A/N Greetings all from Costa Rica:) Thanks to prettypinkbookworm for the beta read

CHAPTER 12

In the end we'd decided I should ride the rails to Atlanta. It was the best way we could think of traveling undetected, especially since I didn't know how to drive and neither Edward nor Carlisle were willing to take me themselves.

I think they secretly thought I'd back down if they made it difficult for me. From several comments he'd made, I was certain Edward thought I'd be uncomfortable traveling with strange men in the dark boxcars. But I knew my own strength now, and I knew I could take care of myself if I had to.

I was more afraid of the Atlanta coven.

"They mustn't detect your presence, Rosalie. They are very territorial and are likely to hunt you down if they suspect an intruder," Carlisle had warned me again and again.

"What are the cardinal rules?" he demanded of me for the millionth time.

"Follow their ways -- only come out at night. Stay downwind so they don't catch my scent. Do my business, in and out, and then disappear." I recited the rules like a good schoolgirl.

"And if they start to track you?" he urged.

"Stay near humans, as publicly as possible, so the coven can't make a scene."

He still looked unhappy, but there was nothing more he could do. I was as prepared as I could be. Edward had given me the name and address I'd needed; he'd also gone to the public library and hand copied the most recent map of the city he could find. I'd even had to sit through his "history of Atlanta" lecture: Coca-Cola, Sherman's March, the Pittsburgh riot, on and on he went. Remind me never to go on a holiday with you, I groaned in my mind, causing him to storm away in a huff, muttering at vampire speed about my lack of appreciation for cultural and current events.

When the time came, Edward took me to the place where the tracks switched, just outside town, to catch the midnight freight train as it went by. I had a small valise with a change of clothing, my hairbrush, and makeup. I kept my wallet in my pocket.

We heard the lonely whistle of the train before we saw its lights.

"Good luck, Rosalie," Edward said, his golden eyes worried as he extended his hand.

"Thank you Edward," I grinned, gripping his hand in mine.

He looked down the tracks and released my hand. "It will be here in a moment. It appears the door on the second to last car is slightly ajar. You might try that one. And remember…"

He was starting to yell above the rumble of the train. The tracks groaned and heaved, the metal protesting the weight of the train as it came nearer and nearer.

"I know," I called out as I began to run alongside the screaming train, "stop to hunt along the way."

I effortlessly jumped onto the car he'd mentioned and hung off the door. His eyes looked tight, anxious, as I sped away. He raised a hand, and I waved in response, hanging there until I could no longer see his pale figure in the moonlight.

I was lucky. The car was empty. There was no cargo and only one human heaped in a corner. He stunk of unwashed linen and reeked of liquor, but he was unconscious. Ah, the company you keep, Rosalie Hale, I thought. If the University Club could see you now….

And so the train sped along, bringing me closer to John Candler III, who would be my second victim.

I pressed my back against the wall of the car. The rumbling of the wheels on the track was hypnotic, but I couldn't relax. I fingered the slip of paper in my pocket like a talisman and focused on the crumpled man, willing him to stay asleep.

The passenger train schedule said the trip to Atlanta would take less than a day. The cargo train wouldn't make stops along the way so, for me, the journey could take as little as 12 hours. High noon was not a good time to disembark in the middle of Atlanta, so I'd be jumping off somewhere outside the city, wherever I could find good forest cover.

The man stirred. I heard his heart rate raise slightly, his breathing shift into a shallower range. He was waking up.

I pressed harder against the car. I wasn't afraid of him, but it would be easier if he didn't notice me.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes and belching. Disgusting, I thought. There were some parts of human life that nobody, including me, could ever miss. His eyes were still adjusting to the shadows, but mine were sharp. I scanned him quickly as he stretched, trying to take his measure.

He was dressed in a suit. It was shabby and stained, but the fine cut was unmistakable. The shiny buttons were the same as those on Royce's suits. Custom tailored, I thought with surprise. His shoes were scuffed and worn at the heel, but they were fine leather. I let this sink in, trying to reconcile the man's ragged hems and stink with his expensive clothing.

He finished stretching and looked around. As he looked in my direction, he started.

"Stay there," I commanded, wondering if he was the type to listen to a woman.

His eyes narrowed, then widened with surprise, an intelligent light suddenly sparkling in them. "Phoebe Snow," he murmured, a slight grin spreading across his face.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, the steely edge of my voice warning him not to move. "You seem to have mistaken me for someone else."

He chuckled, holding up his hands in a show of submission. "As I gathered, not the typical vagabond. You've never heard of Phoebe Snow?" Without waiting for my answer, he jumped to his feet and launched into a merry song and jig:

"Says Phoebe Snow

About to go

Upon a trip to Buffalo:

'My gown stays white

From morn till night

Upon the road of Anthracite.'"

He laughed out loud, slapping his knees, tears of delight running down his gaunt cheeks. I noticed the suit hung loosely on him, the pants cinched about his waist with a length of string.

"By God," he wheezed once his laughing had subsided, "If you're not Phoebe Snow in the flesh, then the Devil take me."

I frowned. "I'm not Phoebe Snow. I'm Rosalie…" I paused. What name should I give? I doubted this man would have heard of me, but I couldn't be too careful. "Cullen." I narrowed my eyes suspiciously, remaining alert to any other sudden moves he might make.

"Well, Rosalie Cullen, I am Thomas Dearborn." He bowed neatly in my direction. "And you are on the Delaware, Lackawanna and Western Railroad line, otherwise known as 'The Route of the Phoebe Snow.' This route was the first to use anthracite coal, which burns soot free. Phoebe Snow was an illustrated character – a very beautiful woman all dressed in white including white dress, long white gloves, white hat, and white purse. The railroad adopted her for an advertising campaign to illustrate ladies could ride the "Phoebe Snow" without getting their clothes dirty. And you, my dear, if I may say so, are as pristine and pure as they come. More fetching than Phoebe herself."

Thank God it is dark and he can't see me sparkle, I thought. The man's glee was almost too much. That would have put him over the edge. As I watched, a shadow of sadness passed over his face and he became thoughtful.

"Of course, that was a long time ago. As you can see, this isn't even a passenger train anymore. And Phoebe has long left the public imagination." He bent over and coughed, each bark of his weary lungs wracking his body. His exuberance had cost him dearly. But even though his body was worn out, he spoke with the energy and authority of a worldly man. Curiosity overtook me.

"You seem to know a lot about this railroad."

He eased back down onto the floor of the car and fumbled about his body, looking for something. "Yes. I was an investment banker. I specialized in railroads. I know every line in and out of Atlanta like I knew every hair on my lovely wife's head." He found his bottle of whisky and took a swig. He drew a dirty linen handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his mouth. I noticed the lines around his eyes; they made him look kindly.

"Knew?" I asked.

"Knew." He sat in silence, eyeing me. "When I lost all my money, she left me to go back to her family in New York." He said it in a matter-of-fact tone, no hint of bitterness in his voice.

I took this in as I sank to the floor. He was clearly no threat to me. In fact, he could be helpful with his knowledge of the rail lines. And he was intriguing – he had clearly been successful; not a lackabout, as my father had depicted the multitudes affected by the Crash to be. Even odder, he seemed to harbor no desire for revenge on his wife, despite her desertion.

"How did you lose your money?" I asked.

"The same way everyone else did," he said with a shrug. "In the bank. It doesn't really matter now. All that matters now is that it is gone." He took another drink and continued.

"The same brain that earned that money to begin with can earn it back again, once my luck changes. Nothing is ever permanent," he said with a grin.

I felt my brow crumpling. "That's not what your wife thought," I asserted.

"No," he said with a chuckle. "You're right. She had never had to earn anything in her life. She came from money. She was afraid. But I'm not afraid. Not anymore."

He looked at me again, his eyes softening. "It strikes me that you and I may have some things in common. A bit down on your luck, are you?"

I nodded, careful not to give anything away.

"This isn't a good place for a civilized young woman to be. Not alone, anyway. You're lucky you got in this car. Other travelers on the Phoebe Snow aren't always as refined as me," he grimaced.

"I'm not afraid." My voice was louder than I had intended it to be.

"Well, good for you, Miss Rosalie Cullen," he said, arching a brow. "Maybe you should be, but so be it. You are going to Atlanta?"

I nodded again. "But I'd like to get off the train outside of the city."

He looked at me curiously. "Traveling incognito?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "I am planning to visit distant relations," I said smoothly, in my most melodious voice, "But I don't want them to be aware of how…troubled things are at home."

He rubbed his beard as if he was familiar with this ploy. "The train slows near Buford. It's very remote and wooded, but the station master there is a good man. He will be sure you find a respectable home in which to wash and a ride into the city."

He looked at me, curiosity burning in his eyes. "Just who are you visiting, Miss Cullen?"

I was afraid to say his name, afraid that I'd be unable to hide the rage and pain in my voice. I reached inside my pocket and extracted the flimsy piece of paper that seemed to control my fate. Being careful to move at human speed, I shuffled across the moving train and handed it down to him.

He let out a low whistle.

"What?" I asked breathlessly.

"You don't know, do you?" he said, full of surprise. He reverently folded the paper and handed it back to me, then settled back into his seat. "They are only one of the richest families in the South. One of the lucky ones that didn't get wiped out. Tuxedo Park is quite a change of scenery from this boxcar. How long has it been since your families have seen one another?"

"A long time," I muttered, shoving the paper back in my pocket. "Our connection is quite distant."

He looked me over, shrewdly assessing my clothing and looks. "You may have a shot. John Jr. is prone to generosity and Trey…"

"Trey?" The reference puzzled me.

"That's what they call John the Third."

"What about him?" Did this man actually know the savage?

"Well," he said, sighing greatly. "He's always been partial to the ladies, particularly the pretty ones. You'll be playing with fire, but if he's taken with you, it may work to your advantage."

He looked up at me, a fierce blush spreading across what was visible of his face, as he fingered the frayed hem of his suit coat. It was the first time he'd shown any self-consciousness, and the first time that the scent of his blood had broken through the stink. It had a mellow tone to it, like smoke.

He dragged his eyes away, staring at his worn wingtips. "You certainly are the most beautiful thing that's crossed my path in a long time. I'll bet the same will be true for him. Just be careful."

Another spasm of coughing shook his body. He fought it off, screwing his eyes tight against the pain. When it had passed, he leaned back against the wall and let a satisfied smile cross his face. Without opening his eyes, he spoke once more.

"Yes, you go and convince those Candlers to help you, Miss Cullen. Go strike a blow for the fallen common man." He wheezed slightly before continuing. "The train won't slow until Buford, so when it does you'll know it's your time. I'm going to go back to sleep now. I may not wake before your jump. May you be blessed with good luck. I hope our paths will cross again, in better days."

"Thank you," I whispered, wishing there was something I could do to repay him for his kindness. I reached into my wallet and found a coin. Noiselessly, I floated over to him and placed it in his hand.

He didn't stir. He had already slumped into unconsciousness, leaving me to focus on getting to Buford without biting him.

A/N: A lot of train lines ran to Atlanta but I don't really know if the "Phoebe Snow" did, or if the timing for the 'soot free' train really works historically speaking. The reference was too perfect not to use, though. My thanks to M.C. Hallberg, author of "Railroads in North America: Some Historical Facts and an Introduction to an Electronic Database of North American Railroads and Their Evolution." This 2006 paper provided the reference, including the song performed by Mr. Dearborn.