by Sara Orwig
Twenty minutes later, he looked up to see Darcy approach.
“You got yourself in a hell of a mess,” Caleb said, proud of Darcy and impatient with him at the same time. “Now you can’t work.”
“Yes, I can.”
“The hell. You’d pass out in ten minutes. You might as well ride back to Memphis. If you can’t do that—”
“I can work,” Darcy said stubbornly.
Caleb studied him and realized his little brother was growing up and it gave him a wrench inside. He wanted to hug Darcy, yet it would embarrass him. “Come on. I’ll patch you up. Does it hurt to breathe and move?”
“Everything hurts.”
Caleb stopped in the shade of the supply wagon and felt Darcy’s ribs. He motioned to a cask. “Sit down and I’ll clean up your face.”
As he wiped away the blood, Darcy leaned against the wagon.
“Where’s Sweeney?” Darcy asked.
“Some men carried him out of the way and someone wrapped his head. I think he’s sitting under a tree. Where did you learn to fight?” Caleb asked.
Darcy squinted one eye open to look up at him. “Where else? New Orleans. I spent a lot of time on the docks and on the streets. Where did you learn to fight?”
“Probably with Rafe and Fortune,” Caleb answered, amused. “What did you do to rile Sweeney?”
“Sweeney hates the world.”
“I’ll wrap your ribs.” When he finished he looked at Darcy. “Climb into the wagon and stretch out.”
“No. Are you finished?”
“Yes. I’m moving you. You place the sleepers now.”
“I can shovel.”
“I know you can. I was going to move you anyway.”
Darcy squinted at him. “You saw the fight?”
“The last of it.”
“Thanks for not stepping in.”
“Sure, Darcy. Don’t get in another one. And anyone who does loses the day’s wages. After two fights, you’re off the crew. I’m firing Sweeney.”
“Just give him a warning. Don’t fire him over me.”
“I’ll think about it, but you don’t have to worry about anyone thinking you get special privileges. The men know I watched and they know now you can hold your own with the best of them.”
Darcy started to laugh, winced, and touched his swollen mouth. “As long as you and I don’t get into it.” He strode away, a gangling, awkward kid who was turning into a man. Sometimes his voice cracked and became childish, then switched to a deep tone. Caleb looked at him and thought of the years the war had robbed him of seeing Darcy grow.
He caught up with the rail crew to go back to work.
“Someone’s coming on the run, boss,” a short, red-haired man said.
Caleb looked up and saw the rider approaching. Wondering if the bridge crew had run into more trouble, Caleb strode forward. With the rain, streams were overflowing. Caleb waved, and the rider headed toward him, yanking on the reins to stop and he recognized Will.
“Your other engine will arrive in town Friday.”
“Thank God!” Caleb exclaimed. “Let me tell one of the men and then I’ll ride back to Memphis with you.”
Minutes later he returned to Will on horseback. Will stared at the workers, the flatcars, and the equipment. “I don’t know how you got this all assembled so fast,” he said, awed.
“Yes, you do. The war is over and men are ready to work. And this is just a small part of our crew, Will. The surveying party is in the lead with Irvin Swartz. Between Swartz and O’Toole, I have two of the best engineers in the country. It’s the first time you’ve been out here and I wish I could show it all to you.” He waved his hand. “Swartz and his crew go first. Jethro Davis comes next with his location crew to stake out the grades and curves. And then we have the grading crew.”
“Dunstan is boasting that he will win this race,” Will said as they turned to ride east. “Men are betting on who will get his train to Memphis first. I hate to say, but right now the odds favor Dunstan.”
“Place a bet on us, Will, although I wouldn’t have said that a week ago.”
They reached Hopefield and rode to the old M&A depot that was being renovated. Hammers pounded and men went in and out carrying boards.
Without waiting for Will, Caleb jumped down, running around the depot, calling quick greetings to workmen. The powerful, black engine was on the first track beside the depot. His heart thudded with excitement as he jumped up inside, running his fingers over the tender.
Will appeared. “This is spectacular, Caleb! A beauty.”
“Look at it, Will! We’ll run this across Arkansas to Louisiana and later into Texas. Memphis lost the eastern terminal of a transcontinental line, but if we can get this to Texas, we’ll have a southern link with the West that will grow every year. And we’ll grow with it!”
He sobered, because he wanted Sophia to look at it. Suddenly it all seemed a hollow achievement without her to show it to. He had felt rootless, a wanderer until he met Sophia and he realized now how much purpose she had brought to his life. He felt a knot in his throat and wondered if he were doing the right thing. Was a newspaper going to take the love of his life?
They climbed outside, crawling over the engine, finally climbing down and Caleb slid beneath it to lie between the tracks and look at the big wheels, the connecting rods, the fire grate. He slid out and brushed himself off. “Shall we go?”
“I’m ready. Father still expects us to lose everything.”
“We’re doing all right so far, but we need Heaton’s million.”
When they reached Memphis as they rode along Main Street, Caleb felt his heart turn over.
Sophia climbed down from a buggy and crossed the boardwalk to enter the bank. Before she reached the door, a tall, brown-haired man stopped to talk to her. She smiled up at him, and Caleb wanted to jump down off his horse and get her and carry her away. He felt as if he would suffocate and he realized his hands were clenched into fists. He hadn’t thought it would hurt so much to part. And he thought the separation would be brief. He should have known; Sophia’s whole life was the newspaper. He hadn’t hurt anymore over separation during the war, but he had known he would come home to her and he occasionally had her letters to sustain him. Now he didn’t know whether she was seeing someone else or what she was doing. Did she hurt or was her independence so all-fired important that she didn’t care?
She was in a bright blue dress and blue bonnet and he couldn’t look away from her. The man touched her arm, and Caleb drew a deep breath.
“Cal?”
He became aware of Will speaking to him. “Sorry, what?”
“What’s wrong with—” Will looked past him. “Oh. Sorry.”
“Who’s with her?” Caleb asked, not really sure he wanted to know. He wanted to shove the man aside.
“Brock Fremont. He’s new in Memphis; he’s bought a big lot on Adams and is going to build. He has a sheet iron factory.”
They drew abreast, and she turned her head. She looked into his eyes, and his breath caught. She glanced beyond him, nodding to Will, looking back at Caleb. He felt a jolt of tension as they gazed into each other’s eyes, and he felt scalded by flames of desire. He ached for her. Her eyes narrowed, and she turned away, laughing with the man facing her.
Upstairs in Will’s office, Caleb moved to the window and stood looking down on the street. Her buggy was still there, so she had to be in the bank. He watched the door for her. Was it so important that she give up the paper? That she stay home as all other women did? Other than when work occupied his mind, the rest of the time was hell without her.
Then he saw Brock Fremont waiting, lingering at the end of the street. Sophia came out of the bank. She started across to her wagon and stopped, looking around. Fremont caught up with her and helped her into the carriage.
“Do you see Sophia?” Caleb asked.
“Occasionally. She’s fine. Sorry about you two. Life is just so damned complicated.�
�
The bitterness in Will’s voice was something Caleb seldom heard from his friend. He glanced at Will. “How’s Amity?”
“I asked her to marry me.”
“Will! Why didn’t you tell me? Why—”
Will shook his head. “No. She says she won’t leave New Orleans and her family. Father is getting more frail by the week. I can’t leave. I’m tied to two businesses here.” He sounded bleak, and Caleb could understand his hurt.
“Sorry, Will.”
“Here are the reports and the receipts I wanted you to see.”
“I’ll get back to you,” Caleb said, taking the reports and leaving. He rode to his house on Adams. He strode through the back door, his footsteps echoing in the emptiness. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He hadn’t ever hurt this badly. Sophia was his life and he didn’t want to live without her.
“We’re not alike,” he said aloud. “We don’t do the same things or like the same things. She doesn’t approve of my gambling. I don’t approve of her newspaper.” Yet all the time he talked, he knew how much he missed her, he thought of her laughter and the moments they did agree, the things they both liked. She was independent and intelligent and fun. And sensual enough to make him burn like wildfire. He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. “Sophia.”
Sophia rode home in a daze. She had seen Caleb in town. She remembered, going over and over the moment in her mind when she had looked up to see him riding past with Will. His hat was battered; he was dusty, his skin a deep brown. Her heart missed beats and she couldn’t hear what Brock was saying to her. She gazed into Caleb’s green eyes and felt as if she might lose control and burst into tears right there in front of the bank. Was the paper worth all the agony? None of her brothers was coming back. She would have heard from John by now and Morris and Amos were dead. So was Papa. Was she saving the paper and giving up love in exchange? Was that what she really wanted? she asked herself.
It was an empty victory to keep the paper and lose Caleb. And every day that passed made that clearer to her. She dreaded going to the Weekly office now. She couldn’t concentrate on what she wrote, she had to redo her work over and over. And Caleb’s influence in her life had made a difference. During the early part of the war when Caleb had been with her and injured, she had seen that he was right, that railroads could bring prosperity and by the time Caleb came home from fighting, she was supporting his train in the paper.
Now the scope of the Weekly seemed narrow and she continued to support her father’s stand on temperance out of respect for him, but she no longer believed the way she had before she met Caleb.
She climbed down and carried a basket of food inside. Mazie helped her, and after a few minutes putting away staples, Mazie paused. “Miss Sophia? You haven’t heard a word I’ve said. Child, what’s wrong with you?”
“Sorry, Mazie.”
“You’re pinin’ over Major O’Brien,” Mazie said, placing her hands on her hips. “Miss Sophia, I’m getting old. You ought to be married and have someone to take care of you and I’m going to worry myself to pieces if you don’t.”
“I’ll be all right, Mazie, and you don’t need to worry,” Sophia said, wanting to avoid discussing it because she lacked control of her emotions.
“Have you seen Major O’Brien lately?”
“I told you, Mazie, we don’t see each other anymore.”
“It’s over that paper of your papa’s. Miss Sophia, your folks aren’t coming home. There’s just you and me. Someday there’s going to be just you.”
“Mazie, I’m fine and I’m doing what I want to do. I don’t want to hear anymore about it!” The moment the words were out, Sophia felt regret. She had never been sharp with Mazie, who clamped her mouth shut and turned away.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m through for the day and I’m going home. My bones ache, and I may not be able to be back tomorrow, Miss Sophia.” She marched out of the kitchen, yanking up her bonnet as she left.
Sophia sank down on a chair and ran her hand over her forehead. She shouldn’t have spoken sharply to Mazie. And did she really want the paper?
That night she lay in bed, tossing and turning and weighing the same question. Who was she preserving the paper for? Her family was gone, and she no longer enjoyed publishing it. She climbed out of bed and walked in the dark to the next bedroom.
Moonlight spilled across the high empty bed, but all she saw was Caleb stretched in it, remembering and aching and feeling hot tears course down her cheeks. “Caleb—”
Work went forward and Caleb sat astride his horse watching with satisfaction in late November. They were working efficiently now, all the crews accustomed to each other, laying a mile a day, sometimes better. He was running a close race with Dunstan; each day’s progress by both lines was reported in Memphis. He hadn’t been back to Memphis for weeks and he was going tonight. It was time to replenish supplies, check with investors, take care of business at home.
Jonah McClanahan was his engineer who drove the train, and they steamed back to Memphis. They had track finished through Clarendon and as Caleb gazed out at the dark night, he knew he should feel exultation. All he could feel was an intense longing for Sophia. Where was she? What was she doing? Was there another man? “Damn,” he muttered, shifting, wanting to get back to Memphis.
As he rode the ferry the last distance, he stood at the rail and looked at the dark waters of the Mississippi and smelled the river, the odors of water and fish and oil from boats mingling. Wind blew over him. Home. Lights flickered onshore and felt a longing that made him groan. He wanted to go to Sophia’s, to take her in his arms and love her.
The next morning he was up early, pacing the house, waiting for businesses to open, feeling impatient; he had made a decision.
Sophia studied herself in the mirror. “I don’t want the paper,” she whispered. “I want you.”
She had agreed to go to the Stantons’ ball with Taylor Weatherford and she wished she hadn’t. Hannah Lou urged her to get out, Taylor had pushed her to accept his invitation, so she had accepted, but now she didn’t want to go out; she didn’t want to spend the evening with any man except Caleb.
Her emerald green satin dress was new, fashioned with rose ribbons, lace, and rosebuds and it was beautiful, but all she could think about was Caleb’s green eyes, his irresistible smile, his passion.
She stared at her reflection. “Get rid of the Weekly,” she said aloud. Why keep the paper? Caleb was all-important, all she wanted. She would give up the Weekly to be his wife. She crossed the room to the bed and ran her hand over it. “Caleb, come home to me. I want you. Not a paper, but you.”
Caleb was somewhere in the wilds of Arkansas, laying track and building his railroad. When would she see him again?
A knock sounded and Mazie answered the door, ushering Taylor into the parlor. Sophia could hear their voices and then Mazie appeared. “Mister Weatherford’s waiting, Miss Sophia.”
Mazie didn’t approve of anyone except Caleb, and she barely hid her feelings, something that astounded Sophia. When and how had Caleb won Mazie’s total loyalty? she wondered.
When Sophia entered the parlor, Taylor Weatherford turned. He was handsome, tall and blond with brown eyes that were warm and friendly.
“How beautiful you look.”
“Thank you, Mister Weatherford.”
He looked amused as he crossed the room to take her arm and gaze down at her. “It’s Taylor, Sophia. Remember?”
When she nodded, he linked her arm through his. “Shall we go?”
At the brightly lighted hotel ballroom, she felt in a daze, trying to pay attention to Taylor’s conversation. Halfway through the evening while they danced, he raised her face up to his. “Sophia, I think I pushed you into coming tonight and now I know I shouldn’t have. You act like a woman deeply in love—and I’m not the man.”
“Taylor, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be sorry. I urged you to come when you politely tri
ed to refuse. I shouldn’t have. Unfortunately, you and I aren’t in love. I think the most we’ll ever be is friends.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve ruined your evening.”
“You haven’t ruined mine. This is only the second time we’ve danced together. I’ve had a good time, but I suspect you aren’t having a good time.”
She smiled at him. “I’m glad you’ve had a good time.”
His brown eyes twinkled as he gazed down at her. “I met Miss Lucy Hockinson and I’ll call on her tomorrow. As a matter of fact, she came with her parents, and I might take her home tonight.”
Sophia felt a mild shock. Was Taylor leaving her to get home on her own? She realized she deserved it for her cool manner. His smile widened.
“You won’t be abandoned,” he reassured her.
“That’s all right, Taylor. I feel terrible, because I shouldn’t have come—”
“Don’t say anymore. It isn’t necessary. When I fall in love, I hope she loves me in such a manner. And I don’t think I’ll be taking you home tonight.”
“That’s all right.”
He grinned. “I’m wondering how long before he claims you to dance.”
“Who?” Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at Taylor, and then glanced around.
“Mister O’Brien is here; I saw him come through the door a little while ago.”
She barely heard Taylor, her gaze scanning the crowd milling on the fringe of the ballroom.
“He’s a fortunate man,” Taylor added.
“How long ago did you see him?” She looked at the dancers. “Did he have a woman with him?”
“I saw him about half an hour ago.”
“Half an hour!” That was forever. Where was Caleb and what was he doing?
“Was there a woman?”
“Why don’t you look for yourself,” Taylor said softly, leaning down to her ear. “Goodbye, Sophia. I wish you the best.”
She blinked, glancing around and then Caleb was there in a black coat and pants, a snowy white shirt and cravat. He was saying something to Taylor, Taylor speaking, and all the while all she could do was stare into Caleb’s eyes as he watched her. He reached for her and she went into his arms to dance and neither of them said a word. Her pulse pounded and she was aware of his hand on her waist, his hand holding hers, their steps matching as he spun her around the dance floor.
