Read Online The Island of Doves by Kelly O'Connor McNees - Free Book Online
Authors: Kelly O'Connor McNees
Ads: Link
wafted under the canvas, and Susannah knew they were at the port. The wagon slowed, rocking from side to side, and changed direction; the hoofbeats began to reverberate off close walls. Finally, the horses came to a stop and the front end of the wagon tipped up slightly as the driver stepped down.
He peeled back the canvas. Susannah blinked at him and then her eyes roved, taking in the details of where she was. A narrow space between two brick walls, the low light of an oil lamp mounted above a doorway. The walls were slick with damp, as if so many people clustered together in such tight quarters kept it from freezing.
“Strange cargo here,” the man said, grinning at her with two teeth like arrows pointing in opposing directions.
Susannah gave him a frightened look.
“’Tis all right, miss. Ain’t no one to see you but myself. Name’s Connolly.”
The driver’s brogue was clipped and comforting. She thought of Marjorie as she sat up and touched the back of her head with her fingertips. Her shoulders ached. Mr. Connolly offered his hand and she pulled herself over the edge of the wagon, then smoothed her skirt with her palms.
“What is this place?” Susannah looked up at the doorway.
Overhead, a voice called, “Look out below,” and the contents of a full commode rained down a few feet away from where they stood.
“Can’t you tell? It’s the finest inn in town.” Mr. Connolly winked at Susannah and led her toward the doorway. “You’ll pass the night in a room here.”
Inside they took a sharp right up a narrow staircase that wound to the third floor. At the top, Mr. Connolly held Susannah back with his palm while he stepped out of the stairwell to have a look around the corner. Satisfied, he waved her into the passageway lined with candles in clouded glass globes. Four rooms down, he swung open a door, and she followed him inside.
Susannah took in the narrow bed, a cornhusk mattress half covered with blankets still twisted in the shape of the bed’s previous occupant. A small window showcased a square of the night sky and Susannah stepped closer to it, looking first up at the stars and then down below at the lot behind the building. The flattened hull of a boat was splayed out on the ground and surrounded by piles of lumber. A group of men stood in a circle talking in the lamplight, each with his arms crossed in front of him. Every few seconds, one turned to spit tobacco juice over his shoulder.
“Where are we?”
Mr. Connolly looked up from where he crouched on the floor, sweeping the glass from a broken liquor bottle into a pile with his sleeve. He jumped up, crossed the room in one step, and pulled her by the shoulder back toward the bed. “
Miss.
Holy Mary, mother of—stay away from that window.”
Susannah shook her head. “Of course. Forgive me.”
Mr. Connolly sat down beside her on the bed, holding his hat in his hands. “The sister says, and I think ’tis best, that I shouldn’t know much about you. And I don’t. What I do know, I’ll never tell.” He gave Susannah an emphatic look. “You can count on that. But folks around here, well, they
know
who you are—or, were—just by the look a’ you. What I’m getting at is that some folks wouldn’t think twice to report as they’d seen you out walking the streets. And I believe you know better than I what Mr. Fra—or,
certain parties
would pay for information a’ that sort.”
Susannah closed her eyes, weariness descending on her once again. Even here she had to cower from Edward. She mustn’t forget. He would be looking for her, might be looking already.
“Ah, don’t worry, miss,” Mr. Connolly said, patting her hand with his clumsy bear paw. “Soon as we get you out of the godfersaken town of Buffalo, a new life begins. Young and pretty as you are—well,”—he blushed, stood up, and donned his hat—“in no time you’ll be starting anew.”
Susannah shook her head. She wanted so much to believe it was
He peeled back the canvas. Susannah blinked at him and then her eyes roved, taking in the details of where she was. A narrow space between two brick walls, the low light of an oil lamp mounted above a doorway. The walls were slick with damp, as if so many people clustered together in such tight quarters kept it from freezing.
“Strange cargo here,” the man said, grinning at her with two teeth like arrows pointing in opposing directions.
Susannah gave him a frightened look.
“’Tis all right, miss. Ain’t no one to see you but myself. Name’s Connolly.”
The driver’s brogue was clipped and comforting. She thought of Marjorie as she sat up and touched the back of her head with her fingertips. Her shoulders ached. Mr. Connolly offered his hand and she pulled herself over the edge of the wagon, then smoothed her skirt with her palms.
“What is this place?” Susannah looked up at the doorway.
Overhead, a voice called, “Look out below,” and the contents of a full commode rained down a few feet away from where they stood.
“Can’t you tell? It’s the finest inn in town.” Mr. Connolly winked at Susannah and led her toward the doorway. “You’ll pass the night in a room here.”
Inside they took a sharp right up a narrow staircase that wound to the third floor. At the top, Mr. Connolly held Susannah back with his palm while he stepped out of the stairwell to have a look around the corner. Satisfied, he waved her into the passageway lined with candles in clouded glass globes. Four rooms down, he swung open a door, and she followed him inside.
Susannah took in the narrow bed, a cornhusk mattress half covered with blankets still twisted in the shape of the bed’s previous occupant. A small window showcased a square of the night sky and Susannah stepped closer to it, looking first up at the stars and then down below at the lot behind the building. The flattened hull of a boat was splayed out on the ground and surrounded by piles of lumber. A group of men stood in a circle talking in the lamplight, each with his arms crossed in front of him. Every few seconds, one turned to spit tobacco juice over his shoulder.
“Where are we?”
Mr. Connolly looked up from where he crouched on the floor, sweeping the glass from a broken liquor bottle into a pile with his sleeve. He jumped up, crossed the room in one step, and pulled her by the shoulder back toward the bed. “
Miss.
Holy Mary, mother of—stay away from that window.”
Susannah shook her head. “Of course. Forgive me.”
Mr. Connolly sat down beside her on the bed, holding his hat in his hands. “The sister says, and I think ’tis best, that I shouldn’t know much about you. And I don’t. What I do know, I’ll never tell.” He gave Susannah an emphatic look. “You can count on that. But folks around here, well, they
know
who you are—or, were—just by the look a’ you. What I’m getting at is that some folks wouldn’t think twice to report as they’d seen you out walking the streets. And I believe you know better than I what Mr. Fra—or,
certain parties
would pay for information a’ that sort.”
Susannah closed her eyes, weariness descending on her once again. Even here she had to cower from Edward. She mustn’t forget. He would be looking for her, might be looking already.
“Ah, don’t worry, miss,” Mr. Connolly said, patting her hand with his clumsy bear paw. “Soon as we get you out of the godfersaken town of Buffalo, a new life begins. Young and pretty as you are—well,”—he blushed, stood up, and donned his hat—“in no time you’ll be starting anew.”
Susannah shook her head. She wanted so much to believe it was
Similar Books
