A Pansy for Eleanor, part 3

Train Depot

New York City

December 1876

The air in New York smelled different from London—sharper, filled with coal smoke and the harbor. Eleanor stepped onto the bustling dock, her fingers tightening around Henry’s arm as they descended the gangplank of the Aurora and into the chaos of the city.

People swarmed the wharf—dockworkers unloading crates, carriages rattling along cobblestone streets, passengers huddled with their trunks, eyes wide with exhaustion and hope. The hum of a hundred different voices filled the cold December air, a cacophony of English, German, Italian, and other languages Eleanor couldn’t place.

"Stay close," Henry murmured, guiding her away from the thickest part of the crowd.

She didn’t need the warning. After weeks at sea, she wasn’t about to lose him now.

"Where do we go from here?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Henry’s sharp eyes scanned the streets, where newsboys shouted headlines and men in top hats argued on corners. "We need to reach Grand Central Depot. We need a train leaving for Omaha.”

Omaha. The name sounded strange. A thrill of nerves skittered through her. The journey wasn’t over. They were barely beginning.

Henry hailed a hansom cab, pressing a few coins into the driver’s hand. "Grand Central Depot," he instructed.

The man flicked the reins, and the carriage jolted forward, the city unfolding before them.

***

Grand Central Depot

The station was unlike anything Eleanor had ever seen. It was a cavernous, iron-framed building bustling with activity. The scent of steam and oil clung to the air as locomotives hissed on the tracks, their massive engines waiting to carry passengers westward. She stayed close to Henry, a bit overwhelmed by the crowds.

Henry secured their tickets from a surly-looking man behind the counter, slipping a few extra bills across the wooden surface. "Private car, if it’s available," he murmured.

The clerk eyed them, then nodded. "Westbound, Union Pacific. Leaves in an hour."

Eleanor let out a breath as Henry led her toward the platform. The train loomed before them, its sleek black frame shining beneath the gas lamps.

"This will take us to Omaha?" she asked.

"It will," Henry confirmed. "From there, we’ll find another train to Colorado."

The enormity of it all settled over her. She was farther from England than she had ever dreamed, stepping onto a train that would carry her into the very heart of a country she had never seen.

Henry turned to her then, brushing a gloved hand against her cheek. "Are you ready?"

Eleanor met his gaze. She thought of Lord Rutledge, stranded on the Liverpool docks. She thought of the life she had left behind—the corseted expectations, the ballrooms filled with whispers, the future that had never truly been hers.

She lifted her chin. "Yes."

Henry smiled, squeezing her hand as the conductor called for passengers to board.

And with that, they stepped onto the train, bound for the untamed West—and whatever awaited them there.