In the Shadow of Lakecrest(8)

I kept one hand pressed against the wall as I tottered along, my body swaying with each tilt of the train. When we came to my compartment, I saw the bed had been made up, and the sheets were turned down in a neat triangle. I stepped inside and turned around. Matthew was standing in the doorway. I moved back until my legs pressed against the edge of the berth. Suddenly, the gravity of the moment cut through my foggy, unfocused thoughts. I was alone in a bedroom with a man I barely knew, unchaperoned. The staff quarters were at the other end of the car. No one could see or hear us.

I looked at Matthew and realized whatever happened from this point on would be my choice. If I took a step toward him and leaned against his chest, he would kiss me. If I threw my arms around his shoulders and pulled him toward the bed, he would follow.

For a fleeting, thrilling moment, I thought I’d do it. Then a clear, commanding voice told me to stop. Matthew was my lucky break, my best shot at a better life. He might even be a man I could one day fall in love with. All of that would be at risk if I moved too fast.

“Thanks,” I said, tipping my head in dismissal.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked.

“One too many drinks, that’s all,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good night, then,” Matthew said. “Sleep as late as you like. We won’t be getting to Chicago until the afternoon.”

And with that, he was gone. Though I was relieved to have the uncomfortable moment over with, I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of regret. I’d wanted him to kiss me, very much.

After being closed up all day, the compartment was stifling. I pulled the window open, but the air was too humid to offer any relief. After waiting in vain for a cross breeze from the windows in the hall, I closed the compartment door and stripped down to my slip. No point changing into a nightgown and getting it sticky, too. Splashing cold water on my face and chest helped, but I felt sick every time I leaned over the sink. I decided to skip my usual nighttime reading and go right to bed. I didn’t want to face Matthew the next day looking like a wreck.

I turned off the light and lay down, pushing the top sheet and thin blanket aside. The click-clack of the wheels seemed to pound into my brain, and I felt the first throb of an impending headache. I tried to settle my body and thoughts, but I couldn’t get comfortable. The walls seemed to shift unnervingly whenever I changed position, and the pillowcase soon felt as warm as my face.

I considered getting a glass of water, but standing felt like an impossibly grueling task. My arms and legs were weighed down with exhaustion, and I knew sitting up would send hideous darts of pain shooting through my head. I lay in overheated, uncomfortable misery for what could have been minutes or hours, my mind drifting between fragments of memories and dreams. The steady chug of the train punctuated visions of my mother, urging me on. I saw Constance Headly, shaking her head, telling me to stay away from the Lemonts. I remembered the steward Charles handing me a cocktail with a deferential smile and treating me as an honored guest. As if I deserved to be here, as if I belonged at Matthew’s side . . .

The train took a sudden turn and jolted me to the edge of the mattress. The whistle shrieked, and I opened my eyes. A bright flash illuminated the bed, and I realized we were passing through a town, the streetlamps forming an alternating pattern of darkness and light as we zipped by. Groggy and disoriented, I lifted my head and was confused by a strange, bulky mass that seemed to be looming over me. Then another burst lit up the room, and I saw it was Matthew, wearing blue-and-white striped pajamas. He was standing perfectly still, staring at me.

My body tensed with something that went beyond terror, a fear not just of him but also for myself and my own sanity. The man in front of me looked like Matthew, but it wasn’t the same man I’d seen across the table at dinner. His arms and legs were rigid, the muscles tightly clenched, as if he was using all his force of will to hold himself back. His agitated eyes swept across the bed, and I realized to my horror that I was nearly naked, with my slip halfway off my shoulders and the skirt hiked up my thighs.

I wanted to scream, to burrow under the sheets so I wouldn’t have to look at his disturbingly blank expression. But I couldn’t move. The scene had the peculiar unreality of a nightmare, and I felt the same helplessness I’d experienced in my dreams: legs that wouldn’t obey when I tried to run, a voice that couldn’t be summoned when I called out for help.

“Matthew . . . ,” I whispered. I felt my lips form the name, but I couldn’t tell if I made a sound. The room went black as the train left the town and raced through the countryside. I stared into the darkness. A narrow beam of illumination crept through an opening in the doorway, enough for me to see that the compartment was empty. Matthew was gone.

The door slammed against the wall as the train sped up, and I leapt up, throwing my body against it and shutting the bolt. I couldn’t remember if I’d locked it before. I curled into the farthest corner of the bed, shaky with motion sickness, my head prickly with pain. I tried to think logically, to find a reasonable explanation for what I’d seen. Matthew could have been sleepwalking. He might have come by to check on me and been too embarrassed by my disheveled state to say anything.

But I knew Matthew hadn’t stopped in for a friendly chat. His wild eyes and tense body had frightened me. Or had I frightened myself? The whole incident was so odd, so out of character. I was half-delirious with the heat, and an impending hangover made it hard to concentrate. It must have been a dream.