Chapter Five

in which Sanderson speaks up

I take the stairs up to my room two at a time, being careful, of course, to go as quietly as possible so as to not wake up Mama or either of my sisters. Rosemary would most likely understand, but Elizabeth would just sound the alarm. I have a hard time naming the feeling blooming in my chest. It’s not fear, exactly, but it’s probably the closest to it I’ve ever felt — except for when Mama told me I am to choose a husband from the bachelors she has invited over. My chest tightens just thinking about it.

No, this unfamiliar feeling is a million times better than the feeling of being forced into a marriage. I pause halfway up the steps and shiver, thankful that Uly decided to help me. However, his request that I dress in Grady’s old clothes puzzles me. Who am I to question? It isn’t like I could march up to the ticket desk and demand they sell me a ticket — I’m not a married woman. Thankfully. It does make traveling on one’s own a bit of a conundrum.

What does Uly have up his sleeve?

Light from the fireplace dances in the shadows on the walls as I burst into my room. Sanderson is already there waiting, paws crossed on the bed.

“We’re doing it, Sanderson.” I give his head a pat as I walk by on my way to my wardrobe. I believe I have a suitcase — one of Papa’s old ones. “Uly has a plan to get me out of town without Mama knowing.” I locate the suitcase and tug it from the top shelf. In my nervous excitement, I almost drop it to the floor. That would send Mama running. I need to slow down, be a bit more cautious.

But I don’t have time to slow. I only have an hour to pack for — goodness, I have no idea how long I’ll be gone. I chew on my bottom lip. “Sanderson, I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Tossing the suitcase open on the bed, I turn back to my wardrobe. Pushing through the clothes, I reach to the very back where I’ve saved two trousers and three shirts that once belonged to Grady. They are still a bit big, but they work when sneaking out to the docks, and I suppose they will work for my adventure as well. Into the case they go, keeping one pair out to change into. “I have no idea what I’m doing, Sanderson.” I continue my one-sided conversation. I’d feel silly, but it sounds like the cat is going to be my one companion for the next little while, so we should both get used to me talking with myself. “Where did I put those boots?” I turn back to the wardrobe and drop to my knees. Reaching as far as I could into the back, feeling only wood and dust bunnies.

“I believe they are under your bed, Ma’am.”

Sinking back on my heels, I push dark curls out of my face. “Oh, that’s right, I forgot I pushed them there the last time I wore them.” Crawling on hands and knees, I make my way back across the room toward my bed. Halfway across, I freeze, realizing someone, something else answered me that time.

I whip my head around, searching the room. No one. My eyes land on Sanderson, calmly looking in my direction. It couldn’t be. I must be delirious. There’s no way. Is there? “Sanderson, did you just … talk?”

“Of course, I just talked. Who else could it have been?” The cat answers as if him talking is completely normal.

It is absolutely not completely normal.

“What do you mean, of course, you just talked?” I hiss, praying my voice isn’t too loud. “You’re a cat. Cats don’t speak!”

Sanderson blinks. “We do speak, it’s only when we find someone worthy of listening.”

I splutter. “Well, I suppose I should thank you that you find me worthy.”

If the cat had lips, I’m sure they would be pursed. “Yes, well. That wasn’t my choice. It was Master Theodore. He told me I was to watch over you, so… here we are.”

“Well, I never—”

Sanderson stood and stretched, hind end in the air, before jumping, not so gracefully, from the bed, completely ignoring my outburst. “We must get a move on if we’re going to meet that Uly fellow by the time he has requested.” He disappeared under the bed, reappearing, dragging my missing boots. He deposited them at my feet before trotting over to the wardrobe and disappearing inside, reappearing with a pair of woolen socks in his mouth, which he spit out next to the boots. “Blah. I hate carrying socks in my mouth. Disgusting. I’m making an exception for you because it would seem you haven’t moved.”

He is right. I’m still rooted to the spot in the middle of my floor. Not sure if, when I move if this spell will be broken. And I do think I like this spell — even if it means the cat is talking, which makes him even ruder than before, if that is even possible.

“Is my mind breaking like Papa’s?” I whisper. Surely that is what is happening. It’s just happening earlier than it did with Papa. Is it just my imagination, or are the walls to my bedroom closer than they were just a moment ago? Never mind this adventure. Mama will find me in this same spot tomorrow morning, her daughter’s brain as broken as her husband’s. Maybe she wouldn’t insist I get married if I were broken. Or maybe she’d marry me off as quickly as possible. I could be married by the end of the week.

I’m going to be sick.

Just when I think it isn’t possible for me to come back to my senses, Sanderson’s gold eyes appear before my own. “I know this is new, and it’s shocking, but I’m going to need you to dig deep into that Neely grit I’ve heard so much about and get these boots on your feet and your hair up under one of those hats you’ve hidden in the back of your wardrobe.” He stares a bit longer before nodding and disappearing back into the wardrobe.

Right then. The Neely grit. I dig deep, numbly pulling on thick wool socks and the worn leather boots that once belonged to my brother. Just slipping them on my feet makes me feel like he’s closer to me.

The old page boy hat that I used to tuck my hair into when I went to the docks lands in my lap. Looking up, I find Sanderson pawing through my suitcase. I guess he likes what he sees because he plops down next to it and begins licking his fur.

Making haste, I twist my hair into a braid around my head. Tucking the ends tight, I pull the cap onto my head. I stand before the mirror studying myself. Too big, brown trousers tucked into boots, a white button-up shirt, also too big, but is necessary to hide any womanly figure I have. With my hair hidden under the cap, I can easily pass as a boy. As long as I keep my head down, and no one studies me too closely.

I turn my head to the side, still studying my disguise. “I hope that whatever Uly has planned doesn’t rely on me being a boy for too long.”

Sanderson jumps from the bed, coming to stand next to me in front of the mirror. “It would be in our best interest if this entire escape plan didn’t involve you being dressed as a boy. No one is going to believe it.” The cat echoes my fear.

I shrug into Grady’s old coat. It swallows me.

Sanderson sighs. “Well, that does help some, I suppose.”

“It’s as good as it’s going to get.” I refuse to give any more thought to this ridiculous plan, whatever that plan may be. Tucking the atlas into the inner pocket of my borrowed coat, I snap the suitcase closed. Glancing once more around my bedroom, I hope this isn’t the last time I ever see it. I square my shoulders. Of course, it’s not the last time. I’ll be home before I know it. Grady too. Papa has faith in me, and I have Sanderson at my side.

Whatever could go wrong?

Atlas of Neely Spencer is currently being released chapter by chapter as I write it. You can read all about why I chose this format in this post. Please forgive any errors in spelling, grammar, and punctuation since this is not professionally edited. Think of it like this: you're getting to read my first-pass pages!