to her feet. She suddenly felt very ridiculous and plucked the ornate hat from her head. That’s better already. “Come on, let’s go in and spend a moment in prayer before your worldwide journey.”
Nellie reached and took the hat from Katie’s hands, lest she disgrace it more than she obviously already had. She dusted and fluffed and spiffed the velvet hat and it’s long, plumy feather. “I’m not Catholic, Katie Knepp. And you certainly aren’t either.”
Katie turned and started to climb the stone stairs to the wooden double doors. “The ways of the English are so confusing, Nellie. Are all people not welcome in God’s house in the world of the English?”
“Well, I suppose so...but...”
Katie placed her hand on the handle. “Then let’s come into Our Father’s home and pray for safe journeys.”
Nellie clutched the boots tightly to her chest and glanced up at the clock again. “It’s really time to head to the ship, Katie.” The jovial note to her voice was noticeably absent. “So let’s go.”
Katie didn’t turn around. I may be running from Peter and from Gasthof Village. I may be running from the Amish. I may even be running from Rebekah. But I am most certainly and above all else not running from God. “I’ll catch up with you, Nellie.”
After an eternal silence, Nellie exhaled. “Fine. Head right down this street, the same direction we were going, until you hit the ocean. Surely even you can’t miss an entire ocean, right?”
Another stinging quip.
“Surely not.”
Something in the air softened. “Be there in an hour, Katie Knepp. At the docks, I mean. So we can catch the Augusta Victoria. Bound for London.” Nellie’s voice had softened too. “I am truly honored to have you with me on this trip.”
Katie’s mouth had formed into a hard line over the course of the night and into the morning, but it too softened. She gave a little wave and opened the heavy door. “And it is my honor to go with you. I’ll be there, God willing.”
“It’s impossible to get lost, Katie Knepp,” Nellie said again. “Just walk until you hit the water and I’ll be there.”
***
Katie crept into the giant church, quietly, like a mouse. Somewhere, people were singing—chanting, rather—and it echoed mysteriously off the stone walls. Something about the solemnity of the atmosphere gave her pause. God was here, just as real and just as present as He was in the Amish church meetinghouses in Gasthof Village. Katie recognized Him immediately. She stumbled into a pew and sucked in a breath.
Finally, for the first time since leaving Peter at the end of Rumspringa, she was able to take a breath, reflect, and collect her thoughts.
“Father.” Her voice cracked without warning. All of the emotion she’d hidden, packed down, put away, came bubbling out through that crack. Before she even prayed the prayer that she had bumbling around in her muddled mind, all of those emotions threatened to strangle her.
“Father, oh Father.” Peter’s face, innocent and gentle, filled her mind. The hopeful look he’d given her when she’d promised to meet him. The fear she’d seen in his eyes when he couldn’t find her, yet she watched, hiding in the shadows.
Like a coward.
Like a selfish coward.
Who thought only of herself.
And thought not of anyone else, or their feelings.
“Oh Father, I’m so, so sorry.” Tears dripped from her eyes and hung like an English diamond necklace in her fringe of lashes.
“Peter,” she mumbled. “Samuel Stoll, his sickness.” Her words came fast and garbled. She fell down onto her knees between the pews. “Rebekah, Joseph. My mother and my father. Annie.” She sucked in a long, whoop of air. “Father, help me. I don’t know what to do.”
“My child, what troubles your heart so?”
Katie gasped and opened her eyes. A man in simple garb sat before her. “I—I thought I was alone. I’m so sorry...”
“No need to be sorry Miss.” He spoke with a soft accent that Katie couldn’t place. “I’m Father Plant. All are welcome in God’s house.”
