THE FIREBOX FLAMES danced on Rosie Weston's skin, highlighting white and bronze vitiligo as she shoveled in one last load of coal. The steam engine was hungry, demanding more fuel in the pelting rain. Rosie hung the shovel by the coal pile and stretched her burning muscles.
"That should do until the last stretch to Chicago."
Honora Quaman grunted in response, eyes fixed on the locomotive's gauges. She was the engineer Rosie was apprenticing under. To Rosie's dismay, the wiry crone kept to herself.
Undaunted, Rosie tried again. "Are you staying for the Fair?"
"No. Too much work to do."
Rosie settled in her rear-facing window seat and fished her leather logbook out from under the chair. A colorful flyer for the World's Fair served as a bookmark. It highlighted details for a spectacular opening ceremony and demonstrations from Nikola Tesla. Rosie turned to the marked page and sketched schematics for the coal-shoveling device she was building in her head.
"Are you writing in your diary again?"
"It's a logbook!"
Honora snorted. "Whatever you say."
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