CHAPTER FIVE: May 2, 1915

The first thing I sense here in the shadowy Chicago alleyway in the past is Nell crumpled on the ground beside me, clutching her stomach and groaning. I offer her a hand.

“Should’ve warned you. That first Jump’s tough on the insides.”

“I know,” she says through gritted teeth. “I’ve heard the spiel. I just didn’t think…”

“You’ll be fine in a few minutes. Just walk it off.”

Nell reluctantly allows me to help her up and stands, wobbling like a newborn calf. Her feet are still snug within two very white, synthetic, “futuristic”-looking boots.

“What are those?” I point to the offending footwear.

“All the shoes on this era’s shelf were too uncomfortable,” she mutters, resting a hand on the stone wall beside her.

“Too uncomfortable? Nell, you can’t just wear whatever shoes you want when you Jump to the past.” Now I really regret bringing her with me. “You’re going to get us killed.”

“Sorry, guess I missed that part in History 101 where the citizens of the 20th century burned people at the stake for the crime of inappropriate footwear.” She groans again, and I just shake my head and start walking toward the city street before us.

“I should’ve put you through the Jump checklist,” I mutter.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because you work for PITTA; you ought to know better,” I say, my voice taking on an unintentionally sharp edge. I look around, trying to refocus on the larger mess at hand.

This Jump location lands us within a few blocks of the train station, and if the schedule in my hand is correct, the California Limited, the train on which Cass is working as a Harvey Girl waitress, ought to be arriving in a few minutes. I can catch her here between trips, warn her about what I’ve recently discovered, and give her the stun gun for protection. I’m sure it’s not on the list of items acceptable for a Harvey Girl to carry in her luggage, but Cass never was much one for the rules anyway.

“Is that it out there?” Nell’s voice wavers.

“Is that what?”

“The past.” Her face is ashen, and the look of mixed wonder and fear is the most emotion I’ve seen on her face in all the years I’ve known her.

Right. Time travel newbie.

I hold my hand out to her. “Yes, it’s the past. Just like the present, only… not quite as recent. Now please, I’m begging you, just stay calm, come with me, and let’s move. I’d love to bring you on some sight-seeing trip sometime, but this is not that time. Remember that rogue traveler? He could be here this very minute. I need to make sure my contact is all right.”

“Right. Your contact,” Nell says, and that bit of mocking sarcasm seems to snap her back to her old, straight-faced self. She pulls her hat down further over her eyes than any sane person of this era would wear it, and I reach over and straighten it again, earning a scowl. “All right, Mr. Bigshot Time-Traveler. Let’s go find this contact of yours.”

I place her arm in mine, both because that’s how genteel folks walked down the street in those days and because then I know she won’t trip over her big, dumb boots while she’s too busy looking all around her at the early 20th century street to pay attention to the uneven road. Carriages rumble by. The air smells vaguely of soot and horse manure. I tip my hat to the women all decked out for a day of shopping in the city. Gone are the soothing pings and blips and blinking lights and shining, metallic tones of everything in my era: our vehicles, our clothing, our PVD glasses, even our storefronts.

The world of this time is reckless and raw, held together by sweat and coarse thread, rattling along at speeds exceeding what’s generally considered safe, along the nation’s railroad track veins. It’s a place for reckless, daring people, who aren’t afraid to get smoke in their eyes or coal dust under their nails. People like Cass.

And that, I think, is why it doesn’t entirely surprise me, when the California Limited pulls into the station, to discover Cass isn’t aboard.

“Where is she?” I ask Mrs. Wallace, her house mother. Catching the eye of another one of the Harvey Girls disembarking the train, I mutter to Nell, “Don’t let that girl in the uniform out of your sight.”

Mrs. Wallace folds her gloved hands in front of her. “Dear me. When Miss Argent’s contract with the Fred Harvey Company ended a few weeks ago, she decided not to renew it. I assumed you knew.”

“You must have a forwarding address for her.”

“I’m afraid she didn’t leave one. Though you might ask at the Fred Harvey Company headquarters. There’s a man there, Oliver McIntire—”

“Yes, I know.” I know all about Cass’s on-again off-again beau. Frankly, with as uncertain as their relationship has been, I’m surprised she hasn’t tried weaseling information out of me about her future to see if he’s “the one” she’ll end up with. Not that I’d tell her. Being the messenger between her and our parents has been stressful enough; the last thing I need is to get involved in her love life.

A commotion draws my attention away from Mrs. Wallace. On the platform about twenty feet away, a woman in a black-and-white Harvey Girl uniform is struggling with a woman in a beige skirt and jacket over possession of a small, leather valise. It isn’t until I notice the second woman’s shimmering, white boots that I realize Nell is no longer beside me.

I take off running and try to bust into the middle of the argument, earning a fist straight into my eye as reward.

“Ouch!”

Nell looks up and, obviously realizing she’s just decked me, her eyes widen, and she releases the valise. “I’m so sorry. I… I thought that was my valise. I must have been mistaken.” Then to me, she mutters, “You told me not to let her out of sight.”

“This is not what I meant,” I hiss back, still rubbing the tender area around my eye. That’s definitely going to bruise. Then, turning to the Harvey Girl, I apologize again. “I’m sorry. My friend here didn’t mean any harm. Hey, you’re a Harvey Girl. Maybe you know my sister, Cass?”

Nell’s expression clearly shows her surprise; I’d forgotten momentarily that she didn’t know my true relationship to my “contact.”

The Harvey Girl, however, lights up at the name. “Oh, Cass and I are dear friends. But… you’re not looking for her here, are you?”

“Ah…” I say, treading carefully. How much of my ignorance should I show? “No, no. I just happen to be passing by. Tell me, you haven’t heard from her since she left, have you?”

“No,” the girl laughs. “Last I heard, she was scheduled to leave from New York on the first—yesterday, that is. She’s always been the bravest of us all, and ever since the war began, she’s been talking about the troubles overseas, but I still can’t believe she actually left.”

“You said she was leaving New York yesterday?” My mouth feels dry, and I struggle to keep the conversation’s tone light. “You don’t happen to recall the name of the liner she was going on?”

The Harvey Girl frowns. “I think it was one of the Cunard liners.”

Beside me, Nell startles. “The Lusitania?”

“That was it!” The girl looks from Nell to me and back again, her face falling. “Why? Is there something wrong? You’re not worried about the German U-boats are you? I saw the warnings the German embassy put in the papers. You don’t think she’s in danger, do you?”

“She’d better not be,” I mutter.