courage would become hers once she landed.
Until then … she pulled a leather box to her chest. Her mother— away from her father’s ears—had instructed Lottie to take along all her jewels as insurance against the unknown. If the worst imaginable happened and Conrad was a cad, Lottie could sell the jewels and buy a passage home.
She knew the notion was simpler than the act. In the past weeks of preparation Lottie had come to recognize her own naïveté. Her lack of knowledge about the world and even day-to-day living left her very glad for Dora’s companionship. As far as selling the jewels? Lottie knew nothing about dollars and cents. If she did find an American jeweler willing to buy her offerings, she’d have no idea if they were cheating her. And how much did things cost in New York? A hotel room? Or a meal? Or transportation? Father had never given her more than a few shillings to carry in her purse. When she went shopping it wasn’t proper to ask the price, and her father had accounts at all the dressmakers and sundry shops in the local village and in London. Life in America would be far different in that respect. Was an American penny worth the same as an English penny?
She’d asked Father to explain it to her, but had been assured there was no reason for her to know such a thing. “Conrad will take care of you.”
The notion was a relief—and a burden. To be beholden to this stranger, to arrive totally dependent upon this family she didn’t know, added another layer to her fear. And what about the Tremaines’ morals? If her own father’s character could be held in question, what of these Americans? She had always held the image of an American as being bold and brash. She was just a country girl. Would she be totally overwhelmed?
Fear had led Lottie to ask her father if they had any other acquaintances in New York City. They did not. At that point Dora had mentioned a third cousin who’d emigrated there five years previous. The connection was tenuous, yet any contact was better than none. At Lottie’s urging Dora had sent the cousin a letter announcing their arrival.
They’d received a brief letter in return, with an open invitation toward contact if the need arose.
In spite of this, they had no idea whether the cousin was well-off or destitute, upright or dishonorable. Yet they received comfort knowing they had an alternative place to go.
With that thought Lottie opened her reticule to make sure the paper with the cousin’s address was present. It was.
There was a rap on the door, and Dora stuck her head into the room. “Lottie?”
“I know,” Lottie said. “I’m coming.”
Perhaps she might best handle her good-byes by ignoring any hint of finality. Perhaps if she pretended …
Without another look around her room Lottie moved into the hall. “Come. It’s time.”
To take a leap of faith.
Dora sat in the carriage and watched as Lottie told her parents good-bye. Mr. Gleason’s chin was stiff as though he was restraining his emotion, and Mrs. Gleason gripped her daughter’s hand as if she might never see— There was that possibility.
Dora adjusted the buttons on her gloves, then rested them on the black leather of the jewelry box Lottie had given her to hold. She had so many unanswered questions about the future. There was movement outside, and Dora watched as Lottie offered her mother a final embrace before walking to the carriage. Surprisingly, there were no tears.
Dora pulled her skirt aside so Lottie could sit, and the driver pulled away.
She waited for Lottie to speak first, but when nothing was said …
“Are you all right?”
Lottie averted her gaze and looked out the window. She shook her head, once.
Dora respected her silence and entered into some of her own.
As the roads of Wiltshire sped by, Dora knew she might never see them again, never see Barney. She was relieved to realize she felt little regret. Fear, yes, but no regret.
Yet.
Lottie handed the
Gardner Dozois, Jack Dann