It was getting slippery, and several times, they almost fell. When Billie looked back, he was even closer. She spotted a train nearby moving along the tracks. “There!” she cried. “If we cross now, he’ll be stuck on this side. It’ll be close. Hurry!”
Elise doubled over, gasping for air.
“What are you doing?” Billie shrieked over the roar of the storm.
Shaking her head, Elise hollered, “I can’t!” Her hair was wet and plastered to her face.
“Come on!” Billie said. She grabbed her arms and started to drag her, but Elise resisted.
“You go,” she cried. “Save Frankie.”
The engine was rumbling closer and closer. The horn blared. In a moment, it would be upon them.
“No!” Billie said, yanking on her. “This baby needs you!”
Elise looked back. The railroad cop was only steps away.
The massive steel engine approached, like a moving mountain, the headlight blinding them, the roar deafening.
Elise looked down at the baby, up at Billie, and then took her hand. They dashed across the tracks so close to the steel monstrosity they could almost touch it and leapt to safety on the other side.
Falling into each other’s arms, they hugged, the rain drenching them. The baby was howling. “You are going to be just fine, Frankie,” Elise said. “We both are.”
They found the freight bound for Kansas City, and a group of hobos pulled Elise up into the boxcar. Billie handed her Frankie just before the train took off with a jerk.
As Billie was hoisting herself up, someone grabbed her leg and roared, “Oh, no, ya don’t!”
She toppled back, clawing at the air, and fell under the train, the wheels moving toward her. Quick as lightning, Billie rolled off the track, a wheel narrowly missing her foot. The bull yanked her up, trying to wrap his arm around her neck. She ducked and elbowed him in the ribs, knocking the club from his hand.
“You little bitch,” he snarled. Grabbing her, he lifted her up and started dragging her.
Dark memories flooded Billie’s mind. Memories from that afternoon long ago when the railroad dick attacked her and Olive. She would not allow that to happen again. Like a wild animal, Billie turned and sunk her teeth into his cheek.
“Jesus!” he roared and dropped her.
Billie started running, giving it everything she had, chasing the freight. Come on, Billie, she thought. You’ve done this a hundred times, now faster. Her heart hammering, she flew alongside the train, knowing the bull was on her heels.
The hobos cheered her on. “Come on, doll face!” one of them hollered. “You can do it.” He leaned out to catch her hand. “Faster!” they shouted. “Don’t let the bastard win!”
With a sudden burst of speed, Billie reached the car, but when she grabbed the hobo’s hand, it slipped. They tried again, but the rain made their skin too slick.
Someone else leaned out of the boxcar. This hobo was huge with massive hands. He bent down and grabbed Billie by the forearm, lifting her inside.
She stumbled into the car, and they all cheered.
“So long, asshole!” one of them called to the railroad dick.
Panting, Billie pushed the wet hair from her eyes and looked up at the man who saved her. It was Luther.
Chapter 32
Once again, Luther was watching over Billie, and it did wonders for her peace of mind. His quiet strength had a calming effect on her and on Elise as well.
Billie and Luther slid over to a corner of the boxcar to talk. He wanted to know everything about her life since they had separated. She told him about the photojournalism, meeting Max, and everything about their tribulations in Germany. He listened and nodded, saying little, absorbing everything. But when Billie told him about seeing Felix and Olive, a smile lit up his face.
“That is good news,” he said. “I think about them all the time. Those were the best days of my life.”
The smile faded from Billie’s face. “But what about you? What happened, Luther?”
He shrugged. “We broke away from the cops. Felix ran one way. I ran the other. We never saw each other again. After that, I drifted from town to town looking for work.” He started rolling a cigarette. “Then I won big at cards, enough to get a room in a flophouse for a few months in Indiana. But, damn, I missed the road. I was back jumping freights before the money ran out.” He sighed and looked off. “There’s nothing like a view from the deck of a boxcar.”
Billie chuckled. “It’s in our blood.”
“So, this reporter,” Luther said, lighting his cigarette, “you gonna settle down and marry him?”
“Yes.”
“Good, that way I’ll be able to find you.”
“But how will I find you?”
“You won’t.”
Billie grabbed his wrist. “Don’t lose touch, Luther. You know, the three of you are all the family I’ve got.”
He nodded. “I know. Me too.”
After giving her address to him in the Kansas City rail yard, they said their goodbyes. Luther was traveling on to California. “After Hazel’s death, I never stop here anymore. Too many bad memories.”
“I understand,” Billie replied. “Goodbye, for now, Luther.”
“So long, Billie.”
It was difficult letting him go, but knowing he was alive and well helped.
Tired and dirty, Billie and Elise started into downtown Kansas City. They needed to find a phone booth. Billie had to get ahold of Mr. Canfield.
At last, he was at his desk. “Max is fine,” he said. “He’s mending nicely and giving me all kinds of trouble.”
“Yes, that means he’s better,” Billie replied with a smile. She almost asked where he was staying but then stopped herself. Someone could be listening.
“Is all well with you?” Canfield asked.
“Yes, we are fine. Is everything in place for us to continue?”
“Yes, the contact has been notified. I’ll tell him to meet you tomorrow morning at 8 am at the depot. We’ll let you know when it’s safe to return home.”
“Thank you, thank you for everything, Mr. Canfield.”
“I want my best photojournalist back in one piece. Understand?”
“I understand. Goodbye.”
Billie hung up, clutched her chest, and sighed.
After a good meal, they rented a hotel room, bathed, and got a good night’s sleep. The next morning, at the railroad depot, Billie had a déjàs vu moment. Rufus Noonan was sitting outside in his 1929 Model A Ford, chewing gum and grinning, just like he’d never left. His nose even looked like it had been broken again. He drove them to a remote location on the prairie, stopping at phone booths every few minutes to make book, as usual. They were going to stay with his elderly mother.
The house was nothing more than a dusty, three-room shack with a pump at the kitchen sink and an outhouse out back. His mother was a kind woman, tiny and wiry, just like her son.
After a week, the article about Zweig hit the stands, and major newspapers across the country picked it up.
“Your friend Rothman’s kind of a bigshot now. His article is everywhere,” Rufus said, throwing a stack of newspapers on the kitchen table. He had just returned from town. He added, snapping his gum, “This drug company is in big trouble, and folks sure don’t like hearing about what’s going on back in your homeland, Miss Elise.”
She nodded. “Good.”
“Canfield said you can go back to New York now.”
Elise cheered, and Billie dropped back in her chair with a sigh. “Thank God!”
That evening, they took the night train to New York, but when they stepped off in Grand Central Station, Billie was disappointed. She thought Max would be there. “Let’s hail a cab,” she said to Elise with a frown.
Suddenly, Max jumped out from behind a luggage cart and grabbed her. Billie screamed with delight. He pulled her into a kiss and said, “My God, I’ve missed you, Bassett.”
“I’ve misse
d you too,” she said. Stepping away, she ran her eyes over him. “How are you? Have you mended?”
“Almost back to normal.”
Chattering and laughing, they took Elise and the baby to Bubbe’s apartment. Everyone was elated. Elise and Frankie would stay there until Elise got on her feet. Bubbe was overjoyed.
Billie did not return to work immediately. She needed to regain her strength. Max’s injuries steadily improved, and when he was back to normal, they accepted a short assignment outside of Baltimore. It was an easy job, which suited them. It was a good way to ease back into work.
The minute the job was complete, they headed to the train depot. Sliding into the taxi, Max asked, “Well, Bassett, is it time to get married?”
“Yes! Where should we go?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care. Just so we do it right now.”
“What? This minute?”
“Yes, let’s go somewhere right now and get married.”
“Are you insane?”
“Why not?” he replied, blowing smoke out the window.
“For one thing, we don’t have any money.”
“Canfield could wire it to us.”
“What about clothes?”
“We’ll buy them.” Throwing out his cigarette, he pulled her under his arm. “I can’t wait a moment longer.”
Billie shook her head. “Max Rothman, you are the limit.”
“So, the answer is yes?”
“On one condition. I orchestrate the first part of our journey.”
The taxi pulled up to the depot.
“All right.”
“Promise?” she said, holding up her little finger.
Max hooked it and said, “Promise.”
They paid and slid out of the cab. As Max started up the steps of the depot, Billie caught his hand. “No, this way,” she said, and they headed toward the rail yard.
“Oh, no! Oh, no, we aren’t,” Max exclaimed.
“But it’s perfect!” Billie replied, laughing. “Riding the rails is what you do when you have no clothes or money.”
“Very funny,” Max said, shaking his head. “But we have both, courtesy of Western Union. And come on, for a wedding?”
“No, before we get married. It’s just for the first part of the trip,” she pleaded. “After that, we’ll live it up. I promise. This is my last chance. Once I have this baby, I’ll never be able to ride the rails again.”
The smile dropped from his face. “What? Billie, are you kidding?”
“No, I’m not kidding.”
Max scooped her into his arms, kissing her. “You don’t know how happy this makes me.”
“I think I do.”
“A baby! Can you imagine how smart and adventurous our kid will be? And to say nothing of good looks.” Max stepped back abruptly. “All right, damn it!” he said, whipping off his suit coat and rolling up his sleeves. “Anything for the mother of my children!”
“That’s the spirit,” Billie said. “We’ll start off riding up top.”
The blood drained from his face. “Now, wait a minute, Bassett.”
Billie laughed. “That time, I was kidding.”
She took his hand, and they walked toward the tracks.
Author’s Note
Writing the Bold Women Series is an intensely personal experience. I grow close to my characters as they whisper their stories to me, but this book has been personal to me on a different level. Many of the scenes of grinding poverty, hopelessness, and desperation during The Great Depression are taken from the memories of my parents and their siblings. My uncle rode the rails across the country looking for work and living in jungles during this time. Eventually, he found employment with the railroad, where he worked for the rest of his life, but my father rode the rails during the 1930s for a different reason. He used the freights to travel between Minnesota and Wisconsin. Many could not afford to ride as passengers, so they took to the rails instead. It was enthralling listening to his stories about encounters with the notorious railroad dicks, many of which I included in the story. I asked him if they ever chased him across the tops of the trains, and he said yes. But now, as an adult, I think he may have been telling me what I wanted to hear. Nevertheless, it sparked my imagination. There is a brief scene in The Image Seeker where a young man rides with Billie and Dot. He is on his way home to see his mother. This was my father.
My mother’s memories were different. A teenage girl at the time, she and her six sisters experienced extreme hunger during The Great Depression. They moved from town to town as their father looked for work, seldom staying in one place for more than a few years. She recalled eating nothing but potatoes one entire winter. She told me that everyone was on “relief” from the government, but no one would admit it. They were all too proud or too ashamed.
These stories are not unusual. Each of you probably have memories from your own families, possibly much more dramatic. My family members didn’t think they suffered, and indeed there were many who suffered much more, but that spirit of unassuming strength and fortitude is what I wanted to capture in this book. Americans seldom congratulated themselves on their endurance. They did what they had to do to survive.
Without a doubt, there was one group of Americans who suffered in the extreme. These were the Native Americans. During my research, I learned that, in disproportionate numbers, they took to the rails. Unemployment hit them first, as well as hunger. So many novels are written about the American Indians during the 19th Century while they were living “the old ways”, but their challenges and contributions are completely overlooked in the 20th Century. I wanted to shed light on their heroic and largely unrecognized roles as code talkers during both World Wars, as well as fearless and highly skilled overhead steelworkers erecting New York City. Thirty years ago, I visited the Mille Lacs Indian Museum in Onamia, Minnesota, where I learned these facts and was inspired. I want to thank them again for helping me with my research on this book. They permitted me access to their private library, where I gathered a multitude of facts, and the staff graciously allowed me to “pick their brains.”
Anyone who has read any of my novels knows that I write about people living on the fringes of society in lesser-known periods of history. I believe the 1936 Summer Olympics in Berlin is yet another example of neglected history. Since childhood, I have watched newsreels of Jesse Owens winning the Gold and heard stories about Hitler’s negative reaction but little else. Yet, upon deeper examination, I learned that the Nazis with their grand pageantry were the first to set the stage for the pomp we experience today during the Modern Olympic Games. Every host since 1936 has tried to top their exceptional organization and showmanship. It was the first time in history that the eternal flame had been carried all the way from Greece, and we have been doing it in some form ever since. It is an unfortunate fact that many of those courageous Olympic athletes who attended the competition died in the war soon to follow.
I hope all of you enjoyed The Image Seeker and thank you for reading it.
Yours,
Amanda Hughes
Click here for the free novelette, The Shadow Patriots
About the Author
All her life Amanda Hughes has been a “Walter Mitty”, spending more time in heroic daydreams than the real world. At last, she found an outlet writing adventures about audacious women through the centuries. All of her novels are stand-alone works.
Bold Women of the 17th Century Series:
Book 1 The Firefly Witch
Bold Women of the 18th Century Series:
Book 1 Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry
Book 2 The Pride of the King
Book 3 The Sword of the Banshee
Bold Women of the 19th Century Series:
Book 1 The Grand Masquerade
Book 2 Vagabond Wind
Book 3 The House of Five Fortunes
Bold Women of the 20th Century:
Book 1 The Looking Glass Goddess
Click to receive the fre
e novelette, The Shadow Patriots
Please visit Amanda at www.amandahughesauthor.com
Excerpt from The Looking Glass Goddess—Bold Women of the 20th Century Book 1
Chapter 1
Excerpt from an article in the Minneapolis Sentinel, August 19th, 1910:
Prominent Citizen Stabs Daughter
At 11:23 pm last evening, police were called to the residence of the late Arthur H. Durant, at 720 Grove Avenue, Minneapolis. Authorities searched the home and found his widow, Mrs. Lillian Durant in a third-story room clutching a pair of scissors. She offered no resistance when taken into custody. Moments later, her ten-year-old daughter, Elizabeth Durant was discovered hiding in the attic. The girl was taken to St. Mary’s Catholic Hospital in Minneapolis, treated and released to the care of her grandmother. This is Mrs. Durant’s second attack upon her daughter in the past year.
* * *
Minneapolis, MN.
1917
“Welcome back to the lie-factory,” Libby muttered as she stepped out of the cab in front of her home at 720 Grove Avenue. Dressed in a suit from the House of Paquin with a pleated hobble skirt and hat cocked smartly on her head, Elizabeth Durant gave the impression of being much older than her seventeen years. Her light brown hair was bobbed, and she was holding a clutch of fine leather.
“Leave the grip by the back door,” she said to the driver.
“Which one is yours?”
“The tag that says, Elizabeth Durant. The other belongs to my sister, Jennifer. Drop that at St. Mary’s Hospital please.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied and took her valise to the service entrance, setting it outside the door.
“Thank you,” she murmured, handing him the fare.
He drove off.
Libby turned and looked up at the house. She had been away at boarding school for seven years, and little had changed. She ran her eyes over the massive structure. “Ugly beast,” she said.
The Image Seeker Page 33
