First Class Ticket to Nowhere

[Maggie De'Chevalier]

Autumn 1868

The heat of the mid-autumn day seemed not to have retreated even as the moon rose. The immense, black sky seemed only to trap the warmth against the land like an overturned bowl. For this reason alone, Maggie did not light the logs in the small hearth. It would be far too warm. Therefore, she had only a small tallow candle on the bedside table for light as she undressed in the silent room.

It was a relief to throw her satin gloves, heavy velvet skirt, tightly laced bodice, lace stockings, and stiff bonnet into a messy heap upon her rented bed. But the best part was unfastening the buckles that bound the narrow hoop to her corset. That being done, she folded the wooden rings into one flat circle and propped the annoying fashion device against one wall. There now. Free at last, well almost. Before unlacing her corset, Maggie glanced at her reflection in the small mirror above the wash basin stand.

"Pourquoi n'avez-vous pas m'as aimé, James?" she sighed quietly in the darkness. Why could you not have loved me, James? This was all his fault. Captain James Langley had sworn eternal love to her and promised to take her to the altar. For better or worse. For richer or for poorer. Till death do us part. When her father lost everything, James decided he could not agree to those vows. He was the first to abandon her. It appeared he had never cared much for Maggie herself, but he had fallen desperately in love with her money. And now it was gone. All of it.

If only he hadn't run.... If he had not been such a coward, James could have married her and saved the family from ruin. Maggie frowned at her reflection in the looking glass. She wondered what was so wrong with her that Captain Langley had not loved her. She was neither too tall nor too short. True, she didn't have the seventeen inch waist that a few of the Paris debutantes possessed, but eighteen inches was nothing to be ashamed of either. And her figure was perfectly trim and proportional. Dressed only in her corset, chemise, and bloomers, she searched for some flaw in her physique...but.... No, there was nothing about her body that the captain would not have enjoyed.

She pulled the pins from her hair, one by one, until her hair hung lose down her back. Was it her hair? Or her face? What was wrong with her? For goodness sake, why did James leave her? She wouldn't be in this God-forsaken land if not for him! In a fit of anger, indignance, and sorrow, she unlaced her corset and threw it to the floor. Maggie then donned a light nightgown and crawled into the bed in the corner. But try as she might, even her tears could not lure her to sleep. After nearly an hour of tossing and turning, she had the claustrophobic feeling of a bird in a small cage. She needed out of here now.

Quickly rising from bed and wrapping a dressing gown over her shoulders, Maggie threw open the bedroom door and sought the stairs. Her feet scaled the first few steps frantically, but halfway down, she suddenly paused. Where was she going? Downstairs to the lobby? Out into the street? Then what?

The young French heiress, penniless in a foreign place, suddenly felt the weight of the world so heavy upon her shoulders that she could not stand. She dropped her hand from the rail and slid to a sitting position. There, huddled on a middle stair, Maggie knew that she was nothing more than a slave in this country. She had nowhere to run.

[Katerina Maslov]

Sleep seemed to be something of the past to Katerina. She now found herself up at all hours of the night, and as was becoming her new custom, she had decided to go out for a walk. The dark was almost soothing, like crawling into a bed with soft, cool sheets. Everything took on a new, ethereal look doused as it was in the moonlight and for once all seemed to be at peace. Sure, the night was the time that bandits and thieves came out, but at least she knew the danger was there. It was when the sun rose that she would have to start worrying.

Nothing was ever true in the harsh light of day. Yes, you were able to see everything clearly, and yes, there were less places to hide, but even when looking straight into the eyes of another person, nothing was ever straightforward. There was always a hidden meaning, a secret message behind every smile. It may have just been her paranoia from her childhood, but she knew for certain that a best friend one day could easily turn the next and be out to get you. If it was too dark to see and be fooled by expressions, she could rely on instinct, and that always served better.

As Kat reached the edge of town, she sighed. The landscape was beautiful, slightly rolling and dotted with a lone group of trees here and there. Colorado was nothing like New York, and even farther from Europe. Russia had been a vast, barren chunk of frozen ground. The palaces in St. Petersburg and Moscow had certainly been beautiful, but even then they were cold and distant. The rest of Europe had been a bit better, and even France had held appeal. Though it had its own problems, Paris was a city of enchantment and dreams, filled with sights and smells that she had never imagined existed.

But eventually, she had been woken up from her dream and had seen just what the underside of France really looked like. It made everything else seem a lie, and from there, life seemed dismal. It didn't help that her family relocated again, this time to America. Everything comfortable, everything real had disappeared behind the horizon as she sailed from France, and she had to learn yet another set of customs and a new language. This was easy compared to the losses once to America. Now that she was alone and finally attempting to settle down a bit, every little detail of her life had caught up with her and seemed to crash down on her every time her mind was not occupied.

Perhaps that was why she couldn't sleep.

As it was however, she turned back and began to walk towards the Boarding House. It was no permanent home, but for now it was her easiest option. A bed, a roof, and food were all given to her for a small price, and with the money her parents had smuggled with them, she had more than enough to stay for the rest of her life. Not that she wanted to, but there was no reason to stress herself over her lodgings yet. For now, Kat decided, she would settle in and hopefully get to know some people.

She reached the Boarding House only moments later, and slowly made her way towards the stairs. It was only when she was at the bottom that she noticed a figure about half way up. Whoever it was, they were petite, and at second glance, decidedly female. Cautiously, Katerina made her way towards her. Once she was a few steps below her, she could see the girl more clearly. She was huddled, almost as though to protect herself from something. Her face was haggard, not in an obvious way, but as Kat had seen that same expression too many times in her own reflection, she knew. She knew that something was slowly ripping this strangers heart to shreds. Not really knowing what to say, and knowing that she could not leave when the girl was in so much pain, she lowered herself to sit where she was a few steps away. Then, she said the only thing that she could think of.

"I'm sorry."

[Maggie De'Chevalier]

Her tears had dried, but Maggie's couldn't control a slight trembling of her lip. She hated herself. Her father had not raised her to be a weak-kneed, spineless, sobbing little girl. He had encouraged her to be strong and to demand only the best from every situation, yet Maggie felt as though her fortitude had abandoned her. Perhaps it had returned to Paris where her heart still dwelled.

She became vaguely aware of soft steps approaching on the stairs, but she did not bother a glance. She expected them to pass by her and continue to the second floor landing, but the footsteps suddenly stopped. Warily, Maggie lifted her head a small measure to investigate. A figure sat a few steps beneath her. Although Maggie couldn't make out distinct features in the darkness, the stranger was obviously female. And, though it was difficult to tell, she appeared to be rather pretty. I'm sorry.

Maggie knew next to no English whatsoever, but she did understand those two words. The appropriate reply would be something like..."it's okay". Or maybe "it's alright." But it wasn't alright.

She peered through the dim light to seek the young woman's eyes. Compassison and understanding were written across her face. Something inside her heart desperately reached for the kindess...for someone who cared. Someone who cared even though she didn't know the details.

So instead of responding "it's alright," Maggie opted for another English phrase that she knew well. Thank you. She spoke the words in barely a whisper, but they hung audibly in the silence of night.

Wasn't it funny how two words from a stranger could suddenly halt the burning of tears behind her eyes? A very true and rare kindness. Maggie tried once more to summon a few English words to explain that she would eventually be alright. I am... I will... I... After a few attempts, she gave up and returned to her native language. If nothing else, the girl would understand that Maggie could not speak English. Pardonnez-moi. Je parle très peu l'anglais. Forgive me. I speak very little English.

[Katerina Maslov]

It wrenched at her heart as she watched this young woman struggle with her emotions. It seemed that her own apology helped, but there was still a look of desperation. It was clear to Kat that whatever was weighing down on the woman in front of her was no simple matter, and that despite the quiet strength that she exuded, it would take a while for her to heal. Hell, it had been a while since Kat had been in a stable, happy situation, and she was still broken in a way that she doubted would ever mend.

When the girl answered Kat with an almost silent 'thank you,' Kat knew that she had been right in thinking that something was wrong deep down. It was rare to see someone who would accept sympathy without taking it as pity. Immediately, Kat decided she respected this girl, and then, when she spoke again, first in broken English, then in fluent French, a small smile crept to Katerina's lips.

"Une fois, j'ai vécu à Paris," I once lived in Paris, Kat replied. Her French was good, though not completely fluent. It also had a strange ring to it with her Russian accent overriding what was supposed to be beautiful. Having learned Russian first meant that most of what Kat said sounded a bit harsh. Not that Russian was an ugly language, just that it had a unique beauty. When speaking other languages however, it did seem to interfere.

"Je m'appelle Katerina Maslov, mais s'il vous plaît appelez-moi Kat" ... but please call me Kat, Kat suddenly said. When in France, she had been addressed as Catherine. That was apparently the 'proper' way to say her name. It had rubbed her nerves the wrong way, and so she finally just began going by 'Kat.' It was short, sweet, and to the point, fitting quite well. Absently, she figured that was why she had kept introducing herself as such. She also wondered if this lonesome creature just a few steps up would have a name just as suited.