Nick pushed past him, and hurried to the door. In one motion, he tossed out his duffel, rushed down the two steps, and jumped. He landed on his hands and knees on the platform, and yelled from the pain in his knee.

He heard footsteps running toward him, and her voice: “Nick!” she cried.

He couldn’t help grinning when he looked up and saw her. She landed on her knees next to him and threw her arms around him. “Nick, are you all right?”

“I reckon that isn’t the most graceful thing you ever saw,” he said, as he put his arms around her and pulled her close. He could hear the train behind him, picking up speed. The whistle blew. Her rain-dampened hair felt like silk under his hand. “You’re all wet, sweetheart.”

She leaned back from him. “I ran all the way here,” she said. “Ty let me go and I ran all the way here. He knew that I loved you, Nick. He could tell just by looking at me.”

His heart beat in tandem with the train as it accelerated, pulling away from the station. He kissed her. When he leaned back from her briefly, the train was gone, and all was quiet, except for the gentle sound of the rain.

Shortly, hardly noticing the cold rain running down his collar, Nick reached into his pocket for the black velvet box. He opened it, extracted the ring. “Are you certain?” he said.

“Yes.”

So he slid the ring onto her finger, and took her in his arms and kissed her again. The rain on their faces and hands melded as they touched, and he couldn’t exactly tell where he ended and she began.

A moment later, there was shouting from across the platform. Nick let Elissa go and looked up. There was her father, running across the platform toward them, followed closely by his brother. “Lissa! Lissa! Nick!” they shouted.

“Here we go again,” Nick grumbled. They stood up; he slid his arm around her waist. Jack and Harry reached them, and stood before them, puffing, looks of horror in their matching blue eyes.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” Elissa said.

“Hope you don’t aim to keep this up after we get married,” Nick joked. “Every time I kiss her, you come flying around the corner.”

“Nick,” said Jack. “What’s your birthday? What month and year?”

At least Jack wasn’t giving him a hard time about kissing Elissa, so this could be considered an improvement. “April sixteenth, 1919.”

Jack and Harry didn’t look pleased. “Count back nine months,” Harry muttered to Jack. “It’s July 1918. Right after Chase died. She was working for him then.”

“Christ,” said Jack, his eyes crunching.

“What’s the matter?” Nick asked.

“What’s your mother’s name?” Harry said.

“Why?”

“Just—what is it?”

“Florence Overby.”

“You’re her only child?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who’s your father?”

“Benedict Overby. He passed on a couple months before I was born.”