Mark sat down, and while Rebekah prepared bacon, eggs and coffee on top of the wood stove, Mark told the story of how the UP and the Central had raced toward Utah for two years. It steadied him to talk about the railroad, and gave him time to study his father. He was like a lamp burning low, Mark saw with grief. The straight body had bent and weakened until every move was an effort—even to remain seated in the chair took part of the reserve that Sky Winslow paid out grudgingly. Only his eyes were the same, still alert and full of humor despite the pain.
Rebekah put the breakfast on the table, and Sky pushed the food around, but ate only a few bites. Mark forced himself to eat heartily, demanding that they tell him about the family. Rebekah sat down and did most of the talking, and by the time he had absorbed the news from home, he saw that Sky was having difficulty staying awake. Quickly he got to his feet, saying, “Well, I’m a working man. Have to go check in. But I’ll be back pretty soon.”
Sky made no move to stand up, but reached his hand out to Mark. “I thank God that He’s allowed me to see you, son,” he said quietly.
Mark nodded. “I’m glad He’s let me see you, too, Father. I’ll be back to get you settled in later this morning. Do you need anything?”
Sky said, “I’d like to see that preacher you wrote about—Jude Moran?”
“That’s the one. He’ll be glad to visit with you—you two will get along well.” He left then, and his mother followed him outside.
Mark paused in the cold and said, “He’s very low, isn’t he, Mother?”
“Yes.” She was not one to hide the truth from herself or others. “He can’t leave this car, Mark—but he’s done what he set out to do. He wanted to see you so much!”
Mark swallowed hard, saying, “I’ll send Jude by—and his daughter, too. You’ll like her.” He left her and walked through the snow toward the church. His mind was reeling with his father’s appearance, and he knew he would have to adjust his life to meet it—but the future still lay before him in a dim uncertainty.
It was Jude who opened the door, his face showing surprise at his early morning visitor. “Come in, Mark. We’re just having breakfast. Will you join us?”
“No, Jude, but thanks—I need to talk to you and Lola.”
“Come on back.” He led the way and Lola looked at him with a question in her eyes as they entered.
“I need some help,” Mark said at once. “My parents came in on the train this morning—”
He broke off suddenly, and Lola and her father exchanged a quick glance at the strange expression on his face. “What’s wrong, Mark?” Lola asked.
“It’s my father,” he said, and they noted his hesitation. “He’s dying.”
The words brought a quick cry from Lola. “Oh, Mark—!”
She came to lay her hand on his arm and look up at him, compassion in her blue eyes. “How can we help?”
“He wants to see you, Jude,” Mark said heavily. “He’s a man of God, like you are, and I’ve written him about your work in the church. It’d be a help if you’d go by for a visit. They’re staying in the caboose. And there are so few women here, I thought maybe you might go along to introduce yourself to my mother, Lola.”
“Certainly! Certainly!” Jude said at once. “I’m sorry to hear this, Mark.”
“Thanks, Jude,” Mark said. “That’s like you.” He turned and left without a word, leaving the two alone.
“That’s quite a shock,” Jude murmured. “Do you know anything about his people, Lola?”
“He told me about them when we were stranded in Texas. I know he admires them more than he does anyone. His father’s frailty is killing him, Father! Did you see the hurt in his face?”
“I saw it,” Jude nodded. He stood in the middle of the floor, his face kind. “Mark’s always been able to handle things. But he won’t be able to manage this alone, will he?”
“No, he won’t.” Lola’s expression grew tense, then she said, “I think we’d better go right away. Mrs. Winslow is probably exhausted after a trip across the country with a sick husband.”
They put on their heavy coats and were soon knocking softly on the door of the caboose. Lola got her first glimpse of Mark’s mother as it opened. “I’m Lola Montez, Mrs. Winslow. This is my father, Jude Moran.”
Rebekah smiled, saying, “You certainly didn’t waste any time! Come in out of the cold.” She stepped back to let them in. “My husband is in bed, but he’ll want to talk to you, Reverend Moran.” There were two small bunks built into the side of the car, and she led them to the one where her husband lay. “Sky—Reverend Moran and his daughter Lola are here.”
Jude took the thin hand that the sick man extended. “I’m sorry to find you not feeling well, Mr. Winslow,” he said.
“Take a chair, sir,” Sky said. “I’m sorry not to be up, but you understand.”
Jude sat down and began to talk to Sky. Rebekah said, “Let’s have our morning coffee, Miss Montez.” She poured two cups of coffee, and the women sat down on kitchen chairs. “Mark has told me about you, but I want to hear more.”
Lola began a little shyly. She thought she had never seen a more attractive woman than Rebekah Winslow, and she soon discovered that the spirit of Mark’s mother was no less beautiful. She found herself telling Rebekah how Mark had helped her get away from Texas, how she had became a saloon owner—and lastly a great deal about how she had found Jesus and given her life to him.
Finally she gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’ve never talked so much in all my life!” she exclaimed.
Rebekah smiled, wisdom in her eyes. “It’s a wonderful story, Lola. God has blessed you so much. Mark doesn’t say much about his feelings, but I can tell from his letters how much he thinks of you.”
Lola colored suddenly and found herself unable to respond. She felt like a child in the presence of Rebekah and hurriedly began to talk of how she could help care for Sky Winslow. “You’re very tired,” she said. “Let me help you, Mrs. Winslow.”
“Let it be Rebekah and Lola,” she answered. Then for the first time she wavered and something like fear came into her eyes. “I am tired—and a little afraid.” She held her hands tightly together, and her voice was so soft that Lola leaned forward to hear her words. “Sky has been holding on just to see Mark. He won’t be with us much longer. I’m not afraid for him—but I’m going to be so lonely!”
Lola put her hand out, and the older woman took it, holding it tightly. Rebekah had not faltered, not since the day the doctor had told them that it was only a matter of time. She had held the family together and endured the rigors of a long journey, never once letting Sky see any grief or sorrow. But now she gripped Lola’s hand with desperation, and Lola reminded her, “God will see you through, Rebekah! He won’t forsake you!”
They sat there for a long moment, then Rebekah, her eyes no longer afraid, said quietly, “You have the gift of consolation, Lola.” She leaned back, and they listened to Jude speak quietly and steadily, his talk filled with scriptures. “Your father will be good for Sky,” Rebekah said. She looked at Lola and said warmly, “God has sent us the help we need, Lola. I thank Him for it!”
For the next week Lola and her father spent most of their time with the Winslows. Sometimes they came together, but often Lola would come alone and the two women would sit together. Rebekah found she needed someone to talk to, and the quiet girl would sit for hours listening as she went back over her life. Lola did not speak often, but as the days passed, Rebekah grew to love the young woman very much.
It was long after midnight on the last day of the week, after Sky had drifted off to sleep, that Rebekah spoke of Mark. “He’s not happy, Lola,” she said quietly. “He was always a cheerful boy, and no different when he became a man. The men in his unit loved him. But he’s fighting some kind of a battle inside—and he’s losing it.”
Lola ventured, “I think I understand Mark’s unhappiness. He’s a sensitive man, but he’s had a hard life. The war, jail, and now t
his terrible job! I know someone has to keep order, but Mark’s not the man for it. If he doesn’t stop, he’ll be destroyed!”
Rebekah listened as Lola went on, and when the girl finally fell into silence, she asked what had been on her heart ever since she had arrived. “Lola, are you in love with Mark?”
Lola’s hand flew to her cheek and she gasped, for she had thought her secret was safe. She felt her face grow warm, and she wanted to avoid the question. Then she looked into Rebekah’s eyes, and her hand fell back into her lap.
“Yes, I’ve loved him for a long time, Rebekah,” she said simply. “But he doesn’t love me—and even if he did, I couldn’t marry a man without Jesus in his life.” Tears gathered in her eyes, and she whispered, “Oh, Rebekah, I love him so—and I can never have him!”
Rebekah opened her arms, and as Lola fell into them, sobbing with all her heart, she whispered, “You have been faithful to God, Lola. Now you must wait to see that He can be faithful to you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Test of a Man
December came to an end, and there was hope that the relatively mild weather would hold. Even the cold could not stop Casement’s hard driving crews. They laid track from dawn until it was too dark to see how to drive the spikes, seven days a week.
It was a strange time for Mark, the strangest he had ever known. He was either riding from point to point, putting down trouble—or he was with his parents. The caboose had been converted by Jude Moran into a real home, complete with couch, cookstove, and comfortable chairs. He had even found a piece of carpet and laid it carefully on the floor. As he had worked, he had spent long hours with Sky, and the two of them had become very close. Sky had grown weaker, but his mind was as clear as ever, and as the days passed he began to put together the facts about Mark.
“He’s running from God, Rebekah,” he said one night when they were alone. He was sitting up and had been reading his Bible as usual. “Just like I did.”
“And God will find him just as He found you,” she said firmly. “He’s just strong willed.” A smile came to her lips and she shook her head slightly. “It seems like I should have had at least one child who wasn’t stubborn as a mule! But even the girls are that way. Well, it certainly never came from my side of the family.” She chuckled, putting her hand over his. “Lola was saying last night how much he’s changed—just since we got here. She thinks that God brought you here just for that.”
Sky nodded firmly. “She’s one smart girl. Pretty, too.” He stroked his thin cheeks and thought hard. “Do you think—?”
Rebekah read his thoughts. “That he might marry her? I hope so, Sky. She’s a fine young woman—just what he needs.”
“I thought at times he might be interested in the Ames woman. She’s pretty enough to turn any man’s head—and she’s got plenty of money.”
“She’s also Ray Hayden’s girl—and Ray is Mark’s friend,” Rebekah said firmly. “I’ve heard some say that her father’s lost his money—but he’s got rich, powerful friends. He won’t go down.”
The subject of their conversation, Moira Ames, would have agreed with Rebekah—on both counts. She felt sure that her father would not lose everything, though he would never be quite as well off as before. He had told her as much. She was also certain that Mark would never look on her as a woman in whom he could be interested. Not just because he was Ray’s friend, but for other reasons. It was the day after Rebekah’s comment to Sky that some of this came out for the first time.
Ray had come to the hotel just after noon looking for her father, and when he had delivered his message, Moira asked, “Do you have time for a walk down to the store with me, Ray?”
Hayden looked at her in surprise, for she had been distant since her return. Her voice that day was uncharacteristically gentle—even wistful. “Of course,” he said. He escorted her down to the store, waited while she picked out a few things, then returned. When they got back to her room, she said, “Come in and talk for a while, Ray. These four walls are closing in on me.”
He was nervous, for at any time he would have to contact Wallford and set in motion the plan to destroy the Union. He came in and sat on the couch, listening while she spoke on minor things. Finally she noticed that he was not himself. “Why, you’re wound up like a spring, Ray,” she said in surprise. “Is all this business of beating Central getting to you?”
“I suppose so,” he muttered. “I’ll be glad when it’s over.” He looked at her and was struck again with her beauty and charm. She had more of both than any woman he had ever known, and it came to him that in a short while he would not be seeing her again—not after he wrecked the Union, which was the same as wrecking her father. He had, of course, known that would happen, but as she moved closer, he was stirred by her as he had been during their first days of romance.
She was thinking of how weary the last months had been, and now she said quietly, “I’m so tired of all of this, Ray. After it’s over, I think I’ll be able to think a little straighter.” She put her hand over his, and he took it at once, marveling at the smoothness of her skin. Her perfume was faint, but it came to him as she leaned against him. “Remember what good times we had in Boston when we first met? I thought you were the most handsome man I’d ever seen.”
“You kept it a secret,” he said with a wry grin. “I seem to remember you kept juggling me like a puppet—along with a dozen other men. But, yes, that was a great time.” It came back to him strongly, the memory of those days when he had fallen in love with her. “I got so mad at you for keeping me on the string that I longed to shake you to bits and walk off and leave you.”
“You should have, Ray,” she said suddenly, and there was a new wisdom in her eyes. “If you’d have done that, I think I’d have married you immediately. I’ve always needed a strong man. I know I’m spoiled rotten, but I could be different if—”
“I’ve thought maybe Mark would be that man, Moira,” he interrupted. “He’s strong enough for you, I suppose.”
She bit her lip, and silence engulfed the room. Then she lifted her eyes and said, “He’s a daring, headstrong man, Ray. And I’ll admit I was interested in him. He even kissed me once, down by the old church. I made him do it just to find out what he was like.”
“You can do that to a man,” he said with a half-bitter smile. Then he asked, “What did you find out?”
“What I already knew, Ray. He’s a fine man, but not for me. For one thing, he’s not my type. You’ve met his parents. Mark will be just like them sooner or later. It’s fine for them—but I’m just not that type. No puritan in me. I’ll always like the sort of life they wouldn’t care for. The kind of life we had back in Boston.”
He stared at her, then asked, “You said that’s one reason you’d not have him. What’s the other?”
She smiled and there was a wry humor in her green eyes. “Why, I saw that I could never have all of him. He’s got another woman on his heart, and even if he never has her, no other woman will get what he has for her.”
“Lola,” he nodded. “I saw it long ago. I wonder if they’ll find each other?”
Moira stood up and walked to the window, reflecting on what had been said, and Ray followed her. She stood looking down on the muddy street, then turned to face him. “I don’t suppose they will, Ray. Love stories don’t often turn out like they do in the books.”
Hayden had been going through the worst time of his life. Since the moment he had taken the money from Wallford, nothing had been right. He knew something was terribly wrong, and for the first time in years a struggle went on in his spirit over the rightness of what he was doing. It was not a religious matter, for Hayden cared nothing for God. It was something that came from his past—from his early days at the Point and later in the war. He had hated the war, but the one thing never erased from his mind was the honor that existed between the men he fought with. They didn’t call it that, of course. They didn’t call it anything. But when the bugles soun
ded the charge, they all went forward together, the good and the bad, the courageous and the cowards. He had let that part of his life slip. Now as he was poised on the brink of another breach of his faith—and there had been many during the past years—he was afraid. He had grown frightened that if he did this thing—if he betrayed Ames, who had helped him and trusted him, and Mark and all the others who were putting their lives on the line—if he did this, he would never again be able to do a right thing. He would, he feared, lose all capacity for feeling anything in his soul. The proof of how strong this fear was lay in the untouched packet of money that he had hidden in his room. Ordinarily he would have lost most of it at the tables, but he had not even opened the package.
Hayden attempted to conceal his thoughts, but Moira saw something of his internal struggle in his eyes. “What’s wrong, Ray?” she asked gently. “Something’s tearing you apart on the inside. Can’t you tell me about it?”
He suddenly realized with a great clarity that he would never be able to tell her about it. It was a dirty thing, and he would carry it with him to his grave. In a burst of insight he knew that even if he did go on to Central’s board room and eat off silver the rest of his days, the dead feeling that had been with him for days would not pass away.
“Moira,” he whispered, “I wish that you and I could get away from here—a million miles away!” She saw the agony in his eyes and put her arms around him. He bent his head, and they clung together like frightened children.
Moira experienced a feeling of triumph as he held her. She had never been able to break through the reserve that Ray wrapped himself in. He had been charming and witty, but she had never been able to know the real man inside him. Now she said, “Oh, Ray, why haven’t we ever been honest with each other like this?” She clung to him and her voice was hopeful. “We’ll endure this—and then we can start all over again. Father’s going to have a struggle, but you and I can help him. It’ll be fun, Ray! We’ll fight together and maybe fight some ourselves—but if we can cry together like this—why, it’s all I’ve ever wanted!”
The Union Belle Page 33
