Before the Dawn Page 5

  And damn her sweet hide, when she greeted him at two in the morning last night with those almond-shaped, intelligent eyes, those full red lips and willowy body, Elijah knew he’d stumbled upon something special. Whether she realized it or not, men looked at her with lust, him included. Skinny arse and that blond bastard had designs on her person. Without a chaperone or husband she was more vulnerable than she might admit.

  He didn’t want to give a damn, and resolved that other than offering her temporary status as his wife as a form of protection, he couldn’t afford to care. After all, he needed to get on with his most pressing business. Finding Amos and sending him to his maker.

  Anger stabbed like a white-hot poker to the gut. Amos. Damn him all to hell and the devil.

  Yeah, and maybe the devil will come for me when I rid the earth of Amos.

  So be it.

  Conflicting emotions battered him. Maureen had suffered a man’s savage needs, to Amos’s murderous hands. Elijah glanced at Mary Jane. She might be an upper class woman with a prickly side that irritated him no end, but her defenselessness made her fair game for any man with half a mind to mischief. In his experience, women with fine clothes, highbrow manners and soft leather gloves displayed little sense and needed a man to take care of them. Not like a woman who toiled her whole life. Not like his ma.

  Elijah glared at Mary Jane, resentful. He hadn’t taken this trip to act as protector for a woman more interested in frippery and finery than common sense. Still, Mary Jane had defied him in ways a true milquetoast woman wouldn’t dream of, and she’d shown fighting spirit when skinny and that blond bastard had accosted her.

  No matter. He didn’t have time to worry or wonder about her. He ought to leave her to her own devices.

  Yeah, but your Ma taught you better than that, Elijah. Taught you respect for women.

  That was before Amos destroyed the only woman I’ll ever love. Nothing else matters but finding my brother and putting him in his grave.

  He would keep an eye on Mary Jane, but maintain a distance. A woman tagging along would slow him on the path to revenge.

  Assured that he did understand his own mind on the subject, he turned his attention back to the next cog in the wheel. The canal boat held quite a few people, and when they entered, he selected a bench at the back. Once more Mary Jane took up all of one bench seat with that flimflam crinoline. A goodly portion of the boat, at least thirty-six feet or so, served as cabin in the day and sleeping quarters at night. A section of the night dormitory area served as ladies’ quarters. The dormitory had berths where people could sleep, but Elijah didn’t think he’d use one. Hell, he practically slept with one eye open these days.

  Something more pressing took control of his thoughts. He didn’t like this place, not one bit.

  It felt…tight. Confined.

  Easy, man. Take it easy. You’re not in prison anymore.

  He’d never seen anything like this odd boat. At least eighty feet long and eleven wide, it gave him a closed-in feeling that reminded him of the prison. He drew in deep breaths, his heart racing too fast, his need for air almost sending him to his feet. He closed his eyes and tried something that used to work when his cell closed in around him. He resolved to take deep breaths, to steady himself with images of the beautiful green shores of Ireland.

  This leg of the trip would take some time to complete, so he leaned his head back to catch some shuteye. Elijah’s dreams, though, held sway over him. He dreamed of Mary Jane nestled in his arms, her rounded bottom teasing his cock. Last night when she’d awakened him from that horrible dream, he’d wanted her in his arms for comfort. His comfort, admittedly, not hers. More than anything Elijah wanted to tell her what he felt when he held her. To ease his iron-hard spike into her warm body, to feel the plump fullness of her breasts against his chest. If he’d been a rake of the first degree he could have seduced her…perhaps. But then he’d be no better than the cretins who had eyeballed her on the train. One more complication he couldn’t afford.

  Now, as his dreams intensified and flooded him with visions of Mary Jane’s sweet mouth trailing a sinful path down his body, he relaxed. Oh, yeah.

  Then he felt it. Someone stared at him. He could feel it. He opened his eyes and glanced in Mary Jane’s direction. He caught her perusing him. She jerked her gaze away and sat all prim and proper, eyes forward, her black leather gloved hands folded on her lap, black skirts flowing around her. Many women looked sickly in mourning black. He doubted she could ever appear anything but beautiful. His mind flashed back to her warm weight in his arms. Tall and slim, but not rail thin, he liked how she felt. Strong but feminine, womanly but not so fragile he felt as if she might break in his grip.

  Right, McKinnon. After five years solitary you appreciate the feel of any woman in your arms. You should have found a prostitute last night and banged out your frustration. Sure, and he would have thought of Mary Jane the whole time. Damn he wanted to find his first pleasure in five years enjoying the tight, hot clasp of her body around his aching cock. He wanted to howl. Growl his disapproval of his own thoughts. Disgusted with himself, he started to look away again when her gaze snagged him and wouldn’t let go. He fell right in. Trapped. Son-of-a-bitch.

  He tore his gaze away from hers once more and retreated into the newspaper he’d bought that morning. Reading would keep his mind off how damned small the space around him felt.

  “Do you read often?” Mary Jane’s soft voice carried, but mingled with the other passenger’s voices.

  He kept his attention on the words in front of him. “Where I’ve been we didn’t get anything to read at first. Later on all we got was religious reading material.” He smirked. “I didn’t even know who the president was during my time in there. The world could have been going to all-fired Joe, and I wouldn’t have known it.”

  A gentle smile touched her lips along with a hint of confusion. “Where were you? A monastery?”

  “Might as well have been.”

  There you go, McKinnon. Since you almost released your secret to the world, allow her to think what she wants. Better she knew as little about him as possible. If she discovered he’d been in prison, she’d run from him like a hare, and that would prove dangerous. He didn’t want her taking chances with any other bastards on this route.

  After he read the paper, an irresistible urge for sleep overcame him despite voices humming around him. He clasped his hands over his stomach and leaned his head back. Slumber came swiftly.

  Elijah heard the whistling wind from a bitter cold winter as a snowstorm barreled down on the penitentiary. Cold air filtered in from the small vent in the skylight above. His bunk was cold and hard, the single woolen blanket barely enough to chase away the cold. He knew better than to undress in the winter other than to take his once a week perfunctory shower. No, it was too damned cold all winter to do otherwise. Still, what he wouldn’t give to feel sheets against his skin. What he wouldn’t give to taste Ma’s fine soda bread and rest easy in his own soft bed with clean sheets and coverings. The smelly blanket covering him now hadn’t been washed in two years, if that. He opened his eyes, desperation suddenly gripping his throat with sharp talons.

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

  No. It can’t be true. I’m out of prison. I’m free.

  Unless I’m mad and never left prison. Unless the whole train trip, Mary Jane, the feeling of fresh air in my lungs was but a cruel joke.

  Oh, sweet Jesus—no.

  No!

  Elijah jerked awake, a cry ripping from his lips. A cry resembling a desperate animal bent on escape. “No!”

  Breath rasping heavily from his throat, he stood up.

  He couldn’t stay here. I must get out.

  Passengers stared at him, men with pity-filled expressions, and some with undeniable disgust. Elijah didn’t care. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe—

  “I say there.” The steward came down the aisle, expression mixed with annoyance and concern. “Sir
, we can’t have commotions like this.”

  “Elijah?” Mary Jane’s gentle voice cut through Elijah’s panic. Her small hand clasped his bicep. “Elijah, sit down. You’re safe here.”

  As he glanced over at Mary Jane, he saw something in her eyes he would never expect. Confusion, yes, but more than that…compassion and concern. Her hand tightened on his bicep.

  The steward planted his hands on his hips. “We can’t have any trouble. If you’re trouble, we tie you up in the back until we reach our next stop.”

  Tie him up? Elijah wanted to laugh. That would surely be the last nail in his coffin. If the steward thought him a wild man now, wait until they tried to restrain him.

  He bristled. “I’ll be damned if—”

  “Elijah, please.” Mary Jane’s grip on his arm tightened, and she threw a pleading gaze at the steward. “Please, sir, we are quite sorry to disturb everyone. My husband just had a nightmare, nothing more. It will not happen again.”

  Again Elijah wanted to toss a mocking grin her way. If she thought that nightmare was nothing, she should see what other demons haunted him in the night.

  “Sir?” The steward gave Elijah an implacable glare, backed up by the disapproving stares of the other passengers.

  Elijah glanced down at Mary Jane again and the plea in her eyes. Something inside him softened a little. “Yeah. I’m fine. My wife was right. It was just an unfortunate nightmare.”

  The steward eyeballed him a tad longer, then returned to his work on the other side of the boat. Conscious of stares, including Mary Jane’s continued curious examination, he pulled out of her grip and sat down. Embarrassment mingled with self-loathing. How much longer would these nightmares plague him? By God, he would conquer these devil-spun dreams.

  The other passengers returned to their books, papers and naps.

  Elijah’s heart had barely returned to normal when Mary Jane reached across the aisle and touched his arm again. “Elijah, are you all right?”

  He flinched and jerked back. “Don’t touch me, darlin’. Not now.”

  Hurt flashed over her face, then haughty dismissal.

  That’s good, darlin’. Learn right now that you shouldn’t care about me.

  As if a woman of her level in society ever would?

  Mary Jane kept her own counsel and once more had almost nothing to say to him. Later, the steward and helpers set up berths to accommodate everyone on board, including the two ladies. Realizing he’d have to move his place, he decided sleeping in a berth would make his distaste for tight places even worse. Mary Jane retreated to the back nearby the other woman, sectioned by an opaque curtain to maintain feminine modesty.

  Elijah made peace with the steward by admitting he couldn’t abide small spaces and that’s what caused his nightmare. The steward allowed him to keep one bench open and not arranged into a berth. Maybe the man figured that was better than risking another full on nightmare from Elijah.

  Finally, the announcement for Harrisburg brought him to full attention. He thought he heard rain drumming on the top of the boat.

  “All disembark at Harrisburg,” came the announcement. “There’s heavy rain outside, and we’ll not be traveling all the way through tonight as we first thought.”

  After the berths were refolded and everyone returned to normal seating, Mary Jane sat on the bench next to him. Mary Jane’s soft voice almost didn’t reach his ears. “I was hoping we would make it to Duncan’s Island this evening.”

  He almost reached across the expanse and clasped her hand, but stopped himself. Frowning, he said, “Such is life near the Allegheny Mountains.”

  She sighed. “I will admit this trip to Philadelphia was my first across the mountains. I have never been much of anywhere outside of Pittsburgh.” She frowned. “Well, there was that time after the fire.”

  “The fire?”

  “In 1845, when the city center burned to a crisp. Father was worried he had lost his manufacturing building. But it was far enough outside the fire area and survived. It was a horrible few days.” She shook her head. “Father was worried, and we left town for my Aunt Claurice’s outside the city.”

  He nodded. “Then there are fires that aren’t caused by an accident.”

  She must have heard the change in his voice, the bitterness he knew remained whenever he thought of one particular fire. Her eyes narrowed. “Which fire?”

  “Come on.” He stood and held his arm out to her. “Let’s rustle up some accommodation and dinner.”

  She threw a curious glance at him, but didn’t ask anything more about his statement.

  An omnibus took passengers from the quay to hotels or eateries. They stopped at a small restaurant that served food in the public room. Elijah and Mary Jane sat at a table and ordered tea and small beef pies.

  “Tell me about the fires not caused by accident,” she said as they waited for their food.

  He wouldn’t pretend he didn’t know what she meant. “Back in ’44, my mother worked in a sweatshop near where we lived in an area of Philadelphia called Kensington. We’d only lived in the United States four years by that time.” He caught an almost imperceptible shift in her expression. He continued the story. “The nativists in the area decided it was a good time to riot and protest against the Catholics and the Irish in particular.”

  Dismay drew small lines between her eyebrows. “I cannot deny that I have heard of the nativists or the riots. They are a political party that believes Catholics are trying to take over the United States?”

  He nodded.

  They cut off conversation as the waiter brought their pot of tea and informed them the meat pies would take longer. When he left, Mary Jane said softly, “My family is Episcopalian.”

  His gut clenched. He hated religious discussion. “And? Does your family believe the Catholics are trying to take over the United States?”

  She sighed. “That is a complicated question.”

  “Is it?”

  Her gaze, so bright and pretty, almost distracted him from her answer. “Yes, it is. Let me see if I can explain. My mother went along with whatever my father said in public. My sisters are quite the same way. The few times they even considered disagreeing with him, he was very sharp and critical. In my house there is always disagreement about what is right. My father had an old copy of Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk and Further Disclosures. Have you heard of those books?”

  He nodded. “Unfortunately.”

  “Well, he put them in the library in a drawer he usually locked. I tried opening the door once and it surprised me when it unlatched. I took a peek at the books and read what they said. I thought them ridiculous. The things these books said about priests corrupting nuns…it was scandalous and awful. I did not believe it.”

  “Do you think I’ll corrupt you because I’m Catholic?”

  She didn’t miss stride. “You could not corrupt me unless I wanted you to.”

  Heat gathered in his loins and hardened him to stone. What he wouldn’t give to introduce her to carnal love. Thank God there was a napkin over his lap.

  She continued. “Father said women should take a man’s lead regardless of her own feelings and that includes religion.”

  He made a disbelieving snort. “Do you believe that?”

  She stared at him as if he’d lost his senses somewhere back on the water. “You do not think he was right?”

  He poured the tea for them, an action his mother would have admonished him for doing. After all, a woman poured tea, not a man. “Does it look like I’m a conventional man?”

  “You do not act like many men I have known. But I suppose you are conventional in many things.”

  He leaned on the table and looked into her eyes, wanting her to know his true beliefs. “I’m a Catholic, Mary Jane. But I’m not interested in taking over the world or converting anyone else into believing what I believe. I figure each man and woman has to find their own way to their own God.”

  Her plump lips parted, and once
more her delicate beauty halted his breath and scrambled his thinking. “That is very unusual. My father definitely believed everyone should be protestant. I am sure he would not have liked you much.”

  “I’m certain I wouldn’t have liked him.”

  She licked her lips. “He told my mother and sisters they were improper even when they kept such a tight rein on themselves. He told them…”

  “Yes?”

  “That I was the only one going to heaven when the time came.”

  Elijah swallowed back his distaste. “Because you believe what he believed?”

  She smiled, but there was no humor in her eyes. “Because at one time he thought he understood me.”

  “Darlin’, I’m confused here. Do you think a man should have dominion over a woman or not?”

  He’d rarely witnessed a woman as expressive, as revealing as Mary Jane. Right now she looked a might confused. “My inner self, the one I kept hidden from father says a woman should have far more autonomy than society says.”

  He nodded. “I can see that in you. And I can also see you’re not telling me everything about yourself.”

  She smiled. “That is true. When I was younger I thought Father was right because every child believes their parents are gods. Then, something happens sometimes that changes that belief. A child’s eyes can open wide to the truth.”

  “Did yours?”

  “Far more than I wanted. Sometimes I wish I still had my illusions. You see, my sisters are very proper, no matter what my father said, and so is my mother. But I was not as virtuous as he believed. I have done things my sisters would not dream of doing.”