The Peculiars (31 page)

“Oh, but I don’t think—”

“You’ve seen me do it. It’s really quite simple. The amount of serum is listed in the notebook.” Lena saw that the notebook was identical to the one she had hidden in her own suitcase, the one she had found with illustrations. Guilt washed over her. How could she have ever suspected Mr. Beasley?

As a patch of blue appeared between the clouds, they turned the Aeolus until it was facing down a gentle slope. Mrs. Mumbles came bounding through the snow despite her splinted leg.

“This is it. Be prepared. Unless the mine starts up at the same time to cover our noise, we’ll have everyone and his brother down here.” Mr. Beasley looked at his pocket watch. “Mine works start at seven a.m., in ten minutes.”

They all boarded the Aeolus.

Jimson stoked the firebox. The rotors turned, whirring loudly. The Aeolus slid forward slowly, then picked up speed.

The coal was messier and smellier than kerosene, but they had a good supply—enough, Mr. Beasley assured them, to take them to the Mattacascar mine. Even now he was examining
his compass and showing Merilee how to tell the direction of their flight.

Lena studied Jimson’s face. He appeared distracted, lost in his own thoughts. There had been very little time to talk to him since fleeing Zephyr House. She wondered if he missed Pansy and how his flight from Knob Knoster would affect the status of their relationship. Pansy didn’t seem to be someone who was particularly adaptable. Perhaps he regretted leaving so abruptly, but if so, he disguised it well. And had she really felt the brush of lips last night? Were they his?

“I don’t like the look of those clouds,” Mr. Beasley said as he leaned from the coach and pointed eastward. They had been flying into a headwind for several hours, but now the weather was growing more severe. Lena stuck her head out the window. The air bit her cheeks. The wind drove a heavy mass of gray, as solid-looking as concrete, in their direction.

“I’ve no experience flying blind, but we may have to. It looks like we’re in for more snow. At least we’re off the ground, even if the wind means we’re traveling no more than five miles per hour.”

“Can we fly under the clouds?” Jimson asked as he joined Lena at the window.

“Perhaps, but we’d have to be much lower than I’d like.”

Regardless, Mr. Beasley dropped the Aeolus so that the thick clouds would form a ceiling overhead.

The first snow started as a sleety rain that tap-danced on
the roof and then turned to white. The heat from the boiler kept the snow from building up on the roof and propeller blades. As the wind increased, the snow came in hypnotizing swirls from every direction. It seemed to Lena that they were barely moving.

“Hold on—we’re going lower!” Again the Aeolus dropped, this time so that it barely cleared the tops of the tallest trees.

Below them, the ground was already thick with snow from the day before, the trees heavy and bent. It reminded Lena of being inside a snow globe that had been vigorously shaken. Snow fell as far as the eye could see.

“There’s someone down there.” Jimson pulled his head back into the coach. His dark curls were white with frost. He handed the brass spyglass to Mr. Beasley.

“Who would be fool enough to be out in this weather?” Mr. Beasley asked aloud.

Lena could see dark shapes moving, although they were obscured by the falling snow. She couldn’t see any road they might be following. If there had been, it was covered now by drifts. Her cheeks were wet and flakes clung to her lashes.

“I can’t be sure, but it looks like there are two women out there and at least two men. Their wagon is up to its axles in snow. They won’t be going anywhere,” Mr. Beasley said.

“I think there’s something familiar about them . . . Let me see.” Merilee reached for the spyglass. “Yes, it’s the missionary ladies. I can tell by the red poppies in the hat.”

“And the men?” Jimson asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t see their faces under their hats, but one of them has a shovel.”

“Even a missionary must have more sense than to try and travel in this.” Mr. Beasley’s voice was impatient. “Even they have to abide by the laws of nature. I hope they have enough food to last several days.”

Lena thought of Mrs. Fortinbras and Mrs. Fetiscue trapped in the snow. They had probably thought more of the souls they had planned to save than of how to survive in the wilds.

“Can we help them?” Merilee asked.

Jimson scratched his head. “They don’t even believe that Peculiars have souls. Why would you want to help them? Besides, what could we do?”

“If we land, there’s no guarantee we’d get up again.” Mr. Beasley looked at his three traveling companions.

“But we can’t just leave them there, no matter what they think.”

Lena felt no particular fondness for the ladies. In fact, during every encounter she had found them abrasive and narrow-minded. But that didn’t mean that she wished them harm. She wished the decision were as clear-cut for her as it was for Merilee. For one thing, they would be putting themselves at risk. Even now the long arm of the marshal had reached Scree. People knew about her, about all of them. On the other hand—

“We’ve come about twenty-one miles and there are at least
ten more to make it to the mine. We have no idea who the men are with them. If we don’t decide immediately, we’ll be too far past them to do any good.” Mr. Beasley kept his hand firmly on the rudder.

“I say let them work it out. Either they’ll survive or they won’t.” Jimson leaned back against the seat, arms folded across his chest.

Merilee thrust her jaw forward. “That’s not the way I was raised to treat people.”

Indecision still ruled Lena. She bit her lip. Jimson was undoubtedly thinking of his Mr. Darwin again, and maybe he was right. They were just past the group on the ground now. A small clearing appeared between the trees. Lena opened then closed her mouth. “Merilee’s right. We should go down.”

Mr. Beasley didn’t say a word as he engineered their descent, but Jimson rounded on Lena. “You do know that we aren’t likely to get away again, not until the storm’s over? If we survive that long. I just got you out of jail before you could be sent into the mines. If you’d think occasionally, you’d realize how ridiculous most of your notions are!”

Tears stung Lena’s eyes. This was a Jimson she hadn’t seen before.

“It was my idea,” said Merilee. “You can blame me, but if you were any kind of gentleman at all, you’d have thought of it first.” Her cheeks were flushed and her breath came in little gasps.

Mr. Beasley’s voice was calm. His eyes darted between Jimson and Lena. “I suggest we try not to destroy each other. We will need all the cooperation we can muster in this situation.”

They were descending quickly, almost straight down. Lena glared across the coach at Jimson, but his eyes were now closed. Why had he turned on her that way? She rested a hand on Merilee’s shoulder, and Merilee covered it with her own.

The wind buffeted the Aeolus in her descent. They were too close to the trees. A long branch pushed its way in through the window of the coach. Merilee screamed.

The whine of the rotors made the group on the ground look up. Mrs. Fetiscue began waving her arms overhead. One of the men pointed a rifle skyward.

“It’s the bounty hunters,” Lena said flatly. “They must have left Ducktown yesterday.” Jimson had been right, but it was too late to change their trajectory now.

The whine changed to a scream. “We’ve caught a branch in the rotors.” Mr. Beasley was leaning so far out the window that Lena thought he might fall.

The Aeolus shuddered and tipped, ramming against a tree. It listed sideways. Lena clung to the bench. Beyond the scream of the rotors she could hear the cries of people below. And then they were falling from the sky. Jimson was saying something that she couldn’t hear.

• • •

Mr. Beasley and Mrs. Fortinbras were bending over Lena and talking, but their words made very little sense. What she did know was that she was warm, warmer than she had been in days. Her head ached slightly as she rose up on her elbows. She was still inside the coach of the Aeolus. It was canted badly to one side. There was still heat from the firebox. It was apparent that the machine was badly damaged.

“Sit up slowly. You’ve a fine bump on the head.” Mr. Beasley supported her back. “You’ve been out for half an hour.”

“Where are Jimson and Merilee? Mrs. Mumbles? Are they all right?” Lena winced as she spoke, and her hand felt for the knot on her head.

“Jimson’s got a cut down the side of his face, and Merilee’s seeing to it. That cat has used up another of her lives. She’s fine. We’re all in better shape than the Aeolus.”

“You came just in time, just like angels descending from on high,” Mrs. Fetiscue said, fluttering. “We’ve been out here for hours trying to fix an axle on the coach. The driver had no idea what he was doing.” She ran her words together in one breathless string.

“My dear lady, what about the bounty hunters?” Mr. Beasley’s voice was an oasis of calm.

“Them!” Mrs. Fortinbras joined the conversation, the red poppies now sadly askew, bobbing with each word. “Said they would accompany us and that they knew a shortcut. When they saw your flying machine, they skedaddled all the faster. They are no gentlemen.”

Mrs. Fetiscue nodded in agreement. “Our driver went with them. Said he’d come back with help, but I don’t trust him, either. He left us the horse. Medrat, he calls it. But my sister and I never learned to ride. Without you, I don’t know what would have happened to us.”

“It was the decision of my companions to offer assistance, even in the face of personal peril.” Mr. Beasley indicated the battered Aeolus.

“Well, we owe them our lives.” Tears threatened to spill from Mrs. Fetiscue’s eyes. She pressed a sturdy hand on Lena’s shoulder.

“The important thing now is to assess the damage and make a plan for survival. I doubt we’ll be flying anywhere.” Lowering his voice so only Lena could hear, he continued. “I suspect the bounty hunters left in a hurry to claim a reward for directing the law to us. I would like to move as quickly as possible, but with two of our party injured and with the extreme weather, I believe we are done for the day.”

Merilee appeared at the door to the coach. “Jimson should have sutures if the wound’s going to stay closed.” Then she noticed Lena sitting up. “You’re all right, then. I was praying you would be.”

“What’s happened to Jimson?”

“When we crash-landed, just about the time you hit your head, Jimson got thrown against the firebox. It sliced a nasty cut on his cheekbone. There’s a superficial burn. He’s lucky it isn’t worse,” Merilee said, sounding like a doctor.

“Let me take a look at him,” Mr. Beasley said. “We can find suture material, but it will have to be sterilized, as Dr. Lister says in his books.”

Merilee dragged Jimson to the coach, where the entire group inspected the gash that sliced from the outside corner of his right eye across his cheekbone. The flesh under his eye was swelling and purpling as well.

Lena remembered his angry rant when she agreed that they should land the Aeolus. He did not meet her eyes.

“Well, I have just the thing.” Mrs. Fetiscue hurried over to her coach and returned with a small needlepoint bag. “My sewing kit. One should always be prepared.” She reached in and removed a spool of black thread and a packet with two silver needles. She reached for the straight needle, but Mr. Beasley requested the curved upholstery needle.

Jimson blanched.

“Yes, that should work quite nicely. I’ll just soak the needle and thread in a little carbolic acid.” Mr. Beasley looked at Merilee and Lena. “You girls can do the work. I need to establish a bivouac with the assistance of the ladies.”

“But how will they know what to do?” Jimson winced and touched his face.

“I assure you that ladies have much more practice at sewing than I, and will do a neater job. And you really should put some snow on that eye before it swells shut.”

Lena looked around the coach. “I think you should lie down. It might be more comfortable that way.” Privately she
was thinking that this would not be comfortable at all and that she could use snow to help numb the cheek before they started stitching.

In the end it was Lena who threaded the needle and prepared to seam together the open wound. Merilee had applied snow until Jimson stopped wincing and declared he was quite frozen.

It was so cold that Lena’s fingers felt stiff and clumsy. It had taken her three attempts to finally thread the needle. Then, hoping that Jimson couldn’t see she was trembling, she used two long fingers to press together the sides of the wound. There was something awful about sticking a needle into human flesh and pulling a thread through it. It felt nothing like what she had done countless times before while hemming handkerchiefs and darning stockings.

Jimson glared at her through his one good eye. “I hope you know what you’re doing. After all, it is my face.”

“Not that your face is any great beauty.” Lena pinched the skin tighter and prepared to make the initial puncture.

“Here. You can bite on this, so you don’t scream and throw her off.” Merilee stuck a twig in his mouth. “I’m going to hold your hands down.”

Lena clenched her jaw and jabbed the needle through the flesh, making the tiniest stitch that she could. The twig snapped between Jimson’s teeth. She hesitated. Then she decided it would be better to go fast and get it done. She tried not to respond to Jimson’s grunts but to imagine one of her
mother’s fine silk handkerchiefs. Nana Crane had made her practice over and over until her stitches were small and perfect. Merilee gripped both of Jimson’s arms and held them down while Lena worked. Seven stitches and she finished with a perfect knot. A sheen of sweat coated Jimson’s face.

Lena examined her work. It wasn’t her best; Jimson had wiggled too much for that, and it was too bad that the only thread available was black, but other than that, it looked as good as could be expected. “I hope it didn’t hurt too much.”

“You about killed me.” He talked through one side of his mouth, not wanting to move his face.