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Authors: Kelly O'Connor McNees
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the door.
“And I’m Mrs. Astor,” the woman said with a mirthless laugh.
“No, really—I don’t,” Susannah said, urgency in her voice.
“It’s
all right
. Open the door.”
Susannah pulled her shawl over her hair and clutched it beneath her chin. She slid the lock to the right and opened the door wide enough to peer into the hallway. The woman’s gray hair tufted out at the temples beneath her white bonnet. Her lips curled to the side in amusement when she saw Susannah’s face. “Terrible tragedy, what happened to Susannah Fraser.”
Susannah cringed, realizing that not everyone was as discreet as Mr. Connolly. She wondered what people knew, or thought they knew. One thing was certain: She had to get out of Buffalo right away. “I thank you, ma’am, for your generosity.”
The woman scoffed. “My name’s Mrs. Tully and I don’t do nothing for free. Tom Connolly paid your way, girl. Even left passage for you downstairs.” The woman gestured behind her with her thumb. “As far as it concerns myself, I never saw you here.”
Susannah nodded and opened the door the rest of the way. “I’m ready to go.”
Mrs. Tully looked into the room behind Susannah and simpered. “Ain’t you got a trunk?”
“No,” Susannah said, touching her dress. “This is all I have.”
“All right, then,” Mrs. Tully said, shaking her head. “I won’t ask any questions.”
She turned to the end of the hallway and Susannah followed. Downstairs a dozen men were in the kitchen, some slumped on the few chairs and the rest leaning against the walls in groups of two or three, some with their suspenders hanging down around their waists. The food smelled so good, Susannah felt she could already taste it. She moved her tongue across the back of her teeth.
Mrs. Tully stopped short and held Susannah back with her hand. “Best if you stay out here. I’ll get you some bread and you can take it with you.”
Susannah nodded. When Mrs. Tully came back she pressed a cloth-wrapped bundle into Susannah’s left hand. Her mangled fingers ached. In her right hand Mrs. Tully placed a card that recorded a transaction for the ticket price and read
BUFFALO to MACK ISLAND
.
“Get on with you.” Mrs. Tully explained how to get to the boat, called the
Thomas Jefferson
. “That packet leaves at seven sharp, whether or not you see fit to grace it with your presence.”
Susannah crossed the yard behind the boardinghouse, clutching the wrapped bread between her elbow and ribs. Her blood was in her cheeks and she felt conscious that some of the men were staring, even as she knew they wouldn’t recognize her with the shawl pulled so close around her face. The morning was a little warmer and the smell of the stagnant canal water hung in the air. She touched the hard place on her thigh where the necklace was hidden under the folds of fabric in her skirt. She was counting the seconds until she was on that boat and out of Edward’s reach.
The sight of the
Thomas Jefferson
made her heart leap in her chest. The varnished white oak hull gleamed from stem to stern, its line interrupted only by the massive side paddle wheel. Three masts jutted into the sky, one flying the flag, and two stacks emitted thin lines of smoke as the boiler heated. A crowd was forming at the edge of the gangway. Susannah stood off to the side and slid her passage ticket inside her sleeve, then unwrapped the bread. The oil had soaked through the cloth and her hand was slick. Though she meant to take only a few bites and save the rest for later in the day, she couldn’t fight the intensity of her hunger. The three pieces were gone in a matter of seconds. She shook out the cloth and folded it into a square, wiping her hands and feeling ashamed that she hadn’t been able to hold out longer.
The crowd suddenly surged toward the gangway and began to board the boat. Near Susannah, a man and his wife kept a tight grip on the arms of their two young children. The boy was
“And I’m Mrs. Astor,” the woman said with a mirthless laugh.
“No, really—I don’t,” Susannah said, urgency in her voice.
“It’s
all right
. Open the door.”
Susannah pulled her shawl over her hair and clutched it beneath her chin. She slid the lock to the right and opened the door wide enough to peer into the hallway. The woman’s gray hair tufted out at the temples beneath her white bonnet. Her lips curled to the side in amusement when she saw Susannah’s face. “Terrible tragedy, what happened to Susannah Fraser.”
Susannah cringed, realizing that not everyone was as discreet as Mr. Connolly. She wondered what people knew, or thought they knew. One thing was certain: She had to get out of Buffalo right away. “I thank you, ma’am, for your generosity.”
The woman scoffed. “My name’s Mrs. Tully and I don’t do nothing for free. Tom Connolly paid your way, girl. Even left passage for you downstairs.” The woman gestured behind her with her thumb. “As far as it concerns myself, I never saw you here.”
Susannah nodded and opened the door the rest of the way. “I’m ready to go.”
Mrs. Tully looked into the room behind Susannah and simpered. “Ain’t you got a trunk?”
“No,” Susannah said, touching her dress. “This is all I have.”
“All right, then,” Mrs. Tully said, shaking her head. “I won’t ask any questions.”
She turned to the end of the hallway and Susannah followed. Downstairs a dozen men were in the kitchen, some slumped on the few chairs and the rest leaning against the walls in groups of two or three, some with their suspenders hanging down around their waists. The food smelled so good, Susannah felt she could already taste it. She moved her tongue across the back of her teeth.
Mrs. Tully stopped short and held Susannah back with her hand. “Best if you stay out here. I’ll get you some bread and you can take it with you.”
Susannah nodded. When Mrs. Tully came back she pressed a cloth-wrapped bundle into Susannah’s left hand. Her mangled fingers ached. In her right hand Mrs. Tully placed a card that recorded a transaction for the ticket price and read
BUFFALO to MACK ISLAND
.
“Get on with you.” Mrs. Tully explained how to get to the boat, called the
Thomas Jefferson
. “That packet leaves at seven sharp, whether or not you see fit to grace it with your presence.”
Susannah crossed the yard behind the boardinghouse, clutching the wrapped bread between her elbow and ribs. Her blood was in her cheeks and she felt conscious that some of the men were staring, even as she knew they wouldn’t recognize her with the shawl pulled so close around her face. The morning was a little warmer and the smell of the stagnant canal water hung in the air. She touched the hard place on her thigh where the necklace was hidden under the folds of fabric in her skirt. She was counting the seconds until she was on that boat and out of Edward’s reach.
The sight of the
Thomas Jefferson
made her heart leap in her chest. The varnished white oak hull gleamed from stem to stern, its line interrupted only by the massive side paddle wheel. Three masts jutted into the sky, one flying the flag, and two stacks emitted thin lines of smoke as the boiler heated. A crowd was forming at the edge of the gangway. Susannah stood off to the side and slid her passage ticket inside her sleeve, then unwrapped the bread. The oil had soaked through the cloth and her hand was slick. Though she meant to take only a few bites and save the rest for later in the day, she couldn’t fight the intensity of her hunger. The three pieces were gone in a matter of seconds. She shook out the cloth and folded it into a square, wiping her hands and feeling ashamed that she hadn’t been able to hold out longer.
The crowd suddenly surged toward the gangway and began to board the boat. Near Susannah, a man and his wife kept a tight grip on the arms of their two young children. The boy was
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