by George Wier
The crowd practically crowed their approval.
“He was a good man. He was a great Governor. And now he’s home.”
Another cheer. I held the horn away from my mouth and whispered to Governor Sandoval: “the service is tomorrow, right?” He nodded. I lifted the bullhorn again. “Tomorrow we will lay him to rest beneath a certain mesquite tree after a long life of service. Service to his friends.” I gestured to the others. “Service to each of you, whom he loved. And especially, service to Texas. It is fitting that I introduce to you those who made this trip possible. I give you our driver, Corky,” I gestured to Corky and he raised his hands, clasped together, and shook them, “I give you our Fireman, Leo,” Leo followed Corky’s example and raised his hand to another cheer, “I give you JoJo, our...what is it you do, JoJo?”
“Everything,” she shouted.
“JoJo,” I said, “who does everything!” JoJo waved to the crowd. “And I give you Frank, our Brakeman. We have one in the hospital in Sweetwater. That’s Charlie. He’ll be all right. But the rest of you guys, come on up here!” I gestured to the crew, and they came up one by one, were cheered for and at, and then stepped down.
“The Lone Star Express!” I shouted.
The crowd erupted in applause and the band raised their instruments and began to play Sousa’s Stars And Stripes Forever.
I handed the bullhorn to Governor Sandoval, leaned close, and said, “I’m out of this scene. Where can I get a bath?”
“There are rooms for each of you at my hotel. All on the house.”
“Governor,” I said, “by God, please lead the way!”
And that was that.
*****
I had my shower. In fact everybody had a shower and a change of clothes. A local clothier had come by and got measurements from everybody and supplied us all with fresh, clean clothes. I had my own suit bag from the train wreck northwest of Sweetwater, delivered to my room by a State Trooper, so I demurred to accept a new suit from a stranger.
That night, I slept the sleep of the just, and had no dreams whatsoever, which was somewhat of a record in and of itself.
The next morning we gathered for breakfast in the hotel lobby. The local news station was there to snap our pictures, and after eating, we posed for them together.
Somewhere along the line, I was handed a newspaper.
There it was, larger than life: yours truly standing atop the refrigeration car—or rather what was left of it—as JoJo climbed down the ladder while the train rolled to a stop. The photo was taken from the side of the highway: one of the cars or trucks that must have been passing by at that moment and witnessed the explosion, fished out their phone camera and started snapping pictures. It was a beauty. I had little doubt but that Julie was going to serve my sorry carcass for dinner to the local coyote population when I got home.
The Governor came downstairs and posed with us at exactly the right moment. Scratch a politician, find a showman. Penny came down a few minutes later.
“Um,” I whispered to her. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
She considered it, then shook her head. “No. I don’t think so.”
I nodded.
Jessica came in shortly thereafter and hugged me. Perry followed a minute later.
“There you are,” Perry said.
“Yeah. And there you are.”
“You really didn’t think he was going home when you told him to, did you, dad?” Jessica asked.
“Not for a minute.”
“Bill,” Perry whispered. “Who’s the lady?” he gestured toward JoJo, who was busily posing with the Governor.
“That’s JoJo. But her name is really Sarah Ann.”
Perry frowned, and suspicion flashed across his features. He spoke slowly, “And why does she have to sets of first names?”
“Because,” I said, “she’s important. JoJo is her train association name. Also, she’s one of the good people, Perry. Not that you would ever be able to tell the difference. I’ll introduce you to her. I think she’ll like you. You see, she’s what you might call ‘available.’”
“My kind of woman,” he said.
Jessica rolled her eyes and smiled.
“Thanks for saving me back there,” I said.
“I didn’t save you. All I did was help you to your feet. And I got that old desert rat to the hospital like you told me to.”
“You did well. You going to the burial service with me tomorrow?”
“Of course she is,” Governor Sandoval interrupted. “This your daughter?”
“Sure is,” I said. “And she’s married. Uh, sir.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Man that is born of a woman is of few days and full of trouble,” the minister said, and I had heard the verse enough from my past to identify it. It was from Job. Around about were a crowd of not more than twelve people, including Jessica and myself, the crew of the Lone Star Express, the current Governor of the State of Texas, Sawyer’s granddaughter, Elizabeth, a few others, and the minister herself.
“He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down: he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not. And doth thou open thine eyes upon such an one, and bringest me into judgment with thee? Who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean? not one. Seeing his days are determined, the number of his months are with thee, thou hast appointed his bounds that he cannot pass. Turn from him, that he may rest, till he shall accomplish, as an hireling, his day. For there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease. Though the root thereof wax old in the earth, and the stock thereof die in the ground. Yet through the scent of water it will bud, and bring forth boughs like a plant. But man dieth, and wasteth away: yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where is he? As the waters fail from the sea, and the flood decayeth and drieth up: so man lieth down, and riseth not: till the heavens be no more, they shall not awake, nor be raised out of their sleep. Job, Chapter Four, Verses one through twelve.”
Having concluded the requisite Bible verses, and in lieu of a sermon in which she could have called for souls to dedicate their lives to Christ, she spoke about Sawyer’s life of public service, and then she went back to his early years in the oil fields.
“And now,” she said, “these last words I have reserved for Governor Sawyer himself, who wanted the following to be read at this time:
“ ‘ To my friends of the Old ‘19, I bequeath one last adventure together. Among you is either my best friend, Walter Cannon, or alternatively, my good right arm, Bill Travis, who has saved my life. Now it is confession time, for in order to rest, I must confess all before God and those assembled here. It was my failure that I was unable to end the crime spree of two infamous crime families who sprang up in the wake of the vacuum left by my own father. They were the Wades and the Crofts, both of Houston. My executor, Jonce Abington, of Abington & Smith Funeral Home, was instructed to circulate a rumor upon my demise that ten million dollars worth of diamonds and other jewelry was to be buried along with my body—the last of the estate left over from my father. This, I felt, would bring the evil men out of the woodwork, and commit them to recovering it at any cost. In doing so, I regret if any among my good friends has been injured or has lost their life in the ensuing adventure, but I considered it my last duty to end their dominion over the law-abiding citizens of this Great State. I have every prayer that at this reading, you five, the surviving members of the Big Thicket Steam Association, along with my proxy, Walter Cannon or Bill Travis, has seen the job done.
“ ‘ To my friend, Corky Andrews, I wish you long life and the satisfaction of it well-lived. And for this final trip—and for each of you—I bequeath the sum of fifty-thousand dollars each, for seeing it done.
“ ‘ To Leo DeGauss, I will add a lifetime supply of soap in the hopes that one day you will have rid of the last molecule of coal dust from your body.’ ”
There was a chuckle all around, and Frank slapped Cor
ky’s back.
“ ‘ To Frank Cobb, there is a gold watch waiting for you in Houston at my granddaughter’s house, which was my home but that is now hers.
“ ‘ To Sarah Ann Blake, I give you that which I could not give you in life—all my love. I did not deem that I deserved your love in life, therefore, now, in death, I follow your shadow, I breathe upon your cheek, and I whisper in your ear.
“ ‘ To my friend Walter Cannon, I leave you nothing but long memories of good conversation and laughter, of fine cigars and a loathing for the lowly and petty foibles incident to life.
“ ‘To my friend Bill Travis, I don’t leave you at all. I’ll always be right there beside you in your continued adventures. I have been a traveler, a hard worker, a Senator and a Governor, but had no idea of how a man should live until I met you. Thank you for the kindest gift of all: inspiration.
“ ‘And now, my friends, all of you, go this day and live your lives. Stand tall, and live well. Do so, because I live on in each of you. Goodbye.’ ”
The minister closed the sheaf of papers, replaced them in the envelope, and handed it to Elizabeth.
The Ross Volunteers came forward, all dressed in clean, ivory-white uniforms, held their swords aloft, and waited as two others came forward and folded the Texas Flag, strode to the first row, knelt, and gave it to Elizabeth, who accepted it.
The golden coffin, scarred and rent from the great adventure, was then lowered into the ground.
“Well,” I said, “and stood up.” For some reason my eyes were leaking moisture. It must have been the dusty West Texas wind, which blew from nowhere to nowhere else.
*****
Jessica and I were the last to leave. Before we did, I went to where the grave diggers stood, back behind the canopy, and asked whether it would be all right for me to see the headstone, which was covered over and awaiting their ministrations. It stood beneath the massive bole of a mesquite tree that had been planted a long time ago.
“Sure, boss,” one of them said. I followed him back inside the tent and stood aside as he pulled the tarp down. On the left it read: Richard Donegal Sawyer, and gave his date of birth. I supposed that someone would be picking it up soon and carrying it in to the stone cutter for the date of death before bringing it back and setting it up again. That bit of information, however, was not what I was looking for. Instead, I read the epitaph to the right:
Elsa Jane Sawyer
June 11, 1950 to September 12, 1975.
Died in childbirth
The angels rejoice at her return.
She had been twenty-five at the time.
I stepped to the foot of the grave and found the other, much smaller one.
Melissa Laughlin Sawyer
Died in childbirth
September 12, 1975
Jessica put her hand on my shoulder.
“Come on, daddy,” she said. “Let’s get the hell out of this place.”
“Yes,” I said, barely keeping myself together. “Yes. Let’s.”
*****
Before we could get into Jessica’s cruiser, we were hailed by two men walking our direction. I took one for the funeral director, and I couldn’t have been more correct. The other one I recognized, but wasn’t sure where I’d seen him before.
“Yes?” I asked.
“My name is Jonce Abington. I got Governor Sawyer ready for the trip to Austin.”
“Abington? I thought you were dead?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No. That was all part of the smoke and mirrors. Governor Sawyer wanted me to have a piece run in the Houston paper, saying I was dead. The stakes were pretty high, you know, and I’m always up for a good game. It looks like it all worked.”
I laughed. “Yeah. I’d say so. He brought down two crime families with one stroke. I’m only surprised they didn’t throw in together to make stopping the train and stealing the body work.”
“No. The way he had it figured, they’d be in competition with each other. They would blaze a trail across the whole state that would make it impossible for them to escape prosecution, and they would do it while competing with each other. It’s pretty good stuff, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Cheating death like that. Governor Sawyer. He managed to bring them down from beyond the grave, as it were.”
“Come to think of it,” I said, “you’re right.”
“I’d like to introduce my partner, Mr. Jacob Smith.”
I shook hands with him, and then realized where I had seen him before. He’d been parked across the street from my house that first morning back from Houston. I’d given him a good scare, and he’d torn out of there like the minions of Hades were after him.
“Didn’t mean to scare you the other day,” I said, and shook his hands. “What were you doing over there?”
“I was going to tell you what was going on. To be on the look out for someone trying to stop the train, who they would be, that sort of thing.”
“I wish you hadn’t bolted like that. But then again, I suppose that I was pretty ferocious.”
“Not really,” he said. “You startled me, is all. I thought you were going to hit me.”
“Dad!” Jessica said. “You didn’t assault this poor fellow, did you?”
“You hush!” I said. I turned back to Smith and Abington. “Fellahs, it’s nice to meet you, but me and the kiddo have to get back on the road to Austin.”
“That’s fine,” Abington said. “I did want to say...thank you.”
“For what?”
“For fulfilling the old man’s final request. It’s not all that often that the living will go the extra mile for the departed. But, then again I guess you’re a rare sort, Mr. Travis.”
“Maybe,” I said, and got into Jessica’s car.
*****
We stopped by to see Charlie at the hospital in Sweetwater on the way home and were surprised to find him sitting up in his bed. He had on his train clothes, which the hospital had laundered for him, and he was talkative. Also, he was ready to check out and go home.
“Did you bury him?” Charlie asked.
“We did,” I said, and proceeded to tell him all about the aftermath of the train wreck. About procuring the maintenance and construction car, the parade, the hotel and pictures with the Governor, and finally the burial service. I even told him about the headstones, and what it all meant.
“A lot makes sense to me now,” Charlie said.
“I thought your plane was supposed to leave in a few hours,” I said. “Jessica and I are headed home, but I can probably arrange a ride for you to the airport.”
“I never did like flying,” he said. “If it’s the same to you, I’d prefer to ride back with you folks.”
“We’re going to Austin,” Jessica said. “But maybe you can get a bus ticket from Austin to your home town, wherever that is.”
“He’s from Palestine,” I said. “Sure, Charlie, you can ride with us. How’s the leg?”
“I don’t rightly know. It’s packed in all this plaster, and I don’t think it’s going anywhere for awhile. Can’t even bend it. But I can get around okay on these crutches.”
“Shouldn’t you stay here?” Jessica asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to take you to Austin with us, but that looks like a comfy bed, and it’s a shame not to use it.”
“Naw,” he said. “I’m already going stir crazy in here, and it hasn’t been much more than twenty-four hours. I’m ready to go.”
“All right,” I said. “Let’s go.”
It took twenty minutes for Charlie to sign himself out of the hospital against their advice on the matter. But then again Charlie didn’t seem to be the kind of fellow to take anybody’s counsel but his own.
And then we were back on the road.
EPILOGUE
It wasn’t long after that we were back home. By this time, Esteban—the Incredible Traveling Mexican Donkey—was in our lives and paring down the greenery in the back
yard.
I had been to Mexico and back, and then to West Texas, via train—and back!—and I was tired.
The call came on a Sunday morning, while Julie and the kids and I were having breakfast. It was my partner, Penny.
“Yes, Penny?” I said.
She told me about the three women, whom she continued to refer to as “the Trinity Trio” throughout the conversation, as if both ‘Trinity’ and ‘Trio’ were capitalized. I wasn’t sure what that meant. Nor did I care to ask. It didn’t help when I was so foolish as to ask any question, because she answered each one with more than one answer, each of which tended to elicit a minimum of three more questions.
“Penny,” I said, and I noticed that Julie had her fork down, looking at me, “can your Trinity Trio wait until Monday, at the least?”
“No,” she said. “Someone has to go down there and bail her out of jail, and I can’t do it because it would be...embarrassing to her. I mean, she would simply die. On top of that, I don’t want her knowing that I even know, because that would be enough to end her right then and there.”
“Wait a minute. You want me to...”
“Please, Bill? I’ll never ask you to do anything, ever again. I mean, I meant it.”
“I’ll talk to Julie about it. I’ll call you back,” I said, and hung up.
I set the phone down beside my plate and lifted my fork.
“Uh oh,” Jennifer said.
“Uh oh,” Michelle parroted.
I looked over again at Julie and saw what they were talking about. It struck me, suddenly, that I didn’t know which way to jump. Julie was upset at having breakfast interrupted by my accepting the phone call, or she was upset that I hadn’t given in instantly to Penny, or she was upset that I hadn’t given her an emphatic no, or she was upset that I was going to be leaving, yet again.
I set my fork back down, picked up the phone and dialed Penny.
