The Union Belle

by Gilbert, Morris

  She knew his meaning at once and said, “That’s good to know, Jeff.” She rose and the two of them continued their walk, Driver sober and restrained and Lola thinking of Benton and what her decision would mean.

  A week later, her father came in a wagon and the two of them, along with an Indian deacon, loaded their things and drove to the new settlement. She was cheerful and happy, glad to be leaving Cheyenne and anxious to begin their new life. When they drove into Benton, Jude said, “There it is, Lola—and a more sinful place never was, I do think.”

  “It looks a lot like Cheyenne,” Lola offered, looking at the tents and hastily thrown up shacks that composed the main street. “I see Cherry’s set up in grand style.”

  “Sure. He’ll be where the workers are, to drain them dry.” He drove down Lincoln Street, the main avenue, turned off onto a side street, then brought the wagon to a stop in front of an ancient structure that had been several things in its day, including a stable, but now bore a hand-painted sign over the door: CHURCH OF BENTON. “Guess that sounds a little proud, like it was the only church,” Jude said as he helped Lola down. “But as of now, it’s true enough. Come on in. Keep in mind that it’s not a fancy place, like I’ve warned you.”

  They entered and Lola saw the first floor was empty except for a number of slab benches and a table at the front. “Bare essentials,” Jude grinned. “But more than John the Baptist had. There were nearly thirty here last Sunday, and I’m looking for more tomorrow. Now, come on and we’ll get you settled.”

  He led her to what had once been a hayloft. “This will have to do,” he said apologetically, drawing back a blanket that hung over an opening. She entered to find a rather large room with one window that was evidently new. The unpainted walls smelled of pine. There was a bed, a table and an old cedar chest. “Best I could do, Lola,” he said quickly. “Can’t get a room in this town for love nor money.”

  “Oh, Father, it’s fine!” she said, and put her arms around him and kissed him. I’ll bet you did all this yourself—put in the window and all.”

  “Well, it’s hardly the Crescent Hotel. Pretty rough for a young lady.”

  “It’ll be fun fixing it up,” she said firmly. “Anyway, we won’t be here long, will we?”

  “No, that’s right. Just until Casement moves to the next campsite—which will probably be Bryan, according to Mark.”

  “Well, we’re pilgrims, aren’t we? I like what the Scripture says about Abraham, that he was looking for a city not made with hands.”

  He looked at her fondly and said simply, “It’s good to have you here, Lola. I was getting pretty lonesome—nobody to share things with.”

  “I’m happy, too, Father,” she smiled, then said briskly, “Now, let’s get unpacked, and you can show me the town.”

  By Sunday she had seen what there was of the town, and had even met four families who lived in the area and had encouraged them to come to church. When the service started, the place was crowded with a mixture of Indians, workers, and townspeople. Josh Long was there, his ruddy face beaming at the crowd, and to Lola’s surprise, Mark and Dooley came in while the singing was going on. She was sitting on a chair to one side, facing the pulpit, but when they came in and took a back seat, she grew nervous. When Josh asked her to sing, she rose and sang a cappella one of the hymns that she had become fond of. Her voice was clear and sweet, and the congregation leaned forward to listen. When she finished, a man said, “Now that’s good singing! How about another one, Missy?”

  She sang another, then when asked for a third, laughed and said, “That’s all I know,” and sat down.

  Jude got to his feet and preached a short message on the grace of God, ending with, “We all want to see God working in our lives, and sometimes we think it can’t happen. But it can. I want my daughter to come and tell you what God has done for her. Lola—come and share your experience with these good people.”

  Nothing had been said about this, and Lola felt a flash of fear, but Jude smiled at her, nodding, and she got up and walked to the table, where she turned and faced the audience. She had a clear view of Mark’s face as she began, “I was raised in a saloon. . . .”

  In plain speech she related how she had left Texas and come to the midwest seeking her father. She said, “I had a friend who helped me get away from there, and I thank God for him every day.” As she said this she looked directly at Mark and smiled, then went on to tell how she had become owner of a saloon. By the time she got to the part where she was dying, there wasn’t a sound in the house. Most of them knew Lola, for they had come from Cheyenne to the new town. She had been a legend, the Union Belle, the woman who had no emotions. Now they listened as she told how her father had prayed for her as she lay dying, entranced by her testimony of how she had sensed the presence of God and been pulled back from death at the last moment.

  “God saved my life,” she concluded, “and then He saved my soul. I will never stop thanking Him for His mercy. And if there is one of you who has a burden bigger than you can carry, like I did, let me say in the words of John the Baptist, ‘Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world.’ He is able—I know He is!”

  She sat down and a wave of “amens” swept over the crowd. Jude came to the front and closed the meeting, with a call for prayer, and to his pleasure, a dozen people came forward, kneeling on the bare floor. Two of them were women, and when he nodded at Lola, she went to pray with them. One was an older woman whose husband was very ill, and Lola prayed earnestly with her for God to heal his body. When the woman rose, her eyes were wet, and she said as Lola hugged her, “That’s such a comfort!” The other woman was young, no more than seventeen, and was so distressed she could say almost nothing. Her face was pale and her lips were white as she clamped them together. Finally Lola heard her whisper, “I’ve been so bad!” and little by little the story came out—an age-old story of a girl seeking a little excitement and color, and finding herself used by a man looking only for gratification. Lola understood at once that she was pregnant and afraid to tell her family. She prayed for her, then put her arms around the girl, whose name was Lena Sills, and whispered, “Come back tomorrow, Lena. We can talk more then. Maybe I can help.” Lena hugged her as if she were her last hope, and as she left, there was a tiny glimmer of light in her eyes.

  Finally the last inquirers had gone, and Lola looked up to see Mark and Dooley coming to her. Dooley said, “Miss Lola, that was one sockdologer of a testimony! Made me want to hit the glory trail my own self.”

  Mark said, “I’m glad to see you. You’re looking well.”

  “I feel fine,” she smiled. “You two look worn out.”

  “Been working hard,” Mark said.

  “That’s gospel!” Dooley nodded. Then he shifted his feet and said in an unusually restrained manner, “You reckon you could go by and see Maureen, Miss Lola?” He pulled at his heavy moustache and there was a worried light in his blue eyes. “She ain’t doin’ well a’tall.”

  “Why, I’ll go this afternoon,” Lola said at once. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Aw—I dunno,” Dooley muttered. “She’s all mixed up in her mind. But you can help her if anybody can.” He ducked his head as if he had revealed too much, then said, “Gotta run now.”

  When he had left, Lola said, “Come and see my new place, Mark.” She led him upstairs, proudly displaying her room that she had fixed up with curtains, and the small dining room where she and her father ate.

  “It’s not very fine, but Father and I are comfortable.” She picked up a pitcher and poured him a glass. “Lemonade. Not cold, but it’s wet.”

  He sat down and sipped the tepid drink, listening as she chatted on about the move to Benton. She was, he saw, not the same woman he had known. She had lost the defensive side of her spirit; now there was a freedom and an air of expectancy in her voice and her expression that was good to see. He commented on it when she finally paused in her speech.

  “You’r
e happy, aren’t you, Lola?”

  Her lips parted slightly and she turned her head to one side. “Yes, I am,” she said as though finding the thought strange. “I’ve always been—well, sort of afraid. Now I never seem to worry about things.”

  He marveled at the health that glowed in her cheeks, thinking of how terrible her features had been as she lay on the bed in the hotel. He wanted to find out more about her experience, but something kept him from asking. She noted his reticence, and said, “Have you seen Moira lately?”

  “No, she went back to Boston. Ray’s been mooning around like a lost hound.”

  “She surprised me, Mark,” Lola said. “I thought she was a totally selfish woman, but I was wrong. Maureen told me how she helped nurse me. And afterwards, when I was myself, we had some good talks. She’s spoiled, but that’s just a surface thing. The real Moira is just waiting to love someone—to give up everything for them.”

  He stared at her, interested in the statement. “I guess you see something in her that other people miss, Lola.”

  “We talked a lot one night. She’s really afraid of some things.”

  “Doesn’t show much.”

  “No, she’s clever,” Lola agreed. “But there’s a penalty for being rich and beautiful. She told me she is never sure if a man likes her for herself or for her father’s money.”

  Mark said dryly, “She may have a chance to find out. I hear that her father is about to go down the drain. He’s sunk all his money into the Union, and if it goes down, he’ll go down with it. Then Moira won’t have to worry about whether men like her for her money.”

  Lola was disturbed by the news. “Is that going to happen, Mark? I mean, can the Union Pacific really fail?”

  He nodded, and there was a gloomy light in his eyes that was not typical of his spirit. “It could. The Central has done most of its hard grading, and we’ll be getting to the worst of ours in the dead of winter.”

  She thought about that, then said, “What about you, Mark? What will you do if it all fails?”

  “I’m used to failures, Lola,” he answered with a shrug. “That’s one thing that stands out about my life—I’ve experienced failure often—both in war and in peace. Failing gets to be a habit.”

  “No, I don’t want you to think like that, Mark,” she insisted. “You’ve got so much to give. Look what you did for me!”

  He grinned, the memory of past days coming very strong. “Do you still have that man’s outfit you wore when we were run out of Mexico? I’d like to see you in that rig again.”

  She laughed with delight. “No, I don’t have it.” She sobered and said, “I think of that time often. It was terrible, but it was a good time, too.”

  “Until I messed it up,” he said.

  She quickly said, “Mark, you have to forget that. I have. You must remember how frightened I was then. I’d been fighting men off since I was a child almost, and when you kissed me, I just gave my fears free reign. You can see that, can’t you?”

  He looked evenly at her. “What if I tried to kiss you now?”

  She rose and said, “I might not like it—or I might. But either way I’m not afraid anymore.”

  He had risen with her, and now he saw that there was a courage in her, a fearlessness that was new. He smiled and said, “I may try you out on that someday—but Jeff Driver would probably shoot me if he found out. What are you going to do about him?”

  “Nothing, Mark. Not right now.” Then she said with a boldness that shocked them both a little. “What are you going to do about Moira?”

  He stared at her, then asked, “What makes you think I have to do anything, Lola? She’s Ray’s girl.”

  “Oh, Mark, I know you better than that!” She shook her head, then added, “I’m not judging you—but you’re not the best at hiding your feelings—and like I said, Moira and I had some long talks.”

  “She’s Ray’s girl, and that settles it.”

  “Things aren’t always neatly arranged, Mark,” she said gently. She wanted to say many things to him, but refrained. She did add, “Ray’s in love with her, in his own way, but he’s not a steady man. You know that.”

  “He’ll be all right,” Mark said stubbornly. “He just isn’t sure of himself yet.”

  “Exactly right—and that’s what bothers Moira. She needs a strong man, and Ray hasn’t given her much proof that he’s what she needs.”

  Mark shook his head. “It would be a poor sort of man who stepped in between a friend and his woman.”

  She saw that he was blind to Hayden’s faults, so she changed the subject. “What’s wrong with Maureen, do you know?”

  “Not really. I think she’s getting mixed up with some man—the wrong man, according to Dooley’s version.”

  “I’ll go by and get it out of Shep.”

  “Hope you can help her. I think Dooley’s got a vested interest.” Then he said, “I’ll be leaving tomorrow. But maybe I’ll be back in time for church next Sunday. Thanks for the lemonade.”

  “It’s good to see you, Mark.” She put out her hand, and he took it with surprise. She laughed at his expression. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to force my attentions on you! But thanks for coming—and for all the things you’ve done for me.”

  He left then, and all the way back to his room, he wondered at the changes in her. He thought about what she had said about Ray and Moira, but finally decided she was wrong. Those two will be just fine.

  ****

  September came, and found the end of track past the Red Desert and into the desolation of the Bitter Creek region. Following that dry and meandering stream bed, the road ducked its way through one geologic fault after another. On the fifteenth it left Rock Springs Station and pressed into the Bitter Creek Canyon. On the twentieth it broke into the Valley of the Green River, only to find it filled with the tents of another hell-on-wheels waiting for the thirsty construction men. On the twenty-seventh the road rushed over a river’s gorge and reached Bryant, which roared overnight into a full-sized town. Directly ahead the rugged mountains waited. Salt Lake lay two hundred miles west, with winter and nothing but heavy mountains ahead.

  Mark met with Reed that night and studied the rolling hills. “Where’s Central now?” Mark asked.

  “Coming up the Humbolt, two hundred sixty miles from Ogden.”

  “Sixty miles farther from Ogden than we are—but they’ve got nothing but level ground to cover. Our heavy work’s just started. We’re going to get snowed in ninety days from now. They could beat us, Reed.”

  “It depends on Sherman Ames. He’d better come up with a lot of money, because it’s going to take a bundle to put the tracks down in the dead of winter!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Noose Is Set

  Winslow rode into Bryant, made his way to Reed’s office, and entered the warm room soaking wet. A driving rain had caught him on his way back from a trip that had stretched from two weeks to five. Reed and Casement looked up from the location maps they were examining to take in his two-week old beard and the gaunt features. “You look like you’ve been pulled through a knothole, Mark,” Casement grinned. “You do any good?”

  “I don’t know what you’ll think. I got the ties.” He slumped down in a chair, throwing his long legs out in front of him.

  “How much?” Reed asked.

  “From ninety cents to a dollar and a quarter a tie, at the siding.”

  Casement swore, “We ought to be getting gold spikes at that price!”

  “I told Mark to get the ties no matter what they cost. We’re not in a position to bargain,” Reed said. “How about the bridge timbers?”

  “Be waiting for you at Echo Canyon.”

  “Where’ve you been all this time?”

  “With Dodge. I went with him to see Brigham Young. We had to tell him it was impossible to build into Salt Lake City.” He smiled and added, “He went off like a keg of dynamite. Preached a sermon in the tabernacle scorching the hide of the Union
and practically called Dodge a devil.”

  “What’d Dodge do?” Reed was amused.

  “Why, he broke the news to Young that the Central wasn’t coming that way either. Made it pretty clear. The next Sunday Young preached another sermon, which touted the Union as Utah’s best friend. All in all, Brigham Young got a good deal. Dodge promised to use his Mormons as laborers as much as he could.”

  “Glad that’s out of the way,” Reed said with relief, then his face sobered. “Hate to greet you with bad news, Mark, but things have gone crazy around here. You’ve got to do something about the saloons.”

  “They’ve forgotten Julesburg,” Casement snapped, his terrier face angry. “You’ve got to set them down—a few funerals won’t do any harm!”

  Mark nodded but showed no concern. “I’ll take care of it, Sam.”

  The two older men regarded him with interest. Both had learned to trust him, but there was something about Winslow’s present attitude that troubled them both. He was not as alert as a man should be when walking into a dangerous situation. Casement tried to warn him. “Cherry and his boys haven’t forgotten what you did to them at Julesburg, Mark. They’ll nail you to the wall if they can.”

  Reed said, “Jack’s right. You watch yourself.”

  “Driver and Young around?” Mark asked. “Looks like they’re going to have to work with me on this job.”

  “They’re out at Number Two Camp. Jack Rich has had some trouble out there,” Casement shrugged. “Should be back by now.”

  Mark dragged himself out of his chair. “Guess I’ll take a moment to get cleaned up before I straighten out this town.” He left the office, rode to the stable, then got a shave and a haircut. The rain was still coming down at five, so he ducked into Caleb Marsh’s Cafe. The owner met him with a smile. “Hello, Mark, good to see you.”

  “Hello, Caleb. How’ve you been?” He took a seat, gave his order and read a two-week old paper while the food was being prepared. He was enjoying his meal when Dooley and Jeff came in. Both of them were wet, and they looked out of sorts to Mark.