New York City
Katie walked down the stone steps of the Catholic Church with the dress Nellie lent her clutched in a neat square at her waist. A few people walking down the street looked at her, then turned to look again, but said nothing. She was dressed as Father Plant was, and apparently as a man named Saint Francis of Assisi, in a simple brown frock, tied at the middle with a length of rope as a belt.
“That’s better.” She extended her bare feet and rolled her ankles. “That’s so much better.”
She stood in front of the church and gave thanks to God, feeling closer to who she truly was. “Now, just to remember what Nellie said, how to get to the boats.”
I need to thank her for her kindness and wish her well. I’ll return this dress and be headed back to Gasthof Village by nightfall!
Katie closed her eyes and tried to remember. “Right down this street here.”
Did she mean along this street the way we were going already? Katie chewed her lip. Or did she mean turn right on this street and go until I hit the ocean?
Icy fingers of fear gripped Katie’s backbone as she continued walking the way she and Nellie had been traveling. She tried not to think of her current situation. Nellie had been so sure of herself as they twisted and turned through the New York City streets, going to the opera then to the diner and the docks. But alone, Katie was at a complete loss.
She looked around for a clock. “Nine o’clock.”
I’m supposed to be at the boats by now. And I don’t even know where I am.
She was worse off than that.
Katie was lost.
“Oh, this is not good. This is not good at all.” Katie looked around, but nothing looked familiar. “Surely I can find it.”
Katie sniffed the air. The air had smelled much saltier near the docks, but the air didn’t smell salty. Something nearby had turned and an odor of rot hung in the heavy air. People shoved past, bumping her without a word, and each of them trailing their own scent, and none of them pleasant. She sniffed again. Her shoulders sagged. Smells like I’m lost and alone. Which I suppose I pretty much am.
Katie sucked in a deep breath that tasted faintly like regret and kept walking. Some way is better than no way at this point. She didn’t ask for help, nor did anybody offer help. In fact, nobody paid her any mind at all. Everyone seemed so wrapped up in themselves and their own affairs, she was scarcely even visible at all.
“What a shame, to live this close to other people and go on about your life as though your neighbors are complete strangers.”
As predicted, nobody responded.
She stifled a giggle and quickened her steps.
“Back in Gasthof Village...” A sudden pang of homesickness, the first she’d felt since leaving Indiana, hit her with such force she ground to a halt. “I have to get home.”
“Can I help you with something, Miss?” A voice with a British lilt spoke from a dark alleyway. “I’m new in these parts, but it appears you are, as well.”
“Yes, thank you.” Katie peered into the alley. Still, she saw no one. “I’m trying to find the docks. A ship called the Augusta Victoria. Bound for London.”
“London town, eh?” A man in an ankle length duster, the same color brown as the brick wall he’d been leaning against moments before, blew out a puff of smoke and stood before her. He sported a neatly trimmed moustache, thinning hair, and laugh lines around his mouth. But what struck Katie most was his frame. He was thin. So incredibly thin. “I’m an East-ender myself, most recently.”
“That’s wonderful.” Katie nodded. She hoped he didn’t catch on that she had no idea what he was talking about. She stuck out her hand as she’d learned to do on this trip. “I’m Katie Knepp.”
He accepted it. “I’m Aaron. I just came off a ship this morning, so I can show you right where the docks are. You’re mighty close.” He gestured down the dim alleyway. Large gray buildings rose to the sky on each side and the whole area had a murky feel to it. “Would you like to take the shortcut?”
“Can we get to it from this street here?”
“Clever girl.” He crooked his arm. She slid her hand in his elbow. “Best to stay on well-lit streets. And remember, good girls go home before the sun sets. Only the dregs are out at night, and goodness only knows what becomes of them when the shadows fill the streets.”
Dregs. There’s that word again.
Katie forced a smile and nodded again. “Thank you for escorting me, mister, well, Aaron. I’m sorry, did you mention your last name?”
“You can call me Aaron Kosminski.”
“Kos...”
Aaron shared a giggle with Katie. “My last name is much too hard to pronounce.”
“Even for an Englishman?”
“Well, my family hails from Poland.” He glanced down at Katie. Something flickered across his eyes, something that made her skin crawl...something she’d only experienced once before.
One summer, back in Gasthof Village, her father was working in the fields, plowing. She and her twin, Annie, had spent the morning juicing lemons for lemonade. When they were finished, Katie couldn’t wait to take a tall glass of fresh lemonade to Pa. He and their plow horse were on the far back section of their farm, instead of picking her way over the freshly plowed clods, she walked carefully around their land, in the shady cover of the woods. Annie decided to come too, later—as usual—and came at a run.
About the time Annie caught up with her, Katie was so focused on holding the glass of lemonade steady so as not to spill one precious drop, she didn’t see it. But Annie did.
“Katie, stop! Katie!”
Katie stopped, and not a moment too soon.
A timber rattlesnake slid across the trail in front of her. If she hadn’t stopped, she would have stepped right in its middle. No doubt she would have been bitten and probably died.
The feeling that washed over her then, of being so close to death she was only alive by Grace alone, was almost tangible. The flicker in Aaron’s eyes was the same, something to be feared. Something was amiss. A cold pearl of sweat cropped up on the back of her neck and slid dramatically down her spine. She licked her dry lips, but it didn’t make a difference. Her mouth was parched and for no good reason other than her gut was twisted up in knots. Cold fingers of fear gripped her spine and refused to let go.
She shifted her hand, but Aaron tightened his arm. A funny smile curled his lips in an odd fashion. Katie shook off the chills that came as he looked at her and left her arm tucked into his, as it was.
“You’re well-travelled, Aaron.” She forced a fake smile. “Tell me, what was Poland like?”
The odd flicker disappeared from his eyes.
“Poland was beautiful, until it wasn’t.” His ashen face sagged in strange place. “There were people there that wanted to hurt my family, hurt me. I learned how to barber, then we all moved to London.”
Katie tried to follow along with his fragmented story, but it jumped all over. Knowing better than to pry, she simply smiled broadly and nodded, as though he was making perfect sense.
Aaron continued as they strode down the street. “We moved to Whitechapel in London. There were dregs there too. So many dregs. But now there aren’t so many.”
Katie nodded and stared ahead. Where are the docks? Please come into sight soon.
“Remember,” Aaron continued, “good girls stay home at night.”
Thankfully, there it was. The ocean just at the end of the street. Thank you, God.
Aaron suddenly stopped walking, jerking Katie to a stop too. “Are you a good girl, Katie Knepp?”
The way he said her name turned her stomach. She tried to free her hand again, but his arm tightened like a vice. “Are you?”
