by Stephen Bly
What happened to Zane’s red vest?
She dropped the revolver. “Race Hillyard? How dare you come in here under false pretenses.” Catherine slumped to her knees and threw her arms around his shoulders. “Race, did I hurt you?”
He leaned against the cushion and gasped. “Cath . . erine . . .” His breath was short, choppy. “That is without . . . a doubt. . .” He rubbed his head. “The stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say . . . and I mean to tell you, I’ve heard plenty.”
Then he collapsed in her arms.
~~ CHAPTER EIGHT ~~
Catherine hovered over Race Hillyard. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
He grasp both hands on top of his head. “It’s not the first time I had my skull creased.”
She massaged his shoulders. “I appreciate very much you rescuing me.”
Hillyard squinted his eyes. “What did I rescue you from?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Oh, a mystery.” Francine clapped her hands. “I just love mysteries, don’t you?”
“No,” he grumbled. “Especially ones that give me a splitting headache.”
“Race, it is a personal and potentially embarrassing matter with my sister. That’s all I can say. Isn’t that enough?”
The large lady brushed cracker crumbs from her chin. “No, it’s not at all enough.”
“I agree with Francine.” Hillyard continued to stroke the top of his head. “There has to be more to the story.”
Catherine’s neck tightened. “I have some sensitive issues yet to be resolved. I can’t say more.”
He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his forehead resting in his palms. “Then, perhaps I didn’t rescue you at all.”
“Oh, no, I wanted out. But now I need to think things through.”
His voice was a low rumble. “Things that you won’t talk about.”
She clutched her arms across her chest. “I need to step out on the platform and get some air.”
He started to rise. “I’ll go with you.”
Catherine clamped his shoulder. “Not this time, Race. I need to have a clear mind to understand what to do.”
“And I cloud your mind?”
And my heart, but I just can’t admit that. Not to you. Not even to me.
A train at top speed has a rhythm. It clatters and quivers, but to a steady tune that calms the spirit and brings a kind of peace. The air that swirled around Catherine was warm, but offered a tint of coolness. Though it was dark, she guessed they must be ascending the Laramie mountains. Dim lights in the car ahead shadowed the shapes and sizes of passengers. Within reach, the black night raced by.
She presumed the people on board longed for their destination. Those in private cars or on express trains might travel just for the enjoyment of the trip, but surely the cramped ones in the coaches could hardly wait to get to where they were going.
It seems like such a protracted trip. Just a few days has so convoluted my life. I planned to snuggle by the window, get lost in my dream, then run to my Phillip’s arms. It’s like I took the wrong train. Why is Matthew Zane here? Lord, that’s not fair. I’m sure you could have prevented it. And why did I sit down next to Race Hillyard? I have no idea if that was good or bad, but it has confused me, that’s for sure.
The train embarked a long right bend. She seized the cold, iron railing.
Now Zane blackmails me. Even if I could convince the entire world that’s a picture of Catelynn, would it matter? I don’t want my sister humiliated. And he’s correct, the viewers would imagine that’s what I look like . . . and they would be right.
A hulk of a man with black coat buttoned at the neck stepped out on the rear platform of the adjoining car. She couldn’t see his face, but he tipped his hat and she nodded.
“I’m a cigar salesman wanting to enjoy his wares,” he called out. “Do you mind?”
Catherine shook her head.
The red glow from the cigar punctuated the night like a target at a county fair shooting gallery. She turned, but the tobacco aroma hovered around her head.
If I had not met Race, it would be an easier decision. I would just take the one-hundred dollars and get it over with. Just smile at the speculators . . . not at their tasteless stories and jokes . . . then ride over the Sierras to my Phillip. I would not be cheating anyone. I will make no claims of a mine’s worth. Besides, sometimes they prove to be more valuable than previously thought. All speculators try to get rich without working for it. Not much different than Zane.
Take the money . . . destroy the photographs . . . marry Phillip and live happily ever after. That’s not so tough.
But then, what will I tell Race? He will think it deplorable. And why do I care so much what he thinks? Why am I trying to impress a man I will never see again after this trip?
Catherine flinched when the train whistle pierced the night. She searched for the cause of the blast and spied a farm wagon on a dirt road, waiting to cross the tracks. Even in the shadows, it looked like a woman drove it.
What is she doing out in the middle of the night by herself? Perhaps she is a midwife hurrying to a delivery. Maybe she has to rush a sick child to town. But there are no towns. No midwives. Nothing. Perhaps all our lives defy understanding without knowledge of context.
The train slowed as the grade steepened.
I should have brought my shawl. I should go back in. But, I haven’t resolved anything.
She turned her back to the breeze and noticed the man and the cigar were gone.
Lord, you are the one I must please. Should suppressing those photographs be my highest goal? They cannot be Your will. I will not do anything immoral, but want so much to do something positive for my sister and her baby.
The man who stepped out on the adjoining platform this time did not tote a cigar. He wore a conductor’s hat and carried something white in his hand. “Miss Draper, is that you?”
“Yes.”
“There are a couple of bruised gentlemen up in 3C. Do you know how they got that way?”
“I didn’t see anything. Why do you ask me?”
“Every crisis on this run seems to involve you and Mr. Hillyard. A peaceful stretch would be a blessing. One of the bruised men gave me this note to give to you in private. I think you’d consider this private.”
He reached across the railing.
“I’m sorry to report no compartments have opened up. I’m not sure it will be any better in Ogden. The westbounds have been very full all summer. I tried to warn you of that.”
Catherine waited until he departed to unfold the note. Even stepping closer to the rear window, she couldn’t find enough light to read it. When she stepped back into the coach, Francine and the children slumbered on the blankets and sleeping board in the front seats. Race, hatless, with blood matted in his dark hair sprawled across the next seat.
If I had agreed with Zane, Race would not be wounded. Of course, had I practiced more self-control, he would be healthier as well. I am not sure I’ve brought anything positive to his life.
She scooted on the end of the bench seat. Hillyard moved toward the window, but didn’t open an eye. Holding the note towards the aisle, she strained to read the neatly scrolled words.
“Catherine, you cannot escape the consequences of these photographs, no matter how many times your cowboy boyfriend rescues you. In the morning, I will protest to the conductor on how you and he tried to get me in a compromising position to blank-mail me and that I was assaulted because I refused to pay. I will take my case and the photographs to the judge. I’ll tell him you passed off these pictures of you, claiming the child is mine. Pinehurst will collaborate my story and reassure the judge that I’ve never seen you before in my life. Both of you will be arrested and jailed in Ogden. Some of the photographs will be turned over to the sheriff there. I’m sure he, his deputies, and most of the men in the saloons will enjoy looking at them and coming to the jail to see you in person. Another photogra
ph I will mail to the mayor of Paradise Springs. I’ll ask him to deliver it to Phillip with a note about your arrest and why you will be delayed arriving.
I know you despise me, but you do know me well enough to understand that I will do this. Be at 3C before 8:00 a.m., if you would like to prevent these consequences.
Matthew Zane”
She read the note a second time, slowly, but the words didn’t change.
Assault, extortion . . . blackmail . . . wouldn’t that be a lovely Utah trial? Of course, I could have Catelynn and little Marie come out to testify as to the real situation with Matthew Zane. But, I couldn’t put her through that. Neither of them must know about this. I will protect them. Lord, how can I do anything else?
Catherine eased out of the coach. She paused at the door an glanced back. She thought one of the Mormon girls nodded at her or perhaps dropped her head forward in slumber.
Lord, since the war I have done so many things I swore I would never do. But I can’t blame Mr. Lincoln any more. I know he was right. Things had to change. But I seem to be on a downhill run ever since.
When she returned to the coach a half hour later, everyone seemed in the identical positions.
She sat straight up, valise in her lap, purse on top of valise, next to a snoring Race Hillyard.
There were stops in Laramie and Rawlins during the night, but Catherine didn’t budge, nor close her eyes.
Race shoved his hat on his head before he opened his eyes, but flinched and pulled it off. He glanced at her. “I, eh, slept pretty sound.”
She forced a smile. “Race, I can’t apologize enough for hitting you. Some parts of this trip seem out of control. I seem to be doing more things without much forethought. It’s not like me. Catelynn is that way, but I’ve prided myself in living a well ordered life.”
“You’re away from Matthew Zane. I presume that’s a good thing.”
“You know how I feel about him. Right now the only thing on my mind is getting to Paradise Springs and being with Phillip.”
He scratched the back of his neck as he studied her face. “I envy you. You have a goal, a vision, a plan. My plans seem a lot less definite than when I first crawled on this train.”
“You’re headed to San Francisco to find those who swindled your brother, right?”
“Yeah, but I suspect they will all be gone. Besides . . . you confused my life, Catherine.”
She froze. “I did?”
“I think it’s obvious how I feel about you.”
Catherine gazed at her shoes. “You’ve complicated my life too, but I think it will straighten out soon. When you got on the train you despised me. Maybe your first instincts were correct.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I really can’t say any more.”
“That’s what you told me last night.”
“You see, you’re already getting disgusted with me again.”
“Now my head really throbs. I think I’ll find some water and wash up.”
He sauntered to the rear of the car.
With considerable effort, Francine sat upon the sleeping board across the front seats. “Aren’t you getting a little distant from Mr. Hilly?”
“I realize how little he knows about me.”
“But he likes what he knows. Anyone can tell that.”
“I don’t think I like what I know about me.” Catherine brushed down the front of her dress, even though it didn’t need brushing. “The trip will be over in two or three days. And I do have Phillip waiting for me.”
Francine struggled to her feet and covered both sleeping children with the single wool blanket. “I figured you and Race would head to San Francisco and leave poor Phillip stranded at the station.”
“I could never do that. He’s begged me to come out to California for almost seventeen years.”
Francine stretched out her fleshy arms. “What does your heart want to do?”
Catherine dropped her chin. “I haven’t followed my heart since I was twelve.”
“You mean, your Phillip doesn’t have your heart.”
“He will have.” Catherine felt her lips tighten. “I just have to get some other things done first.”
“Other things besides . . . ?” Francine nodded down the aisle.
Race Hillyard strolled back, his hat perched on the back of his head. “Had an interesting conversation with two hardware drummers in the back. I overheard them mention diamonds, so I stopped to visit. Seems a pal of theirs knows someone who made some quick money in a diamond mine.”
“Mine?” Catherine squeezed to the side to allow him access to the window seat. “There is no mine.”
“If he made money, he’s on the other side of things.”
“So you have someone to go talk to.”
“Mr. Legrans Degott. Isn’t that a fine name? He lives out a few miles from Stockton, California.”
“Interesting that you would pick up some clue on the train.”
“Maybe the Lord’s leading.”
“I believe you have shaved, Mr. Hillyard. You look very nice.”
“I borrowed a razor from a cigar salesman. Friendly sort. Of course I had to buy two cigars and I don’t smoke. Would either of you ladies care for a cigar?”
“That would be nice,” Francine beamed.
“You smoke cigars?”
“No, but my Farley does. What a perfect present to take home to him.”
Hillyard handed her the two El Presidentes.
Catherine watched Francine fuss with the children. “I have some news. I got to talk to the conductor last night. He believes a Pullman compartment will open up by the time we get to Ogden.”
“Then you’ll be leaving us?” he asked.
Catherine refused to look at Hillyard. “I’m debating it. I’m getting used to being right here.”
Race fixed his hand on her arm. “You need to take the compartment. You already spent the money and can’t get a refund. At least you can be rested up when you get to Sacramento. I trust it won’t be up by Matthew Zane.”
She spread her hand on his. “That would be a point to consider.”
Francine leaned over the seat and faced them. “You can always wander back here to see the poor folks from time to time.”
“I just wish this trip was over,” Catherine sighed. “Life is too bewildering on a train.”
“That’s why I love taking the train,” Francine said. “It’s a break for me. If it weren’t for the hogs, my life at home would be quite boring.”
“The, eh . . .”
Hillyard motioned for Catherine to be silent.
“Looks like we’re stopping again. Is there a restaurant?”
Francine stooped over and peered out the window. “Nothing but a water tank.”
The conductor strolled through the car. “Everyone stay on board. It’s just an express train. We’re going to couple one of our cars to it, then we’ll be off.”
“How about this one?” Francine suggested.
“No, we’re going to . . .” the conductor look around at the people in the car. “Eh, it won’t take long. Everyone stay on board.”
When the conductor exited, Francine leaned forward. “Perhaps it’s a freight car with a payroll or something important. It took us three days to cover one day’s track in Nebraska.”
“This is a simple train. I don’t think there are any treasures here,” Hillyard said, then nodded to the seat ahead of him. “Besides Preston and Nancy.”
Francine beamed. “You’re right about them. Children are a treasure. But maybe a plain old train is the best place to hide riches.”
In less than fifteen minutes the express train pulled alongside them. Catherine studied the faces in the other train car that also assessed her.
“Do you see the one with the purple ostrich feather hat?” Francine blurted out. “My Farley bought me a hat like that, but I never had the nerve to wear it. At least, I think it was a hat. Do you like big hats, Catherine
?”
“I don’t like any hats at all, but they seem to be the badge of civility. If I must wear one, I’d rather display a small, unassuming one.”
Francine straightened her own beige hat which looked like an inverted salad bowl with most of the salad missing. “I like your hat. Sort of an Italian design, isn’t it?”
Catherine nodded. “Yes, it is, thank you. I’ve had this ever since I started teaching school.”
“Did you like being a school teacher?”
“Some days I did. Other days, I got frustrated.”
“I reckon kids can be squirrely.”
“Oh, the kids delight me. The frustration was trying to convince the parents the importance of an education Some wanted to pull their sons out early to work on the farms. Others were convinced girls didn’t need to know anything but how to cook, sew and clean.”
Hillyard waved towards the window. “Looks like the express is pulling out.”
Catherine leaned against him. “What car did they attach?”
“Easy to spot. They hooked the judge’s car behind the caboose.”
Catherine continued to lean against him as the other train pulled away. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one hooked behind a caboose.”
“I suppose they were in a hurry.” Hillyard patted the top of his head as if trying to calm a frightened dog.
“It still hurts?”
“You are very good at what you do.”
“Thank you. But why did the judge leave us?”
“He must have decided since a lot of folks knew he was on the slow train, he might as well take the fast one.”
Catherine pulled away. “You’d think he would have mentioned that at supper.”
When Race slapped down the sleeves of his coat, dust fogged up. “Then it wouldn’t be a secret. That’s why no transfer in Cheyenne.”
“I like him . . . and Amanda Sue.”
“They will be in Nevada in twenty-four hours,” Francine said.
“We can only dream,” Catherine replied.
Francine tied a ribbon in Nancy’s hair. “Race do you think girls should get an education?”
“Educated or not, I’ve noticed most gals are smart.”
