Before the Dawn Read online

  A fallen woman must decide to stay down, or rise and fight…

  Elijah McKinnon has been found innocent of a heinous murder, but it doesn’t erase the hellish years in prison he endured. He boards the train to Pittsburgh a changed man, certain he will never feel free until he’s wreaked revenge on the brother who ruined his life.

  The passenger who catches his eye is intriguing, but he’s seen her kind before. The kind who puts on airs—and looks down on Irishmen. Still, he can’t seem to stop himself from stepping between her and a pack of ruthless cads.

  Mary Jane Lawson is grateful for the handsome stranger’s help, but her journey has a higher purpose: to rise above her shattered reputation and declare her independence, come flood or famine. Propriety says she should refuse Elijah’s suggestion they pose as husband and wife—for her own protection, of course. Her practical side says it won’t hurt to pretend, just this once.

  Come nightfall, though, their little charade must be carried all the way to shared sleeping quarters, where their vulnerabilities become painfully clear. And when danger past and present threatens, trusting each other becomes a matter of life and death.

  Warning: A hot Irish accent mixed with high adventure may cause combustion. Beware of falling for this hunk. The heroine says he’s hers.

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Before the Dawn

  Copyright © 2011 by Denise A. Agnew

  ISBN: 978-1-60928-493-0

  Edited by Bethany Morgan

  Cover by Kim Killion

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: June 2011

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Before the Dawn

  Denise A. Agnew

  Dedication

  To my husband, Terry, whose faith in me gives my heart wings and is a true blessing.

  Acknowledgements

  A book like this can’t be written without significant research. Along with the research there are helping hands. Many thanks to: author Diane Whiteside for her generous help. I drew from her extensive knowledge of the railroads on more than one occasion. To my husband, Terry, for listening to me go on about this book and suggesting numerous ways to create railroad mayhem. To Park Ranger Douglas J. Richardson of the Allegheny Portage Railroad Museum for his excellent knowledge of the area and invaluable information. Thank you for your generosity and kindness indulging this author.

  Author’s Note

  During my research on Eastern State Penitentiary, I was lucky enough to find many documents that gave me the flavor of what living there in the 1840s and ’50s would have been like for a prisoner. Because this story is fiction, I have taken liberties with some details. I’ve tried to retain the flavor and kept most of the details as accurate as possible.

  Chapter One

  “…he is like a man buried alive; to be dug out in a slow round of years; and in the meantime dead to everything but torturing anxieties and horrible despair.”

  Charles Dickens commenting on Eastern State Penitentiary

  Eastern State Penitentiary

  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

  June, 1850

  Elijah Jonas McKinnon would never forget the day he left the penitentiary--the revenge in his soul was the only reason for living.

  But the day he learned he’d soon be free…now that day came in a close second for perfect memories.

  “You’re out, McKinnon. Don’t ask me how, but you’re one lucky son-of-a-bitch.”

  Elijah stared at the rail-thin jailer while disbelief chewed at his mind like a rat on an old leather boot. Elijah dropped his bible on the stone floor, and the thump echoed around the cell and probably the whole damned penitentiary. He opened his mouth but not a syllable emerged. He’d gone insane. Finally, God had granted his wish, the one he prayed for at night after the lights were extinguished and the huge structure taunted him with phantom whispers he knew couldn’t issue from any living human being. Often, all the gables, the buttresses, the arches of this prison came alive in his nightmares. Perhaps they truly animated. Became the horrible dream from which he expected to remain for a goodly portion of his life.

  Elijah gazed upward at the skylight in the barrel-vaulted ceiling, the meager illumination at this time of day bathing his face. He closed his eyes as a mix of relief and fear battled for supremacy within him. He returned his attention to the jailer.

  Elijah tried his voice, something he used only for furtive whispers late at night, when he resorted to kneeling on hard stone and holding his rosary close to his heart. “What did you say?”

  The sound was rusty and aching with disbelief.

  The jailer’s arrow-sharp nose tilted upward as he stood at the open cell door. Lank, dark, greasy hair fell over the man’s forehead. His grin held an eerie delight and showed in his ice-cold blue eyes. “You got a reprieve. ’Parently your brother found evidence you didn’t do it. Your brother Amos done killed your woman.”

  Elijah’s jaw tightened as a thousand emotions crawled up his throat, threatening to erupt in a cry one part agony and one part relief. What did he feel? He should shout with joy, pump his fist in the air with victory that he’d been vindicated. After all, hadn’t he vowed to leave jail and find Amos because he knew his brother was guilty? The heavens had granted Elijah another chance. One he wouldn’t squander.

  “That all you got to say, McKinnon?” His jailer’s sour expression turned to an almost friendly façade. “Damn, but if it was my worn hide, I’d be pissing myself with happiness.”

  Elijah ambled towards the man, throat still tight, body coiled with a sudden desire to run. The jailer took a tentative shift back on his heels, eyes caught between wariness and cool bravado.

  Elijah swallowed hard. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph. If you’re lying to me, Mouse, I’ll leave here, find a knife, then come back and cut your throat.”

  Mouse’s eyes widened, his long face almost as dirty and greasy as his hair. “So that’s what you sound like when you’re angry. You really are a Mick.”

  “Yes, I really am.”

  “If you was a smart boy you wouldn’t talk yet. What if I was trying to trick you into talkin’, then clapped you in the iron tongue?”

  Elijah allowed a smile to wander across his face, the first he’d attempted in months. “You’re my jailer, but you’re not as bad as half the men in here.” Elijah coughed. “You’ve never treated me unfairly before. Why would you start now?”

  The men halted conversation when another voice echoed nearby. “Ought to be a law against a bastard like McKinnon leaving this place.”

  Elijah’s muscles tightened at the sound of the rough, hateful voice of Tobias Varney. Tobias wandered into view at the doorway, edging Mouse out of the way.

  Mouse threw a vile frown at Varney. “Get outta here.”

  Varney took a step forward into the cell, his thick, blond hair as luxurious as a woman’s but his pock-marked face almost as frightening as a specter. He slapped a stick against his thigh in a rhythmic stroke. “Nah, I don’t think so. I think they should keep this mur
dering son-of-a-whore here. What do you think, you stupid Mick?”

  Elijah’s temper surged high, threatening eruption. He understood the man, who had tried to provoke him many times over five years. He knew what this ass wanted. Damned if he’d give the man satisfaction of creating a scene that would result in more incarceration.

  Throat still aching and raw with emotion and lack of use, Elijah said the one thing least likely to cause retribution. “Feck you, Varney.”

  Varney threw back his head and laughed, his face contorted with cruel merriment. Varney strode forward, and Elijah’s fists clenched, his whole body stiffening in anticipation. “I ought to take you down with this stick.” Varney drew the stick over his head. “Ought to show you what bastards like you deserve.”

  Mouse hurried forward and stood next to Elijah. Though the smaller man didn’t possess a stick, Gulliver “Mouse” O’Toole had guts. “Back away, Varney. You know it ain’t right. The Mick hasn’t done anything.”

  Varney tilted his head and gazed at the other guard as if he’d lost his head somewhere along the way. “You’re only takin’ his side because you’re Irish like him.”

  Mouse gave his fellow guard a cold smile. “I’m a nativist like you, man, and a Protestant. I despise his filthy hide as much as the next. My family has been here since 1785. This here Mick…well, I don’t think ten years is near long enough to make him a real native. Do you?”

  Varney’s mouth twisted as he continued to slap the stick against his leg. “Nope. So, why are you helpin’ him?”

  Elijah hoped the men would leave soon. Leave him so that he could enjoy his upcoming freedom within the confines of his cell.

  Jerking his head to the left, Mouse said, “Come on. I hear tell the warden is makin’ his rounds soon. We’re almost off our shift. I’ll buy you a drink, Varney. Get outta here, and I’ll meet you later.”

  Licking his lips with a bizarre anticipation, Varney gave Elijah one last glance, and then headed out the door.

  After the man’s footsteps echoed down the hall and disappeared, Mouse cleared his throat. “So…what you gonna do when you get outta here? Find Amos? Beat the stuffin’ outta him?”

  Pure relief and hatred mingled inside Elijah’s battered soul. His body and mind ached with a desire to leave this hellhole, to find Amos, the man who’d taken sweet Maureen’s life. At the same time, he wanted to run home to his Ma and his other brother Zeke. Grief rose up inside for all the months…the years lost in this god-forsaken place. His throat tightened again.

  “No.” Elijah struggled for the next words, strangled by a force inside him he didn’t recognize and that scared him to the roots of his aching soul. “I’m going to kill him.”

  Dear Ma,

  I apologize for not writing to you before, but as you no doubt know, I was not allowed to send or receive letters until now. I guess since they know I am an innocent man, they think I deserve the opportunity to send post to my loved ones. Zeke wrote me and said you still live in outside Kensington. I would like to come see you the day I get out of prison. Before I go to see Zeke at his new home. There is so much I want to discuss, dear Ma. I missed you so much while I was in this hellhole. You cannot imagine the surprise and joy I have felt upon learning the governor had pardoned me, and I am about to taste freedom. Please write me.

  Love,

  Your obedient son, Elijah.

  Dear son,

  My new husband, George, suggested I write this letter. Did Zeke tell you I had married again? Just a month ago. He is a fine man with lovely manners, money and a good job. He owns a dry goods and sundries store in Kensington that does very well. I do not have to work in the sweatshop anymore, which suits me fine since my bones are getting old.

  I am sorry to say that George doesn’t want you to come see us. I cannot say I blame him. He says that even though Zeke proved you innocent, that we cannot be seen associating with someone who has been in prison. At first I was angry, but I understand how he feels. It would not do. Our lives are complicated because he has a son who is a minister at the Presbyterian Church. I hope you have been praying every day, son, for the redemption of your soul. Maybe we can meet someday when George forgets where you have been and what you have seen. I think if you converted to Protestantism, like I have, life here might go easier for you.

  As ever, your mother.

  Ten days later

  Elijah stared at the row house in front of him and admired Zeke’s abode. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  The brownstone didn’t have the shabbiness Elijah associated with living in his old Kensington neighborhood. Envy played a part in his feelings, and he understood that. While his life once filled with despair and heartache, Elijah’s brother had made something of his life.

  But Elijah had no time to wonder about Zeke’s life. Hunting down Amos meant he needed to hurry.

  Elijah wiped his palms on his trousers. Straightened the worn and not exactly crisp white jabot. He tugged on the bottom of his waistcoat and tried the doorknocker. He half expected a maid to answer, but the door swung open and revealed Zeke. An older, sharper version of Zeke, but Zeke nonetheless. With light brown hair neatly combed back with oil, expressive brown eyes, and craggy features, Zeke resembled their Ma more than Amos or Elijah. Shorter than Elijah by a couple of inches, he still commanded respect with his muscular frame.

  “Brother.” Elijah’s heart and mind roiled with a thousand words, a million platitudes to express thankfulness.

  Zeke smiled and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Good to see you. Sorry I couldn’t come to the penitentiary but my wife is indisposed.” He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “We need to keep our voices down. She’s sleeping.”

  The tight grip on Elijah’s shoulder almost hurt, but he would take that brotherly sign of affection anytime after five years.

  “Come in, come in.” Zeke motioned for him to follow. Zeke closed the door and led the way to the left and a large parlor.

  Elijah took in the interior of the row house. Though well furnished, it was middle-class. The frippery Elijah associated with a female presence seemed muted, as if the lady of the house didn’t like to overdo. He doubted his brother could afford extravagances on his pay as a reporter for a new paper in town.

  “This is a fine house, Zeke.”

  Zeke winked. “You’d think so wouldn’t you? If it wasn’t for my wife’s money, we wouldn’t have this much. Her father owns a mill on the other side of the city.”

  “And how did an Irishman like you manage to marry into money?”

  Zeke must have heard the sardonic tone, for his smile grew wider and rueful. “By being the luckiest damn bastard there is.”

  “No, I’m the luckiest damn bastard there is.”

  Zeke’s gaze narrowed. “You might be. Care for a drink?”

  Elijah’s mouth watered as his brother wandered over to a table holding a decanter filled with amber liquid. “Haven’t had a drop in five years, but I don’t have time for neighborly visit. I have things I need to do.”

  Zeke sighed and nodded. “You hungry?”

  “Can’t waste a minute on my stomach. I’ll eat later.”

  “You’ll want money, I suppose.”

  “You know I’ll pay you back.”

  Zeke led the way into the parlor and opened a drawer in a small desk near the door and pulled out some bills and coin.

  A loud snapping noise from the wood stove made Elijah tense and jerk, every muscle coiled for—he didn’t know what.

  Zeke’s brows lowered. “You all right, brother?”

  Elijah frowned. “Five years of solitary…well, you’d think a big prison holding that many men would have mighty noise. Once in a long while I’d hear some madman yell, but most of the time you’d think I was in a tomb. Loud noises startle me. Haven’t figured out how to stop reacting that way.”

  Zeke gripped Elijah’s shoulder. “You don’t have to explain. I know how hard it must have been for you.”


  Anger lifted from deep within Elijah, boiling and frothing like the pool at the bottom of a waterfall. He pulled away from under his brother’s grip. “No, you don’t know. Until you’ve had to keep your mouth closed for five years except to answer a jailer’s question…well, then you’ll know.”

  “I’m sorry. Again.” Zeke handed him the bills, his eyes troubled. He loosened the cravat at his throat and unbuttoned his waistcoat. “That’s all I can spare.”

  Elijah nodded as he shoved the money in his pants pocket. “You’ve been most generous with me.” Emotions tumbled inside him, chaotic and remorseful, indefinable. He swallowed hard, and his accent thickened. “Sure, and you know if it hadn’t been for you, I would’ve rotted in that cell for many more years.”

  Zeke’s jovial expression returned. “Take ease, Elijah. You see, I know if it had been Amos or me…neither one of us would have survived that prison.” A shiver passed over his frame. “That our own brother…”

  Zeke shook his head.

  A long silence ensued. What could either of them say when five years had separated so much, when words seemed insufficient to recover what they’d lost…Elijah didn’t know. The hollowness inside yawned like a dark, dank cave with no end in sight. Again his emotions scrambled.

  “I know what you’re planning to do,” Zeke said.

  Elijah’s head jerked up. “What?”

  “I know what you’re planning. You aren’t going to just find a place to lie low until you find a job. You’re planning something. What is it?”

  Elijah couldn’t deny his brother’s accuracy. He dangled between telling his innermost thoughts and lying vehemently. “Who says I want to do blacksmithing again? I worked hard in the penitentiary and didn’t keep a plugged nickel.”

  Zeke’s eyes darkened, as if he had a million questions but decided not to ask. “You walk all the way here?”