Riding the Rails

by Amelia C. Adams

“I really couldn’t say.” Heston’s brain was churning, and all he wanted was to get some sleep so he could face Mercy in the morning and figure out what to do with her. “May I take you somewhere?”

  “No, I can get back on my own. Going is much easier than coming, I must say.” She sounded entirely dejected, and Heston wished he had something more positive to say to her. But he didn’t even know her, and this might even be an elaborate ruse cooked up between the two women to con Heston out of the cost of a train ticket.

  “In the meantime, take this,” Mrs. Maine said. She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small pouch. “It should be enough for Mercy’s train ticket. You and I will speak again in the morning and see what else can be done to help her, all right?”

  He stared at the pouch in his hand. He’d just hit upon the theory that Mrs. Maine was trying to get money out of him, and yet she’d just proven him wrong very tangibly. So, why was she really here?

  He opened his mouth to ask, but she was gone. She had simply vanished, and was no longer sitting next to him on the wagon seat. How was that even possible? They hadn’t been going fast, but even if they’d been completely motionless, she wouldn’t have been able to clamber down without some assistance or at least a few minutes to manage it. Getting into the wagon had been difficult enough for her.

  Squeezing the pouch tightly in one hand, he guided the wagon toward home, feeling as though he’d somehow left the normal world and stepped into the middle of a child’s storybook. Things like this simply didn’t happen in real life, and the sooner he got some sleep and faced it with a fresh mind, the better off he’d be.

  ***

  It was late, so very late, but Mrs. Olson and her housekeeper, Patty, didn’t seem to mind preparing a bath for Mercy. Nor did they mind bringing out a wide variety of soaps and shampoos and lotions for her to try. She scrubbed and rinsed, then scrubbed again, so grateful to get the layers of travel grime off her skin. She imagined that she’d even begun to smell like cow manure—or maybe that wasn’t her imagination. Either way, when she finally emerged from the water and put on the fresh nightgown Mrs. Olson was lending her, she was clean down to her toes, and she felt like a young lady and not a boy in an overcoat and cap.

  “Here you are,” Patty said, pressing a warm mug of broth into her hands. “Now get yourself up to bed. I’ll have a hot breakfast waiting for you when you wake up, and some for Mr. Granger, too, unless I miss my guess.”

  “Mr. Granger?” Mercy asked.

  “That’s right—Heston. Heston Granger.”

  “Oh. He just introduced himself as Heston.”

  “He must have been wanting to put you at ease.” Patty gave her a nod. “Go on now. You’re safe and warm, and we’ll keep you that way. You relax and let yourself dream.”

  “What should I dream about?” Mercy asked. “Do you have any recommendations?”

  “How about, beautiful days ahead with blue skies and billowing clouds. There’s no reason to fester your mind about anything else.”

  Mercy climbed the stairs and found the room assigned to her. She had no idea where her clothes had gone or what she was supposed to wear when she got up the next morning, but Patty was right—there was no reason to fester her mind about things like that. A real bed was waiting for her—a real mattress with real sheets and real blankets, and the softest-looking pillow she’d ever seen. Heston had been generous in offering his little cot, but this was so far beyond that, she almost felt guilty for accepting it.

  She finished her broth, set the mug on the dresser, and then folded back the blanket. The sheets were just as fresh and crisp as they’d looked, and as she slid between them, she couldn’t help but sigh with utter contentment. Had she ever slept in such a lovely bed? She didn’t think she had. Even when things were going better than usual in California, she’d never had nice sheets or a fluffy pillow. She’d made do with what they had, and she’d been grateful to have it because she knew so many others who didn’t even have that much.

  Her father had been a dreamer, and her mother . . . well, her mother had been a dreamer too, but they’d dreamed about different things. He wanted to strike it rich and be the envy of every man in California with a giant house and a dozen carriages and a couple of servants, perhaps a gold ring for every finger. His wife just wanted to be with him, no matter what he was doing or what foolish idea he was chasing. So she cooked and cleaned and mended and did everything she could to put food on the table because it was never known if he was going to bring any home that day.

  And once he started drinking, that income became even more unpredictable.

  Mercy well remembered the day his little secret was revealed. Her mother had managed to get a ham bone from the butcher, and she’d asked Mercy to meet her father on his way home from the mine and hurry him along so they could eat together. She’d walked all the way to the entrance of the mine without seeing him, and when she asked one of the men where she might find him, he directed her to the saloon. She’d gone there thinking to prove that man wrong—her father would never spend time in a place like that. But she stood in the doorway, watching him guzzle a drink and then asking the bartender for another and another, and she realized that he was well and truly not the man she’d believed him to be.

  She ran all the way back home without speaking to him, and when her mother asked where he was, Mercy replied that she hadn’t been able to find him. Her stomach was so twisted in knots, she couldn’t even eat the meal her mother had been so proud to provide, and she went to bed early. She’d hoped to be asleep before her father came in, but she hadn’t drifted off quite yet, and she listened while he told her mother a string of lies about where he’d been and why he hadn’t brought home any pay. Mercy knew the truth—his pay had gone into the cash box behind the bar.

  Mercy passed a hand across her face. Why was she reliving all this now? She wasn’t that scared little girl anymore. She wasn’t even the dirty young woman she’d been an hour before. She was washed head to toe, wearing a soft nightgown, lying in a warm bed, and being treated better than she had any right to be treated. The next day, she’d figure out her next step, but first, she was going to allow herself to sink into the oblivion of sleep, her hair smelling like lavender and her skin smelling like roses. She could imagine herself to be a princess or a duchess or at the very least, a lady of means, and those were very nice things to imagine while drifting off to sleep on a fluffy white cloud.

  When she woke up the next morning, rays of light touching the windowsill with golden fingers, she lay there for a moment, believing she must have died and this was heaven. Nowhere on earth could be this clean and white. As she woke up more fully, she remembered where she was, and she sat up, wondering what time it was and if she’d embarrassed herself by sleeping in too late.

  She heard a soft rap at the door. Oh, no. She’d slept so long, they’d had to come get her. “Come in.”

  Mrs. Olson poked her head into the room. “I hope I didn’t wake you—I know it’s frightfully early, but Mr. Granger will be here soon for breakfast.”

  “I just woke up and was trying to figure out what time it is, actually. I don’t want to be a slugabed all day.”

  Mrs. Olson laughed. “You ought to get whatever rest you can—in fact, you might consider a nap after breakfast. I don’t think you’ve gotten much sleep as of late, have you?”

  “Not good sleep, no.”

  “Consider this your chance to catch up.” Mrs. Olson pushed the door open the rest of the way and came in. She carried a dress over one arm, which she held up for Mercy to inspect. “I hope this is all right. It’s a relic from my younger years, something I should have given away long ago but just couldn’t.”

  Mercy couldn’t believe she was being offered such a lovely thing. It was pale blue, the fabric so light and delicate, it looked like a spider’s web. “It’s beautiful,” she managed to choke out around the emotion that had risen in her chest. She had always wanted to own something like this, bu
t girls like her didn’t have such miracles happen to them.

  “I have two more dresses like it, plus plenty of underthings. If they fit, they’re all yours.”

  Mercy’s gaze flew to Mrs. Olson’s. “Are you sure? This . . . this is so generous, and you don’t even know me.”

  Mrs. Olson smiled kindly. “I know enough. I’ll go fetch the other things so you can get dressed. Patty nearly has breakfast ready—I’m sure you’re hungry.”

  “Yes, I am. Oh, thank you, Mrs. Olson. I can’t even tell you . . .” Mercy swallowed. “This means so much to me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  When Mrs. Olson returned, she brought with her not only the other clothes, but a bag to carry everything in, and a hairbrush as well. “I learned early on that running a boarding house means having a selection of things on hand that my guests might have forgotten,” she said. “Yours to keep. Quickly now—Mr. Granger will be here any minute.”

  Mercy dressed as quickly as she could, but she kept pausing to admire the tiny buttons on the chemise and the delicate ribbons on the drawers. Who would have imagined that underclothes could be so beautiful? It would never occur to her that they might be anything but plain white muslin, but she’d never lived in a world that wasn’t governed every minute by absolute necessity.

  Once dressed, she brushed through her hair and tied it back using a ribbon she’d found tucked in with the clothing. Her reflection looked absolutely nothing like the Mercy Davis she’d known for nineteen years—if she passed herself on the street, she might even mistake herself for a lady. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she found that she couldn’t move. She just stared. Could . . . could she actually be pretty?

  “Oh, there she is,” Patty said, speaking from the doorway. “Look at you, as fresh as the morning rain. You look lovely, Miss Davis.”

  Mercy tore her eyes from the mirror and turned around. “Thank you, Patty. I can hardly believe how kind you’ve all been to me.”

  “There’s a secret to it, you know,” Patty said, tucking her arm through Mercy’s as they walked toward the stairs. “We’ve all had trouble in our lives, so we all know what it feels like when we see it in another soul. When I came here from Jamaica, I didn’t have a thing—not one thing. But kind folks took me in, and now I’m happier than I’ve ever been, and I can share my blessings with those who cross my path. Someday, you’ll do the same for someone else.”

  “I’d be honored,” Mercy replied, giving Patty’s arm a little squeeze. “And I’ll be thinking of you and Mrs. Olson when I do it.”

  They descended the stairs and had just reached the main floor when a knock sounded, and Patty opened it to welcome Heston inside. He pulled his hat from his head as he entered, and his eyes lit up when he saw Mercy.

  “Good morning,” he said, admiration all over his face. She almost felt embarrassed at his scrutiny, but then she decided to enjoy it. He wasn’t staring in a way that made her uncomfortable—she knew that feeling all too well. He was appreciating the same things she’d noticed in herself just moments before.

  “Good morning,” she replied. “Patty and Mrs. Olson have been so kind to me. Thank you for bringing me here.”

  “You’re welcome, although it sounds like all the credit goes to them. I was just thinking of a safe place for you to sleep—I didn’t expect all this.” He motioned toward her, and she smiled.

  “I didn’t expect it either, but I’m sure grateful for it. I understand breakfast is almost ready. Are you hungry?”

  “Sure am.”

  They followed Patty into the kitchen, where the table was already set with bread and a variety of jam. “The bacon’s almost done,” Patty said after poking it with a fork. “Sit yourselves down anywhere.”

  Heston held Mercy’s chair for her as she sat, and once again, tears sprang to her eyes. No one had ever done that for her before. Not in her whole life. And she knew it wasn’t just the dress—he would have done that even if she’d still been wearing her trousers. It was the kind of man he was. Not only handsome, but considerate clear down to his core.

  It made a little ache in the middle of her chest. He was the first real gentleman she’d ever met, and they’d be parting ways soon. It was such a shame.

  Mrs. Olson bustled into the room carrying a handful of fresh wildflowers, which she tucked into the vase in the center of the table. Then she paused, smiling at Mercy. “You look lovely, my dear. I’m so glad those things fit you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Olson. I feel like an entirely different person.”

  “Oh, you’re still the same person. The fundamentals of a soul don’t change with what a person wears. Do they, Mr. Granger?”

  Heston blinked. “I’m sorry—I was distracted. What did you ask, Mrs. Olson?”

  She laughed merrily. “I believe my point has been proved. Let’s eat, shall we?”

  Breakfast was delicious, and Mercy was afraid that she’d eaten far more than her allotted share. But the dishes kept refilling themselves as though by magic, and she didn’t feel judged for taking additional helpings.

  Once she was finally full, Heston cleared his throat. “I was up all night thinking about your situation.”

  “You were?” It was unfortunate that he’d had a hard time sleeping when she had slept so very well. She didn’t like knowing that he’d been uncomfortable because of her. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t apologize.” He looked down at the table, then back up at her. “I still don’t feel that Denver is the right place for a young woman on her own, but if you’re that determined to go . . .” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag. “Here’s enough money for your train ticket. It’s not from me,” he rushed on when she began to protest. “It was given to me . . . by a friend . . . on your behalf.”

  “A friend? What friend? And how did they know I need train fare?” What on earth was he talking about?

  “I can’t explain it. Just . . . trust me.”

  She reached out and fingered the cord cinching the pouch closed. “A train ticket,” she whispered. “Why are you all being so kind to me? I haven’t done a single thing to deserve it. In fact, I should be in jail right now.”

  Patty dropped a pan on the stove, and it clattered. “Jail? Young lady, what are you talking about?”

  Mercy felt her face grow hot. She’d forgotten that Heston hadn’t told the ladies running the boarding house about her unusual circumstances. Now she felt like she’d taken all their gifts under false pretenses. “I stowed away on a cattle car to get here,” she said, not looking up. “Heston found me. He had every right to turn me in, but he didn’t.”

  “Oh, gracious. Don’t scare me like that. For a minute there, I thought maybe you’d killed somebody. I can handle a stowaway, but I have to draw the line at murderers. I’m sure you understand.” Patty went back to her stove, and Mercy blinked.

  “I’ve had another idea, though,” Heston went on as though Patty hadn’t just said something very odd. “I’d like to go with you and make sure you arrive safely. I haven’t taken any time off work for a while, and I think Mr. Medina would be fine with it.”

  Mercy felt a little flutter in her stomach. Heston wanted to come with her? She studied him, noticing the smile lines cut into his deep tan and the faint little bits of stubble where he missed while shaving. That made him all the more endearing, and she swallowed. She shouldn’t be noticing things like that and finding them endearing. He wasn’t hers—he was barely even on loan. She had her own path to follow, her own destiny to discover, and he lived here, with both feet solidly rooted. It was silly for her to imagine that their paths were meant to converge.

  Especially silly considering that she hadn’t even known his last name until she’d heard someone else use it. She didn’t know enough about this man to be thinking about things like destiny and paths.

  She looked up and realized he was waiting for her to respond.

  “I don’t know if I could ask you to make a sacrifice like
that,” she said. “Time off work, not to mention the cost of your train fare—it doesn’t seem right to me. You’re under no obligation to me.”

  “I disagree,” he replied. “I found you on that cattle car—I think that very much obligates me. And besides, as an employee of the railroad, I ride free.”

  “But that’s backwards. I should be paying you back in some way, not accepting continued help from you.”

  He shrugged. “Does it really matter? You want to go to Denver, and I want to escort you there. We could sit and discuss it endlessly, or we could just make plans and do it. What do you think?”

  She pulled in a deep breath, realizing that she wasn’t going to win this argument. “All right, let’s make plans and do it.”

  He grinned. “That sounds much more reasonable to me. How much time do you need to get ready?”

  She lifted both hands. “I’m ready now. I think you’re the one who needs to make arrangements.”

  “I’ll head into work and talk to Mr. Medina when I get there. It might be a day or two before I can get away. Are you comfortable here?”

  “I’m in heaven, actually. Patty and Mrs. Olson have treated me like royalty.”

  “Good.” Heston pushed back his chair and stood up. “I’d better be on my way or I’ll be late. I’ll stop by later and tell you what I was able to arrange, all right?”

  “All right.”

  He wished each of the ladies a good morning and let himself out. A moment later, Mercy heard the clip-clop of his horse’s hooves receding in the distance, and she found that she was already lonely.

  “So, you stowed away on a cattle car.” Mrs. Olson’s voice sounded as though she thought it was funny.

  “Yes, I did. It wasn’t my first choice, but it was the only open door.”

  Mrs. Olson sat down next to Mercy and put a hand on her shoulder. “We all do what we must, my dear. That was clearly the action of someone in need, and none of us have any right to judge you for it. Mr. Granger was right not to turn you in, although I’m sure it must have worried him greatly. Mr. Medina depends on him, and he doesn’t take that lightly.”