I'll Burn With You (MXM)

Chapter 13 : Mill Creek Station

Tilting his boater hat against the afternoon summer sun, Jack wiped his brow and glanced up at Union Depot, the clock tower battling against the other skyscrapers on the deeply congested Canal Street. The sound of barge horns and steamships rumbling lowly, vibrating the air against the hum of the passing electric trolleys. Nearby, the station's freight warehouse banged and slammed, hissing and screaming of incoming and outgoing passenger and freight trains; a haze of smoke and steam rose from behind the elegant Second-Empire station.

Jack tightened his grasp on the suitcase before heading through the marked side entrance. He checked in.

"Mill Creek?" the ticket agent asked.

"Yes."

"For business?" they asked.

"Y-yes," Jack spluttered back.

The ticket agent stared before handing him a second-class ticket.

"I asked for first."

"Your train does not have first," they replied.

"It is an overnight train, and I have read that you have first-class accommodations." His stomach boiled.

They smiled, clearly forced. "It's an addition $1.50."

Jack shook his head and slapped down five dollars. "I purchased a first-class ticket, with access to the dining car."

Smiling through the embarrassment, the ticket agent offered Jack the first-class ticket. "Safe travels."

"I hope you get fired," he snapped back, picking up his suitcase and strolling away.

The rest of his boarding process was an immeasurable blur, for he next found himself in the station's long, pillared waiting room, a richly-decorated space humming with activity, coffered ceiling touched by gold. Its windows overlooking both sides of the building filtered in a bright but dulled gleam before the gas lights turned on. Signs for the World's Fair held just the year before still decorated the walls, their colors fading. The afternoon sun radiated in warmth from the day, and the space grew into an elegant cave filled with smoke, words, and the squeals of train wheels. He ate, though what, he did not remember. He tried ignoring Ms. Price's letters sitting like stones in his pocket, desperate to reread them. The food sank into his stomach; he pushed the remains away. Jack's leg bounced against the floor.

The train called for boarding promptly at 18:15 at platform 04. Parked underneath the glass-enclosed canopy, the seven-carriage consist stood at attention.

He took his seat, people-watching to ignore the onlooking passengers confused by his presence.

"Excuse me, sir," the conductor asked, appearing in the aisle. "I believe your carriage is that way." He gestured towards the front of the train.

Jack pulled out his ticket. "I assure you, sir, I have paid for the accommodations."

Regardless, he gestured to the front of the train. "Your carriage is just ahead."

"That is a second-class car. I have a first-class ticket. If you do not read my ticket, I will inform my father, John Byrd Sr., of Marks, Byrd, and Hutchinson's, that your very important shipping contract should be reconsidered, as well, if you think this is appropriate behavior." Jack offered the ticket to the man.

The conductor produced a fumbled smile and nodded. He took the ticket.

Jack glared. "Maybe I should do so anyways," he mumbled. "The service is abysmal."

"I-I do apologize, Mr. Byrd. Please accept our apologies." He gestured to the people around him to continue about their business.

Jack kept his boater hat fixed upon his head, his suitcase tucked between his legs. He sat at attention, waiting. No one sat next to him.