“And where are the valves?” asked Cassidy.
“Ummm,” the engineer responded nervously. “Under the cars.”
The group stared at him, expecting him to continue. When it became apparent that no more words were forthcoming, Cassidy spoke up. “Uh, what?” The engineer curled his lips in and clapped his hands together into a tight grip before nodding. “Why the hell are they under the cars?!”
“Well the cars weren’t really designed to be uncoupled while moving! If anything, they’ve been designed to prevent those sorts of things for safety.” Everyone paused briefly to contemplate. “And at least we only need to get to one valve. And really, the valve is the easy part. It’s the person who has to sever the front line that’s in danger.”
“Wait. Why?” asked Levi.
“Because, once they sever the line, they need to run back through the car and jump over to get away. The engine will easily overpower the brakes on a single car and the rear cars will apply their brakes as the gas pressure escapes.”
“Why don’t we just do this on the flat bed?” asked Joseph.
“The flatbed is a straight pipe. It doesn’t have brakes on it,” responded the engineer.
“So, who does what?” asked Levi.
“First, how do we get to the valve?” asked Cassidy.
“It’s easy! I can do it. All I need is for someone to hold onto me as I lean down between the cars to close the valve. Then, as I’m coming up, I can grab the pin.”
“Alright,” said Cassidy. “I’ll sever the line.”
“Wait,” interjected Joseph. “Why you?”
“Because. I’m the only one among us who has the ability to run.” All of the others nodded and mumbled in confirmation. “let’s do it.”
---
Cassidy cocked the shotgun and turned back to look through the car. “I’m ready!”
“OK!” yelled Joseph. “Shoot the tube when I yell!” Joseph turned to the engineer, standing next to him on the rear platform of the next car. “You ready?”
The engineer had a rope tied around his chest under his armpits and Levi was tugging the knot to make sure it was solid. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Alright. Jake,” Joseph said, pointing to Jacob. “Grab his feet.” The engineer knelt down on the floor by the rear door of the car. Jacob grabbed his feet and Joseph held onto the rope by wrapping it around his hands.
“Ok. Hold on to me really tight. When the brakes hit, we’re all going to jerk forward!” the engineer yelled. He was slowly angled down until his upper body was down near the coupling. He was able to peek down underneath the car. The wind was rushing past his head down there, forcing him to squint. His short, auburn hair was whipping around his head. He saw the valve — a large, iron handle attached to a pipe. He reached out and grabbed it in his left hand, and with a grunt, he closed off the valve. He signaled up with his hand and yelled “Pull me up!” Joseph tugged hard, drawing the engineer up.
Joseph hollered down to Cassidy, “blow it!”
Cassidy responded with a thumbs-up, turned, and, pointing the shotgun down with one hand, fired directly into the rubber connecting tube. Steam pressure hissed out, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then, suddenly, the brakes caught. Screeching, clanking, and juddering were followed by everyone lurching forward. Cassidy was thrown out onto the flatbed. The engineer, who had been standing in the doorway of the car, was thrown into the next car, doing a forward flip along the way, landing on his butt. He scrambled to turn around, and reaching down, grabbed the chain attached to the pin and ripped it up, successfully uncoupling the cars. He then stood up and jumped over just as the cars were beginning to separate.
“Cassidy! Hurry!” Joseph yelled. Cassidy was still getting up from her impact on the flatbed. She got up to see the rear cars falling back. She jumped off the flatbed and into the car and promptly fell through the badly damaged floor.
“Shiiiiit!” Cassidy yelled, as her body dangled through the floor, her feet dusting along the ground.
“Cassidy! I’m coming!” Joseph yelled.
“No!” Cassidy yelled back. “Stay there. Just gimme’ a minute!” She grasped desperately onto the wood and sacks that had been on the floor of the car. She tried letting go with one arm but slipped further, letting out a gasp. Joseph and company breathed heavily and all adopted looks of panic as they watched. Cassidy stiffened her arms and pushed down hard, screaming as she went. She managed to lift her body up far enough to reposition her arms at her side. She then pushed down, lifting herself halfway out of the hole. The wood beneath her right arm then gave way, sending her body falling to the side, smashing her face into the floor. “Fuck you,” she mumbled , her face pressed against the wood.
In the other car, the screeching of the brakes indicated that they were starting to clamp down. The group looked around in all directions with panic on their faces.
Using her face for support, she extricated herself from the floor. “CASSIDY!” her crew yelled. She lurched up from her precarious position, with an expression of wide-eyed, punch-drunkeness on her face.
“Crap!” she yelled. She moved to run, but tripped on some junk, smashing into the floor. She got up quickly and lurched around. “I am having a terrible day.”
“Cassidy! Stop fooling around!” yelled Joseph.
Cassidy let out a long battle cry as she started a full-tilt run toward the back door, launching herself from the edge of the floor. Joseph was leaning out the door, as she slow-motion flew through the air, bicycling her legs as she sailed, her arms stretched out front, dust and sunlight dancing around her, the cars slowly separating, Joseph straining to reach ever farther. The middle of her right boot landed on the edge of the car as she began to fall backwards, she rotated her arms in a panic, trying to stabilize herself. “Oh! OH! OH!” she yelled.
Joseph reached out for her shirt or hands but missed with both, rapid-fire grasps. “DammitdammitDAMMIT!” he yelled. Just as Cassidy’s fall reached critical status, Joseph lunged outward and successfully grabbed her by the front of her belt, stopping her fall with a jolt. Joseph was likewise being restrained by Levi and Jacob, who were both holding onto the back of his belt.
Cassidy, dangling from the end of this human chain, let out a sigh, before relaxing her head to look, upside-down, at the train engine roaring off into the distance. She then lifted her head, looking back at her friends, all of whom were smiling. She let out a loud laugh, triggering laughter among the entire group.
“I hate trains!” yelled Joseph.
“Next time, take a carriage,” replied Cassidy with a smile.
She leaned back as the cars came to a slow stop, sighing in relief.
3
Cassidy burst into the door, slamming it behind her. She dropped her sack on the floor, leaving a slight shower of dust everywhere she moved. She stood in the main foyer of her family mansion. Large and ornate with a rustic feel from exposed timbers and unpolished woods, a simple chandelier hung twenty feet above a rotunda encircled by stairwells coming down on the left and right sides of the room.
She let out a long, satisfied sigh. She then turned left and went through an ornate doorway at the bottom of the left stairwell and into her study. Windows ran along the left wall — the front of the house — and her desk and sitting area were set nearby the windows. Sun beams pierced in through the windows, casting stark shadows. Along every other wall, fifteen feet high, were book shelves, making the study look as much a library as anything else. Chairs and tables, them all covered in junk, artifacts, books, and papers, were spread around the room. As she walked toward her desk, a butler stepped into the room behind.
“Welcome back, Ms. St. Claire. Looking like you’ve been through the wringer as usual. No bullet wounds, I hope,” the butler said with a not-disguised hint of cynicism, walking in with a tray of ice water.
“Ah, Amos! It’s good to see you, too!” Cassidy responded, cheerily. “Don’t you ever sleep?”
�
�It’s five in the afternoon.”
“Yes. So it is. So, do you just hang around by the door waiting for me to return?”
“I’m a butler.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you have to buttle all the time. I've been gone for five days.” Cassidy slumped into her chair behind the desk, releasing a cloud of dust.
“I don't just wait for you, you know. Whether you are here or not, this house is a flurry of activity. It's your fault for using this house, the house your parents built, for your headquarters as much as your actual company.”
“The board is more than capable of taking care of themselves. They don't need you to let them in.”
“Please, Ms. St. Claire. Just respect that I take pride in my work and let me do it without giving me grief.”
“Alright, alright. But I swear, one of these days I’m going to get you good and drunk and take you out to meet a nice maid or something.”
“A capital idea, truly,” Amos responded as he poured some water into a glass on the desk. “I will inform the kitchen that you have returned. It will be chicken and vegetables for dinner tonight.”
“Bah. I’m feeling a desire for something sweet,” Cassidy responded, clapping her hands lightly as she looked to the ceiling.
“You will eat chicken and vegetables. And if you are still hungry after that, you will eat more chicken and vegetables,” Amos said, with a flat, almost tired, look on his face.
“I don’t mean that I want to eat cake for dinner. I just want something sweet.”
“You will eat chicken—.”
“I see how it’s going to be. I’ll just go tell the kitchen what I want, myself,” Cassidy said, rising from her chair.
“The kitchen will not listen to you. You may have influence outside these walls, but in this house, I am lord,” he said as he turned to walk out.
“Mutiny!” Cassidy yelled.
“Call it what you like, Ms. St. Claire. Tonight you shall eat healthy,” Amos said as he floated elegantly out the door, holding the tray aloft on one hand.
Cassidy fell back into her chair, her head sunk down into her shoulders, tapping her finger quickly on the desk, looking poutful and annoyed. She stopped tapping, her head and eyes dashing around her desk, before starting to rummage through her drawers. As she searched, Amos’s voice could be heard coming from out in the foyer. “You’ve eaten all your chocolate.” Cassidy slapped her desk in frustration before falling into her chair with her arms crossed.
---
Cassidy was sitting at her table with her troupe of servants. The table was old and rustic, situated in a central, open-air garden in the middle of the mansion. The large greenhouse glass ceiling had all of its windows open and the sounds of tweeting birds poured in from the outside. In the middle of the table sat trays of mixed vegetables and four whole chickens. The table was alive with conversation except for Cassidy. She poked at her food with a fork. The woman sitting next to her, somewhat chubby and about fifty-five, looked over and backhanded her on the shoulder. “Oh stop moping,” the woman said.
Cassidy placed her fork on the plate. “I’m not moping, Margie, I’m not moping. I swear. I’m... restless. I didn’t want to leave the train so now I just get to sit here, waiting for news.”
“Well why did you leave?” asked Margie.
“Oh, well, we all smelled like crap. We were all in pain. As soon as everything is accounted for, they’re going to telegram,. They've got it all in hand, but for me it still means waiting.” Cassidy picked up her fork and took a mouthful of green beans. “Because, it just doesn’t make sense. They ripped apart all of the cars. They didn’t take anything, then tried crashing the cars. So, I don’t know.”
“Right,” replied a man as he chewed, dressed in cooks garb, “We forgot to bring it up earlier, and you only mentioned it, but about the train… thoughts? And what happened with the engine?”
“Guesses. Best that we can figure is that they intended to cover up the robbery and make it look like a derailment. A derailed train would mangle everything. They could also just be deranged.” Cassidy took another mouthful of vegetables. “The really diabolical question is who the informant is?”
“Informant?! You didn’t mention a spy!” said Margie.
“Think about it,” replied Cassidy, putting her fork down. “They knew what they wanted, they knew which train, that means they had inside information. It’s... It means that someone I trust a great deal has betrayed me. I just hope it’s not… well, I… actually, it sounds absurd no matter how I put it. There’s no one in the company who I hope this is. Picking out a specific person is just stupid. The only person who would truly scare me is Barnabas, but I know beyond any doubt that he isn't the spy, so no worries there.”
The cook looked at Cassidy for a moment who was staring at her plate. “And what about the engine?!”
“Ha! Oh, right, the engine! My last telegram. I meant to tell you as soon as I got in. It blew a gasket or something three miles up the track and coasted to a stop. It's fine.”
“What?” the table yelled, with a smile. “All of that for nothing?” asked Margie.
“Well, not nothing,” Cassidy replied. “I got a lot of exercise and got to blow up a stick of dynamite I otherwise would have not used. Both very positive. And the number of splinters I received probably count as dietary vegetables.” A couple of people at the table chuckled.
An older man at the table, dressed in formal wear, tossed his flatware onto his plate and pushed it away angrily. “William?” asked Margie. “What’s the matter?”
“She’s here, “ he motioned to Cassidy, “laughing and making jolly good fun of nearly dying, and we’re laughing right along with her!” He looked straight at Cassidy. “You are thirty-five years old, nearly thirty-six! You have spent your entire life on some self-destructive tear, while we, the people who raised you, your effective parents, who love you, are forced to stand helplessly back! We’ve been dealing with this for fifteen years, and it is killing us. It’s killing me.”
“Will, you know I—,” Cassidy started.
William held his hand up and looked slightly away. “No. No. Cassidy, don’t. Don’t. Don’t bother defending yourself. There’s no need. I know all of the things that you are going to say. You’ve said them all before. Time, and time again. The fact that some of them are reasonable doesn’t change anything. You put yourself in constant danger. Imagine what would happen to your company, to us, to your pack of pet saloon thugs, if you died.” William started getting noticeably choked up. The man next to William placed his hand on William’s shoulder.
“I loved working for your father and mother. They always made me feel like we were all in this together. That's why I moved across country with them. That's why I left everything I knew for them and for you. I was never able to have children. And even though I had to share you with all of the people here,” he motioned at Cassidy with his hand and looked her straight in the eye, “you are my daughter. You are my child. You are the most amazing, powerful, capable, intelligent child that anyone could ever hope to have. I understand that part of having that kind of child is letting her go. Letting her go be great. I understand that. And that feels good. It does. It feels good knowing that little, insignificant me helped produce something that can change the world. But she can’t change the world if she’s dead!” William sat back and rested his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand, pawing at the area around his mouth in frustration.
Cassidy looked down at the table with a concerned expression. “Will...” After twice opening her mouth and failing to form a sentence, she finally looked up and into William's eyes. He looked back with an expression of pain and sadness.
“I know, Cassidy,” said William, looking sad. “I know.” William looked away. “I'm sorry.” William opened his mouth to say something more, but stopped, closing his mouth. He reached down into his lap and removed his napkin, placing it on the table. “I think that I shall retire early this evening
.” William rose, walked around the table and, as he passed Cassidy, placed his hand on her shoulder for a moment, before walking out the door.
After he was gone, Margie turned to Cassidy. “Don't worry too much about him, Cassy. He's just having a bad day.” Cassidy barely moved. She just stared down at her plate.
“I know that all of you feel the same way, though, please don’t think I’m unaware” Cassidy said. “You know… I do what I do because…” Cassidy took a long pause to think. No one at the table said anything, they just looked at Cassidy. “I'm sorry that I make you all... that I make you all worried. I'm sorry... I just...” Cassidy placed her hand on her mouth as she thought. “What I want... I mean what I... is... I don't know. Again, everyone, I'm sorry.” Cassidy pushed her chair back, placed her napkin on the table, and got up. “I hope you don’t think me rude for leaving. I’ve got a lot on my mind.” She placed her hand on Margie's shoulder, who placed her hand on Cassidy's. They held for a moment, before Cassidy walked out of the room.
---
The sounds of the docks were a din of activity. Seagulls called. Bells rang. Men yelled. The smell of San Francisco Bay washed over everyone and everything.
Netting and crates filled the storage area. Sun light pierced in through slats in the low ceiling. The well-dressed man was mostly obscured in shadow. His hands rested atop one another on a cane, polished black with a intricate ivory handle and brightly illuminated by a sunbeam, situated directly in front of him. Mr. Caesar walked into the room, pushing aside dangling pieces of netting and rope as he came into the small clearing between crates. He stopped, his body illuminated with slashes of light from above, one of which cut across his face. He was carrying a leather satchel over his shoulder and was wearing the same clothing from earlier, now even dirtier.
“I trust there were no troubles,” said the Shadowy Man.
“You trusted wrong. Not only were people aware of our plan, it was St. Claire herself who showed up,” replied Mr. Caesar.
“Was the operation a success?”
Cassidy St. Claire and The Fountain of Youth Parts I, II, & III Page 6
