Collision of The Heart (16 page)

Chapter Fifteen

I
n ten minutes, the first train in over a week was scheduled to pull into Hillsdale, the town Mia Roper hoped to call home once again. Whether or not she had calculated correctly and that home would be with Ayden Goswell, she didn’t know. He had come home after she was in bed and left before she rose, without leaving her a message. Nonetheless, she bundled up in her warm clothes, tucked her handbag and portfolio under her arm, and headed for the train depot in town.

The station resembled a lemonade stand during a Fourth of July celebration. Lines snaked out the door and around the corner. Voices rose and fell in animated dialogue, and children wove through the crowd in a game of tag, their clear voices piercing the frosty air like bells. Even waiting in the cold, people smiled and chattered, their faces bright and hopeful.

“Those with eastbound tickets for today get on first,” a railroad worker shouted from the depot doorway. “Tickets for today. Right now, we have no more seats on this incoming eastbound train.”

Many faces fell. A few groans rose into the crystal sky.

“Westbound?” some shouted.

The conductor leaned back into the depot, then stepped outside again. “Westbound train has a few seats available. First come, first served.”

“Ma, we’ll never get there in time,” an adolescent boy protested.

“I’m just believing the good Lord will provide,” announced a woman with a baby in her arms.

A chorus of “Amen” swelled through the crowd.

Mia started past the line, headed for the station doorway. If she could get her money back for her ticket, she would have more than enough to support herself until she sold her articles and got paid for them.

Mrs. Goswell offered her a room in their house for as long as Mia wanted to stay. “We have the space now Mr. Divine and the Herrings are leaving us.”

But if Ayden ended up offering Charmaine marriage after all, Mia didn’t want to meet him over the breakfast table.

Heart pounding, she explained to the conductor at the door that she had a ticket to exchange and a telegram to send. He waved her inside to the ticket counter. A rotund man with white hair standing on end in the hot, dry air examined tickets and waved people through the door to the platform with the rapidity of a steam shuttle.

“Next,” he barked to the shorter line before him. “People are waiting. Have your ticket ready.”

Mia joined the line and drew forth her ticket. When her turn came, she laid it on the counter. “I would like to redeem this ticket. I am not returning to Boston at this time.”

Without looking at her, the agent picked up the ticket, glanced at it, then handed it back to her. “You’ll get more money for it if you sell it outside.”

“But I—” Mia blinked.

More money meant she could leave the Goswells sooner rather than later—just in case . . .

She retrieved her ticket, then crossed to the telegraph office. Her message was brief.

NOT RETURNING STOP SENDING TWO ARTICLES STOP

The secure future she craved from childhood sent flying with that telegram, Mia headed back out the door. More passengers filed into the station.

“Eastbound train is filled,” the ticket agent shouted.

“When’s the next train?” several people chorused.

“Eastbound tonight,” the conductor answered. “Twelve hours.”

The holiday mood subsided.

“There’s a little lady here willing to sell hers.” The ticket agent pointed at Mia, who was hovering in the doorway.

A sea of hopeful faces turned toward Mia. She clutched her handbag more closely, fearing that someone would snatch it with the precious ticket.

Gold and silver flashed before her eyes, along with shouts of offers to buy. She scanned the crowd to see who most needed the ticket. Her gaze fell on the woman with the infant.

She shook her head. “I only have the cost of the ticket, nothing extra. But don’t worry about me. The Lord will provide.”

The sums shoved in Mia’s face tempted her. Those coins signified independence and security for weeks.

She ducked beneath the arm of a gentleman in a silk hat and walked up to the woman. “Take it, and God bless.”

The woman’s eyes glowed. “You’re certain? You can get so much more from others.”

“Keep your coin. Get you and your baby home.”

“Thank you.” The woman started to cry. “My husband hasn’t seen our baby yet. Bless you. Thank you.”

Mia gave her a nudge. “Get on that platform before the train arrives.”

Her heart warm and calm for the first time in eighteen months, Mia watched the woman until she vanished into the station. Then she took a step back out of the throng and into something hard pressed to her spine.

“Say nothing, and no one’ll get hurt,” a male voice rasped in her ear.

A chill deeper than the cold air ran through Mia. “What do you want from me?”

“What do you think? The child.”

Ayden’s heart raced with anticipation, with apprehension, with exertion from his jog from campus to home in order to see Mia as quickly as possible. But when he reached the house, Rosalie was home alone.

“She left for the train station over an hour ago,” Rosalie said.

“The train?” A lump swelled in Ayden’s chest. “She left? I thought . . . I was certain . . .”

He had just destroyed his future for a lady who still found her career more important than he was.

Rosalie giggled and kissed his cheek. “Don’t look so woebegone, brother. She didn’t leave Hillsdale. She went there to turn in her ticket. Of course, I did expect her back sooner than this. Maybe she changed her mind.”

“I’ll change my mind about Lambert if you’re not careful.” Ayden tugged on one of Rosalie’s curls, causing the left side of her coiffure to tumble onto her shoulder.

“Oh, you.” She gave him a playful slap on his hand, but sobered at once. “Seriously, Ayden, she should have come home by now. She didn’t take her things with her except for her notebook and purse, and if she was just going to turn in her—”

Her voice died behind him as he slammed out the kitchen door.

He reached the station in minutes and began searching the crowd for signs of Mia. He found lots of females, mothers, wives, and daughters trying to get passage on one of the trains finally able to get down the tracks to the east and west. There was no sign of Mia.

After a quarter hour, he managed to reach the ticket counter. “Did you see a pretty young woman come by here?” At the man’s blank look, he clarified, “Chestnut hair. Green eyes. A hood with white fur.”

“’Bout an hour ago.” The ticket clerk tapped his chin. “She wanted to get a refund for her ticket. I suggested she sell it. Get more money.”

Ayden’s heart leaped. “Did she?”

“Nope. She gave it away.”

She gave away her ticket. She was staying.

Ayden would have run through the streets singing about what a blessed man he was—if only he knew where Mia had gone.

“Did you see—”

“Look, mister, I have a hundred people to get out of here. I can’t keep track of one foolish female.”

“Of course not. Thank you for your help.”

Ayden left the station. Perhaps she had gone to Genevieve’s or to the boardinghouse or even to the church. She might have gone to the sheriff for information on the child.

But no, she had tossed that article into the fire.

Those who knew about her telegrams wouldn’t know that. They might think she had visited the station to pass along or gather more information.

His guts coiling like a snake ready to spring, Ayden ran to Genevieve’s house. Only the merest hint of smoke puffed from the kitchen chimney, and no one answered his knock. Likewise, the church, for the first time in a week, lay quiet and empty.

Footfalls slowing, Ayden made his way toward the sheriff’s office. He saw a few acquaintances along the way and asked about Mia. No one had seen her. Mouth dry and temples beginning to throb, Ayden entered the sheriff’s office.

For once, he was glad to see Fletcher Lambert on duty.

“How may I help you?” Lambert, now his future brother-in-law, grinned and raised a hand in greeting.

“Mia is missing.” Ayden grasped the edge of the counter. “She went to the train station to turn in her ticket, and no one has seen her since.”

“You’re sure.” Lambert leaned forward, his eyes growing dark. “She’s not—”

“Anywhere unless she’s gotten home in the last quarter hour or so.”

“Let’s go see.” Lambert stepped into the back office for a moment, then returned, pulling on his overcoat. “Sheriff says I can go with you. All the others are guarding the station.” He lowered his voice though the office was empty. “We sent the child home this morning, but the kidnappers are still at large and aren’t likely to know we no longer have the boy here.”

The child. The kidnappers. They would surely not bother with Mia. She knew nothing.

But she had sent those telegrams, and the kidnappers might think she did.

Ayden and Lambert sprinted for the Goswell house. Halfway there, they met Rosalie racing through the slush, waving a sheet of paper and screaming.

The gun pressing into her ribs prodding her forward in silence, Mia stumbled through the trees and into an overgrown but still familiar yard. She knew the yard, the back of the house, and the kitchen into which the false railroad worker shoved her.

Through her own blurred vision and a pall of smoke from a charcoal brazier in the middle of the stone floor, she peered at a table where she had often helped prepare lemonade and sweets to feed hungry college students, the stove where she had set many a pot of coffee to brew. The stove lay cold, and the table served as a bed for a woman with one leg splinted and swathed in bandages. Nothing else in the chamber stayed the same as the last time she had visited Professor and Mrs. Blamey. Black cloth covered the windows instead of frilly gingham. Candles flickered in holders atop the stove and the shelves meant for dishes. The only warmth radiated from the brazier, pitiful at best, little use in a frigid Michigan February.

Shivering uncontrollably, her mouth dry, Mia fixed her attention on the woman and tried to speak in a voice that gave away nothing of her desire to scream. “You’ve been holed up here all along? We intended to help you.”

“I crawled out the back of the car the minute I realized you had the Yardley brat.” The woman’s voice was tight. Lines of pain etched her face. “If my leg weren’t broke already, it were broke after I landed on the ground, you interfering—”

“Enough talking.” The gunman closed the door and shoved Mia forward. “Where are the others?”

“Sleeping in the dining room.” The woman closed her eyes and fumbled a flat green bottle to her lips. The stench of spirits and something else filled the room, along with the smoke. Laudanum. The woman must be in terrible pain.

Mia hugged her arms over her middle. “Help me, and we can get you proper medical care.”

“Tabard here has done well enough.” The woman closed her eyes. “Just give us the baby, and we can get all the money we need for all the doctors in the world.”

“I don’t know where he is.” Mia doubted the woman would believe her any more than had her abductor. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t—” She heard the rising note in her voice and clamped her lips together.

Tabard nudged her with the gun. “Turn around. Agnes, tie her hands.”

Shaking, Mia kept her hands tucked beneath her arms.

“Put your hands behind you.” Tabard shoved the gun harder into Mia’s ribs.

Mia put her hands behind her. “You won’t . . . won’t get anywhere like this. I don’t know where Jamie is.”

“Goswell does.” Agnes began to wind rough hemp around Mia’s wrists.

Her heart crawled into her throat, threatening to strangle her. “They won’t sacrifice the baby for me. I won’t l-let them.”

Could she burn through her bonds with the brazier? She risked setting fire to her clothes and blistering her skin, but—

“We don’t want to harm the baby. We just want money for him.” Tabard handed his gun to Agnes and crouched to tie Mia’s ankles. “But you are worth nothing, so we will harm you.”

She opened her mouth to dispute his claim of no harm to the baby, but remained silent. If she didn’t say anything, perhaps they wouldn’t gag her.

“Keep holding her,” Tabard said. “I’m fetching the others.”

The others meant the other two men and more guns. They trooped into the kitchen and arranged themselves near doors and windows. Mia sat on the floor beneath the table and concentrated on not being sick. She must free herself, must warn the sheriff to warn whoever held the baby.

Black spots danced before her eyes. Her head filled with mush and muddled thoughts. Must. Get. Away. Must. Warn. Must—

The two men looking outside leaped back from the window and door. “They’re here,” Tabard announced. “I knew Goswell wouldn’t risk the girl’s life.” He caressed the barrel of his gun, then turned the muzzle on Mia.

“You were the man on the railway car.” A surge of energy pulsed through her, and she shot out her bound feet, striking him across the ankles.

Tabard swore and pulled the trigger.