Jonathan.
He’d grown a moustache, and his light blond hair had been dyed a sleek ebony. But it was Jonathan. Same overbearing height, always seeming to stand at attention when everyone else was at ease.
“Jonathan,” Benny sputtered. Having imagined the scenario a thousand times, he was unprepared for how normal it seemed (despite the exaggerated disguise) for his cousin to be standing there looking at him with a sad smile.
Jonathan grabbed his hand and wrung it fiercely before pulling Benny into a quick hug. “Ben, I can scarcely believe it. I knew you would find me.”
“I… I’m supposed to be arresting you. Taking you back to Regina. Turning you in.”
“I know. I knew they would put you on this. And I knew once they did, you would find me.”
“You wanted to be found? You weren’t running from me?”
“I was leading you somewhere.” Jonathan grabbed Benny’s elbow and steered him onto the lawn of the grand building. The Art Institute, Benny learned during a quick examination of the exterior. “And here you are.”
“Why lead me here?” Benny was perplexed. “Jonathan, you could hang! There’s a dead policeman in Toronto on account of your bombs.”
“Not my bomb. No, not my bomb indeed.”
“Jonathan, no one else in the Western Hemisphere would use a Turk’s knot to tie off a stick of dynamite at the edge of an amateur bomb!”
“Benny, I can’t explain it all here. But I need your help.”
“Why should I help you at all?” Benny said, a strange, cold breeze flurrying his way.
“Because you need me. There’s so much I need to tell you. So much you need to understand.”
Benny dug his hands deep into his pockets. Here in Chicago he didn’t have the lawful ability to even wear his red serge, let alone arrest a wanted criminal. Still, the superintendent would understand, and Jonathan would get a fair trial and would be convicted on several charges, the most severe being murder, and then…
Benny squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them, he saw Jonathan in a clearer light than the moment before. Tired, red-rimmed eyes. Worry etching the contours of his pale face.
“Ben? Lost in thought again.”
“Why don’t you cut and run?” Benny said angrily. “Why don’t you take your opportunity and escape? You know I was sent to track you. No matter the cost, and bring you ho—bring you back to Canada.”
“I know. But I won’t run on you, Ben. Because for now, despite the fact that you have no reason to, I need you to trust me.”
Trust and Jonathan Arnasson were not currently two things that belonged in the same sentence, Benny thought. Nonetheless, he roughly said, “Go on.”
“There is a man far more dangerous than I.”
“Who?”
“David Ross. And I am here to stop him.”
Merinda and Jem returned to the hotel so Merinda could begin to prepare for the evening. “If we’re going to be anarchist enthusiasts, we’re going to play it right,” Merinda explained, unfolding a scrap of paper from her pocket. “I made some notes on the train.”
“And what are you going to do with them?”
“Find a print shop and make a pamphlet!” she said proudly. “Several copies. Look like I am one of them. Convictions and everything!” She was assuredly proud of herself. “We need black clothes, Jemima. All anarchists wear black clothes.” Merinda worked her teeth over her bottom lip. “And we brought nothing of the sort. Black clothes in this weather! Trust anarchists to expect theatrics!”
“Yes, women in trousers and costume moustaches don’t smack of theatricality at all,” Jem said sarcastically. The cooling effect of the ice cream had worn off and she was hot, sticky, tired, and angry that she had not turned a corner and into Ray’s arms as she had dreamily hoped.
“I am off to see to these pamphlets.” Merinda looked at the small timepiece affixed to her shirtwaist. “You see to the clothes. After, I’ll head straight to the State Street address Ross sent us, and you can meet me there.
Jem nodded her acquiescence and watched Merinda saunter into the sunlight.
Jem mentally calculated how long it would take her to acquire the needed wardrobe pieces before setting out to find the boardinghouse address Jasper had given Merinda—and which she had subsequently pilfered while Merinda was counting change for the bellboy. She was streets away from Ray, and the entire world seemed alive. Far more alive than the last draining hours in Toronto or the incessant hours on the train.
A quarter of an hour later she had acquired the necessary wardrobe, quickly changed into black wool cap and trousers, and left a note for Merinda.
Thereafter, with a map secured from the concierge and the paper with Jasper’s slanted hand in her balled fist, she straightened her shoulders and took Chicago in stride.