by Megan Besing
What had she been thinking? That she could insert herself into Mr. Stewart’s life and instantly become mother to his children? She knew some about caring for children, but judging by the actions of this woman before her, she knew nothing about mothering.
Her magazine pressed into her ribs, and she pulled it out of her reticule. How foolish she’d been to imagine such would—or could—be hers. More likely she was bound for a life of drudgery and hard work. A life of runny noses and dirty clothes. A life devoid of love.
Heels on the wooden planking of the car roused her. John, her fellow diner from dinner the previous day, the man who occupied more of her thoughts lately than was proper, strode toward her, and for a moment, their eyes met. Her heart leaped, pounding against her rib cage like a lioness struggling to escape its cage.
He sat behind her, bringing with him a whiff of fresh air and the lingering scent of bacon and eggs. Her mouth watered at the memory of him seated at the counter in the diner, sipping coffee and digging into his breakfast. Her day-old bun, purchased from the bakery next door, churned along with her watered-down tea.
From behind, the children chattered and bickered in a friendly tone, nothing mean about them. And then their steps neared. Mary turned in her seat as the train lurched forward. The middle child fell and bumped his head.
The older brother picked him up and brushed him off. “Don’t be such a crybaby. We can sit on the floor if we have to.”
But his words didn’t comfort the boy, who tipped his head back and wailed all the more. His mother, standing in the aisle behind him, gathered him into her arms, but the child wouldn’t be consoled. “Don’t wanna sit on floor. Wanna sit in chair.”
Mary glanced around. Every seat was occupied. Perhaps she could share?
But before she could respond, movement behind her caught her attention, and John stood. “Please, ma’am, take my seat.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.”
“There are no full seats available.”
The woman’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you, sir.”
He stepped aside and the children piled in, then their mother perched on the end of the bench. They finally settled and the boy stopped crying when allowed to sit nearest the window.
The man stood at Mary’s elbow. “Ma’am.”
She lowered her gaze. “Sir.”
When he sat, their elbows touched, and she shrank against the outside wall. But not before a tingling sensation traveled all the way from her fingertips to her shoulder.
While the sensation was unknown to her, it wasn’t unwelcome.
John shifted, crossing his legs at the ankles. These seats were too narrow to share, even with a woman as tiny as the one who sat stiffly beside him. She hadn’t relaxed for one minute in the past three hours but sat with her right shoulder pressed against the window like she wished she could escape.
Thomas waddled down the passageway, checking tickets and chatting with the passengers. The farther west they traveled, the more labored the elderly man’s breathing became.
When he drew near, John nodded his greetings. “G’mornin’, Thomas. How are you doing today?”
A sheen of perspiration covered the conductor’s face. “Fair to middlin’, Mr. John.”
John quirked his chin toward the door of the car. “Can I walk with you a bit? Need to stretch my legs.”
A grin split Thomas’s dark face. “Sure would like that, Mr. John.”
John stood then turned to Miss Mary. “Save my seat, would you?”
She nodded but still didn’t look at him.
He followed Thomas toward the rear of the train then stood with him on a platform. The scenery sped past, not much more than a blur enveloped in smoke from the engine. Thomas gripped the railing and leaned over, coughing.
John placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You’re having trouble breathing.”
The older man straightened and nodded. “The higher I go, the less air there is.”
“You need to rest.”
“Can’t. The boss man is lookin’ for a reason to retire me. Got to keep working.”
“How can I help?”
Thomas smiled at him. “No need for that. And if the boss man ever caught me—”
“Then we’ll have to be smarter than the boss man.” He clapped Thomas on the back. “Please, you’ll be doing me a favor. I’ve been cooped up in this bean can for days. I’m going to get fat and lazy if I don’t do something.”
Thomas stared at him a long time, and for a moment, John was certain he would turn down his offer. Then he nodded slowly. “Fine. I gots to move some things in the baggage car for the passengers getting off at Albuquerque.”
For the next two hours, John shifted what seemed like a ton of suitcases, crates, boxes, and carpetbags. Sweat poured down his back and face despite the chill air of the mountain passes the train labored through. But it felt good.
Job done, he straightened and breathed deep of the fresh mountain air.
Thomas sat on a crate, hands on his knees, and swiped at his forehead with a handkerchief. “Thanks so much for your help, Mr. John.”
“No, thank you for letting me work off some of my frustration and worry.”
“That’s fine, then. We both accomplished somethin’. I thank the good Lord for sendin’ you to me.”
“I don’t think God was involved.”
Thomas shook his head. “No, sir. God has His holy fingers in everything we do.”
“He’s not interested in me.”
“God is protectin’ you all the time. You just don’t see it.”
John gritted his teeth to keep from screaming. “He didn’t do anything but sit back and watch my wife die. He didn’t care about our two young children.”
Thomas stared at him for several heartbeats. “You got a heap of hurtin’ inside you, Mr. John. If’n you don’t let God take care of it, it’ll eat you up.”
John snorted. “Well, He ignored her prayers. A lot of other people were praying, too, including the pastor. What kind of a God doesn’t listen to the prayers of a pastor?”
The conductor shook his head. “Just ’cuz He don’t answer the way we want don’t mean He’s not a-listenin’. That’s two different things, Mr. John.”
“Why wouldn’t He do something for my daughters?”
“I don’t know all the answers, Mr. John. But I know the One who does.”
John stood. “If God listens to you, maybe you could ask Him to watch over my children.”
“I’d be right proud to do that on your behalf. For now.”
“For now?”
“Sure. It’s kind of like when you’re a young’un. Your pa teaches you how to saddle your horse. Then he helps you. Then he expects you to do it on your own. That’s what prayer is like. At some point, you gots to take responsibility for your own prayers.”
John headed back to his seat as thoughts of Thomas’s God whirled through his head. How could a person believe in a God who didn’t answer prayer? Didn’t intercede when He could? No. He didn’t need God.
He needed a mother for his children. And he’d taken care of that, all on his own.
Although John was easy on the eyes and smelled good, Mary pushed away the thoughts of him that intruded on her daydreams. He’d been gone for a while, most likely as an excuse not to sit next to her. He was as stiff as winter-dried dungarees fresh off the line, and the cat must have bitten off his tongue.
Not that she knew what she’d say if he did speak. Maybe the next time they sat together, she’d ask about his family. Where he was from. Where he was headed.
She shook her head. She’d do no such thing. She’d do what she always did around men. Sit silently and let him do all the talking. Voices caught her attention. She peeked over her shoulder.
He was coming her way. Torn between her heart’s desire to know him better and her head telling her she was engaged to another, she waited.
And listened.
“Thanks for your help, Mr. J
ohn.”
“Enjoyed our time together.”
“Will you think on what we talked about?”
“I will, Thomas.”
“And I’ll be praying for your little ones.”
Her heart caught in her throat.
Little ones.
He was married.
Time to forget her foolish daydreams and put some distance between her and this man.
Which would prove difficult since they were stuck on this train.
In the same seat.
John slid onto the bench. Miss Mary pressed against the window again. He shook his head. What was it with women that made them such a mystery?
Not that it mattered. Once he arrived in Bakersfield, they’d go their separate ways, and he’d never see her again.
He stared out the window to his left, past the two men playing cards on the small table between them. The scenery outside flashed past. The train took a southern turn after leaving Denver toward Albuquerque then Flagstaff. With any luck, later tonight they’d head west and be in Bakersfield the day after tomorrow.
They left the valley and began a tortuous climb up the mountainside. Their travel slowed, and plumes of black smoke from the engines obscured his vision. He looked to his right, past the profile of the young woman sitting still as a statue beside him. Nothing but air on the other side.
As he listened, the rumble of the wheels echoed against the rock, reverberating through the boards beneath his feet. Finally, the train crested the apex and descended into the next valley.
His eyes drooped and his chin dropped to his chest, only to be startled awake when Thomas hurried through the door into the car.
“Brace yourselves, folks!” Using the backs of the seats for support, the conductor traveled the length of the car with amazing speed. “Gonna come to a stop real quick here. Brace yourselves.”
John raised a hand to stop the man, but Thomas shrugged off the touch. “Got to keep movin’. Got to tell the other passengers.”
Miss Mary gathered her purse into her arms, her magazine tucked under an arm. She grasped the seat in front of her and turned to him, the color draining from her cheeks. “Goodness. What’s going on?”
John shook his head. “Don’t know.”
He planted his feet solidly on the floor, knees braced against the next seat. The train whistle blew, four long blasts, as the train slowed. He glanced out the window again. Sparks flew from the friction of the wheels on the rails. The engineer engaged the brakes full on.
The force of the train stopping pulled at him, and he eyed Miss Mary. Her arms strained beneath the thin fabric of her dress, and her clenched jaw muscles communicated her effort to remain upright. He hadn’t noticed her strength—he’d thought her frail, petite.
His Sophia was strong, too, but womanly in all the right places. Able to take care of herself, yet welcoming of a helping hand. Capable when it came to tending the house and the children, she always managed to make him feel he was more than man enough for her.
He swallowed back the lump in his throat as tears burned his eyes.
He had no misconceptions. Sophia was gone, and to expect any woman to replace her was both foolish and fruitless.
The sun dropped below the horizon like a stone in a pond. Within minutes, twilight settled on the stalled train like a wet blanket.
Mary peered through the gloom and around the bend in the track ahead. Five men stripped to their waists labored to move the rock and rubble blocking their progress. Mr. John had been out there for the past several hours, chipping away. When they started, it looked like a house camped across the rails. Now they’d whittled down the remaining section to perhaps a few hundred pounds.
The conductor perched on the seat across from her, the one vacated by the two card-playing companions who toiled alongside Mr. John, the fireman, and another able-bodied man from the car up ahead. Several others took turns but soon returned, winded from both the effort and the elevation. Thomas tossed a few shovels full of rubble but quickly tired. Mr. John sent him back. Judging by the sweat running down the man’s face, she was glad for it. His breathing, deep and chesty, hadn’t returned to normal even these hours later.
Using the trunk of a tree as a lever, the last large boulder rolled off the track and onto the gravel bank. The men straightened from their work, clapped each other on the back, and headed for the train. Within minutes, they were on their way again, the engine straining to pull the cars up and over yet another pass.
Mary settled back in her seat. Mr. John would return, and he would be exhausted and famished. She dug into her purse. Perhaps she could find enough coins to purchase his dinner as thanks for his work. Apart from the fireman, who was getting paid for the work, Mr. John was the only man who’d stayed out there the entire time.
She counted the few bits of change. She had enough for his dinner—the most expensive meal of the day—with none left over to eat for the remainder of the journey.
Two full days without food. She sighed. She could do it.
She owed him that much.
Chapter 5
John woke the next day stiff and sore. Funny how a few days of no work made a man soft and lazy. One of the three children sitting several rows behind coughed, and he opened his eyes.
That didn’t sound good.
He recalled when Maggie had a bad cold, and this one sounded worse than hers.
In fact, this one reminded him of—
Mary nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “Excuse me. I need to get out, please.”
He sighed and stood, every joint and muscle protesting. He glanced out the window as she pressed past him, her shoulder brushing against his chest. White covered the ground as far as the eye could see.
But her touch was enough to make him feel as though he were ablaze.
He shook his head at his foolishness and turned as she made her way down the aisle, swaying with the movement of the train.
If she were sashaying on a dance floor, she couldn’t look any prettier.
No matter that her dress was limp and wrinkled, and tendrils of hair escaped the knots and twists designed to contain those waves. So unlike Sophia’s hair, yet he’d shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching over and touching them to see if they were as soft as they looked.
Mary paused at the place where the woman and her children sat and placed her hand against one child’s forehead. Concern drew her brow down, and she tested the other two siblings, one of whom coughed. She spoke to the mother, who shook her head, but Mary persisted, and finally the woman nodded. Mary gathered the middle child in her arms and headed toward him.
She paused and set the child in her seat. “The other children aren’t feeling well. It’s probably too late, but since this one doesn’t have a fever, I felt it best to separate them. No point in spreading it around if it’s contagious.”
He squinted at her. “If?”
“Can you keep an eye on Trevor while I help with the others?”
“I don’t know anything about taking care of sick children.”
She planted her hands on her hips, reminding him for all the world of Sophia before she started to speak her mind about something. “Thomas said you have children.”
“I do, but—”
“Then you know enough.” She pointed to the seat. “Sit.”
The boy beside him knelt on the seat and swayed from side to side in time with the train’s movement. Occasionally he bumped John’s arm. John reached over to steady the child, who took that as an invitation to sit on his lap. Within minutes, his head slumped onto John’s chest, and his steady, rhythmic breathing indicated he’d fallen asleep.
Looking down at the pale skin, the blue veins against the white eyelids, John marveled at this tiny creature who trusted him enough to collapse into his embrace.
Is that what Thomas meant when he said God protected His children? John longed to hand over his problems to somebody—or Someone—more capable than himself.
>
But for now, this boy depended on him.
Mary rocked the little girl in her arms, the child’s body hot as an ember. Sweat glistened on the girl’s forehead and upper lip, but her hands and feet were cold to the touch.
Mary glanced over at the mother, who held the oldest child. His eyes, dark-circled and sunken, stared back at her. He breathed heavily through dry, cracked lips, erupting into a long, hollow cough like a sick coonhound every few minutes. His mother stroked his hair and whispered in his ear, but if he heard or understood, he made no indication.
They needed to get to Flagstaff—and a doctor—as soon as possible.
Instead, they were slowing once again. Surely not another landslide. They’d been out of the mountains for several hours. Outside, snowflakes danced against the windows. Frost patterns from the extreme difference in temperatures marred her view. Thomas had been through the car several times ensuring passengers had a blanket for their feet or a hot beverage for their insides.
And here he came again, bearing a tray of steaming bowls. He paused at the seats ahead of her, offering his wares. Her mouth watered at the scent of chicken soup. She’d not eaten much, preferring to leave the larger portion for the men who’d worked all day. Given the lateness of the train, the engineer opened the dining car again, but their supply of food wasn’t unlimited.
Passengers accepted a bowl, a spoon, and a napkin, but again no money traded hands.
Was it possible the food was still without cost?
When Thomas reached her, he nodded at the little one in her arms. “How she doin’?”
Mary stared at the child. “Not good. Her cough has eased a little, but I’m very worried about her breathing. How long before Flagstaff?”
Thomas shook his head. “According to the schedule, we was due there three hours ago. We’re still six hours out in miles. And the snow is gettin’ worse.”
“Is that why we’re slowing?”
He nodded. “We might not be able to keep goin’.” The train lurched, and he clutched at his tray. “Another drift across the tracks, mayhaps.” One side of his mouth turned up in a wry smile. “Can I leave you a bowl? Compliments of the company.”
