smile. âThereâs our carriage. Your carriage, I mean.â She picked up the valises, and the porters, who had been waiting inside, came back out for the trunks.
Iris, perturbed at the maidâs reticence, followed the young woman through the station and to the front. A cream-colored carriage with matching horses awaited them. She was relieved to see the windows stood open because the thought of being stuck inside another vehicle, even for a short time, made her chest tighten.
Edward hadnât been able to shake the feeling that his clothes were soiled after their little sojourn on the floor of the train car. No matter how many times he washed his hands, they felt sticky, and now he added the gritty feeling of the sand that seemed to coat everything in the station. He wanted to rub his palms on his pants to get rid of the feeling, but he would have to wash them again, and he didnât trust the washroom in this tiny station. It reminded him too much of family trips to the coast and the final, disastrous one with Lily when they were to have celebrated their engagement.
âBad memories?â Johann asked. In spite of having slept for much of the journey, he had dark circles under his eyes.
âPerhaps,â Edward replied. He tried to keep his tone light so his friend wouldnât ask further. Johann knew everything, of course. The entire town heard the story when he and Lily returned. He stopped himself from rubbing his hands on his pants but couldnât help but wonder how Miss McTavish would spin the tale of them all ending up on the floor of the train carriage. No doubt she would find fault in something he did even if she didnât complain about having her head on his chest. Truth be told, he hadnât minded so much, but he wouldnât admit that to anyone.
âI donât trust all this open air,â Johann said. âA small town is better than the countryside. Itâs too exposed here.â
The arrival of the coach forestalled more conversation. Johann stood and stretched. Edward had remained standing. He suspected the sand on the benches would stay invisible until it clung to his clothes and tried to get in every nook and cranny of his body. Miss McTavish and the maid entered, and the young archaeologist frowned like she was deep in thought.
Everything and everyone were loaded onto the carriage with great efficiency, and it rolled over the shell- and gravel-strewn path. Edward clutched the handle due to the precarious nature of the path along the bluff and the swaying of the cart in the breeze. They turned a corner, and the new angle revealed a view of the town below with the harbor and sparkling sea. And beyond the town, the white bulk of an airship stood, its canvas reflecting the luminescence of the sun like a beacon.
âA dirigible!â Edward exclaimed. âIs that what weâre to travel on? Not a boat?â The itinerary had given the name of the vehicle, not the nature of it, and he hadnât dared to hope this disastrous trip would allow him to fulfill one of his lifelong dreams.
Miss McTavish faced him, and amusement turned up the corners of her eyes. âYes, didnât you see on your itinerary?â
âI wasnât sure.â Now the carriage couldnât move fast enough. He fixed it in his sight, refusing to look away in case it should lift without them. âWill we be on time?â
âDonât worry, Professor,â the maid, who sat on the bench with Miss McTavish said. âThatâs Mister Cobbâs personal airship. Heâs waiting for you.â The two women exchanged amused glances, but Edward didnât mind if they mocked him. He ignored the exclamations over each new view and the information the maid tried to impart about the seaside town. He fixed on their destination, and when the carriage stopped at the airfield, he was the first one out.
The Blooming Senator loomed overhead, its balloon crowding the
Iris, perturbed at the maidâs reticence, followed the young woman through the station and to the front. A cream-colored carriage with matching horses awaited them. She was relieved to see the windows stood open because the thought of being stuck inside another vehicle, even for a short time, made her chest tighten.
Edward hadnât been able to shake the feeling that his clothes were soiled after their little sojourn on the floor of the train car. No matter how many times he washed his hands, they felt sticky, and now he added the gritty feeling of the sand that seemed to coat everything in the station. He wanted to rub his palms on his pants to get rid of the feeling, but he would have to wash them again, and he didnât trust the washroom in this tiny station. It reminded him too much of family trips to the coast and the final, disastrous one with Lily when they were to have celebrated their engagement.
âBad memories?â Johann asked. In spite of having slept for much of the journey, he had dark circles under his eyes.
âPerhaps,â Edward replied. He tried to keep his tone light so his friend wouldnât ask further. Johann knew everything, of course. The entire town heard the story when he and Lily returned. He stopped himself from rubbing his hands on his pants but couldnât help but wonder how Miss McTavish would spin the tale of them all ending up on the floor of the train carriage. No doubt she would find fault in something he did even if she didnât complain about having her head on his chest. Truth be told, he hadnât minded so much, but he wouldnât admit that to anyone.
âI donât trust all this open air,â Johann said. âA small town is better than the countryside. Itâs too exposed here.â
The arrival of the coach forestalled more conversation. Johann stood and stretched. Edward had remained standing. He suspected the sand on the benches would stay invisible until it clung to his clothes and tried to get in every nook and cranny of his body. Miss McTavish and the maid entered, and the young archaeologist frowned like she was deep in thought.
Everything and everyone were loaded onto the carriage with great efficiency, and it rolled over the shell- and gravel-strewn path. Edward clutched the handle due to the precarious nature of the path along the bluff and the swaying of the cart in the breeze. They turned a corner, and the new angle revealed a view of the town below with the harbor and sparkling sea. And beyond the town, the white bulk of an airship stood, its canvas reflecting the luminescence of the sun like a beacon.
âA dirigible!â Edward exclaimed. âIs that what weâre to travel on? Not a boat?â The itinerary had given the name of the vehicle, not the nature of it, and he hadnât dared to hope this disastrous trip would allow him to fulfill one of his lifelong dreams.
Miss McTavish faced him, and amusement turned up the corners of her eyes. âYes, didnât you see on your itinerary?â
âI wasnât sure.â Now the carriage couldnât move fast enough. He fixed it in his sight, refusing to look away in case it should lift without them. âWill we be on time?â
âDonât worry, Professor,â the maid, who sat on the bench with Miss McTavish said. âThatâs Mister Cobbâs personal airship. Heâs waiting for you.â The two women exchanged amused glances, but Edward didnât mind if they mocked him. He ignored the exclamations over each new view and the information the maid tried to impart about the seaside town. He fixed on their destination, and when the carriage stopped at the airfield, he was the first one out.
The Blooming Senator loomed overhead, its balloon crowding the
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