Chapter Thirteen

Robert took Amanda’s hand and tucked it under his arm as he led her toward her compartment. Mr. Carpenter followed them, still in shock by not only by the revelation that Nathan and Amanda had traveled in time, but also by the news that his grandson had died all over again.

“I will see you settled, then I will tend to Mr. Carpenter,” Robert said in a low voice. “I am in the compartment just across the hall there,” he said. “Please do not hesitate to knock on my door if you need anything, Amanda. Anything at all.”

Amanda nodded silently. She was numb, exhausted, drained. No amount of crying had brought Nathan back. Word had come from Mitch Cunningham that the crew of the Rockies had not found Nathan’s body on their way upriver. They certainly never expected to find him alive at this stage.

The attendant pulled open the compartment door, and Amanda stepped in, hardly noticing the luxurious furnishings as she had before. The train was very similar to the one she and Nathan had been on when they arrived in Wenatchee. The bed was turned down in this compartment with white sheets on the bed covered by a warm red blanket. She sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the carpet without seeing it.

Robert patted her hand.

“Please try to rest. We will reach Seattle in about eight hours. Ellie will meet us at the station.”

Amanda nodded but didn’t look up. She really didn’t care. Robert was kind, and she was sure Ellie was great, but she really didn’t care.

“Good night, Amanda.”

Amanda nodded again.

Robert closed the door behind himself, and Amanda stood to turn off the lights. She made her way back to the bed, and threw herself on it, propping her back against the bench back. She stared out of the window and watched as the train pulled out of the station.

She wished more than anything that Nathan was right beside her, that they had married and that they had spent their lives together and grown old together. And if she couldn’t have that life with Nathan at her side, then she wished she were home. She couldn’t bear to stay in 1906 another moment. What for? The emptiness of her future, the darkness of the night, the cold that seeped into her bones deadened her. She hated 1906, and she hated the world at the moment—especially sternwheelers and rivers.

The rumbling of the train along the tracks failed to fascinate her as it had always done. She closed her eyes and tried to visualize Nathan’s face as she first met him. Bearded, slightly desperate, handsome and in love with her—how had she not fallen for him the minute he dragged her into her tiny sleeping compartment? Perhaps she had.

Amanda imagined that she stepped off the train in Spokane, in her time, and there was Nathan again—slightly bedraggled, his dark hair long and hanging in his face, huddled on the platform in a dark coat. This time, she would kneel down beside him and wrap her arms around him. She would kiss him, brush the hair from his face and tell him she loved him. She would promise him that they would never be parted again.

“I love you, Nathan,” she breathed aloud. “I love you.”

But her words were drowned out by the rumbling of the train. And she wished she were home.

****

Amanda opened her eyes. Sunlight streamed in through the window, warming her face. She rubbed her eyes and focused on her surroundings—a narrow twin bed, white sheets, a thin blue blanket, a steel sliding door covered by a matching royal blue curtain.

She pushed herself upright on the bed and looked out the window. The train rumbled along the tracks at the edge of a large body of water. Near the water’s edge, dogs raced across green grass while owners watched. A dog park. She recognized the area. They were approaching Edmonds, a city north of Seattle.

She had been asleep for about eight hours, and over one hundred years.

Nathan! He was alive! It had all been a dream!

Amanda jumped up, slid open the door of her sleeping compartment and dashed into the opposite compartment. But it was empty with no sign of occupancy. No sign of Nathan.

Searing pain pierced her chest. She knew it was her heart, and she pressed a fist against it as if to massage the pain away.

Nathan. Nathan. Where was he?

That she had returned to her own time was clear. The gleaming steel of the train, the twin bed, the miniscule compartment, even the dog park by the water were all evidence that she was back.

It couldn’t have been a dream. It had seemed too real. Nathan had seemed too real.

Hot tears burned Amanda’s cheeks as she gathered her skirt and threw herself back onto the bed to stare out the window. She released her clutch on her skirt and dropped her eyes to the gray cotton.

Skirts! She peeked underneath. And a petticoat. She had traveled back in time! She had! Amanda rubbed the tears from her face and jumped up again to pull open the door and peer out. How had she returned? What must Robert and Mr. Carpenter have thought? How worried they must be.

The hallway was empty. No cabin attendant was in sight. She checked the opposite compartment once again. No Nathan relaxed in the compartment as he had before.

Amanda thought she could not possibly cry any more than she had already. Nathan was dead, his body missing, and she had left that world behind. It was as if he died all over again. She felt as if she’d left him behind in some way, abandoned him. Her feelings made no sense, but she couldn’t deny a sense of guilt.

She remembered wishing she were home the previous night. Had wishing been enough to return her to her own time? Then why couldn’t she wish Nathan alive? Why couldn’t she wish him in front of her? Why couldn’t she wish herself back to 1906 right then?

She regretted her foolish mutterings of the night before. They had stemmed from a desire to escape the pain she felt, the desolation of losing Nathan just when she had found him. But who would have thought that wishing she were back in her own time would make it happen? Was that how it had happened for Robert’s wife? Had she just wished for Robert?

Amanda returned to her own compartment and locked the door. She pulled the curtains shut to block the view of the fast-moving train, which would soon reach Edmonds and then Seattle. She would have to get off the train in Seattle. She could get right back on, but she had no money with her and no earthly idea where her purse was. Lost in time somewhere. She would need time to get money from her bank if she were to try to catch the train heading east again in about five hours.

She closed her eyes and began to wish, speaking out loud.

“I wish I was back in 1906. I wish I was in Wenatchee. I wish Nathan was still alive, and that we had a house in Wenatchee. No more riding the train. No more losing each other in time. I wish I was back in 1906. I wish Nathan was with me.”

Nothing happened. No swirling images, no drifting through time. She opened one eye to see that she was still in the modern sleeper compartment. She closed her eyes again and repeated the words over and over, willing them to come true. Minutes passed, and still nothing happened. She heard the conductor’s announcement for arrival in Edmonds over the small speaker in the compartment, and she renewed her mantra, saying it over and over again, more quickly this time, more forcefully. The train would arrive in Seattle soon. She didn’t have much time. She could make this happen! She could will it!

No swirling images appeared. The train rumbled on. Amanda pulled her knees up to her chest, buried her face in her arms and wished harder. The train arrived in Edmonds and pulled out again within minutes.

Was she too far away? Did she need to be near Wenatchee? Hadn’t Nathan said that the point of time travel for all the women had been near Wenatchee?

Amanda rocked back and forth but nothing helped. It wasn’t working. She couldn’t wish herself back. She had no idea how she had returned to her own time, because if wishing had been the key, she would have been back in 1906 by now.

She pulled the curtain aside and watched the familiar landmarks showing their approach to Seattle. On her previous returns to Seattle, she had felt an inexplicable sadness at the end of the train trip though she had no idea why she rode the train so much. Whatever the reasons had been, riding the train had not made her happier. It had just been an insatiable need. She wondered now if she had been in search of Nathan all along, but didn’t know it.

The anguish she felt on her return this time far surpassed the depression she had experienced on her previous returns. This time, she had lost someone. Nathan. She understood Nathan’s pain now, the pain of loss. How much it hurt.

The train lurched and screeched as it came around a bend, reminding her of the sternwheeling accident. She began to shake again and tightened her grip around her legs. Nathan...cold and alone.

What if she managed to get to her bank, got some money, and hopped the train again in five hours? She could make it. What if...what if she reached Wenatchee and found a way to travel back to just before the sternwheeling accident? What if she could save Nathan’s life?

She grabbed the curtains and pulled them wide. Jumping up impatiently, she slid open the door and peered out into the hallway. Why hadn’t they reached Seattle yet? The sooner they were back, the sooner she could book her ticket for the next train.

Finally, the cabin attendant descended the stairs and stepped to the doors at the center of the train, although she didn’t recognize him as the same attendant she’d had before. She gasped and she pulled her head back into her compartment. She wasn’t on that train. In fact, she probably didn’t even have a ticket for the train she was now on. She carefully twisted the lock on her door, pulled the curtains shut and held her breath, as if the attendant could somehow hear her breathe through the steel door.

The plan was to slip out when they opened the doors. Arrival at the Seattle terminus was usually a bit of a madhouse, so she thought she could do it if the attendant didn’t spot her. She thought she might be noticeable in the skirt but she would just have to chance it. He probably wasn’t going to chase her down the platform toward the station even if he didn’t recognize her.

The train pulled into King Street Station, and Amanda peered out the window. From an angle, she saw the cabin attendant step out of the car and move toward the rear of the train. She turned, flipped the lock and pulled open the door to fly down the hall and hop off the train. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed that the attendant hadn’t seen her, and she hustled off to the station, ignoring the odd looks which came her way.

She grabbed her skirts and hurried through the station to the parking lot. Her small blue car was where she had left it, but locked, and she had no keys. What now? She turned and scanned the surrounding buildings. There was a bank nearby, thankfully a branch of her bank, and she hurried up the street toward it.

She stepped inside, hoping people would pay little attention to her dress. Walking around in the twenty-first century wearing an ankle-length skirt did not hold the same scandal that arriving in 1906 wearing knee-length stretch capris engendered. She grabbed a withdrawal slip from a counter and approached a young, fresh-faced teller.

“Good morning. How can I help you?” the blonde girl said in a sing-song voice.

“Good morning,” Amanda responded. “I’d like to withdraw some money from my account. I don’t have my card with me. In fact, my wallet was stolen. I just got off the train,” she looked over her shoulder as if the teller could see the train, “and, well...” She hoped the girl would fill in the blanks.

“No problem. If I could see your ID? And how much did you wish to withdraw?” She took the withdrawal slip from Amanda, and began to fill it in.

“Well, see, that’s the thing,” Amanda said. “My ID was in my wallet.”

The teller looked up. “Oh! Well, do you have anything with your picture and name on it?” She scanned Amanda as if looking for some form of identification. A birthmark?

Amanda bit her lip and said patiently, “No, that was all in my wallet. I don’t even think I have anything else at the apartment with picture and name. What if I managed to get home and found a piece of mail with my name on it, like a utility bill? Would that suffice?”

The teller favored her with a sympathetic look and shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. We would really need to see some picture identification.”

Amanda gritted her teeth and thought fast. She only needed a little bit of money, enough to get back on the train. The problem was how to get it.

“Could I talk to your manager?”

“Yes, certainly.” She turned without expression and called another woman over, not much older than herself.

“Yes, can I help you?”

Amanda explained the same scenario, and the manager sighed and shook her head sympathetically. If nothing else, she was getting plenty of sympathy.

“No, I’m sorry. We have to see some picture ID. I wish there were another way. Do you have any other identification at home?”

Amanda looked at the clock on the wall. She had neither picture ID at home, nor did she have keys to get into her apartment, nor did she have time or money to get a taxi, get home, get back to a bank, and get back on the train.

“No, I don’t. Gosh, I wish I kept my money under the mattress,” she muttered. “Okay, thanks anyway.” She moved away from the sympathetic faces, ignored the looks from other customers as they eyed her from head to toe, and left the bank.

She stared at the train station in the distance. She could ask to borrow a cell phone to call a friend to pick her up and deal with the almost certain questions regarding her dress. She might get dropped off at her apartment complex and hope that the office was open. If the apartment management staff even let her in—without identification—she would have to find some sort of picture ID somewhere, perhaps her high school yearbook. She would then have to find a nearby bank, withdraw money, get back to the train station and purchase a ticket—all in about three hours. It wasn’t going to happen, not in Seattle in three hours.

She shoved her hands in her pockets in frustration, and felt a wad of something in her right-hand pocket. She pulled it out. The money Nathan had given her at the bank several days ago. She was wearing the same skirt she had worn that day, the new navy blue skirt they had bought at Mrs. Murphy’s.

With shaking hands, Amanda unfolded the cash. The five bills, appearing to be new and crisp, were in denominations of twenty dollars, totaling one hundred dollars. Amanda sighed. She didn’t think that wouldn’t be enough to get a ticket to Wenatchee, but she would give it a try.

The face on the bills was unfamiliar to her. Who was on the face of twenty-dollar bills? A president, certainly. Andrew Jackson? She couldn’t remember off the top of her head. She peered closely at the money. The portrait on the bills from Nathan’s era was a Hugh McCulloch. Who was he?

She stared harder at the bills. First National Bank of Wenatchee? National currency? Was that even legal tender? Did banks print their own money?

She looked over her shoulder at the bank. Maybe she could take it in there and exchange it? She shook her head, imaging the scene where the teller and bank manager smiled even more sympathetically but shook their head at her feeble attempts to come up with money.

A coin shop! She could sell the money to a coin shop. It was probably worth a lot more than twenty dollars now, wasn’t it? Even if it were just printed at the First National Bank of Wenatchee. Hadn’t Nathan said he survived selling off his “old” money? That the bills were new and crisp should only add value.

Amanda scanned the street, but no sign reading “Ye Olde Coin Shop” presented itself. Where was a phone booth, one with a phone book in it? She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen an actual telephone booth. She looked over her shoulder again at the bank. No, she couldn’t face them. But she had to.

She entered the bank again and waited behind two people, hoping another teller would help her. But Miss Blonde Sympathy drew her number, and Amanda approached the counter again. The teller smiled pleasantly.

“Did you find picture identification?”

Amanda shook her head. “No, not yet. But I did find a pocket full of old money. There’s no chance I can redeem it here for new currency, right?”

“May I see it?”

Amanda fished the money out of her pocket and handed it over.

The teller picked one of the bills up and studied it. She held it up to the light as if looking for a watermark.

“Goodness, this was printed in May 1905. Look at that!” The teller placed the twenty-dollar bill reverentially on top of the other four bills. She shook her head and smiled sympathetically. Amanda was really growing to dislike the girl.

“No, I’m sorry. We can’t take money that old. However, there is a gold shop just around the corner behind the bank here, and I think they might offer you something for the money. I don’t know how much though. It might just be worth face value.”

“Thank you!” Amanda exclaimed. She flew out of the bank and turned the corner, grabbing up her skirts to make better time. She spotted the gold shop, and she dashed inside and came to a stop. Packed from wall to wall with either poor people or collectors—she didn’t know which—she was advised to take a number. She pulled a number off a ticket machine and sat down to wait, again ignoring the stares of the people around her. She fingered the money in her pocket while brushing imaginary wrinkles from her skirt.

Her number was called sooner rather than later, and she popped up and hurried over to the counter.

“Yes, may I help you,” a tall, handsome you man said in a bored tone.

“Well, I hope so. I have some old money, it’s not much, a hundred dollars, but I was hoping it was worth more. Could you take a look at it? Do you buy old money?”

“Sure,” he said, stifling a yawn. He quirked an expectant eyebrow and eyed the counter pointedly.

Amanda handed the money over and waited, holding her breath.

The young man took the wad of bills and spread them out. Both eyebrows went up, and he bent closer to eye the money.

“This looks new!” he exclaimed. “Just a minute. Hold onto these.”

He moved away and entered a door toward the back. Amanda had the worst feeling he was going to appear with the police in tow to arrest her for forgery. She picked up the money and stuffed it back into her pocket, searching the shop for cameras. Four overhead cameras focused on her, and she backed away from the counter in preparation for flight.

The young man emerged from the back with a middle-aged gentleman in tow.

“Wait, where are you going?” he called out as she turned to flee. “Could you show my boss the currency? He would know better what it’s worth than I would.”

Amanda paused and turned slowly. No undercover cop, the middle-aged man wore the same bored look the younger fellow had. They must have been related.

She approached the counter again and offered one of the bills. She wasn’t letting go of the others until she was sure they weren’t going to confiscate it. Even if it were worth nothing, it was worth a great deal to her in that Nathan had given it to her.

The boss picked up the bill and eyed it. His eyes widened, and he turned it over.

“Just a minute,” he said as he bent down behind the counter. Amanda stood up on tiptoe to see what he was doing. A silent alarm?

He produced a large binder and flipped through it until he came to the page he must have been searching for. He studied it and picked up the bill to compare it.

“Just a minute,” he muttered again, and he turned around to address a computer screen behind him.

Amanda didn’t like the way she was feeling, and she suspected she should trust her instincts. They thought the money was forged or stolen or something, and she was going to have to answer questions she couldn’t answer.

“Where did you get this currency?” the young man asked in the meantime.

Amanda shrugged. “My grandfather left it to me.” How Nathan would chuckle at that.

The boss turned around to the younger man. “Did you say there was more?”

“Yes, she has five of the twenty-dollar bills.”

Amanda narrowed her eyes, prepared to fight.

“We can give you two-thousand five hundred dollars for the lot,” the middle aged man said. “That’s five-hundred dollars a bill.”

Amanda’s jaw dropped. She literally felt it drop, and her knees turned to rubber.

“Twenty-five hundred dollars?”

“Yes, that’s all we can do. And that’s with the fact that you folded it. It’s in mint condition, but I wish you hadn’t folded it. Still, I think we can straighten it out.” The boss looked like he was prepared to battle a negotiator, but Amanda had no intention of fighting for more. She had no idea what the money was worth, but five hundred dollars for a twenty-dollar bill sounded like a good deal to her.

“I’ll take it,” she said.

They took an excruciatingly long time to write up the transaction while Amanda hopped from foot to foot watching the clock. She still had time until the train left, but she felt anxious to get back to the station.

Finally, they handed her the money in an envelope, and she tucked it in her skirt, looked furtively around to see which villains might follow her to mug her, and left the shop, keeping an eye over her shoulder. No one followed.

She hurried back to the train station and proudly produced her money for a ticket. She bought a sleeping compartment because that was where she met Nathan the first time, where she was when the time travel occurred.

She found a seat on a bench near the platform gate and waited. The train already waited on the tracks but the door to the platform was shut and a sign advised passengers to wait until a boarding announcement was made. Time passed, and Amanda felt a depression settle on her. Now that the adrenaline from trying to find money had receded, sadness replaced it, and she swallowed several times to keep from crying.

She had no idea what she was doing, boarding a train so she could attempt to travel back in time. To a particular time? Before Nathan died. It was insane. No one would believe her. No one except Robert or Mr. Carpenter, and they weren’t around. They hadn’t been around for a long time. She blocked the thought. She couldn’t think of any more death at the moment.

One of the station agents finally announced the imminent boarding of the train and a sleeping car attendant came into the station and began taking tickets for the first-class passengers, those who had booked sleeping compartments. Amanda handed over her ticket and tried to ignore his curious look.

“My legs are cold,” she said as she hurried aboard the train. No stranger to the train, she knew exactly where her compartment was. It was on the first level which was just where she wanted to be. The compartments were a bit more isolated down there, and she had more privacy. More privacy to practice her mumbo jumbo as she tried to travel in time.

The train left within twenty minutes, and Amanda closed her eyes to rest for a moment. She couldn’t sleep because she needed to make her wish somewhere before arriving in Wenatchee, but she was so tired. The rhythmic motion of the train lulled her, and she drifted off, dreaming of finding Nathan alive and well somewhere in time.