I lay down beside him but as soon as he was asleep, I retreated to my tomb.
Chapter Eighteen
IT WAS A long journey from the Carey home to St. Louis. We turned their livestock loose, including the goats, because the wagon was never going to move again.
The bodies in the front yard were too numerous to try to move and hide. We had to create as much distance between the farm and us as possible, before anyone noticed the missing men. There was some discussion of whether or not to set fire to the house but, in the end, we decided the smoke would probably draw too much attention and the dead mob would be discovered sooner.
We gathered the Carey family horses and the horses we had rented and packed up the remaining portable foodstuffs and clothes. The chickens squatted below the porch and in the eaves of the barn, scolding us for all the fuss from the night before. I hoped the rest of the horses would eventually find their way home and the goats and cow would find someone to care for them.
Chelan went inside and knelt beside her hearth. No matter her true feelings for Joseph, it had been her home for a long time. Her children had been born there. The home had probably been built by Mr. Carey, for her, so that they could have a life together.
Haimovi searched for the wendigo. I could have told him he would not find anything. I thought I had destroyed it before, but I was wrong. I was sure it was not gone now, no matter what damage I had done to it last night.
The people of St. Louis must have seen Haimovi and Nacto before, and had probably even seen Chelan and her children, but they did a double take at seeing all of them together at once. They went ahead to the train station, where we would meet them shortly.
We returned the horses and explained that we had gotten lost in the darkness. The stable master laughed at us for being “dumb Brits” and bid us good day. We laughed it off, but Nate muttered insults under his breath.
We walked into the St. Louis Union Station, avoiding the HeadHouse entirely.
When we had arrived in St. Louis the first time, it had been evening. The train station had been illuminated by fancy electric lighting, and the deep shadows had hidden the rest of the lobby from view. Now, in the daylight, we realized the far wall was entirely consumed with a huge painting, a map of the United States of America. I counted forty-five stars on a flag, painted in a corner below an eagle and above a bunch of white flowers that looked a bit like the hawthorn from back home.
Haimovi, Nacto, and Nate pored over the maps I had bought earlier. Meturato stood with them.
“Where are we headed?” I asked Chelan.
Chelan pointed to the map, near the top. “Montana.”
I followed her finger. I had been aware America was large, humongous by the standards of England but, until today, the sheer enormity of America had been lost upon me. “And where are we now?”
She pointed again. “Missouri.”
I blinked hard. Three endless days on a train, chugging from Pennsylvania to St. Louis with only the occasional stop at a station to allow passengers off and on, had falsely led me to believe we must be nearing the edge of America, the other end of this great land.
I would never see the far side of America, California. To orient myself, I found the Mississippi River on the map. If that was still so far east, how much of the land was left unexplored? If so much of the land was unexplored and open, why could it not be shared? I looked over to Nate.
As much as I hated to admit it, perhaps the future was airship travel. It would have been much safer for us at any rate.
The men now stood at a table, poring over a large tome of maps the ticketing agent provided. The agent glared at them, leaning on the counter as though he suspected they would suddenly make off with his book of maps and disappear into the street.
The ticketing agent recognized me and finally came over. “Your Indian friends, who are they?” He eyed them suspiciously.
“They’re Sioux. She is my maid, and the rest are coming to do some work on my estate.” It was the only other tribe name I could remember. I hoped I was thinking correctly. Hired hands drew very little notice back home in England, and I hoped the same was true here.
He waved his hand dismissively. “Ahh, who can keep them all straight anymore? There’s so many of them damn Indians. Just be sure you have their papers in order, and make sure you have enough good, proper white folk to keep them in line. Put them babies in a good Christian school as soon as you can to teach them to be Christians. It’s our responsibility.”
I nodded, doing my best to look like I agreed. “Of course, it is our duty.” My duty was to get Chelan and her family as far from this ignorant cur and others like him as possible. I could not get them home to their kin and the people who loved them fast enough.
“Hope you didn’t pay much for the squaw, with a baby, they don’t work so hard,” the ticketing agent continued. “And you can’t sell the babies until they’re about five. Well, you can, but no one wants ’em.”
I wanted to hit him. Righteous anger burned through me and, for a moment, I felt blood pounding in my ears. It was a heated, angry pulse. My hands were itchy and hot. My chest was tight. If I could breathe fire, I would. I would slice him with my fangs, I would spear him with horns.
A train rumbled into the station, the whistle a dragon’s scream. I wanted to answer with a roaring challenge of my own. I opened my mouth.
“Viv, are you ready to go?”
Nate.
Startled, I turned and looked at him.
“I—Yes.” I blinked, trying to remember where I was. I took a deep breath to steady myself. I still wanted to bite the ticketing agent, to breathe fire into his face, to watch him twist and writhe. I wanted to turn his hateful words, his spewed hatred, into a poison meant for his flesh and burn him alive.
I exhaled a shaking breath. Now where had that come from? I was holding the ruby in my pocket. I forced myself to let go, and took Nate’s hand instead.
We decided to leave our possessions behind in the HeadHouse. Other than Joseph Carey’s clothes, Nate needed a new change of clothes, so we took the stairs up to our room and filled our packs with clothing and our American dollars. I would not need my dresses, only my adventuring clothes, and I doubted that would change while we headed north. Then, we reunited with Chelan and her family. We had our small packs and my satchel of healing supplies, while Chelan had a bundle of clothes for each of her children. In addition, Chameli carried a small parcel of bread, some tea, and other assorted foodstuffs. Haimovi and Nacto had saddlebags and bedrolls tossed over their shoulders. In all, they were small and pitiful bundles for what looked to be a long journey by rail. I would have to do something.
“Nate, how much cash do we have?”
“Some,” he admitted and handed me a few of our folded dollars.
I took the money and pocketed it. According to the clock on the wall, we had nearly forty minutes before our train boarded. I rushed out to the street and spied what I was looking for: a general store.
The scent of the place hit me like a wave. Cheese and sauerkraut, eggs that probably should have been sold long ago, pickles, paint on new wooden toys, onions and molasses, and beneath it all, the scent of kerosene.
The kerosene brought to mind all the men, the chaos, and death caused by the wendigo on the Carey farm. I shook the memory away.
I swept through the store like a woman possessed. I had the man at the counter set aside two large cheeses, a box of crackers, a dozen cans of vegetables, and four cans of fruit. I added a box of tea, a box of matches, a bar of soap, a packet of dried beef and another of dried fish. When the counter man rang up the purchases, there was enough in my pocket for two more packages of crackers, so I had those added to the crate, paid, and dashed back with the heavy wooden box in my arms. Well, dash was an overstatement, waddled was a better description.
Nate was pacing anxiously when I returned. He jerked the box from my hands. “Where have you been?”
I opened my mouth to
answer.
“Never mind.” He glanced in the box, hoisted it up on his shoulder, and we boarded the train into a private car. We immediately drew the shade, isolating ourselves from the rest of the passengers.
Hours passed, and the miles flew by, speeding us to Chelan’s home. Meturato sat near the window, his face plastered to the glass. For a moment, he was a young boy enchanted with the world. Chelan smiled at him. Not for the first time on this journey, I wished for an airship, but not only for myself; I would love to see the look on Meturato’s face as he sailed through the sky. He was so like my Nate.
“How long since you have been home?” I asked Chelan.
“It has been a lifetime,” Chelan said with a small smile. Her broken teeth must cause her pain, but she smiled the small, secret smile of one who hasn’t smiled in a long time. “My children have never been home.”
“Why were you in St. Louis?”
She turned to look at me. Her black hair was caught back in a single braid, and her dark skin glowed in the sunlight. I had never seen her more radiant, never more beautiful. I had to know. She turned to look out the window again. “For my people.”
It was a horribly simple answer, but I wanted so much more. Yet, it was enough. It was the reason I had agreed to marry a man I had never really known. Before Nate, I was engaged to a boorish man from a prosperous family, yet with a good name. I did it for my family. It is what was expected of a woman. It is what I thought my own people had expected from me.
Chelan turned back to me. The smile had left her face. “My people are buried in that land. Their bones lay there. It was our home for generations. Now, it is not.” She looked at the baby in her lap who cuddled close in sleep. Her smile returned, broken teeth and all. “So now we go home.”
“We should switch trains several times.” Nate said, “Every time there is a large station where several main lines meet.”
Haimovi and Nacto were already bent over the maps again. Haimovi traced a line with a finger. “Crossing streams diffuses your scent.”
Nacto looked at his sister and the children, “Once speed would serve us.”
Nate nodded, “Speed looks guilty. But we need to do our best to stay out of sight if we can.”
Haimovi rubbed his eyes, “We need speed and luck. We can still be removed to reservations, should white people have the mind to.”
“Don’t worry about being taken.” Nate said. “Viv and I have a plan for that.”
I sat up straighter in my seat. He must not have told Haimoi they were traveling as our servants. Haimovi did not strike me as the type that would accept the ruse, even temporarily. He gave Nate a questioning look.
I gave my most placating smile. “If anyone asks, we are getting off at Quincy Station and you are accompanying us to work for us for a time on our new property.”
”Remember, the next station, Quincy, on the Illinois and Missouri border, is a hub—a huge station where many lines converge. We will get on the next train on the line, but if they are looking for us, they will be looking at the train we are leaving instead. Just in case.”
“Will it still take us north?” Chelan gathered the baby’s belongings into a sack. There was a tremor in her voice.
Haimovi turned to her, speaking in comforting tones. For the first time, I was glad I did not speak their language. Whatever words of comfort he spoke were for her, alone. She nodded.
Chameli held her bundle to her chest, wringing her fingers and nibbling on her lip as we waited for the train to pull into the station. Meturato took one last look at the landscape as it disappeared and became a city, crowded with people, and he returned to his regular, surly self. He glared at the world from beneath his shaggy hair, though looking a bit paler than usual.
Nacto met every eye with the same confidence and easy smile that I assumed was his armor. It struck me, not for the first time, how similar we all were. Societies had their rules, but the core was the same. Our rules protect us and hide our true selves, cover our naked, fragile selves so we can pretend we are not fragile. It was disarming, I wished the ticket agent or the rail workers or the other Americans could see it, to see how easily we could share this enormous land. Then again, maybe not. Father and son were mirrors of one another, and Haimovi also looked like a dog, ready to bite. I wished there was a way to put them at ease.
“The next train on this line will only take us as far as St. Paul, Minnesota.” Nate said, pulling out a map. It was printed on thin paper, and had tiny lines tracing the paths of the railroads crossing America. Most of the stations were not labeled, but marked only with dots. The major hubs were labeled with neat lettering. We spread the map out between Nacto, Haimovi, and Chameli. Chelan held her younger son clear to keep him from tearing it with his kicking feet. “From St. Paul we head west on the Northern Pacific Railroad, and that line runs straight through several states and puts us into Montana.”
Haimovi pointed to a small unnamed circle on the map. “The closest station on the rail to the reservation is here, Forbythe.”
“How far is that?” Meturato asked.
“Four days.” Nate folded the map. “Give or take. Barring any unexpected delays.”
Chameli chewed her lower lip. The wheels were turning in the poor girl’s brain. Unexpected delays could be anything. Trains broke down, passengers could attack them. Someone could happen upon Joseph Carey’s body or the bodies of the mob that had come to arrest the adults and remove the children.
I gave her the brightest smile I could manage, but I was also clutching the ruby in my pocket. Nate and I needed to get them home, and safe, to have Chelan’s mother assist us with a child of our own.
Haimovi put his hand on his son’s shoulder, his mouth turned upward in a small smile, pleased beyond measure that he was able to touch the boy. I imagined their time together had been limited to Joseph Carey’s absences, and too short by far. Chameli took up a lock of hair and braided it as she stared out the window.
The steam and coal sent clouds of gray smoke into the air. My chest was tight, and my skin felt pierced by a thousand needles. I felt like I was in the mists of China again surrounded by the gentle pines and the soft pat-pat-pat of the ever-present rains and the huli jing poisoning Nate’s mind with promises of eternal life and power, if only he agreed to be his companion for all time. Looming in the darkness, in the mist and hidden from my sight, stalking us with breath of fire, fangs like swords, and horns that could impale a man or knock down trees was Xihuan-Lung, the bane of mankind that the archer God was forced to slay and therefore damn himself until the end of days.
The glass was cold under my fingers. I was haunted by the dragon. No matter what my reasons, I had desecrated the grave of a sacred being and I was cursed. I was the architect of my own nightmare.
Now we were hunted by the wendigo. My hand touched the stolen ruby. It made the magic within me strong, stronger than it had ever been before. As long as I had it, I could fight the wendigo. But, even as I held the ruby, I could believe Xihuan-Lung was out there, waiting for us in the mist. She would be crouching, her breath reeking of death, and seething in righteous anger at giving all to the world of men, only to be met with still more greed. She was a monument to betrayal hunted, forgotten, and left to rot, her bones a shrine to her might.
“Viv?” Nate took up his pack. “Are you coming?”
I released the ruby in my pocket. He took my hand, still warm and throbbing from the ruby’s touch. If Xihuan-Lung was, in fact, out there, I would meet her. I would stand between her and my husband and I would stand between the horrible people we met and the Carey family. If I stood before the wendigo, I could stand before this evil, as well.
Chapter Nineteen
WE CHANGED TRAINS three times as we traveled the main line. It turned out Nate was right, as always. With Chelan and her children, and Nacto and Haimovi traveling as our peons, we were given more advice than I cared to even count about how to keep our Indian servants under control and the proper
way to keep them passive. Other than that, no one looked at them twice. I spent long hours with the ruby hidden in my hand pressed against my flesh. Keeping it close helped insure the world was safe from a deadly, vengeful creature. It made me powerful.
It also made me fight with the one person I loved more than anything in the world. And the knowledge of both truths was a suffocating weight.
Instead, I turned my attention to the one thing that did ease my soul. We insisted our “servants” were well fed. I asked for extra milk for my tea, then drank it plain and gave the milk to Chelan so she could soak crackers for the baby.
I spent most of our journey feeling more ill than I could ever remember being before. I hoped, more than once, that it was proof we were finally expecting a baby of our own, until my body proved me wrong. My head pounded and I touched the spaces where the Tarot had once lived below my skin. The skin itself was tender. I was missing the insulating symbols. I was alone and exposed to the world like raw, aching nerves. I wanted to cry, but instead I was numb. The Chariot, The Lovers, The Sun, The Moon, The Star. I would never use them, I would never read them again.
I sat for the long hours between meals in our private car, looking at my cards, the heirlooms from my family, tracing the symbols with one, pale finger. When meals came, I gave my food to our new friends. My clothing grew loose. The Tarot under my skin was wasting away, and so was I.
The train was nearly empty by the time we reached the Forbythe Station in Montana. We purposely waited until the last moment to leave the train. Chameli fidgeted, bouncing the bag of clothes in nervous, jittery motions. Meturato practiced the Cheyenne language under his breath, whispering the words again and again.
I could understand their nervousness; this was a home they had never visited. It was the land of their family, the land they would call home forevermore. So far, we had been lucky, other than murmurs and side glances at out strange indentured servants, Chelan’s family had attracted little attention. Nate and I, on the other hand, were constantly harassed by the porters and the other passengers asking why we would take such unique peons into our service.
The Rail Specter Page 17
