The Past

July 20, 1904

James McAllister wasn’t supposed to be fixing electrical systems at a carnival. He was supposed to be in Pittsburgh, standing trial for industrial sabotage. Or dead, like his brother Sean. But here he was instead: hands deep in wire and current, keeping lights burning in a place that celebrated the impossible.

He worked late in the power plant, away from eyes that might recognize him. Tonight, though, Minnie found him there—carrying coffee in a thermos, her footsteps quiet on the concrete floor.

“You missed dinner,” she said, setting the thermos on his workbench. “Elizabeth said you’ve been hiding in here all day.”

“Not hiding. Working.” But his hands shook slightly as he reached for the coffee, betraying him.

“James.” Her voice was gentle but direct. “What happened today? You went white as a sheet when those men in suits toured the park.”

He should lie. Make up some story about feeling ill, about the heat. Instead, looking at her honest face, he found himself telling the truth.

“My brother died seven months ago. In Pittsburgh. Industrial accident at the Westinghouse plant.” He set down his tools, the memory making his hands useless. “Except it wasn’t an accident. The foreman was cutting corners, ignoring safety protocols. Sean wrote letters to management, tried to go through proper channels. They ignored every warning.”

Minnie sat on a crate, waiting. She had that quality—of listening without pushing, letting silence do its work.

“The night he died, there was an electrical explosion. Overloaded circuits finally gave way. Killed Sean and two others.” James’s hands clenched into fists. “The company blamed worker error, said they’d been careless. But I knew better. I’d seen the inspection reports Sean smuggled out. Every wire in that plant was carrying twice its rated load.”

“So you tried to prove it?”

“I did more than try. I broke into the plant office, photographed documents proving negligence. Then…” He paused, the memory still sharp enough to cut. “Then I sabotaged their main generator. Cost them thousands in downtime. Wanted them to feel a fraction of what they’d taken.”

“Oh, James.”

“Pinkerton agents have been after me since. Industrial sabotage, they’re calling it. Terrorism.” He laughed bitterly. “So I ran. Changed my name from O’Brien to McAllister. Ended up here, fixing carnival rides instead of industrial systems.”

“Those men today—”

“Looked like Pinkertons. Probably weren’t. But seeing them brought it all back.” He met her eyes. “You should stay away from me, Minnie. I’m trouble you don’t need.”

Instead of backing away, she moved closer. “We all have pasts. Things we’re running from.”

“Not like this. If they find me—”

“They won’t. Dreamland protects its own, and you’re one of us now.” She touched his hand lightly, grounding him. “Besides, you’re doing important work here. Those babies need reliable power. The living matter more than revenge.”

“It wasn’t revenge. It was…” He struggled for words. “Sean believed in the future. In progress making life better for workers. He died because someone decided profit mattered more than safety. I couldn’t let that stand.”

“And now?”

“Now I hide in a carnival, keeping lights on for incubators and elephant acts.” He shook his head. “Sean would have found the irony amusing.”

“Or he’d see it as another kind of progress. Saving lives with electricity instead of destroying property.” Minnie stood. “Your secret’s safe, James. But you should know—half of Dreamland is running from something. That’s what makes us family.”

After she left, James returned to his work with steadier hands. The wiring here was clean, honest—no shortcuts that could kill. Just power flowing where it was needed, keeping impossible things alive.

Maybe that was its own form of justice.

Through the window, he could see the incubator building glowing in the night. Inside, Minnie would be making her rounds, checking temperatures and oxygen levels with the electricity he provided. Not the future Sean had imagined, but a future nonetheless.

The Pinkertons might find him eventually. But until then, he’d keep Dreamland’s lights burning. For Sean. For Minnie. For all the impossible things that deserved their chance to exist, however briefly, in this electric paradise built on swampland.