Throw the Devil Off the Train

by Stephen Bly

  “Note?”

  Francine fanned her face with the envelope. “This is for you and I haven’t even read it. I had a mind to, but the Lord’s hand constrained me.”

  He took the brown, stiff envelope and opened the paper folded inside.

  “Race, I must do what I must do. Some day I hope to explain. Don’t come looking for me. It would make matters worse. Take care of yourself. We need men like Race Hillyard. You enriched my life and I will always be grateful for that. Catherine Goodwin.”

  ~~ CHAPTER NINE ~~

  Arms clasped across her chest, Catherine tried to control her breathing as her lips were tight, her face flushed. “I will parade on your arm and smile. I will answer to the name, Catelynn . . . and I will try not to shudder when called Mrs. Zane. But I will not lie about a mining claim.”

  Zane’s face was expressionless, like a snake with eyes barely open. He brushed his mustache with his fingertips. “Just refer all mining questions to me, although your sister knew much more about my dealings than you might expect.”

  Catherine raised an eyebrow. Her heart chilled. “Knew?”

  “I meant, knows. I was thinking back on the previous meeting with the investors in the Spring. She charmed them all with her words and disarmed them with her . . . .”

  “Smile?”

  “Of course. It’s your smile, too. You just don’t use it as much.”

  It’s like I’m viewing this from a distance. It’s not really me, just a play, a skit. I have a part to perform. It’s a tragedy. I wish I would hurry up and die.

  “You have never given me anything to smile about.”

  “Catelynn wanted . . . wants to be wealthy again. This transaction will accomplish that.”

  “I thought she needed the funds to take baby Marie to Germany.”

  “Yes, that is the first priority. But there will be much more. She longs for the affluent life like you had as children.”

  The image of a sprawling northern Virginia estate rolled gentle on her mind. Green fields. Stately trees. Happy childhood. “I didn’t think of us as wealthy. We had what we needed.”

  Zane shoved the knot of his black silk tie higher against a starched white shirt collar, then straightened his red silk vest. “In elegant style.”

  “I suppose.” The reflection in her mind darkened to the coal black ruins of burned out buildings. “But that’s all gone. For me. For Catelynn. For everyone south of the Mason-Dixon Line. I don’t need that now.”

  “You don’t think of your precious Mr. Draper as rich? I thought you went to California to renew the Goodwin splendor.” Zane’s voice spewed with sarcasm and manipulation.

  “I’m sure Phillip’s prosperous. We’ll not be in need.” When Catherine closed her eyes, she could not imagine Phillip as a grown man, only a reflection of a twelve-year-old boy who was now man-size. “But it’s a mining town prosperity. I have no inflated illusions. It won’t be the antebellum south. Not elegant. Not refined. Just comfortable. That’s what I want, that’s what I need . . . a comfortable life.”

  “That’s why you’re here now . . . to get comfortable with the arrangements.” Zane slid a telegram out of his pocket, then unfolded it as if it were a map to a secret treasure. “Daily, Longtire and Woolsey will be joining us in Ogden. That’s why you had to move up here at this time. They’ll be in the compartment next to us.”

  Catherine tried to fade into the pale green, wooden wall in front of her. “I thought all the compartments were taken?”

  “That one was reserved back in Omaha,” Chet Pinehurst said.

  “And this one is in the name of Mr. & Mrs. Matthew Zane.”

  “And friend,” Pinehurst added.

  “You didn’t know I was on this train.”

  “We planned on Catelynn coming along. It was a last minute decision to send them to the Hampton Beaches.”

  “Cape Cod.”

  Zane shot a look at Pinehurst. “Yes, of course. Cape Cod. The point is, the three of us will have to work out accommodations in this compartment for a day or so. We’ll worry about sleeping arrangements tonight.”

  Catherine closed her hands together in prayer-like fashion against her lips. “There is nothing to worry about.” She felt confined, hot, sticky, dirty.

  This will be my last train trip ever. A buggy or stagecoach or even a freight wagon will be sufficient.

  “ I will sit right here fully clothed with my hand on a revolver all night. And you two will stay right where you are.”

  Perhaps Phillip will allow me to purchase a tall, black stallion. I’ll straddle him and ride the wind along the foothills of the majestic Sierra Nevada Mountains. They sound so grand.

  Matthew Zane stood and pounded on the curving light green metal door above the seat. “These bottom seats adjust into one bed, and this top bunk folds down.”

  “I really couldn’t care less what it does.”

  Never, not even for one minute, have I been able to recognize what my sister sees in you. How can identical sisters possess such opposite tastes in men?

  “You two may sleep up in the club car or out in the aisle. The beds in this compartment will remain unfixed.”

  When we were girls we always competed for the same boys. But the loser always ended up happier.

  “How will I explain that to Daily, Longtire and Woolsey?”

  “I really don’t care. I am not sure you need to explain sleeping arrangements to anyone on this train.” The image of a scowling Race Hillyard emerged from the recesses of her mind. “For the sake of my sister and her baby, I will follow this charade, and at Reno Station you will give me the prints and one-hundred dollars.”

  For several minutes nothing was said, then Zane’s eyes rolled up from her shoes to her hat.

  “Is that the nicest dress you have?”

  Catherine threw her shoulders back. “I have one nicer, but I’m saving it to wear when I meet Phillip.”

  “Put it on now. I need my wife to dress better than that.”

  Her throat tightened at the sound of the word ‘wife’. “They will have to accept me as I am.”

  Zane punched his fist in the air. “They already accepted you as Catelynn dresses. You know she wears nicer things.”

  The Planter’s Annual Ball.

  Catherine had no idea why it came to mind. But the white silk gown Catelynn wore had fired the “want to” in every young man in Northern Virginia and the “hate you” in every young lady.

  “You’re right. She does dress nicer.”

  “I will give you ten dollars more so that you can buy another dress in Ogden that you can save for Phillip.”

  “You mean, you’ll give me another fifty dollars for a new dress.”

  His face reddened. “You can buy an exclusive gown from Paris for fifty dollars.”

  “I believe you’re right. I was just contemplating, ‘What would Catelynn do?’”

  He tossed his hand in the air and searched the compartment as if looking for reason from the green walls. “You two are identical in more ways than you know. Okay, okay, fifty dollars for a dress. Just put on the nicer one now.”

  “Not until you two leave the compartment.”

  “No reason to leave, we know what you . . . .” Pinehurst’s leer reminded Catherine of a dog who thought a rattlesnake would make a great toy.

  She turned to Zane. “So no one has seen the photographs but you, Catelynn and me? And this snake of a pal of yours. And who knows how many other cronies.” She glared at Pinehurst. “You have seen Catelynn, not me.”

  He leaned forward as if revealing a long hidden secret. “But you are Catelynn now.”

  “Only for the next day-and-a-half. I do not change with men in my dressing room.”

  “Okay, okay,” Zane tugged at the man’s shoulder. “Come on, Chet, let’s take a stroll. Maybe we’ll hike back to the coach cars and see how cowboy your pal is doing without you.”

  Catherine remained seated. “Yes, you did so well with him befo
re. I believe Chet’s arm is still limp. Hillyard has tossed better men than you off this train.”

  Pinehurst waved a finger at her. “Maybe we should show him some photographs?”

  She jammed her hand into her purse and pulled the revolver out and laid it on her lap. “And perhaps I should put a bullet through your head.”

  “You can’t threaten us with that gun,” Pinehurst announced. “You might not like me, but I did learn a few things at Pinkerton. And that gun isn’t loaded.”

  Catherine glared at the man’s squinty eyes. “Did you learn how to sabotage the Judge’s train car?”

  “I told you, I had absolutely nothing to do with that. The judge did not even tell me about the transfer. He sent me up to ask the engineer a couple of questions. By the time I returned, the car had been switched.”

  “That’s not what the conductor told me.”

  “Well, he got it wrong. He assumed I had something to do with it. I didn’t argue with him, I figured it made me look clever. But it was the judge’s doing. He paid me good wages. Why would I send him off?”

  When Catherine rubbed the bridge of her nose, she realized how tired she was. “If you aren’t a part of that, why did you saddle up to the judge in the first place? You must have had a reason.”

  Zane brushed the scar hidden in his mustache. “Clarke is a friend of Judge Kingston in Carson City. It’s my understanding that the final approval of the transfer of the mining claims will need his approval. Or someone he appoints. We figured any way we could improve our image would be good.”

  “And you had nothing to do with the attempted kidnap of Amanda Sue earlier?”

  Pinehurst pushed his coat back to reveal a holstered revolver. “That was an amateur job. If kidnapping had been my goal, it would have been much easier.”

  “In a treacherous way, that makes sense.”

  “Are you going to change dresses?” Zane challenged.

  “Not until two things happen.”

  “Yes, yes,” Zane’s head bobbed like a spring loaded target at a county fair. “We need to leave the compartment. What else?”

  “And you will surrender all the photos except for one as you promised.”

  He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a handful of 3”x5” photographs. He spread them like a hand of Whist, then plucked one from the center. “This is the one that I keep.”

  She yanked the rest from his hand and laid them face down in her lap. “Yes, I supposed it would be. Now, go.”

  The men paused at the doorway.

  “How long will it take you?” Zane asked.

  “An hour.”

  “To change your dress?” Pinehurst coughed.

  “Obviously, you have never been married.”

  With the door securely locked from the inside, Catherine sat down next to the window and examined the photos. Two were of the baby by herself. And three of Catelynn with the baby. She began to rip up those with Catelynn into very small pieces.

  Catelynn, maybe Zane is right. Maybe you like these, maybe they are ‘artistic.’ But they are obscene to me and to all that I know. I will destroy them for your sake. I believe it best.

  She tore the scraps until none measured more than a quarter of an inch square. Then admired with a bitter-sweet emotion the pictures of the baby.

  Marie DuClare, you are a cutie. It is not obscene to have a naked baby photograph. Aunt Catherine is going to keep one of these. Some day, when you are twenty and come to California to see Uncle Phillip, me, and your three cousins . . . a boy and twin girls, I presume . . . I will give this picture to you. You will be embarrassed, but you will treasure it. How I wish I could hold you in my arms right now. How I’d like to sip tea in northern Virginia with your mommy on the veranda of your grandma and grandpa’s house. You would have liked it there. So peaceful . . . so perfect. Your grandmother and grandfather would have spoiled you rotten, of course, but that’s why the Lord created grandparents. But I have no idea why He took them away. Oh, honey, those days are . . . .”

  “So gone,” she cited aloud.

  Catherine tore the second photograph of the baby in a similar fashion as the others, then mixed all the pieces together in her lap. With some effort, she slid open the compartment window about two inches. It wouldn’t open any higher. Plucking a half-dozen tiny scraps at a time, she sprinkled them along the Wyoming prairie. It took several minutes and several miles to empty her skirt of the fragments. The remaining photograph got tucked down inside her handbag, next to the unloaded revolver.

  Thank you so much, Mr. Hillyard, for disarming me. You took the cartridges out of my gun. But I am a little more resourceful than you imagined.

  With great care, she pulled the pale orange silk dress from her valise. She hung it from a hook on the back of the door, then shook, beat and smoothed the wrinkles.

  Well, Phillip, of all the dresses I owned, I only brought this one. It is as close to gold as I owned and California is the “golden” state. It is the one I’m always wearing in my dreams when I meet you at the station. It is the one I wear when I day-dream of that big church wedding.

  Oh, my, I never did ask you the size of the church you attend. I trust the sanctuary is sufficient for a large wedding. “Prominent Paradise Springs businessman weds Virginia aristocrat’s daughter.” No, no . . . “weds New England school teacher.” That might be better.

  She let out a long deep sigh.

  Okay, it should read ‘Prominent Paradise Springs businessman weds fugitive accused of attempted murder.”

  She sat her hat on the cushioned seat and pulled her old dress over her head. I need a hot bath and clean undergarments. You look neither like a Virginia aristocrat nor a criminal fugitive.

  “But that’s the beauty of the west,” she confided to the image in the mirror. “We get to start all over.”

  The pale orange silk dress stretched snug in the chest, but felt fine in other places. She studied the mirror. “Well, Catelynn, I know what you would say. If I didn’t wear underwear on the upper part of my body, if I followed your example, it would fit fine. I am not you, honey. I never will be. I think that’s our biggest problem. Neither of us can quite accept our non-identical parts. Well, I will wear a dress slightly too tight, because that is me.”

  With the dress hanging in style, she brushed her hair, then set it behind her head with pale orange combs. She posed in front of the small mirror and glanced from side to side.

  Zane’s right about one thing. I do look more like Catelynn when I dress like she does. I don’t have that husky laugh of hers that turns every man’s head in the room. Well, maybe I do, but I’ve never known how to use it. She tried to teach me once when we were sixteen, but gave up saying I sounded like a mule with a cold. That was the time you convinced me go to the regatta with J. Hubert Sluman, because you found a better date with Randall Billings. Poor old J. Hubert . . . he never knew it wasn’t you. I shouldn’t have let him kiss you . . . I mean, me. It was rather pathetic. A 2 at best. But I thought it was one way to get back at you for sticking me with such a bore.

  “Now, Mr. Zane, bring on the suckers, I mean, bring on the ‘potential investors’ and watch me charm them all.”

  The compartment door was unlocked when Zane knocked. He led the way as two men entered. His manipulative smile widened.

  “Look at that, Chet, is that Catelynn or not?”

  The shorter man plopped down across from Catherine. “To tell you the truth, identical twins bother me a little. When I was young, we had neighbors who had sickly identical twin boys. Never saw them out much. One was a pretty nice fellow, the other a complete jerk. Years later I found out they didn’t have twins, just the same kid who had been touched in the head. You never knew who he was going to be any given day.”

  Catherine plastered on her fake smile. “Thank you for those reassuring words.”

  Zane sat down next to her. “You look the part. Now, smile and lean forward when you talk and they will be charmed.”
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  “I do not lean,” she snapped.

  Zane glanced at the ceiling as if expecting an angelic idea to float down. After a moment, he spoke. “Maybe we should stroll around the train arm-in-arm to get used to it.”

  “I don’t want to ever get used to it.”

  Zane laid his hand on her knee. “I can’t just show up with a wife in Ogden, whom none on the train has seen.”

  She shoved his hand away. “Tell them I was sick most of the journey.”

  He pointed to his vest. “You don’t want me strolling around the train by myself with this picture in my pocket, do you?”

  “No, I’d rather you threw yourself off the train over a deep ravine, but since that is hardly likely . . . I will walk with you . . . but only through the Pullman cars. Don’t go back to the coaches.”

  Matthew Zane stood and offered his hand. “Are you ashamed to be seen all dressed up?”

  She refused to touch him. “None of your prospective investors will be back in those cars. It would not be productive. I don’t need practice to be among those kind of people. If I need practice, it’s up here among those almost as phony as you, Matthew Zane.”

  “Catelynn, is that any way to talk to your husband?” Pinehurst said.

  “I am not Catelynn . . . .”

  “Yes, you are,” Zane insisted. “From here to after the court hearing in Nevada, you are Catelynn. You need to get used to being called that.”

  “Yes, but only in the Pullman section.”

  The DeVeres chattered about their trip to Australia.

  Gen. VonKlimmer berated the incompetence of Napoleon III as a military leader.

  The Bettersons showed off a hundred photographs of their dog, Ginger, ignoring the fact the golden retriever stood by their side.

  Carlos Regetta droned on how he owned the largest gun shop in Peru.

  The Trichots spoke only in French, but seemed to be the most pleasant of the lot.

  While Catherine knew the Bible only recorded the sun stopping once in history, for Joshua over the Valley of Aijalon, the phenomena seemed to repeat itself as the afternoon dragged by with annoying slowness. A myopic joy trickled in her as the sun lowered in the west.