I don't own the characters of Dr Quinn, I'm merely borrowing them, except for Emma Jane and all the original characters who flow from her who are of my own creation. Please R R!
Emma Jane Brown ran blindly, not knowing where she was going, or what she was going to do when she got there, just running, running far away from home, from her parents, from the tight constraints of New York society and the web it was trying to wrap her in. She ran through the streets, clutching her small bag to her, her long red hair whipped out behind her like a flame, her black boots smacking rhythmically against the pavement, oblivious to people turning to look at her. She didn't care, all she wanted was to escape. Darting across roads, narrowly missing horse-drawn carriages, she kept running, her lungs burning with the effort, until the high building of the railway station loomed up in front of her like a symbol of hope, a path to freedom. She ran towards it, her eyes fixed on the entrance, her mind focussed on the one task of reaching it, until she fell through the doors and came to an abrupt halt.
Her chest felt so tight as she cast around looking for an answer to leap out at her. Leave New York. It seemed so simple, and yet she had no idea how. She watched as men and women milled back and forth, some arriving, some leaving. She could hear the whistle of a train and see smoke belching from what must be the platforms. Fighting to catch her breath, she caught sight of the ticket office, a small booth with a man sitting inside. Gathering herself together, she proceeded to walk over, as if she had been making train journeys all her life.
The guard looked at her suspiciously as she approached, this young girl who looked no more than sixteen and as if she had been running for miles. He frowned as she reached the booth and put her bag down carefully on the ground.
"Good afternoon," she said in her parlour voice, "I would like to buy a ticket please."
The guard looked her up and down, "Are you travelling by yourself Ma'am?"
"Yes," Emma Jane nodded, "Yes I am." She smiled at him again, hoping to convey the mannerisms of a young woman raised in the affluence of New York.
"How old are you?"
She feigned offence. "Isn't it rude to inquire as to a young lady's age?"
"I'm sorry Ma'am, but children are not allowed to travel alone. Not without the permission of their parents. Do you have your parent's permission?"
"Of course."
He looked as though he didn't believe her, "Sorry Ma'am."
"You mean you won't sell me a ticket?" Emma Jane's voice rose an octave, partly in an attempt to convey upper class outrage, but also due to panic that she might not be able to escape New York after all.
"I'm sorry Ma'am," the guard repeated, in a tone indicating he was anything but, "Unless you have proof of permission to travel alone, I can't sell you a ticket." He nodded to a man waiting behind her, "If you'll excuse me."
Emma Jane glanced behind her, and then picked up her bag and moved aside. She watched as the gentlemen effortlessly bought and paid for a ticket, cursing her age and her sex. As she walked away from the booth, it suddenly struck her that even if he had agreed to sell her a ticket, she had no money to pay for it.
"Damn!" She exhaled, enunciating one of the many words her mother had slapped her for saying. There was no other way out of the city save by carriage and she would be unable to pay for that either. Frustrated, she made her way back towards the entrance and sank down on a bench by the door.
Life was so unfair. It had been from the moment she was born. Being the youngest might have led to her being spoiled in any other family, but in the Brown household, it merely led to extra chastisement and greater rules. Emma Jane knew she was a disappointment to her parents, primarily because she despised polite New York society. She hated going to parties and balls, the opera bored her senseless and as for the array of young eligible bachelors her mother had introduced her to, it was like trying to pick the wheat when all there was was chaff. They were all bankers like her father, or doctors or lawyers, full of their own importance and blinkered to anything and anywhere that wasn't New York.
The city stifled her in a way that no-one else seemed to be able to imagine. When she had been eleven, her parents had taken her to the country for a holiday. She had loved the green fields and the fresh air that wasn't tainted by city smog. She imagined herself living in a house surrounded by lush green grass and animals, not stuck in some concrete block on a street surrounded by other concrete block.
Mrs Brown, a born, bred and married New Yorker, couldn't understand her youngest daughter's fantasies. "Why would you ever want to live in the country?" she had scolded Emma Jane, "Goodness only knows what would happen to you out there. Why can't you be sensible like Lydia?"
The thought of being anything remotely like Lydia had made Emma Jane want to scream. Her sister, older than her by four years, was every New Yorker's dream. Polite, quiet, interested in the arts, and perfectly happy for her parents to arrange a suitable husband for her. Indeed they had done just that. In six weeks time she was to be married to Arthur Wallis, a prominent New York banker in their father's firm. It was a match made in heaven, or so Mrs Brown believed. Silently, Emma Jane felt sorry for poor love-struck Arthur who would only find out the truth about her vicious and spiteful sister once he had married her.
She was jolted from her reverie by the chiming of the clock in the station and upon glancing at it, she realised she had been absent from home for nearly two hours, having made her bid for freedom shortly after sitting through another insufferable lunch where everyone criticised and admonished her, and Lydia grinned nastily from the opposite side of the table. Her parents had had no idea that she had left, having been too wrapped up in discussing wedding plans, and Emma Jane wondered how long it would take them to realise that she wasn't there. Maybe they never would. She laughed to herself at the thought of them realising in a few days time that she wasn't actually at home.
Standing up, she looked around her and took a deep breath. There had to be some way to get on a train, even without a ticket. She had read stories in the papers about stowaways arriving in New York on ships from Europe. If someone could sneak aboard a ship, how difficult could it be to sneak aboard a train? Casually, she started to walk towards the platform, hoping that she didn't look too out of place, or run into the unfriendly guard. Thankfully, he was nowhere to be seen, and as she descended the large stone steps, she attempted to adopt an air of knowing exactly where she was going.
The main platform had two train lines on it, one for trains heading north, the other south. She began to panic as to what one she should board, having no clear thought about where else in the country she really wanted to go. She paused and thought hard. If she went north, eventually the train would reach the border with Canada and she would definitely be found out. If she went south, there was plenty more time to make decisions. Walking smartly, she headed towards the southbound train, smoothing down her hair as she walked, so as not to appear like some sort of ruffian.
No-one accosted her as she stepped onto the huge steam train and breathing a sigh of relief, she looked around for where to go next. The train was identical to that which she had journeyed on to the country and she knew that there were a number of compartments that could seat several people. Holding her bag tightly, so as not to lose any of the possessions she had deemed essential for her flitting, Emma Jane walked down the length of the train, looking into each compartment, debating whether to join someone or find one that was unoccupied. Deciding on the latter, she eventually stumbled upon a quiet compartment and opened the door to let herself in.
It was like being in her own little paradise, she decided, putting her bag down on one seat and sitting down in another. She could quite happily stay in here for days, with no-one to bother her. On impulse, she stretched her legs out and put her feet up on the opposite seat.
Ten minutes passed, and no-one came to join her, though several people did walk past her door. Emma Jane was enjoying looking out of the window at the people scurrying about, desperate to get on the train before it left. She could identify several businessmen, carrying briefcases, a number of extremely glamorous looking women dressed in furs and a young couple, clearly about to be parted for the first time, clinging to one another in a fierce embrace, ignoring the looks of disapproval from other passengers. Emma Jane watched the tender scene unfold with a burning sense of envy. She wished she had someone so distraught at her departure, someone who would hold her close to them, promise to always love her and wait for her. It was the kind of love she had read about in dime books, the ones she had to hide under her floorboards for fear her mother would see them.
As she sat, dreaming about the great love of her life, her eyes suddenly rested on a familiar face. It was Peter Cullen, one of New York's finest young lawyers, and one of the many men Mrs Brown had attempted to attach her daughter to. Peter was a nice enough young man, but all he ever talked about was the law, which might have been fascinating had she had any idea of what half the words he used meant. Emma Jane slid down in her seat, hoping that he wouldn't glance towards her window. She peered up as much as she dared, but he was still standing, consulting a piece of paper in his hand and looking around as if he were lost. As she watched, he consulted another guard, who pointed towards the northbound train and began propelling him towards it.
"Thank God," she took the Lord's name in vain, letting her breath out slowly. As she did so, the compartment door opened and two women came inside.
"Excuse me, are there people sitting here?" One asked.
"No," Emma Jane said, "No-one."
"Thank you," the same woman replied. She and her companion sat down opposite Emma Jane. She smiled at her, "Whereabouts are you travelling to?"
Emma Jane thought hard, but all the cities magically flew from her mind, "I…uh…I'm not sure."
The woman frowned, "You're not sure?" Her dark eyebrows creased over her equally dark eyes and Emma Jane detected a trace of an accent. "What does your ticket say?"
"I…I don't know. I…I can't read," she lied.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," the woman replied, taking in Emma Jane's expensive looking dress, "I didn't mean to offend."
"You didn't," she assured her companion.
"Would you like me to read it for you?"
"Oh, no, that won't be necessary. The guard said he would fetch me when it came to my stop." Emma Jane knew she would be going to Hell.
"I see," the woman smiled, "I'm Isabella. Isabella DeSanchez."
"Emma Jane Brown," Emma Jane replied, "That's a beautiful name."
"Thank you, my father was Spanish." She gestured to her friend, "This is my sister Mirella." Mirella smiled, but said nothing, "We're going to Denver, to visit our aunt."
"That's…great," Emma Jane replied, hoping she wasn't about to get a chronological history of the DeSanchez family. She was nervous and was starting to think she should get off the train and go home, when it suddenly lurched forward and started to pull out of the station.
"I'm very excited," Isabella continued, "I haven't seen my aunt in over two years. What about you? Are you visiting anyone?"
"My…sister," Emma Jane said, "She lives in…well, where I'm getting off." She chided herself for not paying better attention to her home tutor.
Isabella nodded, but didn't say anything else. The compartment lapsed into silence and Emma Jane breathed a sigh of relief. She never had been the best liar in the world, and she feared that if she spoke the truth, Isabella might be the kind of woman who would call the guard and have her removed.
The countryside rolled by, faster and faster, and it was only when her stomach growled that Emma Jane realised how hungry she was. She wondered what time it was, trying to calculate how long she had been sitting on the train. Three, four hours?
"Is there a refreshment car on the train?" she asked Isabella, causing the latter to glance up from the book she was reading.
"I believe so. Down that way," she gestured left.
"Thank you," Emma Jane stood up and lifted her bag. She smiled at them both and pushed open the compartment door and stepped out into the corridor. The train was deserted in both directions, but she made her way in the direction Isabella had pointed out, glancing into other compartments as she went past. A few people glanced back at her, but most were too engrossed in their own activities. As she reached the door marked 'refreshments,' it suddenly came back to her that she had no money.
"Damn it!" she swore again, standing staring at the door. It was no use, she would just have to go hungry. Turning away from the door, she ran smack into a man coming along behind her, causing her to drop her bag and the contents to spill out. "Damn it!" She bent down and started to retrieve them. The man merely stayed standing looking down at her. Emma Jane lifted her eyes and caught a brief glimpse of his face as she finished picking up her things. When she straightened up, she fixed him with an angry look. "The least you could have done was help me."
He looked at her as though she had suggested he take all his clothes off, "What?"
"Well you did run into me."
"You ran into me," he protested, glaring at her with piercing blue eyes, "You oughta watch where you're goin'."
Emma Jane looked at him and realised he was like no man she had ever encountered in New York. His clothes were decidedly scruffy looking, with a worn look to them and she had noticed his scuffed cowboy boots when she had been on the ground. The most startling thing about him, however, was the mass of golden hair that hung down past his shoulders. She had never seen long hair on a man before.
He caught her looking and smiled lazily, "You got somethin' to say?"
"Like what?" she replied hotly.
"I don't know, like you're sorry?"
Emma Jane drew herself up. She wasn't about to be spoken to by a man who looked as though he had fallen off the back of a hay cart. On the other hand, nor did she wish to get involved in a fight with a man who was carrying a gun the size of the one strapped to his waist. Opening and closing her mouth like a fish for a few seconds, she pushed past him and made her way back along the corridor, leaving him grinning in her wake.
When she arrived back at the compartment, Isabella looked up, "Did you find it?"
"Yes," Emma Jane replied, but she didn't elaborate. Instead, she threw her bag back onto the seat and slumped down in her own, not caring about the state of her dress.
Isabella said no more. She had her suspicions about the young girl in the compartment, but it wasn't in her nature to enquire.
Emma Jane sat looking out of the window, her arms folded across her chest, still angry at her encounter with the long-haired man. She hated being made fun of and she knew he had been laughing at her. She had a good mind to go back down the train and find him to give him a piece of her mind. She was just conjuring a mental picture of that very moment, when all of a sudden, a guard appeared at the compartment door.
"Tickets please ladies," he said politely.
Emma Jane froze as Isabella and Mirella hunted for their tickets. What was she going to do? She didn't have one to produce. Her heart started to pound in her chest as he inspected the two tickets offered to him and then looked questioningly at her.
"Umm…" she started frantically looking in her bag, hoping that by some miracle, a ticket would appear, "I…uh…"
Isabella turned to the guard, "Aren't you supposed to let her know when it is her stop?"
The guard looked back at her, "I don't know what you mean, Ma'am." He looked back at Emma Jane, "Do you have your ticket Ma'am?"
"I…it should be…" Emma Jane continued to scrabble uselessly, "I mean it…"
The guard began to look impatient, "Do you have a ticket?"
Emma Jane looked at him wide-eyed, "I…"
"Right, please come with me," he stepped forward and held out his hand. When she didn't move he waved it at her, "Come on Ma'am." Emma Jane still didn't move, so he stepped further forward and grabbed her arm.
"Ow!" she protested, "hey, let go of me!"
"Let her go!" Isabella declared, standing up, "She hasn't done anything wrong!" Mirella merely sat agog.
"She doesn't have a ticket, that makes her a stowaway," the guard pulled Emma Jane out of the compartment and into the corridor, "You'll have to come with me," he said, pushing her in front of him and making her walk forward, "We don't allow stowaways on the train."
"Please, listen, I'm sorry," Emma Jane protested, "I had no money, and I really needed to get on the train…"
"Save it for the police Miss."
"The police!" Emma Jane stopped dead and turned to face him, "The police? But…the police?"
"When we stop at Chicago, I'll hand you over to the police and they can send you back to New York."
"No, but…" she lurched slightly as the train started to slow, "Look, I know what this appears to be, but I can assure you that I can pay. If you'll just let me…"
"I'm sorry Miss," he looked anything but, "I'm afraid I'll have to give you to the authorities."
Emma Jane groaned loudly in despair. She could just see her parents faces, not to mention Lydia's, if she was taken back to her house by a police officer. The shame would be terrible. She would never be allowed to leave the house again, and no-one would ever marry her. She would rot away in her bedroom until she became old and wrinkled and then die a lonely death. As these thoughts swirled around in her mind, the train came to a sudden halt and the guard propelled her towards the nearest door. A number of people were getting off, so they had to wait.
"What's going on?" Another guard asked, coming upon them.
"No ticket," her captor explained.
"I see," the other guard looked her sternly in the face, "You can't ride the train without a ticket Miss."
"Yes, I see that now," Emma Jane tried and failed to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
The older guard pressed his mouth into a thin line. If she had been his daughter, he would have slapped her hard. They waited until the remaining passengers had disembarked and then the two of them propelled Emma Jane off of the train.
"I'll get the duty officer," the older guard said, glad to escape from the cheeky young woman. He began walking smartly across the platform to where the police kept a presence at the station.
"What's going to happen to me?" Emma Jane asked.
"You'll be accompanied back to New York on the next train."
"You might as well send me to the gallows," Emma Jane replied.
The guard smiled, "Not that bad, surely?"
Emma Jane was about to respond, when the other guard reappeared followed by a uniformed police officer who looked anything but understanding.
"This is her," the guard pointed at her, "No ticket."
"I see," the police officer looked her up and down, "How old are you?"
"Eighteen," she added on another couple of years.
He raised his eyebrows in disbelief, "Name? Address?"
"Emma Jane Brown, 41 West 61st Street," she sighed, "but please, can't you let me carry on? I'm…"
"Sorry Miss," the police officer said taking her arm, "but I'm afraid you'll have to come with me." He started to pull her away from the train.
Emma Jane resisted, "No, please, listen to me!"
At that moment, Isabella appeared at the door, "Excuse me? Where are you taking her?"
"Back to New York," the police officer replied, grabbing her arm once again, "Don't make me cuff you, Miss."
"Cuff me!" Emma Jane was horrified, "But…"
"You can't take her," Isabella protested, "She is my friend!"
"I'm sorry, but the law is the law! Miss," he turned to Emma Jane again, "If you don't come quietly, I will be forced to carry you."
The thought made Emma Jane blush. Nothing would be worse than being manhandled through the station. She nodded, "All right, officer." She turned back to Isabella, "Thanks anyway."
Isabella grimaced, "I'm sorry." She had just been starting to like her compartment companion. But what a story she would have to tell her aunt in Denver!
Emma Jane allowed the police officer to lead her along the platform, mindful that people were looking at her in shock and disgust. Her reputation would be tarnished forever at this rate. Behind her, she heard the whistle of the train and knew it would be pulling out at any moment.
The police officer stopped when he reached his station and set about sending a telegram back to New York. Emma Jane saw her chance. It was madness, but she couldn't get into any worse trouble. Turning, she quickly fled back down the platform to where the train was pulling out.
"Miss Brown!" the police officer, seeing her flight, started to come after her. But Emma Jane was quicker. She ran onto the platform and began running alongside the train.
"Wait!" she called.
"Miss Brown!" she could hear the officer behind her. If she didn't get on the train…
At that moment, a kind-hearted passenger, clearly oblivious as to the real reason the young woman was running along the platform, opened the nearest door and held out his hand. Emma Jane grabbed it and allowed herself to be pulled on board. Gasping with the exertion of running, she glanced out of the window to see the police officer pull up as the train sped away. With a slight giggle of relief, she turned to thank her rescuer and saw it was the honey-haired man from earlier.
"Causin' trouble?" he asked her, grinning in that smug, self-satisfied way.
"I…" she could barely speak from running and from shock, "I…"
"Come on, sit down," he guided her to the nearest compartment which was empty save for one lone businessman, who looked over his paper at them.
The man shot him a dangerous look, "Go on, git!"
The businessman caught sight of the gun, quickly lifted his briefcase and left the compartment. Emma Jane practically fell into a seat, clutching her chest.
"You wanna tell me what yer runnin' for?" her hero asked her.
"I…I don't h…have a ticket," she replied, "they were…going to…to send me back to…New York."
"A stowaway, huh?" he grinned at her again, "Yer a bit young to be crossin' the country by yerself."
Emma Jane glared at him, "I'm sixteen!" she raged, "I'm not a child!"
"Never said you were. Where you goin'?"
"I don't know," she replied truthfully, "I just got on the train. I don't even know where it's going."
"Denver," he supplied.
"Oh…well, I guess I'm going to Denver then."
"What you gonna do there?"
She was getting tired of his interrogation, "I don't know, get a job?"
He laughed, "A job? You? You look like you just got back from lunch at a fancy restaurant." He looked down at her dress, which was clinging to her chest with the heat of her body.
Emma Jane stood up quickly, determined to get away from this man and those eyes that seemed to bore into her. "I have to make sure I avoid the guards," she said, changing the subject. "I mean I…" she was cut off by the force of the train slamming on its brakes and she fell headlong into her hero's lap. Instantly, she jerked away from him, the feeling of being so close to a man being completely alien.
The train came to a juddering halt and she could hear footsteps in the corridors. For a moment, neither of them said anything, until suddenly the door to the compartment was wrenched open and the same guard that had accosted her the first time appeared.
"There you are," he said angrily, "Now Miss, you gotta get off this train. Do you hear me?" he stepped forward towards her, but her companion stepped between them. The guard looked at him, "Can I help you, sir?"
"Yeah you can. You can tell me why you're chasin' my wife all over this train?"
The guard looked stunned, "Wife?"
"Wife?" Emma Jane echoed stupidly before catching on, "Yes, wife. I'm his wife." She stepped forward and linked her arm through his, hoping it looked convincing.
The guard didn't look so convinced, "You're his wife." His tone was one of disbelief.
"That's right, she is," the man said, squaring up to the guard whom he was at least five inches taller than, "You got a problem with that?"
The guard swallowed hard, "No sir, not about that. But there is still the matter of a ticket. She doesn't have one."
"She does have one. How do you think we got on this train?"
"I don't know, but she doesn't have one now."
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out some crumpled bank notes. He peeled two off and handed them to the guard, "That be enough?"
The guard took the money, looked at it and stuffed it into his pocket, writing a quick receipt and passing it to Emma Jane, who had been watching the transaction in stultified amazement.
"Thank you sir, ma'am." The guard touched his hat and left the compartment. A few moments later, the train started up again.
The man sat back down on the seat and put one foot up on the opposite seat. When Emma Jane didn't join him, he looked up lazily at her, "Ain't you got somethin' to say?"
Emma Jane let out a shaky breath, "Th…thank you. I…you didn't have to…"
"It's nothin'."
"I can't pay you, at least, not right now."
"Don't worry about that now. We'll think of somethin'." He held out his hand, "Hank Lawson."
Emma Jane shook it, "Emma Jane Brown."
"Well now Emma Jane Brown," Hank pulled on her wrist and forced her to sit next to him, "How bout you start by tellin' me what the hell's goin' on?"