Riding the Rails

by Amelia C. Adams

  She opened the door to Mrs. Olson’s house looking like a ray of sunshine peeking over the hills. Her yellow dress was accented with pink flowers, creating that peachy glow that so often accompanied the arrival of morning. Once again, she’d taken his breath away, and she’d done it so easily.

  “Patty says to come in and eat,” she said, holding the door wide.

  “Just a quick bite or we’ll miss the train.” He stepped inside after wiping his feet and followed her into the kitchen. He’d spent more awake time here than he had at his cabin, it seemed.

  “And there he is, ready to escort our young lady to her happily ever after,” Mrs. Olson greeted him. “You’d better get a good breakfast inside you—I’m not sure what they offer for food along the way to Denver.”

  “I’m packing you a basket, too,” Patty said from where she stood at the counter. “We made more tarts especially for this trip.”

  “See? I told you they’ve taken wonderful care of me.” Mercy grinned. “I’ve stopped trying to add it all up in my head so I can pay them back someday. Instead, I’m just basking in their kindness and resolving to be just like them when my circumstances allow it.”

  “And that’s exactly how it should be.” Mrs. Olson passed a plate of bacon to Heston, who took three slices. Everything smelled wonderful, but he was worried about the time. If the train arrived early, he knew the conductor would hold it because he wouldn’t want to be too far off schedule, but he wouldn’t hold the train for late passengers. Things just didn’t work that way in the railroad world.

  “My bag is by the door, and all I have left to do is grab it,” Mercy told him. “I’ll be ready as soon as you’ve finished your food—I don’t think Patty will let you out the door until your plate is clean.”

  Heston believed she was right. He ate quickly and downed his coffee, then rose. “I’m sorry to rush off like this, but the train schedule . . .”

  “We understand,” Mrs. Olson said. “You’ll be glad to hear that we’ve already said our long, blubbery goodbyes, so that’s out of the way too.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Heston replied. “Shall we go?”

  “Yes, let’s.” Mercy turned to Mrs. Olson and Patty. “I’ll write. I promise.”

  “You’d better.” Patty reached around Mercy and handed Heston a large basket. “You don’t have to return that if something dreadful happens, but if all’s right with the world, you might see about bringing that back to me.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he promised, although he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with a big picnic basket for seven days. That seemed an odd thing to be given charge of.

  He grabbed Mercy’s bag as well and put everything in the wagon, then gave her a boost up. “Did you bring your overcoat along?” he asked.

  “No. In fact, I’m told Patty burned it the first night. I was a little shocked to hear it, but it was the right choice.”

  “Where did you get it, anyway?”

  “It was my father’s. It’s the only useful thing he left for me.” She paused. “He drank too much and gave himself liver disease. He wasn’t a kind man, not for years before his death. It seemed the closer he got to meeting his Maker, the meaner he got.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Heston flicked the reins, trying to think of something compassionate to say. He couldn’t relate to what she was saying because he’d never experienced it, but he did feel bad that she’d had to endure it herself.

  They reached the train station and handed off the wagon to Busby, another of the workers. Heston collected his voucher from Mr. Medina, and then Mercy bought her ticket.

  “I’ve never done that before,” she whispered as she walked toward the edge of the platform with Heston. She clutched the little square of paper tightly. “This all seems so unreal, like it’s happening to a book character and not to me.”

  “I hope your story has a very happy ending,” he replied. “Do . . . do you think Denver’s the only place where you could find that?” Was he being foolish by pressing the issue?

  She opened her mouth to respond, but just then, the train whistle sounded, and she craned her neck to see around the bend. “Here it comes,” she said, bouncing up and down a little bit. He grinned—she looked so much like a little girl when she did that, full of light and joy. “Thank you, Heston. Thank you for making all of this possible. I can’t even tell you . . .” She looked away, and then back, her eyes now filled with unshed tears. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

  He swallowed hard, fighting emotion as well. “You’re welcome.”

  “Oh, you were asking me something just now, but I got distracted by the train. What was it you wanted to know?”

  It would be so easy for him to repeat himself, and then they’d get everything out in the air and he’d know once and for all where she stood. But try as he might, he couldn’t form the words. “Nothing important,” he said at last.

  The train slowed its speed and pulled into the station, the long hiss of steam coming from the stack sounding like a giant rattlesnake. Busby immediately flew into action, opening the door to the baggage car and removing bags for those who were staying on, and then turning to collect the bags for those who were leaving.

  As he placed Mercy’s bag next to Heston’s, she clasped her hands together under her chin. “I’m really a passenger,” she said.

  “Yes, you are.” Heston chuckled. “Better be careful—this new way of riding on a train might become your new fascination in life. You might never want to sit still after this.”

  “I’m sure I’ll find it quite fascinating. I won’t be terrified every minute of being found out.”

  When the conductor waved them aboard, they climbed onto the train and found their seats. Heston was amused and also frustrated to look out the window and see that the cows were still there, although they’d been moved down the fence line a few hundred yards, most likely to get access to fresh grass. He couldn’t worry about it, though. He’d leave it to Mr. Medina.

  Conversation was difficult once the train started rolling down the track, but Heston found that if he sat very close to Mercy and spoke in her ear, she could hear him just fine. And he also found that he didn’t mind sitting so close to her. She smelled of lavender and roses, but this morning, something else as well—honeysuckle, maybe. It was a springtime scent to match her beautiful dress and her new outlook on life. How very different from the scared girl hiding away in her father’s overcoat.

  Mercy dozed off after a little while, her head resting on Heston’s shoulder. He wondered if he should nudge her to lean to the other side, but then he decided it didn’t matter. No one was watching, and no one would care. Mrs. Maine was right—he would protect her, and he would be a gentleman. Let her sleep on his shoulder, if that’s where she was the most comfortable.

  By the time the train pulled into the first station to replenish its water, both Heston and Mercy were more than ready to stand up and walk around. The conductor said they’d pull out again in fifteen minutes, so they went ahead and stepped off the train, stretching their backs and rolling their necks from side to side.

  “Thank you for that nap,” Mercy said. “I’m sorry for taking over your shoulder, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open for anything.”

  “That’s all right. My shoulder didn’t have any better plans for this morning.”

  They walked up and down the length of the platform a few times, then paused to look at some unusual flowers growing nearby. “I can see why you fell in love with Colorado,” Mercy said, straightening and gazing out at the mountains. “There’s so much rugged beauty here, wild and untamed.”

  “At the rate people are coming west, I fear it will be tamed all too soon,” Heston replied. “Take Creede, for instance—a humble mining town in a valley no one even knew existed, and now we have new people pouring in to establish their businesses. It was Reverend Bing’s fault for getting it started, but now the growth has taken on a life of its own.”


  “Reverend Bing’s fault? What do you mean?”

  “He advertised in the newspaper for some good people to come this way and enrich the town, and ever since then, we’ve had . . . oh, I don’t even know how to count them all. He blessed the town by doing what he did, but sometimes I wonder if there’s such a thing as too many blessings.”

  “I want to live in a big city. That’s why I’m going to Denver,” Mercy replied. “I wouldn’t want to be stuck in a place that didn’t hold any room for growth.”

  “I’m not against growth,” Heston clarified. “I was just surprised by it happening so fast.”

  She looked at him curiously. “You’ve hinted around about why you don’t like Denver, but you’ve never said it flat-out. Are you going to keep me guessing forever?”

  Heston stuck his thumbs through his belt loops and rocked back on his heels. That was a tough decision. “When I passed through on my way here, I spent a few days seeing the sights and getting my feet under me. I was trying to decide if I wanted to stay there or if I’d keep coming west. I figured I’d know where I should hang my hat when I saw it. I saw the sights, all right, including a fair number of brothels and gambling houses, drunkards. There’s a part of Denver called Chinatown, where men and women become addicted to opium. I decided I wanted something better for my life, so I got on another train and found Creede.”

  Mercy raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me none of those things exist in Creede? There’s no gambling, no prostitution, no drinking?”

  “Of course they exist, but it’s not quite the same. It’s less visible.”

  “They keep everything tucked away behind closed doors? You don’t have any saloons, for instance?”

  “No, we have saloons. It’s just . . .” Heston kicked at a clump of grass. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

  Mercy tucked her arm through his. “I don’t want you to say anything in particular—I’m just trying to understand. You didn’t want to live in a place with obvious evil, so you moved to a place with hidden evil. Isn’t it still evil regardless?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  She squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to start an argument. It’s just . . . Well, let me explain something about where I come from, all right?”

  “All right.”

  She let go of his arm and bent down to pick one of the small flowers growing near her feet. “I mentioned that my grandfather went to California during the Gold Rush and that gold fever basically ran in my family’s blood, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Something happens to people when the gold starts to dry up before they’ve gotten what they feel is their fair share. They become desperate. They hang on to that one last glimmer of hope, praying that they’ll hit the motherlode and all their dreams will come true. They get so caught up in it that they don’t realize everything they’re sacrificing, often their own families. They live in shacks. Their wives turn to prostitution because there’s no other way to feed the children. My mother never did, but she had plenty of offers, and later, so did I. It’s a horrible life, Heston—an aching need for something they might never get, but they can’t stop wanting.”

  She crushed the flower in her hand and turned away from him. “You talk about being able to see the evil versus not seeing it—there really is no difference. It’s there whether you can see it or not, and for someone like me, you do see it because you know what it looks like. The point is to find hope in something besides the gold. Many of the families out where I lived decided to leave California and find jobs doing something else. They recognized that they needed to create their own futures rather than waiting for the gold to fall into their hands. They were the lucky ones, not those who kept chipping away for years on end. Yes, plenty of gold has been found in California, but at what cost?”

  Heston nodded, even though she was still turned away and couldn’t see him. “You’re looking for a future you can create for yourself, not one that’s dependent on someone else.”

  “Yes. That’s been my goal for as long as I can remember.”

  “What if you get a job, but then you lose it? Doesn’t your employer control your future?”

  “He controls what happens to me that day, but not what happens to me forever. There’s a difference, you see.”

  The train whistle sounded, indicating that it would be leaving the station in five minutes, and Mercy let out a shaky laugh. “My goodness, that was quite the serious conversation we just had. I’m not sure we resolved anything, though.”

  “No, but I’m glad we had it just the same.” Heston reached out and took her hand, the one that still held the crushed flower. “The more I hear about your life, the more amazed I am at your resilience. I don’t think I would have had your kind of strength.”

  She seemed embarrassed and yet pleased. “Yes, you would have. You’d summon up what you needed in order to survive, just like I did. That’s the beauty of the human species, really—we learn what we must in order to stay alive. It’s part of our adaptability, and why we’re superior to things like doorknobs.”

  “Doorknobs?”

  “Yes. Don’t you agree that we’re quite superior to them?”

  “Of course, but that hardly seems like a fair comparison.”

  They climbed aboard the train and found their seats again. “What would you consider a fair comparison?” she asked.

  He thought about it for a moment. “Chimpanzees, I believe.”

  “Oh, I don’t like that. Chimpanzees against doorknobs? Now you’re just being silly.”

  They laughed together, and a moment later, they fell into a companionable silence. Heston’s mind kept replaying their conversation on the platform. It hadn’t gone at all how he’d expected. Her viewpoints were so different, her experiences so unique, that he felt adrift when it came to understanding her like he wanted to. At the same time, he felt like he did understand her, as though their souls were connecting, as he’d thought earlier.

  His soul liked being connected to hers.

  Chapter Six

  Heston and Mercy ate the lunch Patty had packed for them, then settled in for the next leg of their journey. She laid her head on his shoulder again, and after a moment, he wrapped his fingers around hers. She gave a little sigh and snuggled in. How could he let her go? But how could he convince her to stay?

  The evening light was casting shadows across the car, and at first, Heston thought he was imagining something when he looked ahead and saw Mrs. Maine standing next to the last row of seats, gesturing to him frantically. He blinked a couple of times to make sure it was her, and then he gave Mercy’s hand a squeeze.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said, easing his shoulder from beneath her head.

  She nodded, but didn’t open her eyes.

  Heston made his way down the length of the car, holding on to each seat he passed for balance, then stepped out onto the small platform at the back of the train. Mrs. Maine joined him instantly.

  “It’s my fault, and I’m so sorry,” she said. Curious—he was somehow able to hear her over the rushing wind created by the train’s movement. It must have been one of her angelic gifts.

  “What’s your fault, Mrs. Maine?”

  “The cows! Oh, Mr. Granger, the cows. They’re all my fault.” She looked as though she was about ready to cry.

  “All right—just how are the cows your fault?”

  “Well, you see, Mr. Yoder had placed an order for a dozen cows, and they were all set to go, but the cows the seller had chosen for him were sort of sickly, and my friend—she’s an angel too—she didn’t know what to do. The seller had another order for cows, but just ten, and they were going to another place. Well, Mr. Yoder’s had a terrible year, and we thought that if he were to get some extra-nice cows, maybe things would turn out better for him—he could sell more milk or something. So I switched the order sheets.” She winced and closed her eyes, like she was expecting Heston to yell at her.<
br />
  “You switched the order sheets?”

  “That’s right. I sent the nice cows to Mr. Yoder and the other cows to the other location. They didn’t matter as much—they were for some big business or another. Mr. Yoder’s situation was special, you see, because his wife died in January, and he deserved some special cows.”

  Heston pressed a hand to his forehead. “I understand that you wanted Mr. Yoder to have good cows, but why are they now stranded at the train station in Creede?”

  “Because when I switched the order forms, I had to change the names and so forth, and I wrote ‘Creede’ on the ticket when I should have written ‘Denver.’ I had Creede on my mind, you see, because . . .”

  “Because?”

  “Well, because I was hoping you and Mercy would meet up. I was playing matchmaker, and that’s not really my job. I was supposed to protect her, not find her a husband. But I overstepped my boundaries, and I was thinking about Creede, and I wrote it on the ticket, and so that’s where the cows got unloaded, and that’s when you found her, and I should have written Denver on the ticket the whole time.”

  She’d spoken so quickly, he almost didn’t catch everything she’d said, but then it sank in. “You were playing matchmaker?”

  “Yes, but I realize how silly that was. You both have every right to choose your own spouses, and I understand that entirely. But then when I saw how you treated her, how good and kind you are, I realized that my initial instincts were correct and I had nothing to feel bad about . . . until I realized that I was responsible for a dozen cows being stranded at the train station.”

  “And somewhere in Denver is a Mr. Yoder wondering where his cows are?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Mr. Medina didn’t have any luck contacting the seller because . . .?”

  “Because I might have falsified the information on the order form.”

  Heston shook his head. “What sort of guardian angel are you, being so sneaky? Is this what they teach you in angel training?”

  “No, and I’m perfectly miserable about it. In fact, they might take away my guardian status, and if they do that, I just don’t know what I’d do.”