On the Train to NYC
The rattling of the train had a soothing effect that had Katie sleeping almost as soon as she sat down in her private room in Nellie Bly’s train car. The news reporters were all too happy to give Katie her privacy, as they were interested more in Nellie, than in the bonneted, plain girl who tagged along behind her.
She’d roused a few times, thanks to strange and fitful dreams featuring Peter as a key player, but she refused to give into the dreams and actually think about Peter. Instead, she clutched a beaded pillow to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut until sleep overtook her again. It’s best to forget about him now, while I’m on the way to my new life. He probably has forgotten about me, anyway. I mean, who would waste time thinking of someone who stood them up at their meeting place...
Still, her restless thoughts refused to let her fully relax. When someone banged on her door and shocked her awake, Katie didn’t feel as though she’d slept hardly at all.
“Katie? Katie!” Nellie’s voice was insistent from the other side of the door. “Are you sleeping?”
Katie yawned and sat up, her heart pounding from the sudden start. “No, come in Nellie.”
She paused a moment to collect her thoughts as the door to her room slid open. “Or would you like for me to call you Elizabeth, your real name?”
The fact that the nice woman had two names, but only used one, still confused Katie. Even in her limited contact with the English, who already had such different and worldly ways from what she was used to in Gasthof Village, Nellie—Elizabeth—seemed outlandish.
Nellie, her arms loaded down with dresses and cloaks, flashed a gleaming grin and stepped inside. “Nellie is fine. Elizabeth is my given name, but the world knows me as Nellie.”
“All right. Nellie you are.” Katie shrugged. If it worked for the smiling English woman, it would work for her too. “What do you have there?”
Katie rubbed her face with the backs of her hands as Nellie slid the door shut with her foot. Her thoughts were muddled and an inkling of fear burned in the back of her mind.
“Clothes. For you.”
“For me?”
Nellie let her load fall onto a plush chair. “If you plan on traveling the world with me, Katie Knepp from Indiana, you’re going to need more than one dress.”
Katie glanced down at her handmade, rumpled dress. She’d been wearing it for a couple of days and nights now. Everything she’d brought on Rumspringa she’d left with Peter.
Peter.
In an instant, her heart sank. Peter was going to ask her to be his wife, she just knew it. All they had to do was get through Rumspringa...
Is that what I’m really running away from? Or am I running away from watching Rebekah marry Joseph? She chewed her lip. Or is it everything?
“Well, Katie Knepp?”
“Hmm?”
Nellie tapped her foot. “I asked if any of these dresses appealed to you.”
Katie shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind of her unwelcome reverie. “I’m sorry, I...”
Nellie paid her apology no mind. “Come now, Katie Knepp. I chose the plainest dresses I could find.” She flashed her a smile. “We will be pulling into New York City within the hour, so let’s get you dressed, shall we?”
Back in Indiana, trying on dresses consisted of standing still while her mother pinned and measured the bland fabric to fit her frame modestly. It had always been something that was done out of necessity. Never had she considered it being done for fun. Such a thing would be considered prideful. Sinful. But not here. Not in the English world. Thoughts of Rebekah, Joseph, and especially Peter, fizzled as her excitement grew. The nearer they got to New York City, the louder a silent buzz filled the train, so much so that it was almost tangible .
“So, which one will it be, Katie Knepp?” Nellie held up two dresses, one in each hand. The first frock, a basic brown, had hung from her shoulders and accented nothing when she tried it on. The only eye-catching part was a single ribbon of lace that adorned the high-cut neckline. Reminds me of one of Pa’s feed sacks.
The second was a cornflower blue number that hung to the floor. For a split second, Rebekah’s face popped into her mind. The same color as her wedding dress. With puffy sleeves and a shiny, azure belt, however, this dress wouldn’t be seen on an Amish farm any time soon.
“Hmm.” Katie pressed the dress to her front.
Someone banged on the door. “Nellie? Miss Nellie?”
Nellie laid the dresses carefully on the chair, on top of the pile of discarded garb, and turned to slide open the door. “Yes?”
A wide-eyed reporter stood there, grinning. “Miss Nellie Bly?”
Nellie raised her eyebrows. “What can I do for you?”
The reporter looked as though he was about ready to explode with pent-up energy. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the train emitted an ear-splitting shriek. Katie flung her hands over her ears and pressed down hard. Still, it did nothing to stifle the sound.
With a jerk, the train began to slow.
As the noise from the brakes died down, the young, slick-haired reporter spoke with reverence. “Miss Bly, we’re here. We are pulling into the brand new Central Avenue Station in New York City.”
***
Her round face aglow, Nellie cast a glance over her shoulder at Katie. “It’s time, Katie Knepp.”
Something churned in Katie’s stomach. In all of Katie’s life, she’d never tried on dresses like she had here in her private room of Nellie Bly’s train car, and something about it felt strange. Vain. Prideful.
“Choose your dress and meet me in my car. And make haste, Katie Knepp.” Nellie tossed her dark curls over her shoulder. “Our public awaits and we shan’t keep them waiting long.”
Katie nodded and watched as Nellie slid the door closed. Raucous sounds echoed outside, sounds the like Katie’d never heard before. It was time to go see what the English world had to offer. But first...
Katie dug to the bottom of the pile of dresses and chose the one Nellie hadn’t handed her. She slipped off her rumpled Amish apparel and left it in a crumpled heap on the floor. Her skin prickled with exhilaration as she slid the forbidden English silk over her shoulders and let it tumble down over her body.
The white silk clung to her body in ways a dress never had before. Showy. Formfitting. Immodest. She shivered as she cinched the green velvet cloak at her middle.
“Swallowtail-green velvet over white silk, floor-length gown, edged with golden Renaissance-inspired embroidery, reminiscent of French royalty.”
Katie jumped.
In donning the forbidden fabric, she hadn’t heard Nellie slide open the door. Her heart thundered in her chest and her breath caught in her throat.
Nellie smiled and closed the space between them with two long strides. “Something in me thought you’d choose that one. You have fire in you, Katie Knepp.” Nellie held out a hat box. “Then you’ll need this.”
Katie lifted the lid on the box and gasped. An ornate, feathered hat in matching green velvet sat there, begging to be worn.
“It’s too...too much.” Katie’s thundering heart showed no sign of slowing. “I could never wear that.”
Nellie sat the box on the ground and plucked the hat from it easily.
“Oh we must do away with this.” She snatched the gauze bonnet from Katie’s head and tossed it onto the floor. Like an afterthought. Something caught in Katie’s throat.
Ma made that for me. I remember because she was battling a chest cold while she did so. I knew she felt terrible and should rest, but she made it for me anyway...
“Now that that’s out of the way...” As though she was crowning her at a royal coronation, Nellie sat the green, feathered hat carefully atop Katie’s head.
“You can wear it, Katie Knepp.” Nellie beamed. “And you’ll wear it beautifully.”
Without another word, Nellie spun on her heel and marched out of the train car. Without letting Nellie’s brown tweed jacket out of her sight, Katie quick-stepped to keep up.
If I lose her now, I’ll never find my way.
Katie stepped back into the train car and picked up her white covering. Without taking care to fold it, she crammed it into the front of her dress, since the tight-fitting bodice—formfitting and with no room for modesty—came with no pockets.
Her bare feet gave her pause. “Shoes, shoes, I need English shoes.” Katie frantically glanced around the train car. “There!”
An obscure box peeked out at her, beckoning, from behind a chair. Katie plucked them from the box and jammed her feet into them.
“Oomph.” She pulled the laces tight as the train horn blew again. “I have to hurry.”
Katie pushed herself to her feet and toddled toward the door. “This is going to take practice.” She took a step, wobbled, then took another step. “Think like an Englisher, walk like an Englisher...”
Turning on her heel the way Nellie had done, Katie hurried out into the aisle. A darkened glass hung in Nellie’s train car and caught Katie’s eye. She stopped and studied the reflection. There, where a simple Amish girl had been, an English lady stood, ready to meet the world. Katie lifted her chin and followed the cries of the people.
“Nellie, Nellie,” they chanted.
But for an instant, she was almost certain they were chanting for her.
***
“Ostentation, Katie Knepp.” Nellie, decked out in her tweed jacket and matching hat, stood on the train’s platform while her people unloaded trunks and cases and boxes around them. A sea of waving hats unfolded before them.
I’ve never seen so many people, or so many hats, in one place at one time!
Nellie stared off over their heads and into the tangle of dirt streets that led into New York City. “Ostentation and glamour.”
“Nellie? Nellie!”
A man’s voice sounded over the din of admirers gathered at Central Station. Katie heard him, but was powerless to pull her attention away from her surroundings.
Nellie waved one arm wide and beamed. “Hello George!”
George?
“Nellie,” Katie whispered. “Is this man, George, your husband?”
Something in Katie froze. Though she had run away from Gasthof Village, turned her back on her Amish faith, and somewhat consented to tag along with Nellie Bly on her worldwide escapades, never before had she considered that she’d be traveling in the company of a man. The mere thought of it brought a roil to her stomach.
“George, my husband?” Nellie cast an incredulous look her way. “Why no.”
By that time, George had climbed the stairs onto the platform. A short, squat of a man, he huffed as he hurried over to the pair of them, bowler hat clutched in his hands.
“George Madden, meet Katie Knepp.” Nellie turned to face her. “Katie Knepp, Amish girl in your lovely English gown, meet my editor, George Madden. His is the brain behind all this hullabaloo.”
Nellie smiled.
George extended his hand. “How do, Miss Knepp.”
Unsure of proper protocol, Katie jerkily accepted his hand and gave it a shake, as she’d seen menfolk do.
George, a bright-eyed fellow with a wide smile and rotund face, chuckled. “My my, you are something else Nellie. Picking up strays no matter where you are.”
Katie smiled, unsure of what else to do.
George released her hand and wiped his own on a hanky.
Katie balked and examined her hand. She’d never seen a man do something so out-and-out rude as to wipe his own hand after shaking someone else’s.
“I’ve been known to pick up a stray here and there.” Nellie offered Katie a wink. “Everything in order, George?”
“Yes it is. All is well.” George swept his arm toward the steps. Katie was unsure of what he was doing, until Nellie began to walk that direction. She sucked in a breath and followed them, straining to hear whatever snippets of conversation she could.
“Everything is set and will take place as scheduled. However, there is still some concern over your ability to complete this trip.”
“And what is that, pray tell?”
Katie clomped down the stairs behind them, still struggling to hear.
“Well, frankly my dear, that since you are a woman, you will be unable to complete this trip as scheduled. At the very least, you will need a protector of some sort.”
George withdrew, as though he feared Nellie would thump him.
“Still a problem that I am a woman.” Nellie sighed. “I survived a madhouse and brought about reform to some of the lowliest souls in New York, yet some say I cannot complete a fictional trip around our globe.” Nellie paused at the bottom of the stairs and rubbed a finger along her chin. “Then I say, do print this. I say in response to those who believe I cannot make the trip in seventy-five days or less...”
George’s eyes widened as he fumbled for a pencil and pad.
“That they shall start a man on the same day as me. And I shall still beat him.”
Katie was helpless to keep a smile from overtaking her lips.
“Now, George, tell me,” Nellie began. “When is it I leave?”
“9:45 in the morning, Miss Nellie, 9:45 sharp. From the docks, aboard the steamship Augusta Victoria, which will take you on the first leg of your journey, across the freezing Atlantic Ocean to London.”
“Very well.” She turned to Katie. “I do believe that leaves us the night to sightsee and enjoy the city.”
“So we shall,” Katie agreed.
“Please face me,” a voice called. There, a man stood with a giant box before him. “Don’t move for the Kodak.”
“Kodak?” Katie whispered.
“It takes a photograph,” Nellie whispered. “Or freezes a moment in time. This one will be printed in the newspaper New York World.”
Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image.
The words flashed into Katie’s mind so fast and with such force, she almost stumbled backward, out of the frame of the Kodak’s all-seeing eye.
But she didn’t.
She stood for the image, with Nellie posed to her right and George to her left, both looking austere. She, however, probably looked seasick.
After the puff of smoke from the Kodak’s flash disappeared, Nellie grabbed her hand. “Let’s go.”
Her sin forgotten, Katie allowed herself to be pulled along. The tingle of excitement lit her veins aflame again. “Where are we going?”
“To the opera house.”
“Opera house?” Katie’s heart pounded in her chest. This was all so forbidden, so...Despite the pounding in her chest, a twist of guilt remained there, somewhere, hidden deep within. For a moment, she imagined her mother’s eyes, hurt and sad. At once, her mother’s visage was replaced by that of her twin sister, Annie’s, shameful downcast glance at her behavior. Somewhere over all of them, was Peter.
Katie ignored the shudder that overtook her.
“Cold, Katie Knepp?”
“Only on the inside,” Katie answered cryptically.
Nellie, however, missed the double entendre. “It will be nice on the inside, none too cold. You’ll see.” She came to an abrupt stop. “And here we are. The Met.”
Katie drank in the ornate facade of the building. The sign above the door boasted letters, the same letters she’d learned to read, but in words she didn’t fully understand. “Romani Opera. Headliner: Minerva Dika.”
She glanced at Nellie.
“This is the first opera, or performance set to music, of its kind. Told entirely in the Romani language.”
“Is that like English?”
“No. It’s Gypsy.” Katie noticed Nellie’s sideways glance and wondered if the worldly Englischer was growing tired of schooling her in the ways of the world. “They are a persecuted people who live in caravans, or traveling wagons pulled by spotted horses with long flowing manes.”
“These Gypsies sound like something out of a dream.”
Nellie nodded. “And I’ve heard of Minerva Dika. Her beauty is known the world over,
and her singing voice too. She migrated here with her father after her mother was burned as a witch in England, the same country we set sail for tomorrow morning. She then married a Union soldier and both of them contracted smallpox. He left her a widow. Somehow, her scars have faded and left her even more beautiful than before her infection, so the legend goes.”
Katie blinked and released the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
“Shall we go see the Romani opera?”
Katie nodded wildly. “Yes, we must!”
“So we shall!”