The Rail Specter

by Vennessa Robertson

  I knew where this was going. “And if they won’t move?”

  Mr. Cassatt suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “We make several offers. If they refuse to move, we utilize the portion of land—as the railroad must—and pay them for that portion of the land. But it would be easier on everyone involved if they agree to move.”

  Nate and I exchanged a long glance. Finally, Nate set down his coffee cup and fixed Mr. Cassatt with a knowing look. Whatever silent communication men master with just a look, now passed between them. Neither flinched.

  I hated to be left out of whatever passed between them as they stared each other down. “Mr. Cassatt, the Tate family is dead. Their land is the current terminus of your little railroad matter.”

  Mr. Cassatt turned to me. “Mrs. Valentine, I assure you, you are mistaken. My records in this matter are quite clear.”

  Nate didn’t even blink. “Check.”

  Mr. Cassatt set down his cup and stood. “Mr. Burris, the file regarding westward expansion out of St. Louis, please. We made a payment to the Tate family.”

  “Outside of Maddenville,” I added helpfully. Nate nodded.

  “Outside of Maddenville,” Mr. Cassatt hollered out to his clerk.

  A moment later, the door opened, and the thin youth stuck his head in. “Of course, it will take a moment, but I will bring it right in.”

  I wondered how he would find anything in the mess he called his desk in a month, let alone a moment.

  Mr. Cassatt turned to Nate, but then remembered that he was supposed to be dealing with the both of us and turned until he was facing both of us. “How do you know Mr. Geiger?”

  To my great delight, Nate answered. “We have had the misfortune to deal with Mr. Geiger in the past. He will not be returning to finish the project.”

  Mr. Cassatt fixed us both with a steel-eyed glare. His mouth was a thin line. Were I not a woman he would be chomping at a cigar. I was sure only manners kept him from yelling at us both—well, manners and our investment in his railroad. Clearly, he was not impressed with being forced to speak to us both as equals.

  Mr. Cassatt took a deep breath. “And why are you so sure he will not be returning to finish the project?”

  How could I explain he was dead? His body lay buried on a Cheyenne reservation, but his soul had been murdered by a demon he could not control. Was that even believable to a man like Mr. Cassatt?

  The clerk entered with a knock and a folder. “Mr. Augustus Tate took a payment in full for his land—quite an impressive sum, I might add—and left. Then we continued the line.”

  I reached out for the file “Mr. Burris, might I see that please?”

  “What for?” Mr. Cassatt blinked at me.

  I needed to know their names. The people Mr. Geiger thought were beneath him, disposable and worthless. More people worth crushing in the name of progress. “I wonder, do you have the names of the Tate family in your file? I was curious.”

  “We keep accurate records. It is part of the new census project, you see.”

  I nodded. “Of course.” The file was a thin thing. A parcel number and survey coordinates for the land, a few sketches of the land, a map. A list of names:

  August Tate

  Evelyn Tate

  Julia Tate

  Ian Tate

  Daniel Tate

  Rosie Tate

  Hattie Gates (colored maid)

  Clyde Gates (colored hired hand)

  Matthew Hancock (hired hand)

  Albert Booth (hired hand)

  There were ten names, we had found ten bodies in and around the Tate farmstead. I mourned them all the same but wondered which names belonged to the children. I had touched their bones. Hot tears welled in my eyes. Ten lives all wiped out for the land and money—and all that served as the record of their passing was this a sheaf of paper.

  “And the payment?” Nate pressed.

  Mr. Burris pounced upon a pitiful scrap of paper. “Ah, here it is, we paid Mr. Tate $11.36 per acre for his land. Quite a respectable sum considering the Pennsylvania Railroad holds the charter allowing eminent domain for seizure and use for the public good.”

  “Mr. Burris, how would that money have been paid out?”

  “A cheque drawn against the railroad’s funds, of course.”

  I already knew the answer, but I had to ask. “Would Mr. Geiger have delivered those cheques personally?”

  “Why yes, he and Mr. Massey. Mr. Massey is one of our surveyors. That is over thirteen hundred dollars.”

  I had a hard time doing the conversion from pounds sterling in my head but even I knew that was quite a respectable sum. More than enough to tempt a less than moral man to commit misdeeds. “Excuse me, please.”

  I excused myself to the lavatory and was sick in the toilet. The sound of retching echoed off the clean white tile. It was much less impressive now. Murder for profit. Geiger was dead, Mr. Massey was probably dead or dying. The Carey family broken apart. Joseph Carey murdered, the mob murdered, and that was only what we knew of. Mr. Cassatt might not have done the crimes, but he had helped fund it. We helped fund it. We were not clean in this issue no matter our intentions.

  Mr. Cassatt scowled when I came into the office again. “Mrs. Valentine, I was just about to bid your husband a good day. You know the terms regarding your investment and—”

  “I’m afraid our terms will require further refinement,” I said.

  Mr. Cassatt looked from me to Nate as though he was pleading for him to do something about his outspoken wife.

  “Mr. Geiger and Mr. Massey delivered the compensation to the Tate family themselves, didn’t they?”

  “They did.”

  Nate motioned me to continue. “Vivian.”

  I nodded. “Mr. Cassatt, we believe Mr. Massey and Mr. Geiger murdered the Tate family, and possibly others.”

  Mr. Cassatt’s pen rolled noisily off his desk. “That is a very serious accusation, Mrs. Valentine.”

  “She would not say it if we were not serious,” Nate said evenly.

  Mr. Cassatt was silent. His pen had left an ink blot on the rich carpet. He was stiff, too stiff for this to be an entirely unexpected accusation. He clenched his jaw slightly, the actions of a man doing his best to hide anger at having a long-feared rumor being confirmed as true. The thumb of his right hand fiddled with the gold and ruby ring on his little finger.

  “How much did Mr. Massey make in your employ?” Nate inquired.

  “Sixteen dollars a week,” Mr. Cassatt said evenly.

  Nate shook his head. “Thirteen hundred dollars even split between the two men is a year’s salary. It is not unthinkable. Unreasonable to murder for money, of course, but not unthinkable.”

  Mr. Cassatt was pale behind his mustache. “Mr. Burris, inform Mr. Massey that he is to report immediately to this office. Have Mr. Mullen send word to the western line.”

  I raised my eyebrows, at least we were being taken seriously now, “Oh, you will not find him there.”

  Nate nodded. “Yes, the last my wife and I saw of him, he was with Mr. Geiger in Montana intent upon harassing the Cheyenne peoples on their reservation. At the Tongue River Indian Reservation.”

  “Though Indians is a generic term. Those particular Indians are called Cheyenne,” I amended. “Indians would be in India. If you had a map, we would be happy to show you. It is near China and Africa.”

  Mr. Cassatt gritted his teeth. I fought the urge to smile.

  Nate, however, could not help himself. “There are many fine, lucrative investment opportunities there as well, and the Bombay Rail Company is looking for us to expand our stake in their railroad.”

  Mr. Cassatt was no longer amused. The red splotches on his cheeks belied a growing rage. “If you wish to withdraw your support from the Pennsylvania Railroad you are welcome to do so, Mr. Valentine. Understand, we will not be able to refund your initial investment. Our operating funds are currently lower than they were, but we are open to other ideas for expan
sion.”

  Nate leaned forward. “You wished innovation. You want to offer something no one has ever seen before?” Mr. Cassatt couldn’t help it. He leaned forward an inch. “Mr. Geiger is not the way. All he brought you is scandal, angry investors, and lost profit in the form of wasted expensive steel. Such a shame.”

  Mr. Cassatt gave a slight nod. Yes, it is a shame, all that steel turned to rust, all those people, all that scandal, all that money paid to move people off their land—a land they couldn’t even use.

  Nate dropped his voice, forcing Mr. Cassatt to lean further in. “My wife and I visited the World’s Fair in Buffalo, New York when we first arrived in America. So much is being accomplished with electricity. Electricity is the power of the future. Why not bring it to the people? We have seen electric streetcars. Why not expand the technology to run trains?”

  Mr. Cassatt nodded, the great wheels of innovation turning in his brain. “There would be a cost to run the electric lines. But the price of coal is so high and the people in the large cities complain of the smell and smoke.”

  I did my best to be polite and agreeable. “Imagine the electric lines no longer soiling my clothes; the clear skies outside my windows.”

  Mr. Cassatt looked at Nate, the spell was suddenly broken. “I would need a new inventor.”

  My husband didn’t miss a beat. “I can give you a name.”

  Mr. Cassatt stood and walked to the window looking over the streets of Philadelphia. He was quiet for a long moment. “It would have to be done in secret.”

  I was more than happy to change his mind about a woman’s place in business affairs. “We can supply you with electricity in stable batteries for experimentation in secret until you are ready to unveil your great project to revolutionize travel.”

  He turned slowly to face me. His eyes flicked over to Nate. I was sure my husband was smiling at him. I was more than happy to let him set the hook in this whale. He was more than happy to let me reel him in.

  “Very well, Mrs. Valentine. And what would you demand in compensation for this kind assistance to set the Pennsylvania Railroad above her competitors?”

  “I am sure we can come to some sort of agreement,” I said smoothly. Nate’s hand found mine beneath the table. “Now, Mr. Cassatt. I’m sure you have heard of lightning hunters. There is a ship called The Lightning Aura. It is captained by the shrewd Captain Morgan, but the correct letters of recommendation will nearly guarantee his cooperation. Among his crew is a brilliant engineer named Eli Church.”

  The train station did us the service of taking custody of our belongings during our meeting with Mr. Cassatt. I was glad to be headed home. We planned to realign our investments, we had the care of our tenants to consider and I had news to share with him. Our fortunes were improving.

  “I was thinking, there are many places where the railroads are a fine investment. More importantly, we could make a fine, modest living by investing in our own tenants. If we help them replant their farms will yield more and their value will increase.”

  “We should also invest in airship futures.” Nate gave me a sly look

  “You win.” I threw my hands up in mock exasperation. “We shall invest in the airships, my dashing pirate.”

  He grabbed me and swung me around in a big circle.

  “Be gentle with me, Nate.” I said, cuffing his shoulder. “For though you have a fondness for air travel, we shall be taking a transatlantic steamer ship journey home. I find myself disinclined to that brand of excitement given my delicate condition.”

  Nate turned and gave me a look. I waited for the words to sink in.

  “Delicate condition?”

  I nodded.

  “Are you sure?” He asked, squinting at me.

  I thought of the Sisters on the train. The warm blanket of joy I had spent the last week wrapped in was better shared with him. His soft brown eyes crinkled and he swept me up in his arms.

  “You shall be a wonderful mother, Vivian.”

  “You thought our lives were full of adventure before,” I teased. “Just you wait!”

  Fin

  Acknowledgments

  SPECIAL THANKS to the friends and family who have given me their support, their love, their time, and their critiques as I ran down this path. It is all that I ever really wanted to be and thanks to you I am here. Special thank you to Rex, William, Colleen, Dani, Charlie, Aaron, Mia, Lou, Stant, and Ellie.

  DISCLAIMER: Places, names, and titles are used in a fictitious manner. Much of the information presented was altered to be used in the framework of this fictional story. For more information on 19th century history, the good and the bad, please enjoy the research done by reputable sources. The history of humanity is an amazing topic that cannot be rightfully covered by a work of fiction.

  The Tarot is an amazing divination tool used by many cultures for hundreds of years. Though an attempt has been made not to damage the traditions of the Tarot, much of the information presented is fictitious and should not be used for actual divination. For more information on the Tarot, please contact a reputable source.

  The cards represented in this story are based pictorally upon the Rider-Waite Deck.

  About The Author

  VENNESSA ROBERTSON is the author of the Arcane Adventuress series. She is also active in the writing and historic reenactment communities. She taught high school with dueling degrees in Colorado and Alaska until a traumatic brain injury in 2009. Now, she lives in rural Colorado. When she is not writing or homeschooling her two small children she is managing their ever-growing large and small animal rescue ranch.

  Arcane Adventuress Book 1: Canithrope

  Arcane Adventuress Book 2: The Clockwork Emperor

  Arcane Adventuress Book 3: The Rail Specter