by Stephen Bly
Nancy burst out bawling.
Catherine hugged the baby, stood, and stepped into the aisle. She waved a finger at the men. “Sit down both of you right now. And put that gun away. You should be ashamed of yourself scaring this precious little one. You’re an insult to your mother’s hard work raising you.”
Both men plopped back down in their seats. Guns returned to holsters.
A stocky man with almost no neck and a conductor’s hat scurried up the aisle. His face reddened as he pointed at the blond man. “There is no brandishing of weapons on my train. That’s clearly stated on the rules chart posted near the door when you boarded. You will be let off at the next station. I do not tolerate infractions.”
“You kickin’ me off the train?” the blond snapped.
Catherine slipped her free hand into the conductor’s arm and held it firm, but not tight. “Excuse me, sir, I think I can explain this situation.” She let the Virginia lilt dominate.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Catherine Draper and I’m . . .”
“Are you with them?”
“Oh, no. I’m sitting over there by that . . . eh, saddle . . . which is something I want to talk to you about in a minute. But, you see, when Luke offered me . . .”
“Who’s Luke?”
“Why the blond headed one with the cute dimples.” She squeezed the conductor’s arm. “When he offered an apple to me and Nancy . . .”
“Who’s Nancy?”
“Why, this is Nancy. Isn’t she a cutie? Would you like to hold her?”
“No, I would not.”
“I’m hungry,” Nancy whined.
“As I was saying, dear Luke offered us an apple and I stepped over to fetch it. Then I noticed his Colt revolver. Well, my father, bless his departed soul, sold guns in his hardware store before the war, and as a young girl, I knew each one quite well. Samuel Colt once had supper at our house. But since I’d never seen that model . . . out of curiosity, I asked him to show it to me.”
The conductor raised his eyebrows. “And he pulled it out to show you?”
“Yes,” Catherine scrunched her nose. “Isn’t he a dear?”
The conductor turned to Luke. “Is that true?”
“Sir, I come from the south. We feel it our obligation to defend a woman’s honor. I trust you are not calling Catherine and the baby liars?”
The conductor rubbed his temples. “I believe that same attitude cost you a war. But I’ll accept her word. It would be to your advantage to shove those guns in your satchels and leave them there until you exit the train. The next such incident we will stop the train immediately and you will be booted off, no matter the location.”
Luke stood up and pulled off his hat. “Don’t forget to take an apple for yourself and one for the baby, Catherine.”
“Thank you, Luke.” She tapped the conductor on the shoulder. “Could we talk about my ticket upgrade now?”
He shook his head. “I need to finish my round first.”
Catherine sat down, wiped the apple on her sleeve, then took a big bite. The sweet juices cooled her tongue and throat and washed away the acrid taste of railway dust. Nancy just licked on hers.
Francine returned with a sleeping Preston on her shoulder. “Was my Nancy good?”
Catherine hugged the little girl. “Oh, yes. She’s a darling.”
“Once you get her warmed up, she’ll talk your head off. Takes after me.” When Francine laughed every part of her jiggled. “Where did you get the apples?”
Race Hillyard sat up and stretched his arms. “She sweet-talked the poker players out of them.”
“I did nothing improper. Luke seemed delighted to give them to me.”
“Which one is Luke?” Francine asked.
“The one with the cute dimples,” Race growled.
“Oh, the blond.” Francine reached over the seat to retrieve Nancy. She held the little girl above her head, then lowered her down slow. “I reckon it’s big sister’s turn for the privy. You hold Preston.” She shoved the baby boy into Race’s lap.
“But, I can’t . . . .”
“Sure you can. Catherine is busy eating that apple. Besides, you want to be a daddy some day, don’t you?”
“Not today,” he muttered.
Francine plowed down the center aisle. When she eased out of sight, the conductor marched up to Catherine. “You wanted to talk to me?”
“I want a Pullman compartment. I understand it’s $20 more.” Catherine laid her hand on the dark blue wool surge sleeve of his jacket. “I’d like to purchase that now.”
He stole a quick look at her hand. “Lady, the time to buy that was at the station before you boarded.”
“Yes, I know.” She lowered her voice. “I didn’t have the funds for it then.”
“Speak up.”
She cleared her throat. “I said, I didn’t have the funds at the time I was in the station.”
He pulled off his gold framed glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “But you do now?”
Catherine eased her shoulders back and refused to let them slump. “Yes, something rather unexpected came up. I’m sure someone as important as you can sell me a ticket even now.”
“Yes, I have the authority to sell you the ticket. But a dozen other people, albeit not nearly as handsome and friendly as you, have asked me the same thing. The truth is, we don’t have any more compartments available up there.”
“But when I boarded in Omaha there were several extras.”
“All taken now.” A couple of the prospectors scooted through the aisle. The conductor squeezed over and leaned against her shoulder. “Of course, someone might get off and vacate one.”
She didn’t pull back. “You remind me of Captain Edmonton of Reeves Point. Were you a captain in the war?”
That drawl would impress the fussiest ladies in Richmond.
“I was a private who spent my entire time as a prisoner of war guard in Chicago. And we still have no compartments in the Pullman cars.”
“Could I have the next available one?”
“I told you I’ve got a dozen others that asked.”
She clutched on to his arm tighter. “Are you married?”
“Yes, I am. Just what are you suggesting?”
“Then you’ll understand my dilemma. I’m meeting my fiancé in Sacramento. He wants to go straight from the train station to be married. I so want to arrive refreshed and relaxed. I want to look my best. Do you remember your wedding day?”
“It’s all a blur, but I do remember my wedding night.”
“Precisely my point. I knew you’d understand. Isn’t there any way I could, you know . . . .”
He leaned down to her ear. “Be next in line? Yes, there is but you won’t like it.”
Catherine pulled back towards Race Hillyard. “What do you mean?”
The conductor stood straight, then shrugged. “If you pay me the $20 now, I will sell you a Pullman compartment ticket. The next available one will be yours. If one doesn’t open up, you forfeit the $20 because the ticket expires when we reach Sacramento.”
Her gaze rested on the empty seat next to the saddle. “That doesn’t seem fair, to pay for something I might not receive.”
He shoved his glasses further back on his nose. “I figured you wouldn’t like it.”
She sighed. “Okay, I’ll take that chance. My name is Catherine Draper. Please put me on the list. I’ll get the money.”
“Don’t do it.” The words snapped like a beaver trap.
Race Hillyard grappled with Preston as if he were a hot river rock.
“What business is it of yours?”
“You won’t get a Pullman until the last miles of the trip. That ‘s not worth $20.”
She turned back to the conductor. “Is that true?”
“No way of knowing, but it doesn’t matter to me. I have to continue my rounds. What do you want to do?”
“It’s a dumb way to spend your money,” Race add
ed. “Your wonderful Philip will be more impressed if you arrive rumpled and rich.”
“Mr. Hillyard, I will choose how to spend my money.” She dug in her valise. “My Philip owns a prosperous grocery store and in no way needs my money.” She handed the gold coins to the conductor. He wrote her name down and gave her a ticket. He tipped his hat, then moved on through the car.
When she reached over to retrieve Preston, the eight month old whimpered.
“Oh dear, Preston likes you better.”
An almost grin creased his deep tanned, stubbled face. “Dogs and children aren’t very choosy.”
Mr. Hillyard, with a shave and a smile, you could almost pass for a pleasant chap. Why must you be so contrary?
As if he handled live explosives, he maneuvered Preston into Catherine’s lap. “And I still say it was not a wise use of your funds.”
The toddler’s brown-eyed stare made her smile. The grin dropped when she turned to Hillyard. “Which is no business of yours. It would be worth $20 to not have to sit here.”
“You don’t like babies?”
She patted Preston’s soft, pink cheeks. “I love babies and can’t wait to have several of my own.”
“You and Mr. Philip Perfect?”
“His name is Philip Draper.”
“I thought your name was Draper.”
“It will be.”
Race Hillyard stared at her with such intensity Catherine turned her head. For a moment, the only sounds were the clack of the train trucks on the steel rails and the blended murmur of fifty people talking at once. She took a deep breath. “Are you through gawking at me?”
“I was just figurin’ out a few things.” The voice was firm, confident, with no emotion.
“I doubt that.” She felt her throat tighten. “We haven’t known each other two hours yet.”
“It’s been three-and-a-half hours.”
Mr. Hillyard, why do I feel I have to justify my every action to you? You are the last person on earth I need to impress.
“And just what have you learned about me in that short time?”
“Your name is not Catherine Draper.”
“Yes, I admitted that.”
“I believe it is Catherine Goodwin.”
She spun toward him. Her mouth turned dry. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you whipped around and glared at me just now. Not only that, but when you told Francine your version of what happened to the Virginia lawyer, you described a lot of details. You knew the gun, the caliber and the length of barrel, which no woman would know or care to remember.”
“You would be surprised how much I know about guns.”
“That might be, but you also know where the bullet entered and where it exited, and what it struck after it pierced the lawyer’s leg. I say only ‘that Goodwin woman’ would know such things.”
Catherine rubbed her eyes with cold, sticky fingers. She bit her lip and kept focused Preston. “Yes, it is true, but I would prefer you did not repeat it.”
“I am not the type to do that.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hillyard. The gun did hit the floor by accident and discharged. If I had intended to shoot him, I would have killed him, not grazed him in the back of his leg.”
“I believe you.”
“Thank you, again.”
Preston whimpered. She held him to her shoulder and rocked back and forth.
I can’t believe I’ve been on this train such a short time and already confessed to one of my darkest secrets to the most irritating person here. I traveled all the way from Boston to Council Bluff being completely ignored and now this.
She watched as a lady in a burgundy silk dress entered the car, arm in arm with a man wearing a crisp, fog-gray suit. They laughed as they paraded down the aisle.
When Hillyard’s hand gripped her elbow, she flinched. “One question.”
“I trust it will be a pleasant one.”
“No, I suppose it isn’t. I’ll ask some other time.”
“You might as well get it out now. This feels like beat-up-Catherine day.”
“I’d like to know why you feel compelled to use a sensuous voice and soft touch to get men to do your bidding?”
Her whole body stiffened. “I do what?”
“You use the charms of your gender to manipulate men.”
“Mr. Hillyard, you do not know me well enough to talk to me that way.”
He shrugged. “But the truth is you try to arouse men to your charms and then ask them to do something they would not normally do. Like a charmer, you say soft words in order to get the snake to dance. I noticed you had them dancin’ in the aisle a while ago. I’m sorry if this makes you mad.”
“You are not sorry. You said some very hurtful things on purpose. I can’t imagine you treat all women this way. You are angry at me, and yet my actions are none of your concern. I think it is cruel, heartless, evil for you to inflict your misguided ire at me. Others may have treated you poorly, but I haven’t. So just get mad at someone else, Mr. Hillyard. I will not put up with this.”
His face flushed as he pulled back. They stared out the window at rolling, untilled farmland. His voice was so low it sounded as if he were thinking out loud. “You know nothing about me. Absolutely nothing.”
“That response told me an awful lot.” Catherine felt the courage to be aggressive. “Now that we have equally offended each other, just what makes you think I am sensuously manipulative.”
“You seduced poor Luke into giving you two apples.”
“I most certainly did not seduce him.”
“You threw yourself at him like bait.”
“But I reeled it back in.”
“Then you threw it away to the conductor, to get him to take your money.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Then why is it you couldn’t talk to him without touching his arm?”
Catherine glared at him. “This is insulting,”
“I’ll tell you what is insulting . . . that you are the type of woman who would sell hugs, kisses, and fondle some stranger at the depot for twenty dollars.”
Catherine stood up, Preston tucked against her shoulder. “I don’t have to listen to this.”
“Sit down. There is no place to go. You are upset because it’s true. You are engaged to some luckless fellow named Philip Draper in California. You didn’t have enough money for a Pullman car when you left the depot in Omaha, but you had it by the time you boarded.”
She rocked back and forth. “If you are trying to make me cry, you will not succeed.”
“Do you even know that fellow at the depot’s name?”
“None of this is your business, Mr. Hillyard.”
“I’m just cautioning you not to toss your affections around so easy. I believe under all the charades, you are a decent lady. Save your fondness for Philip.”
“I assure you, Philip will receive everything I have to give.”
“That might be . . . but what you have to give will be used.”
Catherine fought back the tears. “You have no idea the pain and suffering I’ve experienced in the past ten years. You have no clue of the sorrow, the grief, the lies, the deceit and the losses that I have been subjected to. Until you know the crushing burdens I had to bear, you have no right to judge me like that. You seem consumed with an evil cruelty and I pity your black, stone dead soul. If I were not holding little Preston, I would slap you.”
Race Hillyard slumped back in the seat. He leaned forward, his chin on his chest. When he sat up, he raised his open hand in the air, then slapped it hard against his own face. The sound echoed through the car. Everyone stared their way.
Catherine plopped down next to him. “What did you do that for?”
“Because I deserved it and your hands were occupied.”
“You want to tell me why you’re such a bitter man?”
He rubbed his forehead and released a deep sigh. “No, not yet.”
Francine tromped
down the aisle carrying a smiling, apple eating Nancy. “Whoa, I heard that slap. I don’t suppose you two are playing patty-cake? What on earth did I miss?”
“The uncivil war,” Catherine replied.
~~ CHAPTER THREE ~~
“I most certainly am not going to sleep with you.” Catherine sensed a hush in the train car.
“That’s not what I said.” His voice was so low the rattle of the tracks muffled the words.
Catherine bit her lip and refused to glance around. “You asked me to share a bed.”
Race Hillyard tugged off his bullet belt and holster and looped it over the horn of the saddle perched on the seat in front of him. “I asked you if you would like to share the expenses of a sleeping board and pillows that turn these seats into a . . . eh, raised pallet.”
With the babies scrunched on the seat, heads in her lap, Francine leaned forward. “He’s right, honey. Those of you with seats facing each other can get a board, blankets and pillows to make sleep a little more comfortable.”
Catherine entwined her gloved fingers. “He said, share a bed . . . .”
Race pulled his pistol from the holster and shoved it into his belt. “Look, it’s a dollar extra apiece for the board and pillows. If you don’t have the funds . . . .”
“What makes you think I don’t have the funds?”
“You bought the fifteen cent supper at that siding café, instead of the full meal for two-bits. I assume you are watching pennies now that you spent all your kiss money on a Pullman upgrade that you haven’t got.”
“I haven’t got it yet.” Catherine unpinned her Tuscan straw hat and perched it on her floral valise. “Besides, I wasn’t very hungry.”
“The pot-roast was tough, anyway,” Francine reported. “But the corn was sure sweet and juicy.”
“I’ll take the inside.” He pointed at his saddle, “We’ll put Mr.
Walker between us. You take the aisle. I’ll sleep on top of the blanket, fully
dressed, as I’m sure you will.”
“How do you know how I’ll sleep?”
“We’re in a train car with fifty other people, including four half-drunk drovers across the aisle. You will not be wearing a French negligee.”
“My Farley gave me one of those one time.” Francine studied a small cracker as if it were a rare jewel. “But it just didn’t fit right, you know what I mean? So he framed it and hung it on a wall over our bed. Says it gives him inspiration.” She popped the cracker into her mouth.
