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chuckled. “Truth is, chances are good that I delivered him.” The doctor offered Corinne his arm to help her rise. She took it, allowing him a sense of gallantry, even though she trusted her own strength to stand.
    “Elijah Dunne,” Corinne said, leading the doctor to the exit. His silence caused her to look back at him. McAvoy’s complexion had gone gray.
    “Mr. Dunne,” he said, with a smile that looked about as genuine as the one Corinne had pasted on her own face. “Didn’t have the pleasure of bringing him into the world, but I did nurse him through a bout of measles. He’s a fine young man. A hero. A credit to his country.” The doctor rattled off these rapid-fire platitudes as he hastened Corinne off the train.
    He stopped in his tracks once he’d guided her onto the platform and, after a little more consideration, added, “He’ll always have that limp, but they did a fine job of saving his leg.” Corinne had played no small part in that concerted effort. “I hope his buddies keep his injury in mind on your wedding night.” He smiled at Corinne’s perplexed expression. “We got us a little tradition in these parts called shivaree. Folk gather outside the new couple’s house and make all kinds of racket. Try to force their way in. If they manage to get to the groom, they’ll spirit him away before . . . well, before he gets the chance to enjoy his newfound conjugal rights.”
    Corinne shook her head in disbelief.
    “No, I’m not kidding,” the doctor continued. “The poor fellow gets dumped miles from home, and sometimes spends his whole wedding night just trying to get back to his bride. It’s gone by the wayside for the most part, but the rowdier boys ’round here still keep it alive, and your Elijah’s friends have oft been counted amongst the unrulier.”
    Corinne wondered if the old doctor was just having her on. “I’m sure that may have been true when he was younger . . .”
    “I must be off now,” McAvoy interrupted her, seeming not to have noticed she was speaking, “but I wish you two young people the best. If I can be of any service, you know where to find me.” He nodded in the direction of the pulp plant. “Just follow your nose.”
    The steam from the train, as it fired up and chugged away, spilled into the thick haze like milk pouring into cream. The porter, a black man in a black hat with gold trim, emerged from the fog, his body not appearing to possess three dimensions until he drew near enough to pierce the mists. “Passengers’ waiting room straight ahead, Miss,” he said. “I’ll bring your bags around for you momentarily.”
    “Thank you,” Corinne said, “but I was told that there would be a car waiting for me?”
    “No, ma’am. No cars waiting, but I am sure your escort will arrive shortly. You just go on in and make yourself comfortable. I’ll make sure you are informed as soon as they arrive.”
    Corinne thanked the porter and approached the building. Perhaps it was the fog that had delayed Elijah’s arrival? But no, if the fog’s appearance and disappearance could be timed, as the doctor had implied, then Elijah would have factored in its presence. Her hand connected with the door as another thought occurred to her, sending a shock through her system. Perhaps Elijah had changed his mind? He had been sent home with a Purple Heart six months before Corinne could arrange to be decommissioned. His letters had come regularly for three months straight, but then a month, perhaps six weeks, had passed without her receiving a word from him. He began corresponding again without providing any explanation for the break. Corinne had assumed his intervening letters had simply been lost. She shook off her worry. Coming here, marrying him. Those were the right choices. This was her new life, and she might as well embrace it.
    She pressed the latch and pushed the heavy door open. Dark faces turned up to look at her, a mixture of apprehension and curiosity