3. East River ( watch?v=kxkwh4aELO8 )
"I thought we were done with this, Elizabeth." Booker growled, leaning out with elbows upon the railings. "Now you're…you're telling me to simply trust you…to let you follow your feelings? My God, we're already in trouble up to our ears!"
As the ferry ploughed up the East River the brown water roiled, making a chopping, gurgling sound as the steam engine and paddlewheels joined in behind us. Off its cool surface the breeze caught my face, wafted through my hair such that it made me feel like a bird in flight. I'd never been on a boat before, at least one that moved through water, and though it was a bit daunting to be so far from land the chill off the water was wonderful. In the frilly white blouse and leaden skirt, it had been so very hot.
Behind us the big suspension bridge Booker had called the "Brooklyn" was slowly receding, a leviathan of dark beige stone and blocky yet elegant towers that looked so very much like the one that had once tied Emporia to Felling Island. With a smile upon I glanced over to him from the bow railing, seeing Booker looking back over his shoulder, brown hair ruffling in the wind. He was worried. "Do you really think we're being followed?" Quietly I pressed up against him.
"That's why we took the boat. It's easier to get lost in the crowd." He'd turned back to monitor our course now, eyes steadfast ahead. Tough a little rough and poorly shaven, it somehow made him look all the more appealing.
When first we'd met it hadn't been from the best vantage, my would-be rescuer hanging from the railing of my library as the ceiling fell in. All I had known of him were those blue eyes and in them the realization of his failing grip on my balcony's railing. Yet after my shock had subsided, I'd seen him there, helpless upon my smashed coffee table, looking up at me with outstretched hand…wincing my next tome as I prepared to hurl his way. Like now his hair was tossed, eyes squinted…his rugged face turned away in a grimace. For the life of me, he looked like Rodin's masterpiece brought to life. And now I was here, just us alone upon the prow of this big brown fish plying the river. "I…I know it's utter insanity, but I swear I can feel it. Just like back in Columbia." I nudged into him further, my arm about his, cheek against his shoulder, peering round into his eyes.
"Columbia doesn't exist. It can't." Glancing to my thimbled appendage, he pursed his lips. "This is the real world, and whatever you're feeling, it has to be some sort of ghost pain, or whatever. You're imagining things."
"Booker…" I whispered with a smirk, eyes darting to the frontages along the banks. "Open your eyes." About us palisades of faded red brick and wood leapt upward near the water's edge. "Columbia is all about us! What is this if not, if not an echo?"
His gaze drifted downward to mine. "It's just a city, Elizabeth, and thank God your tearing days are over. I never want to go back there."
"Never is a long time." I muttered, enjoying despite his surly mood the comfort of our closeness. "You never told me how old you were, you know." I was prying again, of course, and I knew the whole 'South of forty, north of you,' smugness he'd thought so amusing.
"I was told I was born in 1874." He said after a considered moment. "April 19th, if you want to bake a cake. I guess that makes me thirty-eight, not that I've been keeping count."
"Where?" I pried and again he sighed, almost as if the memory were painful. I'd never thought that memory could torture one so.
"Out west, not far from where I joined up with the Army."
My fingernails stroked the back of his hand. "It seems like a long way to end up here."
"I was running away." He said quietly, a distance upon his face. "I guess I'm good at that." His brow furrowed, then looked down to where I was touching him. I smiled and pressed in closer into his arms, his presence a soothing comfort the likes of which he could never know.
Ahead another bridge loomed, this one of gray steel with streetcars running the rails on its south side. It wasn't as pretty as the last, and as we passed into its shadow, we lost the sunlight. It was palpably chill. "That's the Manhattan Bridge." Booker said, looking up with me, surveying afterward the broad waters, the next bridge and docks a mile beyond. "That one up there, the one with the two decks, that's the East River Bridge. The Long Island City Station is just up beyond it. We'll catch a train there."
"You mean like the El?" I asked excitedly, craning my head to see a huddle of pigeons high upon the Manhattan's pier, doing what, err, pigeons do. Above them beyond the bridge deck and a clanging trolley headed toward the island an airship emerged, gleaming in the daytime brilliance. "Why not take an airship like back in Columbia?"
Booker chuckled. "Because that worked out so well. Do you have any idea of how much passage on those things costs? Unless you're going to Chicago, it's not worth it."
"What about Paris?" I turned his unshaven cheek to meet my enthusiasm.
He failed to suppress a grin, soft crinkles about his eyes. "Paris might work."
Shaking my hand anew, I looked out across the rippling water toward the approaching bank and buildings atop it. Behind us the Captain blew the Staten Island's horn and I jumped, covering my ears. Booker broke out in a big smile and laughed. I looked up at him, unamused, and smacked him on the shoulder. "So, is that how you, uh, know?"
"Know?"
"Where we're going." He asked, glancing at my finger.
I blushed, having never been happy with my disfigurement. Even as I rubbed it, I knew it wouldn't relent. "In Columbia there were so many tears…"
"Caused by you."
I ignored his snark and kept talking. "That I supposed I was just numb to them all, but here…it's like being…being in a crowd your whole life where everyone is…everyone is always talking and then suddenly…it goes quiet. There is no one. Nothing. So…so peaceful. And then...then you hear something, faint...but most certainly something. You know, at first it was quite bothersome, and even though I …I guess I've gotten used to it. Then this morning…I felt…felt this."
"And you can tell the direction?" He asked as I considered the thimble.
I nodded, looking ahead to the next bridge and the blocky red skyline beyond. I looked eastward. "It's out there."
After ten minutes the ferry came into a short dock, roilding water, engines thrown into reverse and turning the gray water into a caramel froth. With a surge of power, the Captain brought the vessel to a halt, deckhands throwing lines and wrapping rope about bits on the berth. A chill ran my spine.
"Something the matter?" Booker asked…felt his hand warm upon my shoulder. With the boat at berth there was no more wind, and though it was still coolish upon the water the sun was something else. "Maybe you need a hat?"
"I was just thinking back to when Cade's airship brought us into to Finkton. Remembering the rebels. All that happened afterward."
"Yeah…" He said, free hand upon the railing, looking more through it than at the activity below. "I know." As hands secured their ropes, below us the gates opened.
At their parting, a throng of top-hatted businessmen coursed up the boarding ramp, sprinkled here and there with the odd lady, passing through turnstiles and onto terra firma. Booker led me down the ferry's stairs to join the wake of the mob, taking our place behind a cluster of working men in faded blue dungarees and garble of questionable language. Being early afternoon, I could only suppose the crowd was light though it didn't feel it. Soon we were up the ramp and off the water, and I had the oddest feeling as if my knees had turned to rubber.
Seeing me all wobbly, Booker took my hand and pointed down the street to a brick building, a waiting train and boarding passengers. "That's the Long Island Station up there."
"The railroad?" I asked, brushing my hair back as we ascended the bank to join the avenue.
"Mhmmm. And you're sure this is the way?"
"Well, if I could still see the doors, I would be."
Together we slipped the curb onto brick. "Well, it's just as well you can't. And since we're running, this is as good a direction as any. Let's just hope we find some answers."
Long Island Station, as he'd called it, was hardly a 'station,' rather more a feed lot with a half dozen rail heads backed up to it. Upon the tracks the lone train we'd spied waited, cars brown and drab, a lone black steam engine puffing gray smoke at its fore. Though the crowd was sparse it was still more than a girl not used to the masses could handle. I found myself struggling to see above shoulders and hats. Feeling ill at ease, I kept close to Booker's side as he purchased our tickets at a rather unremarkable window next to the yard, remembering when we'd done the same in a place that had never existed. Bags in hand, we were soon boarding.
"Don't tell me…" Booker said as we surmounted the steel steps of the car. My eyes darted left and right at the open seats in the aisle before us. "You've never ridden a train before?"
My chaperone had a taciturn way of approaching the world I did not share. It must have been a hard life to make a man so jaded when wonder was all about him. "Is it so obvious?" I asked, shoving my bag in an overhead rack before choosing a window seat. Out the glass I found myself fixated, looking at the people milling and the nearby buildings.
"Well, I've never seen anyone smile at the sight of Brooklyn before."
Outside I heard a whistle, followed by loud a whoosh and cloud of white steam billowing outward. Our train began to pull out, leaving the disembarked passengers behind. I couldn't help my excitement, for the promise of something new was unfolding. "I don't see how you can say that, Booker…it's all so rich and all of the colors and people! It's exciting!" Booker sighed but seemed to smile, and as I sat back into the seat across from him, his gazes lingered upon me. "What is it?" I asked.
"You." He said with a grin. "What am I going to do with you?"
I stood and smiled, turning as I joined him on his side so we might both look foward. "Hopefully have a grand adventure." The fact that it put me in an ideal position to lend my head to his shoulder was not lost.
As the train picked speed we left the yard behind, and only then I began to understand the full enormity of the city. It was, I suppose, more difficult to gain a true understanding of a place from the ground. In Columbia, I'd been spoiled. Seeing a city from the sky made it easy to understand in a relatable manner...at least until Booker had freed me. What had looked like a mere stage before, a toy, had then taken on depth that I'd never suspected…and malice. Now, with the brick and stonework and shanties passing by, I found this part of New York much the same, its assortment of architecture bewildering.
Roads came and went, the train rolling over bridges with cars and trucks and horse drawn wagons beneath, punctuated every now and then by great billboards and painted advertisements across whole facades that advertised soap with the most scandalously clad women. Everywhere on the rooftops there were wooden water towers and chimneys, the latter, more often than not, accompanied by plumes of dark smoke.
"So, why do they call it 'Long Island?" I eventually asked, surveying a tenement with an array of colorful clothing lines and even more colorful people who hadn't the good sense to smile. "It doesn't look like much of an island…it looks like Manhattan."
"Well, this is Queens, and yes, it's part of New York but is actually on a big island that extends maybe a hundred or more miles east. Long Island, in fact. Whatever you're feeling…" Gently he held my hand in his, eyeing my thimble before eyes turned our way. "It's likely out there. Unless, of course, it is farther. Mind you, the nearest land beyond Montauk is Ireland…and that's three thousand miles away."
"Three thousand miles?!" I exclaimed. "Oh, it's closer than that. Shamrocks?"
"Shamrocks?" Booker puzzled.
"Ireland. They have shamrocks there." I said. "Very green."
As the train gathered speed a plume of soot billowed above us from the engine, coming every now and then into the car. Against the roiling pollution Booker rose and drew the window up before rejoining me in our seat. It cut off the smoke but also our air. Having been through a lot, the both of us were quiet, which was all right. I had so much to see. After a few minutes I heard him snuffle. After a few more I heard him snore.
Settling upon his chest, I watched the world going by out the glass, the brick edifices and wall murals and clotheslines giving way to houses then fields and tree line with cloudless azure above. Cars and horse drawn carts plied roads both dirt and paved, while long lines of cable were strung on wooden poles at roadside. The further out we got, the more trees and fields there were until we were running through forest.
I'd never seen forest before, seen how birds took to the branches waving in the breeze above, seen how the leaves turned and flashed in the sunlight. I imagined sitting beneath one of those trees in a field, reading a book as the clouds drifted overhead. It was beautiful, and as I lay there, cheek upon his chest, I realized that despite our predicament how perfectly happy I was.
#
When I came to the sun was a bit further west, the shadows along the tracks a bit longer. Elizabeth's brown softness was at my chin. Silently she was gazing out the window, perking occasionally to take in a bridge or stream or passing train. Everything was new to her…wide eyed and young. Annabelle had been like that.
We'd begun courting shortly before I was off to knock sense into the Lakota. For some reason she'd remained intent upon marriage even after I returned. I'd been a changed man, of course…hardly a man. A boy. A boy who'd seen too much. Done too much. Hard as I tried to shake it, the memory gnawed at me, and even though I couldn't bring myself to talk about it, Annie had still loved me.
Andy had said she was simply anxious to get away from her father and move back east, which, of course, I'd made my intentions known to do as soon as I could. By then I was sick of the Army, and being young as I'd been, it was easy to think that a change of scenery or dunk in the water might wash away one's sins. Not that anyone at Riley thought what I'd done was particularly wrong…it had been a fight at Wounded Knee, after all.
But none of them really knew what I'd done.
Sans her father's blessing, we'd gotten married one Saturday at the First United Methodist in Manhattan, a little town a few miles east of Riley, then hopped a train east across the prairie. With my mind elsewhere, I'd not much been in mind to elope, but it had been her wish and I'd made it come true at the cost of most of my savings. That train hadn't been unlike this one, passing over the open plains of rolling grass, the broad Mississippi and the forested farmland of Illinois and Ohio. When finally we'd made New York, Annabelle was in heaven. I still see her face when first we saw the Hudson, that glint of silver down the emerald valley, Annabelle turning back to me in glee, brown hair glistening gold in the sun about those beautiful blue eyes. We were paupers, but those eyes…more priceless than any gemstones. And then we'd settled in to 108 Bowery, and the glint went out. Then, one morning, laying there together in a bed barely big enough for both of us, having not eaten in two days, she'd told me that she was pregnant.
"What is it?" Annabelle whispered. I felt her fingertips upon my face and realized it was Elizabeth. She'd turned up to me, smallish nose and bright eyes so much her mother's. That same subtle chin…dark eyebrows and lashes raised in concern.
"Nothing, really. Why?" Her fingernail traced an unsuspected tear and caught it up in golden sunlight. She just looked at me, not poisoning the moment with words. After clearing my throat, I managed to respond. "I…I was thinking about your mother."
"You must have loved her very much." She whispered, her own blue dwelling on my weakness. "I don't ever think I've seen you cry, well, except when Witting…" A stern look chastened her. "It's all right to cry, you know."
"I wasn't crying."
She smirked and hugged me. "You like to act so tough don't you, Booker DeWitt? Remember, I know you."
"Yes." I relented, regret boiling inside. "You do. I loved her...more than you could possibly imagine."
"I can imagine quite a bit." She said, soft eyes not varying from mine. "It's all I had for most of my life. Tell me about her." Looking at Elizabeth, there again I felt the weight of the world upon my shoulders. God, the world had no justice to letting this happen. I could not do this to her. Not again. I took her hand and began to speak, but before I could her eyes widened. How did she know? "No, please, Booker," She whispered. "…don't. Please don't spoil it."
"Elizabeth…we can't." Gently I pushed her away. "We cannot…can NOT do this. You know how...how I feel about you, but I…I'm your Father. I wish it were different, but it is not…and…and it never will be. I've already hurt you. I won't do it again."
"You're not hurting me…" She almost cried - dejection written upon a troubled brow. Her lip quivered as if somehow her heartstrings would change fate. "But you're about to."
"You'll find someone." I whispered, closing my eyes tightly. "Someone else." Unwilling to meet her eyes, I turned away, looking outside at the trees and fields rushing by. "Someone younger and...more handsome and...and he'll love you more than life itself. There are lots of fish in the sea, especially for a girl like you."
"I don't want someone else." She said with a solemn look, face turned down, voice low. "It's all so terribly unfair…I cannot help the way that I feel."
"No, but we can help how we act. You have to know…know that I..." I paused, remembering the girl so damned much like her. "We can't be that for one another. We each have to…have to find someone else."
She looked up toward me sharply, eyes intent. "And what if there were a way? Would you…would you take it? No...no matter the cost?"
I know what my eyes must have said, for we sat there gazing upon one another for far too long. I closed them, telling myself no again and loosed a dejected sigh. "There is no way."
From her cheek she wiped something and drew away, turning, holding herself tightly in the seat beside me. Her eyes drew outside and the foliage flashed by. Eventually I heard her whisper, "I know."
#
Jamaica, Mineola, Hicksville…the towns rolled by in our mutual silence as the train chugged along, tracks clattering beneath us, not looking at one another until she gave me a sorrowful, pathetic glance and with a sniff barely audible put her cheek back upon my chest. She lay there, eyes open, thinking as town and dale slipped by, the train pouring on, stopping intermittently with squealing air brakes to disembark passengers. At one point I could feel her holding onto me for what seemed like dear life. "It's not like we'll be apart." I whispered, soaking in this girl who wanted nothing more than to be with me. "I'll always be here for you."
"Promise?" She asked quietly, and in that soft question I found all the purpose in the world.
"Yes. And when you need me, I will always come."
We carried on for a while after that, less thinking I suspect than simply enjoying our communion. I was wondering if we'd need to charter a boat when she finally sat up, almost like she'd been shocked. Her eyelashes fluttered and she turned to me. "Booker!"
"What?" I said, the beginnings of hunger pangs signaling that dinner approached.
"We're close!" We were ten minutes past Medford and the car mostly emptied. She started looking around, her eyes settling across the car. "There! It's north!"
"Damn." I muttered. "You're like a bloodhound."
"That's not a very flattering comparison." She said, brushing stringers of fallen hair away from her face, simultaneously evincing a pout.
"Okay, a bloodhound puppy. Better?"
"Marginally." I heard the whistle blow and the brakes coming on. In her excitement she'd risen prematurely. The sudden slowing unsteadied her. She fell into my lap. Disconcerted, she looked out the windows toward the arriving station on our left, down at her finger and back to me, mischief in mind. Had she missed her tears so damned much? Her eyes narrowed, and with a furtive glance right and left pecked me on the cheek and grabbed my hand. "Come on…it's this way!"
Elizabeth had obviously forgotten her porter needed to grab the bags, and as she tore out of the car, nearly wrenching my arm from my socket, I reached up with my free arm to retain them. Hastening down the steps and foot stool past the bemused Conductor, she glanced up and around, letting go of my hand to twirl upon the platform. "Oh, it's outside and so green!" She said, looking about at the tree line and ploughed fields about the station. She closed her eyes and stopped, drawing in a deep breath. "Oh, and the air, it's so…so."
"Fresh." I supplied, thinking it smelled a little of New York all the same. Above her the station sign read black letters upon white. "Yaphank." What kind of a name was "Yaphank?"
Still just a bit overwhelmed, Elizabeth had taken to the edge of the platform and was craning about. It wasn't a bad station, I suppose, and though barely more than a hutch worn by the elements it had a wooden gingerbread trim about its eaves that made it seem rather homey. The couple who'd disembarked with us were following her antics like she was mad, descending a ramp with eyes turned over shoulders before nearly colliding with their waiting chauffer and his 1911 Perry Pathfinder. The coincidence was not lost upon me.
Elizabeth came prancing up to me, holding her finger. I couldn't tell if she wanted to tell me something or she had to pee. "Well?"
Dragging me down the ramp and around a rather antique four-wheeled baggage cart and onto the sandy dirt parking lot, she pointed along the road and looming tree line to the north. "It's there, Booker! Somewhere up the road! Ooooh, I can feel it." In the afternoon sun some clouds had arrived. It was still warm. A fly flew past me, buzzed her in turn and she waved it away.
I looked down the dirt path, wincing. By now the Pathfinder was leaving a billow that rose and rolled in the wan afternoon zephyr. "I think we have a problem."
"What's that?" She answered, brushing fallen hair from her face. From the surrounding brush and fields crickets sang a lazy song about us.
I looked about the barren lot and miles of field about us. "How up for are you walking?"