“I didn’t ask any of you to do that.” She sat up and started to get up. Surprised, I quickly stood up and tried to help her. “I got it.” Her voice lacked any emotion as she pushed by me.

  “I thought it might help—”

  “I’m going to bed.”

  “I’ll help you upstairs.”

  “No.” The fury in her voice brought me up short, and I backed off.

  She winced in pain, holding her side. I started to go to her again, but a gentle hand on my arm stopped me.

  “Let her go,” Rose said. “She needs time.”

  I watched Shay until she disappeared, ignoring everyone looking at me. I turned around, and they all started to do something except for Thomas. He stared at me in a way that stripped me bare, exposing all my pain and confusion in ways I wanted to keep hidden. I tore myself away from his green gaze and started to clean up the supplies strewn about.

  Rose and George went upstairs when Hiram and Michael agreed to help Thomas get home. I wrung my hands, thinking of what to say to them.

  “Do you guys need me to do anything?” I asked

  Hiram paused. “No, we should get him home.”

  “Can ye leave us alone a minute?” Thomas asked.

  My heart skipped, suddenly anxious. “Thank you, guys, for helping me with Shay. I don’t know what I could ever do to repay you.”

  “No one deserved her fate,” Hiram said, rubbing his brow. “You owe me nothing.”

  “Tommy knows the agreement,” Michael looked to Thomas, who nodded.

  Agreement? Something tickled the back of my mind, but I couldn’t seem to bring forth the memory.

  They went outside, leaving me to run my hands nervously through my hair as I thought of what to say.

  “Why are ye fretting, lass?”

  I met his eyes, sighing. “I feel like this is my fault.”

  “Ye stabbed me in the shoulder?” His brow rose.

  “No, but you wouldn’t have gotten hurt if I didn’t ask you to help me.”

  “Come here.” I couldn’t figure out his expression, whether the grimace was from pain or at my expense. I stood in front of him, wondering what he wanted. He gently grabbed one of my hands and watched as he rubbed his thumb across it—studying it as if he would never see it again.

  “I owe you,” I said, unable to tear my eyes away from where we touched. “Whatever you want, I’ll do my best. I could sing for money if—”

  His thumb stopped, startling me into looking at his face, but he kept his eyes on our joint hands.

  “There’s only one thing I need.” His voice was hoarse, making my mind spin.

  “Anything,” I breathed.

  His grip tightened, and he nodded. The muscles in his jaw clenched as he thought of the words he would speak next, and I had a horrible sinking sensation. “Go home or wherever ye find it safe. Leave this place behind.”

  “I—” I cleared my throat, looking away so he couldn’t see my tears. Why was I about to cry? That was my plan all along. It must have been the stress of the last few days. “Rose said I could work for room and board until Shay is healed. I don’t have anywhere to go yet, and with Shay hurt—”

  “When she’s healed. I wouldn’t put you out, lass. Just promise me ye won’t go looking for me.” He looked up at me then, and I let the tears spill, too weak to hide my emotions. The last few days had been unbearably hard. “This will be the last time we meet intentionally. Then ye can consider me debt paid.”

  I found myself nodding even though I didn’t want to. He stood up, making me feel as small as my following words. “Why, though?”

  He placed two fingers underneath my chin and brought my face up. He swiped away my tears, and I closed my eyes, savoring his last touch. I tried to not think about what that might mean.

  “I’ve only known ye for a short time, but even I guessed this isn’t the life for ye. Ye will only get hurt if ye stay in this city.”

  “And you?” I searched his eyes.

  “What about me?” He squinted like he was trying to read my mind.

  “Nothing.” I pulled out of his grasp and stepped back, despite the odd tearing sensation ripping through my chest.

  He let his hand fall and grabbed his hat off the table. “It was a pleasure to meet ye,” he said.

  I could feel him staring at me, but I couldn’t bring myself to let him see the irrational pain in my eyes. “Thanks again for helping me at Nora’s and with Shay.” My voice quivered as the tears rolled down my cheeks. I wanted to say more, but a sob stuck in my throat.

  I only lifted my head when I heard the door shut behind him.

  Chapter seventeen

  Thomas & Emilia

  Most of the morning went by in silence, the quiet solitude that often followed a battle. And one that Thomas couldn’t fully enjoy after the day he had.

  Thomas had gone to Long Wharf, hoping to convince one of the captains to let him work. But, unfortunately, it wasn’t long until he discovered no one wanted to hire him on the docks with his injured arm.

  “Get off my dock before I throw your ass in the river, damn Irish filth,” the captain said, spitting on Thomas’s shoes.

  Thomas clenched his fist but flexed his fingers again, remembering he needed the work or his family would struggle with the rent and food.

  “I can do more work with me one arm than most the men here can do with two,” Thomas growled.

  “I’ll set this whole damn deck on fire—” The captain threw his hands out, drawing the other workers’ attention. “—and the boats along with it before I hire Irish swine like you.”

  It took everything Thomas had not to kill the captain right then and there. He couldn’t take care of his family if he went away for murder, he repeated in his mind while letting out a deep breath. The other docks provided a similar result, leaving him desolate and wandering until he found himself sitting on the crate, watching the sunrise over the water as Hiram worked.

  Now, Hiram unloaded a crate off the ship, wiping his brow. The hard work took the chill out of the air. Thomas already missed the familiarity of exertion and the strain of his muscles as he pushed his body to the limit. He pulled his coat tighter.

  “Are you going to ask how they’re doing?” Hiram finally asked after setting down another large crate.

  Hiram visited the bakery the day before. Thomas fought a grimace, knowing his friend wanted to ask why he cut himself off from the women he saved.

  “Nay,” Thomas admitted.

  “It’s been two days.”

  “Aye.”

  Hiram shook his head in annoyance and dropped the subject. Thomas knew he should explain, but he didn’t know how. And he didn’t want to think about it anymore.

  He stood up, preparing himself for what he was about to do.

  Thomas walked through the city without much thought of a destination and marveled at how it came alive. People from all types of life—nativists or immigrants, various nationalities, poor or rich, colored or white—could be spotted together on any given day. Of course, they may not get along or even like each other. And some streets may be overrun with gangs or overcrowded with new immigrants daily. Thomas lived a good portion of his life in the city, and grew to love the difficulties and contradictions that came along with such a place.

  Thomas’s way of thinking was rare. He knew that. It’s why he never fit into one place, but found himself roaming everywhere, conversing with everyone.

  He was far from perfect, though. If it came down to it, he’d burn the lot of them if they ever hurt those close to him. Tear the whole fecking system apart just to see them flounder.

  Drowning in his thoughts, he was about to turn down a different street when a commotion pulled him out of his plagued thoughts and into the present. A crowd was gathering around the newspaper, men shouting and pulling the paper out of each other’s hands to read it.

  He went to an older man, struggling to read over his shoulder as the man kept moving. He had a hard enough time reading as it was.

  “What does it say?” Thomas asked.

  The man glanced at him. “Lincoln called all able-bodied men to fight for the Union,” he said, spitting to the side. “Says seventy-five thousand troops needed for three months.”

  Thomas grabbed his wounded shoulder, feeling bitterness like he’s never known blossom within his chest. He walked away without a response, feeling as if trudging through a tunnel of immeasurable pressure—suspended in a dark sea, the surface lightyears away.

  His entire life, he was taller, stronger, or smarter when fighting. Most times, he was all three and used it to his advantage against bullies and oppressors. He prided himself on mastering his body, knowing it was the only thing life couldn’t take away from him. And now, when the moment finally came to fight for something bigger than anything he’s ever fought for, his body failed him. There was no way they’d let him enlist while his shoulder was injured. And he knew the extent of the wound would prohibit him from being able to hide it from them.

  Thomas found himself on Mikey’s doorstep, knowing his brother was most likely asleep. He kept his eyes from what was happening in one of the cots and went up the stairs.

  The world’s weight landed on his shoulders, until he could do nothing but sit on his brother’s bed with his head in his hands. All he’d ever worked for and believed in slipped between his fingers as he waited for Mikey to wake.

  “How long ye gonna sit there?” Mikey mumbled from under his arm.

  “Christ.” Thomas sat up straight. “How long have ye been awake?”

  “Since ye sat your fat ass on me bed. What do ye want?”

  Thomas sighed but said nothing. Mikey sat up and ran his hands through his hair—bone straight, compared to Thomas’s short, slightly wavy hair.

  “Well, if ye are just gonna sit there, don’t mind if I piss, aye?”

  Thomas flung his hand toward the pot and looked away, still lost in his thoughts.

  “How’s your shoulder?” Mikey asked.

  “Lincoln’s called for us to enlist.”

  Mikey grunted, shrugging. “Aye, and?”

  “Me fecking arm is useless! If it weren’t for—” Thomas stopped, realizing he almost said something he couldn’t take back. Even if Emilia couldn’t hear it, he’d never forgive himself for taking his anger out in her name.

  Mikey sat down heavily. “They’ll lick the rebels in no time. No sense in signing for what is already over.”

  “I wouldn’t expect ye to understand.”

  “Then why are ye here?” Mikey snapped and grabbed some tobacco, shoving it into his lip. “Stop pestering me and follow your gypsy like some lovesick mutt instead. Leave me to sleep.”

  Thomas stared at his hands. “I need work. With me shoulder the way it is…”

  “Aye, ye are cashin’ your debt in early then?”

  “I’m just saying—” Thomas glared. “I’m your man until me shoulder’s healed. Then we’re done. Aye?”

  Mikey grinned. “Aye.”

  Leaning over the bed, I grabbed my shoes, careful not to jostle them as I stood up. I looked back at Shay, still sleeping, and tiptoed out of the room and down the stairs.

  A week of helping at the bakery had passed. I quickly learned they went to sleep pretty early, having to be up before dawn to get everything ready before opening. When I knew Shay was healing—though I worried about her mental health when she stopped talking the night Thomas was injured—I began to form a plan.

  My memories had been trickling in—flashes of my parents, more of the Romani language I’d long forgotten, and my grandmother sending me across time. I knew at least one of my parents had to be Italian. But how everyone seemed to guess I was of Roma descent had me wondering. For the locals, I had to look remarkably like them to deduce my heritage. Either that or some of them had to live in the area. Or used to.

  It was obvious that something had been triggering my memories. My guess was the time itself. My younger self would have recognized the customs and people. The more I immersed myself, the more my past returned.

  I needed to find my grandmother or a band of Roma nearby to figure out how to get back to the twenty-first century. I couldn’t be asking around the bakery for fear that it might draw too much suspicion. So instead, I would sing on North Street and ask the drunken men questions between songs. Maybe even lure one to the side to get some answers if I was desperate. Hopefully, they would be too drunk to remember it in the morning.

  I made it outside without waking anyone up and put my shoes on. As I set off, I reached between my breasts, feeling the familiar metal of one of the knives I had taken for protection. It wasn’t much against a gun, but I felt better for having it.

  In the short time I’d been here, the streets were transformed with the promise of war. The dark cloaked most of the signs as I walked, but it was harder to ignore the small flags adorning the streets, and during the day, as companies set out for Washington D.C., the crowd cheered for their brave men. They no longer drank without purpose, but they drank for the preservation of the Union.

  Just a few days before, I kept trying to see the companies marching to Faneuil Hall until Rose had enough of me constantly asking her questions. So, I searched for them, though a storm had broken, and I had to keep my head down most of the way. Finally, I made it to the hall, drenched, my borrowed hat plastered to my head.

  With my heart in my throat, I scanned the crowd for familiar faces. The street was packed with men waiting to get their grey overcoats and rifles. Their faces should’ve been miserable in the storm. Still, they were alight, eyes blazing, ready to fight for their country and finally take down the rebels. Irish brogues mingled with mixed Bostonian accents, finally weaving together by a cause greater than their differences. The pulse of excitement was felt through the individuals I passed, their fervor sapping me hollow.

  I spotted a familiar face when I was about to find refuge from the storm and my darkening thoughts. “Isaac!” I yelled, waving above the crowd. It took a few more shouts and a couple of jabs to move people out of my way before he heard.

  He smiled, coming to me. “Miss Millie! How are you?”

  “Your mom is putting me to work,” I smiled back weakly. I tried to suppress a shiver as the rain drove down on us.

  “And your friend?” he said more seriously, his smile fading. He gestured for us to talk beneath a shop’s awning.

  “She’s getting better,” I admitted. Then, grateful for the dry reprieve, I shook the water off my hat. “It was pretty bad.”

  Isaac frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. You know we shouldn’t be talking so freely.” He looked around to see if anyone had noticed us. Thankfully, the crowd remained more interested in the newly enlisted soldiers walking down the street. “Is there something you need?”

  “I was wondering if anyone we know had enlisted.”

  Isaac looked at me, a line forming between his dark brows, and my cheeks heated with shame and realization. He couldn’t enlist nor any of the others I’d met. “I’m sure you’re asking about our Tommy. But why wouldn’t he tell you?”

  “Just busy, I guess,” I lied, not wanting to talk about it. I couldn’t let him know that my worry for Thomas was what robbed me of the patriotism surrounding me.

  He eyed me suspiciously but shrugged. “Hiram said they wouldn’t take him. His shoulder is pretty bad. Heard he has taken up with Mikey.”

  “Mikey?” I gawked.

  “Heard no work would take him.”

  “But, he can’t. He doesn’t even like his brother.”

  Isaac’s dark eyes hardened while looking into the crowd. “Sometimes men have to do what they must to survive, even if they don’t like it. Adapt to our surroundings or perish at the hands of those who can do what we cannot.”

  Goosebumps covered my flesh at the truth in his words.

  “Is this darky bothering you, Miss?” A male voice made me jump.

  I swung around to face a boy who couldn’t be older than sixteen. “Excuse me?”

  “Is he bothering you?” He jerked his thumb at Isaac. “I can get someone to take care of him.”

  The boy eyed Isaac in a way that made my stomach turn. He still had pimples on his face, for God’s sake, and he wanted to get Isaac in trouble for talking to a woman with lighter skin. I started to fume, but instead of snapping, I took a deep breath to steady myself. I had to get Isaac out of this mess.

  “Look—” Isaac began, ready for a fight.

  “I asked him directions,” I cut him off. “He told me, and I was just about to leave.” I smiled at them both. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be on my way now.”

  The boy mumbled something as I slid by him. I looked back, grateful that he had left, and mouthed, “Thank you,” to Isaac.

  He nodded and tipped his hat. Any trace of his usual humor was obliterated.

  I walked away in a haze, trying to focus on the history unfolding before me; all too aware that I needed to be careful what I did in this time or I would keep getting others hurt. I looked up, rain cascading down my face as the American flag flew high.

  Now, in the darkness of the night, and thankfully free of the rain, I walked quickly by myself, taking care to check my surroundings for anyone who might want to harm me. Though I had made it to North Street without trouble, I felt more comfortable with the people around me.

  After some hunting, I found an empty alley and quickly stripped down to as little as possible. I ran my fingers over my hair, ensuring it was in place. I hadn’t been able to curl it without drawing suspicion from Rose, so I hoped my modern long bob would be exotic enough to draw attention.

  With one last wiggle of my corset, everything was in place. God, I wish I had a mirror. I breathed out, telling myself that my tightened corset, shapely figure, and tan skinned had to get the job done without the extra primping.

  I hid my dress in part of the alley that seemed less filthy than the surrounding area and went out into the center of the street, turning in a circle to get my bearings. Then, after some consideration, I decided my act would be the same as what I did for Nora.

 

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