by Stephen Bly
“Try to stay away from Zane . . . and just ride it out until Sacramento. But with Pinehurst along, now I feel like I want to know about what’s going on.”
Hillyard slouched down in the seat and leaned against the backrest. “Why don’t you just march straight up to him and say, ‘Zane, you miserable snake, did my sister finally have enough good sense to kick you out on your cheatin’ rear?’”
“I’m not sure he’d answer me even then.”
“Then yank your gun and threaten to shoot him.” Hillyard pulled his revolver. “You could tell him, ‘I’ve shot crooked lawyers before, I can do it again.’”
“You’ve shot lawyers?” Francine gasped.
“I’m not confronting him with a gun. I really think I could get angry enough to pull the trigger. There must be some other way. We have time. I’ll think of something.”
“Just like that Goodwin woman, you shot a lawyer?” Francine pressed.
“We’ll have that stop in Cheyenne. Why don’t you send your sister a telegram from there? You could pick up her reply on down the line,” Hillyard suggested.
“Both you and her are from northern Virginia and you both shot lawyers.” Francine rubbed her chin. “Must be a nice place to raise girls.”
“That would work, if she replied. You don’t know my sister. She’s as stubborn as . . . .”
Hillyard raised his eyebrows. “You?”
“Wait a minute,” Francine blurted out. “Your name can’t be Draper. Not until you marry your beloved Phillip.”
“Unfortunately, you are right. Patience died off with mother and daddy. Catelynn and I are very much alike at times.”
“My brother and I weren’t alike at all. He was more trusting. More theoretical. He drew motivation from grand ideas and themes. You know why he wanted the South to win the war? Not because of economics or to maintain the caste system or slavery. Robert’s dream? Win the war. Chase all the Yankees north. Then, with complete independence, abolish slavery on our own. He thought we should do it because it was the right thing to do, not because we were made to do it.”
The big woman scrunched her amber eyes. “You are that Goodwin woman.”
“Eh, yes, Francine, but it’s not what you think.” She turned back to Hillyard. “That’s very noble. But I don’t think it would have happened that way.”
“Nor do I. But that was Robert. He believed not only in the sinful nature of mankind, but in the redemptive nature of God. He always elevated my thoughts about what God could do in this world . . . and in our lives. How I miss him.”
“Glory, hallelujah. Thank you, Jesus. I got to meet that Goodwin woman. I’m so happy . . . so happy . . . I could . . . eh . . . tinkle. I’ll be right back.” Francine scurried down the aisle.
Catherine grasped his arm. “In a way, we have both lost our siblings . . . only there is a glimmer of hope that I can one day be reconciled to Catelynn. That’s a good idea for me to telegraph her at Cheyenne. I wonder what it costs? My funds are limited, as you know.”
“Slip your hand in my coat pocket.”
“What?”
“Do it.”
“Coins? I shall not take money from your pocket.”
“Catherine, how I would love to telegraph Robert and tell him everything is okay, that it’s not important about losing our funds. I’d like to tell him that the two of us will be brothers and good friends for our whole lives and nothing can come between us. But I can’t do that. It’s too late. But it’s not too late for you and Catelynn. If you won’t take the coin for my sake, do it in memory of Robert.”
Catherine dabbed her eyes. “Race, that’s the most eloquent eulogy I’ve ever heard. Yes, I will take the coins for Robert’s sake. Sometimes you amaze me, Race Hillyard.”
“And other times?”
“You annoy me beyond belief.”
“But you aren’t bored?”
“Never bored.”
“Maybe I can do something about that.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Sleep.”
“Ah, sweet slumber. I believe Mr. Walker and I will do the same. He didn’t get much rest last night.”
“So I heard.”
“If I nod off and my head bumps your shoulder, you won’t think it improper.”
“Of course not, but what would your beloved Phillip think?”
“You are right. I shall spend the day proper, rigid and restless.”
Phillip . . . oh, my Phillip. I boarded the train with only you on my mind. How I longed for our life together. How I longed for an escape of the past. The trip getting to you has surprised me. It’s like a test. Challenges to my character. To my bravery. To my past. I want to nap thinking of that beautiful little New England style house you built for us. The white fence, the manicured garden, the front porch . . . the big mirror above the entry table . . . the grand staircase up to the bedrooms . . . the oak, four-poster bed and thick comforters.
Catherine could feel her face flush.
No, perhaps I should not think of the upstairs rooms.
Stale air. Rumble of the rails. Rocking of the car. A sleepless night. Catherine awoke with her head snuggled against Race.
“Oh . . . I must have dozed off a little.”
Hillyard sat up and shoved his hat back. “Two hours.”
“Please forgive my impropriety.”
“I didn’t notice. I stirred only a couple of minutes ago.”
He stood straight up, hat tumbling into Catherine’s lap.
“Are you alright?“
“A cramp in my leg. Got kicked by a mule in the Army and sometimes it locks up on me. Let me out to the aisle and I’ll walk it off. I might have to ride standing for a while.”
Catherine rose up to let him pass. “Let’s go out on the platform. Some fresh air would be nice. It’s a little hot and sticky in here. I wonder if we ever have a layover long enough for a bath?”
She led the way to the front door of the car, and stepped out into the wind and bright sunlight. “Look at this country. Just rolling prairie and thick grass as far as the eye can see. Such an empty land.”
“I suppose some day it will be filled with people.”
“What kind of people?”
“Ranchers, mainly. Maybe some homesteaders, if they find water.”
Catherine studied the barren prairie. “Such a lonely place. No one for miles and miles. What kind of person could live here?”
“Lonely people, maybe. I like it. I’d build a cabin down in one of those draws. Hunt up there in the cedars. Maybe raise some horses to sell to the people movin’ in. I could see doing it.”
“So, are you one of those lonely people, Race Hillyard?”
“It’s gettin’ that way.” He held up his hands as if to say ‘whoa’. “That sounds way too melancholy. No self-pity here. I just don’t have any plans beyond this trip to California.”
Catherine grinned and pushed his hands down. “It sounded more like self-evaluation than pity. Besides, I imagine your future wife will have something to say about where you live.”
“Wife? I don’t think so. But I’m not complainin’. I had my chance.”
Catherine admired the way the wind made waves in the brown prairie grass. “Charity Ann is a beautiful name.”
“She had sisters named Faith Mary and Hope Martha. But she was the beauty.” He closed his eyes and smiled as if reviewing a file full of photographs. “Not sure there is any prettier in east Texas. But that’s just one man’s opinion.”
“Blonde hair?”
“No, she was a radiant brunette, just like you. But her eyes . . . those blue eyes would . . . .”
“Don’t tell me she had ‘dancing blue eyes,’” Catherine huffed.
Hillyard coughed. “What?”
“Every man describes the woman of his desires with ‘dancing’ eyes. What is it with men? Eyes don’t dance. They don’t bounce up and down. They don’t sway to and fro. They don’t bow and curtsey. They don�
��t dance.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything about dancing eyes.”
“Oh, well,” Catherine sighed. “Forgive the outburst.”
“I was just going to say they were so bright, so focused at times . . . well when she looked at me, my heart danced.”
“Ah, there it is. Hearts don’t dance either, Mr. Hillyard.”
“Mine did. It leaped. It swayed. It bowed with delight. She’s graceful, intelligent, charming.”
I wonder how my Phillip describes me?
“My, you are a poet today. How long did you know her?”
“We met in Sunday School. I was seven and she was four.”
“Oh, my, childhood sweethearts.”
“Nope. She was fat and dumpy and I was obnoxious and rude.”
“You? A seven-year-old that was obnoxious and rude?”
Hillyard glared at her.
Catherine punched his arm. “Please go on.”
“We were only casual family acquaintances. She went away to private school in New Orleans and lived with an aunt when the war broke out. I didn’t see her again until after dad died. She and her folks came to his funeral. So we struck up a friendship. One thing led to another.”
“Your heart danced.”
He stared right into her eyes. “It didn’t seem to turn serious until Robert and I started doing well with the armory. As we became more prominent, we garnered invitations to more and more social events. Her father was a State Senator from Houston. We got to meet a few important people at those parties.”
“Which led to more contracts for the armory?”
“Robert reigned as king of that. He could talk to a person for three minutes and they loved him for life. Me, I’d just go to those big galas and hide over in the corner . . . .”
“With the Belle of East Texas?”
“Yep. That’s about it.”
Catherine held her breath. “Did you ask her to marry you?”
“We were getting rather too, eh, congenial and I knew I had to ask her or break it off.”
“Congenial?” Catherine wrinkled her thin eyebrows. “Did she kiss like a carp?”
“Nope, her kisses tingled. Feather soft, yet enthusiastic. They made me glad I was me. You know what I mean?”
Catherine wiped her narrow lips. “I can imagine.”
“This is when Robert negotiated us building the armory in California. When I finally decided to go along with the plan, I asked her to marry me and move to San Francisco.”
“Where were you?”
“In Texas.”
“Were you at her house? Out for supper? In a carriage? By the bay? Where were you when you asked her?”
“In her daddy’s parlor with the lights out.”
“Did you get down on your knees?”
“What? Of course not.”
“Were you holding her hand?”
“What is this? An inquisition?”
“I just want to envision the moment. You had some tingly, feather soft, yet enthusiastic kisses in the dark. Then you held her hand and said, ‘Charity Ann, darlin’, will you marry me and leave your daddy and your mamma and Faith and Hope and move over a thousand miles away to California so I can run a gun factory?’”
“That wasn’t quite how it went.”
“But she turned you down or you would never be on this train.”
“She not only said no, she was outraged that I wanted her to leave Texas. It was beyond her imagination. She took it as a personal insult to her intelligence and loyalty.”
The train lunged over a short bridge. Catherine grabbed the black iron guard rail to balance herself. “So what happened next?”
“Robert sold everything we owned. Charity Ann headed to Louisiana to visit her aunt.”
“Did you follow her?”
The warm wind whipped around them and Hillyard tugged down the front of his hat. “No.”
“Big mistake. You should have chased after her. She wanted you to follow.”
“I didn’t have a pal like you to guide me. Perhaps it would have made a difference. Anyway, Robert headed to California but I waited in Houston. I wanted to talk to her one more time before I moved. She was gone for almost a month. During that time I did lots of ponderin’ and lots of reading the Bible.” Hillyard stared out, his eyes glazed. “I decided that I would not move to California, but get a Texas job and marry Charity Ann. She was right. I had no right to make her move. I knew I had given her my heart and I couldn’t take it back.”
Catherine looked down at her hands and fidgeted with her fingers.
That’s why he hounded me when we first boarded. He told me I was throwing my heart away.
“What happened when she returned?”
“I was at the train station with a bouquet of blue bonnets when she arrived . . . with him.”
Catherine’s eyes widened. “Him? Him who?”
“She stepped off the train with a wedding ring on her finger and a husband on her arm.”
Catherine’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh, dear, I didn’t expect that.”
“Neither did I,” he grimaced. “He was twenty years older than her but he controlled over two-hundred thousand acres of west Texas rangeland. I couldn’t believe it. She didn’t even give me a chance to explain. Talk about a total fool. I just stood there silent as she waltzed by. I was still standing there when the train pulled out, wilted bluebonnets and all.”
Catherine rested her hand on his. “And a wilted heart?”
“No. No, I gave my heart away. I can’t take it back.”
“Not ever?”
“I don’t think so.”
“But Race . . . life does need to go on.”
“I went back to my hotel room and locked the door. Didn’t come out for two days. That’s when Robert showed up.”
“Not a good week.”
“I couldn’t even think straight after I found him dead. I didn’t know what to do. I felt tossed down on the moon. Everything familiar, everything comfortable, everything lovely was stripped away.”
The wind whipped her thoughts. “Your story makes mine weak and toothless by comparison. So you took a job driving a band of horses up to the Indian Nation. Then rode your rage to Omaha.”
“More or less. I had a few lost weeks in Texas before I left. I just couldn’t believe all of this came down on me. I tried to sleep it off, hoping it was a bad dream.”
“I appreciate your telling me this. I feel like I should apologize for prying.”
“I needed to hear my voice explain it. It is the first time . . . and the last time . . . I intend to talk about it. Too painful to ponder. I needed to allow those words to blow over this empty prairie.”
“I, of course, will mention it to no one.”
The door of the car ahead of them burst open to reveal a heavy-set man with drooping gray mustache. “There you are. Quite a coincidence we meet out here again.”
Hillyard pulled off his hat. “Afternoon, Judge Clarke. I trust you and Amanda Sue are doing well.”
“Quite nice, thanks to you two. She’s in the bathtub right now. My chef has timed supper to coincide with our parking at the siding in Cheyenne. I believe that will be right before dark. We very much look forward to hosting you.”
“We’ll be delighted,” Catherine said. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to clean up much.”
“That is no problem. I’m not half as snobbish as I seem. I dug for silver in the Comstock one whole winter, seldom seeing the light of day or a wash rag. I shall see you in my car when we reach Cheyenne.”
“Thank you, Judge.” Hillyard shoved his hat back on.
“Say . . . would you like white wine or red wine?”
Hillyard shook his head. “I don’t drink wine, Judge.”
“And I only have a sip at communion,” Catherine added.
“Oh, good. I’ll tell Chef Viseano to serve the red wine.”
Francine munched on a thick bread sandwich when they returned to th
e car. “The Mormon girls had a few of these extra. Nice of them to share. You two hungry?”
“After that stomach sickness the other day, I may never eat again,” Hillyard replied.
“Well, don’t get too comfy. Deputy Becker sent a note for you to step back for a visit.”
“Becker?”
“He’s the one chained to Johnny Socorro that you dragged back from the dead.”
“He wasn’t dead.”
Francine brushed crumbs off her thick, full lips. “Five more minutes in the brush and he would have been handless and dead.”
Hillyard sauntered to the rear of the car.
Francine leaned forward and whispered, “You and Mr. Hilly were on that platform for quite a while.”
Catherine leaned her head back and lowered her voice. “He’s become a good friend. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone you hardly know and will never see again. It’s those that are close to you that it’s difficult to communicate with.”
“I know what you mean. Sort of like you and me becoming best friends, isn’t it? The difference is, this is not the last time we will see each other. I’m sure me and the children will want to come visit you and your Phillip in California.”
“Yes, eh . . . you’ll have to write to me after I get settled in so I can tell you all about the situation. At the moment, it’s all a little confusing.”
Francine sat back and picked bread from her teeth with her fingernail. “I’m dyin’ to meet that Phillip. I keep thinking, Catherine has Race Hillyard wrapped around her finger but she prefers her beloved Phillip. He must be some man.”
“Phillip’s been a good friend for a very long time.”
“But you haven’t seen him since he was twelve.”
“That’s true.”
“People do change. I’m just sayin’ that a bird in the hand . . . .”
“Neither Phillip or Race are birds, Francine.”
“Very true.” A slow grin spread across the big lady’s face. “I did know some men who were vultures, however.”
Catherine studied the front door of the train car as if expecting someone to crash through. “And Matthew Zane is one of them.”
She heard Hillyard stop to say something to the teenage girls at the back of the car, then meandered toward them. He stepped by Catherine and plopped down in the window seat. She bounced up in response.
