“Letting me convince her to come was the right call,” Charles said. “You do know how to handle the women in your life.”
“Well, Ginger is a lot like her mother, and I’ve had twenty-five years of experience learning Charlotte’s habits. With all the daughters in our family, I’ve been forced to learn how to get along with women. We Fitzpatrick men are outnumbered, aren’t we, Basil?”
Basil studied the older gentlemen. “Yes, we are, Father. I wish I had your adroitness and could figure out how to get back into Ginger’s good graces like you’ve done. It seems she’s going to be angry with me for the rest of our lives.”
“Give her some time. I’m confident you’ll work things out, sooner or later. But you have to understand her thinking, if you’re ever going to come to a resolution. A woman’s place in this country is changing, whether we men like it or not. Some women still enjoy being cared for and coddled by men, but Ginger isn’t one of them. I marvel every day at the way her mind works, and she’s been a vital reason why our bank is so successful. She needs a strong man beside her, to keep up with her and make her truly happy. And there was no man this past season who fit the bill.” He turned to the man seated next to him. “Sorry, Charles, I know your son was one of the men she spent time with.”
“Quite all right, George. I know Quentin is not a strong man — not yet, anyway. But with Jane Livingstone telling him what to do, he will have to develop a spine, just to keep her from rolling over him.”
George laughed softly as he lit his pipe. “Yes, I expect he will.”
Basil pulled a couple of cheroots out of his jacket pocket, and offered one to Mr. Gray. The men sat quietly in the car with the rain sloshing outside, enjoying their tobacco as they watched the countryside roll by slowly.
After several minutes, Basil asked, “It’s a shame, is it not, that the railroad provided dashing young officers for the ladies, but no dance hall girls for us gentlemen?”
Charles and George grinned in agreement. “Maybe they just expect the men to marvel at the mechanical construction of this machine,” Charles replied. “Would you two care to join me up toward the front of the train so we can look at it firsthand?”
“You and Basil go on ahead,” George said. “I’ll stay here and keep an eye on Ginger and her young man. Charlotte would have my head if she thought I left our daughter without a chaperone for even a minute of this adventure.”
Basil and Charles made their way through the passenger cars to the one nearest the coal car. They peered through the glass as two men atop a huge pile of coal, in the driving rain, shoveled at a rapid pace to keep the huge steam engine fed. Never one to be fascinated by mechanics, Basil quickly lost interest and began to retrace his steps back to the car where his father and Ginger sat. Charles stayed and joined in a discussion with the railroad officials and engineers.
One of the railroad officials said, “We have a scheduled stop coming up. When we were planning this trip, people expressed a desire to climb off the train at this portion of the route to see the massive bridge — it’s the reason construction of this leg of the route took so long. However, we’re woefully behind schedule, what with all the stops we’ve made along the way. And there are people waiting for us on the other end, in Jefferson City. What do you think, Mr. Gray? Should we stop for twenty minutes or so and give these fine folks an opportunity to get an up-close look at the 760-foot long bridge over the Gasconade River?”
Charles flicked his gaze over the people in the nearest car. They appeared to be engaged in the types of animated conversations that often happen after sipping too many glasses of champagne. He took in the finely coiffed hair of the ladies in their still-damp clothing, considered the rain outside, and shook his head.
“I don’t think you’ll have too many takers wanting to exit this warm car and go out into the rain, even if it is to see the latest marvel of technology.”
After further consideration — and some animated discussion between the bridge engineer and the railroad officials — the decision was made. They would merely slow the train as it crossed the bridge, giving the passengers ample time to be impressed by the view of the bridge and the river thirty-six feet below.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ginger, George, and David were in the midst of a lively discussion with one of the railroad engineers about their preference for bridges over tunnels, as they and the other passengers in the car watched the front portion of the train follow the bend in the tracks to the bridge.
The first two cars rolled onto the bridge. Suddenly, a thunderous cracking broke their conversation. The huge wooden piers supporting the bridge structure collapsed. Compromised by the rain and the torrent of water roiling through the riverbed, the piers fell like dominoes under the weight of the train. The hideous sound of breaking timbers was quickly replaced by screams as the passengers in the rear of the train watched the first seven cars, along with the bridge structure, tumble into the water below.
Screams and the repetitive echoes of wood breaking apart and metal grating on metal filled the air.
People in the forward cars moaned. Ginger let out a piercing scream as their own railroad car suddenly lurched and jumped the track, flipping on its side. The car began a long slide down the steep embankment. David pushed Ginger down between the seats as he and George grabbed the rails on the seat backs. Ginger screamed in fright again and again when the railcar picked up speed as it plummeted down the hill.
People were tossed in all directions, and the sounds of bones breaking and bodies being thrown against hard objects filled the air. Ginger’s screams were part of a chorus of voices crying out in fright or in agony. After an endless few moments, the car finally lurched to a stop as the heavy clay-like muck from the river bottom halted the car’s forward progress.
After the cacophony of cracking timbers and grinding metal, the sudden silence was deafening as each railcar came to a halt, either in the river or in the mud alongside it. Ginger was lodged between two seats and struggled to right herself. Her skirt and petticoats were wrapped around her body. She pulled herself upright, with David’s help, and realized she was standing in the river. Glass from the shattered windows lay at her feet. All around her, people were struggling to upright themselves, screaming for their loved ones or lying about the car in pain.
“Papa, where are you?”
“I’m over here, Ginger. My arm is stuck in the railing. Where’s the lieutenant?”
“Right here, sir. Let me help you free your arm.”
Ginger and David crept slowly over seats, making their way to George’s side. They gently removed his arm from the space between the railing and the seat back. Ginger noticed immediately the bones of his lower arm protruded at an odd angle.
“It looks like your arm is broken, Papa.”
She wrapped his good arm around her shoulder and helped him to his feet.
“I’ll try to find a way out,” David said.
Ginger watched David pick his way down the side of the car, which now acted as a floor. The windows were broken and the railcar was filled with muck from the river bottom. David reached the door at the end of the car, now horizontal instead of vertical, and pushed against it. Another man helped David force the door open. Under their combined weight the door gave way, and the rain pelted passengers as they began a hasty exit from the car to the relative safety of the riverbank.
Together, George and Ginger made their way through the treacherous broken glass to the open door where David was assisting the other passengers out of the car.
Ginger handed her father off to David, who helped him through the opening. When it was Ginger’s turn, he held her arm tightly. “Are you injured?”
“No, just some bumps and bruises. I think all my petticoats buffeted me from the worst of the fall.”
“Good, because my men and I are going to need your help. I must apologize for giving orders. Are you sensitive to the sight of blood?”
Ginger shook her head.
“Once we get these people to shore, we’ll turn them over to you for medical treatment. Bandage them up as best you can, and apply tourniquets. We’ll move on to the other cars and free the rest of the passengers. We’ll just keep sending people to you on shore, okay?”
“But I must find Basil and Mr. Gray!”
“My men and I will see to the recovery operations. You’re too small to be of much help removing timbers. You’re much more valuable on shore, assisting the wounded. Don’t worry, Miss Fitzpatrick, I’ll get your brother and your friend out of this mess. It just may take some time.”
She was tempted to argue with him, but decided the man made sense. There was probably little she could do to free the passengers who were buried under the bridge structure. She could better serve as a nurse. She was fortunate she had met Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell last spring and learned her nursing techniques. Back then, it was just for a lark, something to do to give her mother fits of apoplexy. Ginger never thought she’d have to use any of what she had learned. But she was grateful for even the little bit of knowledge she had gleaned from the female doctor. Now was the time for the survivors to pull together as one. She nodded to the lieutenant and steeled herself for a long afternoon. What had been such a gay time moments before had turned into a nightmare, worse than anything she could ever have imagined.
Shrieks of pain mixed with breaking glass as other survivors worked to free themselves from the wreckage. The soldiers from the last car — the only one still remaining on the track — came streaming down the embankment to carry the dead and wounded to the river’s bank. Ginger helped passengers from her car to the edge of the river. Her father was one of the last to leave the water, having helped everyone else from their car first, and she embraced him.
“We need to get your arm in a splint, Papa.”
“Yes, I’m pretty bad off but I’ll live, unlike some of the others.”
Together they surveyed the wreckage, as the full enormity of the disaster began to sink in. The railroad cars that, mere minutes before, had been rolling onto the bridge now lay on the floor of the riverbed, covered by heavy wooden timbers from the bridge structure. Under the piles of rubble, people screamed for help. Somewhere in the mess were Basil and Charles Gray.
Ginger allowed herself to shed some tears, which went unnoticed as the unrelenting rain pelted her. She led her father to the bank of the river. Her hair, which had been so carefully coiffed just this morning, now fell around her face in a muddy, sodden mess. Shoving it back from her eyes, she searched the riverbank for a few sticks.
“Here, Papa, sit. I’m going to fix you up.” She lifted her skirt and yanked on one of her petticoats, ripping it into strips, and fashioned a splint for her father’s arm.
George stifled a scream of pain as she repositioned the broken bone, placed a stick of wood on each side of his arm, and wrapped it all together into a crude splint. His face took on an ashen sheen as he sat on the bank, with rain pelting him.
“I know that was painful, Papa. Your face is so pale.” She brushed her hand over his forehead, wiping off the beads of sweat.
“I’ll be all right now, Daughter, thank you. Go look for Basil and Mr. Gray. They were in one of the front cars that plunged headlong into the river.”
“The lieutenant is trying to get to them, Papa. His men are working to free everyone else. He’s sending the people to me, as they get clear of the wreckage, so I can take care of their wounds. He will find them.”
She tried to put on a brave face in front of her father as she surveyed the damage to the cars that had tumbled from the bridge. They were twisted and distorted, crunched together as if thrown into a blacksmith’s hot furnace. Ginger doubted the outcome would be good for either her brother or her father’s best friend.
She ran from one dazed person to another as they came to shore, and ripped apart petticoats to use as bandages. Soon, pieces of her expensive undergarments adorned the heads, arms, and legs of the injured, who sat or lay on the bank of the river, moaning in pain or staring blankly in shock and horror.
One of the soldiers handed her a young boy, and she laid him on the slimy muck beside the river. His eyes were glazed in shock. Ginger ran her hands lightly down the boy’s frame, checking for fractures. He winced when she touched his ribcage.
“Does your stomach hurt?”
The boy nodded. “Where’s my mother?”
“Were you together?”
The boy again nodded. “I tried to wake her up, but her eyes were closed and she wouldn’t open them. Will you try to find her?”
“As soon as I take care of you. What’s your name?”
“Daniel.” He closed his eyes as a wave of pain overtook his little body.
“Well, Daniel. I’ll get your cuts bandaged up and you’ll be good as new. The soldiers will work on getting your mother to shore.”
Ginger could guess Daniel’s mother was one of the lifeless bodies being laid out on the riverbank, but she could not bring herself to tell this small boy he had lost her. He was in a bad way himself. She guessed he had internal injuries of some kind, and all the bandages in the world weren’t going to help him.
“You know, Daniel, I have a little sister who’s about your age. She likes to play with dolls. What toys do you like?” She hoped her idle talk would take the boy’s mind from his pain.
Daniel tried to follow her gentle conversation and answered, “I like trains.” He grimaced again as the pain rolled over him. His eyes opened suddenly and he looked to the skies, which still pelted rain on his small body. “Mama, wait for me,” he cried out and raised his hand in the air. “I’m coming.”
Ginger wrapped his little hand in hers. “Your mama has you now, Daniel.”
She watched as the light in his eyes faded to nothingness. Gulping back her tears as she put her hand over his face, she closed his eyes and shielded them momentarily from the relentless rain. She kissed his wet cheek.
All afternoon, the rain continued to lash them. The air was filled with the sounds of soldiers barking out orders, mixed with the cries of the injured, and the heart-wrenching sobs of the living whose loved ones had perished in the wreck.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Joseph watched as the horse and rider raced through the torrential rain toward the ranch house, as if they were being chased by a band of soldiers. He suspected the rider was bringing bad news. As the horse drew closer, he recognized his brother, Raoul, who had been in Canada with his grandfather, learning the ways of the Ojibwa. Joseph was surprised to see him.
Raoul tugged on the horse’s reins and stopped, then slid off its bare back, landing near Joseph. Raoul clamped his brother on the shoulder, and blurted out, “I am not too late, then. You are still here.”
Joseph placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder, too, in a manly hug.
“Too late for what? Is Grandfather all right? You have ridden your horse hard. It is not like you to ride an animal to the point of exhaustion.”
“Do you know a white woman from the East?”
Joseph flinched at the words. His brother was studying to become the tribe’s shaman. He had a gift for seeing into the future, and was trying to harness his God-given talent to help his people navigate in this changing world.
“Let us go inside. You must be hungry,” Joseph said. “Then you can tell me of your vision.” He called to their brother. “Gaston, would you tend to Raoul’s horse?”
Raoul accompanied Joseph inside, where he was greeted by his mother and youngest brother, Etienne. As Mary Tall Feather hurried to gather some food for her sons, Joseph sat quietly, waiting. A sense of dread coiled in his insides. He knew Raoul’s vision must have been strong for him to leave Canada and hurry home. Finally, he could wait no longer.
“Mother, please leave us. Raoul has had a vision and he needs to tell me about it. He will visit with you later.”
After their mother and Etienne left the room, Raoul asked, “So you know this white woman of my
vision?”
“Does this woman of which you speak have a small build and brown hair?”
“Yes, except when the sun catches it, then it has a flash of red.”
A cold chill ran through Joseph’s body, making him shudder. “Yes, I know this woman.”
“She is in grave danger.”
“Where is she, Raoul?”
“She is riding on one of those steel buggies.”
“A train? Are you certain?”
Raoul lifted an eyebrow at his brother. “When have my visions ever been wrong?”
“True enough. But there are train tracks over half of America now, and more are being laid every day, to the West.”
“She is with three men, one as young as she is. All of them are injured.”
Even though Joseph had honored Basil’s request to never see or talk to him again, he was aware of Basil’s movements throughout the city. He knew about the Pacific Railroad’s celebratory ride and that Basil’s father, George Fitzpatrick, and Charles Gray were going to be on that train. Had Ginger decided at the last minute to join them?
“Tell me of the scene.”
“It was dark, with much rain. I saw a wide river, and then heard the crack of timbers and the screech of iron against iron as a bridge collapsed. The steel buggy fell into the river below, like it was a toy.”
“The bridge over the wide river is on the Gasconade. It is the route the Pacific Railroad is taking right now.” Joseph stood up, as his insides turned icy cold. “Come, Raoul, let us gather our brothers and some equipment. I fear something terrible has happened aboard the train. We must go to her.”
Although they assembled what they needed quickly, Joseph felt as if centuries had passed before they were on the road to town. Soon they were joined by others who had just gotten word of the disaster. Soldiers had ridden into town with the news, and men were gathering at the railroad platform. One of them called out as the Lafontaine brothers appeared.
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