When Doctor Dorothy Sinclair, co-director of acquisitions for a New York museum, boarded a train from Calgary, she expected to be home to Findlay, Ohio for Christmas. With her beau in Findlay, waiting to propose, Dr. Sinclair is confronted with a st...
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Mr. Devers had been a mood since the train left Calgary. I wasn't sure what had put a dark cloud over him, but he turned the pages of the morning paper with uncharacteristic severity. I gave a little sigh to tell him he was being ridiculous.
"The next time I feel inclined to associate with paleontologists, please stop me," he said, folding the paper and tossing it onto the table to cover his unfinished breakfast.
Ridiculous. "I didn't think they were that dull." They really were, but I was feeling plucky so I poked the bear. I was the only one he ever let get away with it.
"They were drier than the Alberta Badlands."
I rolled my eyes. "Comedy doesn't suit you. Besides, you're disinclined to get along with everyone we meet and we both know it."
"You certainly got along well with that Lord Carter fellow." There it was, the thorn in Mr. Dever's paw.
Lord Carter was the head paleontologist at the dig in the badlands. He was a smart man, a British expatriate, and far too friendly for Mr. Dever's taste. Even if he had been congenial, he talked of nothing but fossils. I don't know why, but I was content to let Mr. Devers think I'd actually enjoyed the attentions of Lord Carter.
I turned to the window of the dining car and searched the landscape with the hope of finding my bearings. All I could see were trees and the white blur of snowfall.
"Do you know where we are?" I asked, changing the subject and robbing my colleague of the chance to pick at me more.
He shrugged. "We went through Chicago sometime during the night. We should reach Ohio sometime tomorrow."
Tomorrow? I checked the date on the front of his paper. "Tomorrow is Christmas Eve."
"Cutting it a bit close, but we should have you home for before Christmas."
"Good. I'm ready to be off this train."
This made Mr. Devers chuckle but it wasn't enough to make him smile. I couldn't help but wonder if there was something besides Lord Carter on his mind.
"Not romanced by the luxury of locomotive travel, are we?" he asked.
I took a sip of the weak tea that had been served with our toast. "You would be singing a different tune if you had to lace your own stays with only five square feet of space to move about in."
Mr. Devers shifted nervously to my surprise. I couldn't ever remember a time where he'd been uncomfortable with me and I was always complaining about corsets. We had no secrets left between us; that had always been the nature of our relationship. The fledgling New York City Museum of Art and its eccentric curator depended on us as co-heads of acquisitions to procure every strange and elusive antiquity he required to fill his exhibits. This task often required extraordinary measures as more metropolitan museums sprang up around the world and we saw the rise of the nouveau riche who joined the competition to fill out their private collections.
