Way Back

by Williams, Abbie;

  “I would like to join you,” I announced to his back, having reached this conclusion while listening to the music. Probably I should have spent more time deliberating the decision; without a doubt I should have considered Celia and how she might feel about all of this. But my gut instinct overrode everything else and it boiled down to one simple fact – I hated the thought of Miles leaving town without me.

  Miles hadn’t realized I’d followed him inside and slowly turned, holding the fiddle by its long neck, so he could see my face. He didn’t respond and my stomach jumped; what if he regretted asking me to accompany him? It was dim in the cabin, only the muted firelight lending the space any illumination, gifting me with slightly more courage than I might have possessed in a brighter setting. Twisting my hands together, I hurried to say, “If the offer is still on the table, that is.”

  His teeth flashed in a wide smile and his gladness was almost palpable. “Of course it is.”

  “What should I bring with?” My pulse and my knees were shaking, giving me another reason to be grateful for the lack of light.

  “Hat, a change of clothes, canteen, blanket. We’ve food aplenty. Armaments, too.”

  I laughed, a nervous huff of sound, and he hurried on, as if I might change my mind. “We’ll leave with the dawn. Will you remain here this night, or with Mrs. Yancy in her train car? I will return for you, wherever you are.”

  “Most of my things are at Patricia’s.”

  “Then I will call for you there, at first light,” Miles said, and the plan was set.

  Under the bright moon the wide-open landscape appeared alien; lovely and wild, for sure, but there was something about traveling in the center of what appeared endless space that made the back of my neck prickle. Axton drove the wagon, this time sitting between Patricia and me on the wagon seat, while Miles and Cole, both horseback, flanked us on either side, Miles near me and Cole near Patricia, respectively.

  “Young Axton, you best thank your lucky stars,” Cole said as we journeyed the few miles from the homestead to the railroad depot on the outskirts of Howardsville. He was a little drunk, I could tell; he rode Charger so close to the wagon Patricia could have reached over and touched his shoulder if she wanted to, and I had no doubt she wanted to. Cole explained, “I would give my eye teeth to be setting there in your place.”

  Axton laughed, both embarrassed and pleased, and because he was also pretty loaded he had the courage to say, “Not even a team of oxen could move me.”

  Cole gave a low whistle, two notes that suggested uh-oh. “Don’t make me drag you off there, young fellow.”

  Axton muttered, “Just try,” slightly too low for Cole to hear. But then in a different tone he announced, “Ruthie’s been helping me learn how to talk to ladies, proper-like.”

  “Is that so?” Miles asked.

  “Ax and I have many good talks, don’t we?” I agreed, tucking my hand around his elbow.

  “You’re good to talk to,” Axton said, using his elbow to squeeze my hand against his side, as though giving a little hug. “Nobody tells me things like you do, Ruthie.”

  I nudged his ribs, I hoped indicating he shouldn’t get into specifics right here, but of course Cole couldn’t resist and prodded, “What things? Now you got me curious.”

  Axton sat straighter. “Well, for one, that a lady likes it when a man –”

  “Ax,” I broke in, giggling, certain he was about to launch into our recent discussion on the marriage act. He looked my way with lifted eyebrows and I elbowed him again, insisting, “Hush up.”

  “When a man what?” Cole demanded, and Patricia began giggling, clinging to Axton’s other arm as she waited for his response.

  “I admit I’m awfully curious, myself,” Miles said, and I could tell he was trying not to laugh.

  “See, the thing is…” I stumbled over an explanation.

  At the same moment Axton decided, “I best not tell. I don’t want Ruthie mad at me.”

  My shoulders relaxed.

  Cole whooped a laugh. “Aw, that ain’t fair!”

  “I shall wrest the answer from Ruthann later, once we are alone,” Patricia promised, and we were all laughing then.

  Miles said, “I must confess, young Axton, I am looking forward to the opportunity to talk at length with Ruthann, as well.” To me, he added, “We’ll collect you at first light, if that suits you.”

  I saw Patricia stiffen. “Whatever do you mean? Collect Ruthann?”

  Shit. I’d wanted to discuss this with her in private but there was no avoiding it now. I explained lamely, “Miles asked me to ride west with them tomorrow, and I agreed.” I felt terrible, and decidedly ungrateful; after all, Patricia had invited me to Chicago, asking nothing in return, with the intent of finding my family. That is, if there was a family to be found.

  Patricia’s eyes shone in the moonlight as she whispered, “Without me?” The hurt in her voice was apparent, though it changed quickly to determination. “Not without me. I shall join you.”

  “I can only just imagine the uproar that would occasion,” Cole said. “Yancy’s men would be on our tails, accusing us of stealing you away, before you could say ‘hogwash.’”

  “They shall never know. They’ve left town!” Patricia’s resolve gained in intensity. “Please, do not leave me behind. Ruthann, please. Please, Cole…”

  I wasn’t sure if she’d ever spoken his given name in his presence. There was a tense silence before Cole said quietly, “You’re a married woman.”

  “Please,” Patricia repeated. “Please do not go without me.”

  “Mrs. Yancy, it would be most improper, not to mention dangerous,” Miles said, in a firm tone I’d come to think of as his lawman voice. “I aim to dispute with Cole at least twice a day, just on principle, but in this case I must agree.”

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “I’ll come along, too,” Axton said, as though to ease the strain of Patricia’s agonized disappointment. “I ain’t seen the land farther west than here. Uncle Branch can spare me the week.”

  “When I get back I’ll come home with you to Chicago,” I assured Patricia, though something in my gut twisted at the notion. “As long as I’m not a burden to you. That’s the last thing I want to be, to anyone.”

  “You are no burden whatsoever,” Patricia said, and I realized she was swiping away tears. I reached across Axton’s lap and clutched her free hand as she whispered, “I have grown very fond of you, so quickly. I cannot bear the thought of being away from you so soon. I shall die of loneliness.”

  “I’ll be back before you know it.” I considered how much I would miss her company; it seemed illogical, given the short length of our acquaintance.

  The depot loomed just ahead of our advancing horses. Moonlight delineated the hard lines of Yancy train cars, their presence stark and foreboding, somehow eerie. I saw Patricia’s shoulders hunch as she beheld this unmistakable evidence of her life, her station, her marriage and all it entailed, whether she wanted it or not. She pressed the back of her left hand, the one I was not clutching, to her lips, in the manner of someone about to vomit.

  Axton drew the wagon to the far side of the train cars, halting our forward progress. We were all silent now, as though to speak might crack some invisible, fragile thing that had swooped down and now hovered nearby. Miles dismounted Blade and wasted no time reaching to help me from the wagon, grasping my waist; concealed by the darkness, he did not release his hold. He wore his hat and his face was but a shadow; I clutched his wrists.

  He murmured, “I will return for you at first light.”

  Neither of us released the other. The hair on his forearms was soft and immediate beneath my palms; my fingers moved with minds of their own, caressing his warm skin. His thumbs traced over my belly in slow, wide arcs. There was a sharp tension in the air, compressing my lungs. I fought the urge to get my arms around his neck and tuck close to the protection of his chest.

  “Where will you be t
onight?” I whispered.

  Miles exhaled a slow breath at my question. His thumbs made another pass along my stomach; my borrowed blouse was sewn from delicate material and I felt his touch as palpably as if I wore nothing at all. I swore I heard his thoughts in that instant.

  Wherever you are, he wanted to say.

  His name was on the tip of my tongue but he spoke before I could gather my courage.

  “We’ll return to Branch’s this night. I’ll bring your horse with, in the morning.” He glanced at the bulk of the train cars. The glow of a candle lantern shone through a solitary window in one of the red cars, both of which also boasted heavy door locks; I could sense him sizing up the security of this place where I would spend the night. I didn’t want him to go but there was no logical excuse for him to stay, and we both knew it.

  “Rawley, we best ride out,” Cole said from horseback, his voice hoarse and tightly-wound. Axton, not about to be usurped this time around, had jumped down to help Patricia from the wagon and she stood now in silence, looking between him and Cole.

  “Good-night,” Patricia whispered at last, though her tone suggested good-bye.

  Cole tipped his hat brim and whispered, “Mrs. Yancy.”

  Axton, rife with liquid courage, gathered Patricia’s hands, bringing both to his lips and kissing her knuckles before clambering back atop the wagon seat.

  Miles briefly cupped my face. He whispered, “Until tomorrow, then.”

  Inside one of the red train cars a minute later Patricia clung to me, both of us hearing the hoofbeats of the men riding their horses away, the wagon wheels clunking over the uneven ground. A candle in a tin holder nailed to the wall had burned almost to its last inch and cast sickly, wavering light over our bodies.

  Our men were riding away from us.

  I could not help but acknowledge this truth, as crazy as it was, and Patricia began sobbing. I held her close, rubbing her back and murmuring comforting nonsense, though it wasn’t doing much in the way of comfort.

  “Oh, Ruthann,” she whispered, nose plugged, gulping between words. “I do not understand…what has come over me. Since I met him I feel I have…taken leave of my senses…”

  “You haven’t,” I reassured, thinking of the looks exchanged between her and Cole this evening. I recognized Cole represented a kind of man to whom Patricia had never been exposed in her wealthy upbringing; he was self-assured in a way that had nothing to do with the arrogance and entitlement of wealth, and everything to do with abundant capability and magnetism. Cole was his own man; no one could buy his loyalty. Patricia was so young, and had entered into the state of marriage if not exactly against her will, then very much without the necessary life experience.

  She drew away to study my eyes, as if to force me to fully comprehend the situation’s gravity. “I have been able to think of nothing but Cole Spicer since first we met.” She choked on a sob and I held her by the elbows, wishing I had the power to make things right – and Dredd Yancy was so not right for Patricia. But was Cole? The sight of Axton’s face when he first saw Patricia, only this morning, blazed through my mind.

  “Oh dear God, Dredd would murder me,” she whispered, as if sensing my thoughts of her absent husband. “I shall no longer entertain such notions as I have been allowing myself. And now I have discovered you shall be leaving on the morrow and I feel as though I may die anyway, with misery…”

  “Patricia?” called a faint voice, and we both jolted in surprise.

  “She never wakes before midmorning,” Patricia grumbled, swiping at her tear-streaked face. We had entered Mrs. Mason’s train car rather than Patricia’s in order to extinguish the candle the woman had left burning. Patricia whispered, “Let us leave her be.”

  I nodded silent agreement and Patricia turned to extinguish the candle; before she could manage, however, a small woman around the age Patricia’s mother would have been, if still alive, poked her head from the bedroom compartment.

  “I’ve been…so worried,” this woman said, but she slurred through the words, which didn’t exactly suggest a truthful statement. Her head was covered in a sleeping cap, white and ruffled like a little girl’s. Two long gray braids hung over her shoulders and her eyes were glassy, like marbles, and unfocused.

  “You’ve not been one iota worried,” Patricia contradicted, though not as rudely as the words implied. “Melodrama does not suit you, Mrs. Mason. Now, return to bed and we shall rejoin you in the morning hours.”

  Instead of obeying Mrs. Mason crept into the living room and sank to the plump cushions of the loveseat, blinking up at me with mild bewilderment. She appeared high as a kite and an air of unpleasantness radiated from her. Even though she was probably harmless I battled the desire to step away. She wondered aloud, “Who in heaven’s name?”

  “This is Ruthann Rawley,” Patricia said, with growing impatience. “I told you of her earlier this very day, which I am certain you do not recall, ‘medicated’ as you were. Ruthann, this is Matilda Mason. If you shall excuse us, Mrs. Mason, Ruthann and I shall take our –”

  “I’m scared, Patty,” Mrs. Mason whimpered. She stood on shaky legs, gripping the upholstered arm of the loveseat to retain balance. The hair on my nape skittered straight up at both her words and expression – she truly did appear scared.

  Patricia rolled her eyes. “What is this absurdity? Are you able to hear yourself? Do you recall the afternoon only a month past when you believed spiders were crawling about in your teeth?” Patricia sent me a look which clearly spoke of her frustration. “And I have asked you never to call me ‘Patty.’ I detest that nickname.”

  Mrs. Mason seemed not to hear Patricia’s words, instead peering all around the train car, leaning forward, blinking and squinting, her eyes roving into the dark corners; I felt another jolt of pure apprehension.

  Patricia heaved a deep, exasperated sigh. “Mrs. Mason, you are most befuddled. You require rest. And not another drop of your medicine before morning, I insist.”

  “Please, Patty, do let me come to your car.” Mrs. Mason refocused on Patricia, clutching at her elbow.

  “Jesus Christ,” I muttered. In the space of a minute I already disliked Mrs. Mason. I felt the urge to tuck Patricia behind me and therefore away from the disturbing, drugged-up woman.

  Patricia smiled at my cursing, muttering, “You sound like Cole.” She reached to take Mrs. Mason’s shoulder and offered kindly, “If it brings you comfort, you may sleep on the wingchair in my car this night.”

  Outside under the moon I found my longing gaze following in the direction the men had ridden, northeast back to Branch’s claim shanty; of course they had long since disappeared from sight. The prairie was empty of all but scrub brush and starlight, no sign of them or their horses in the distance. I paused, a few paces behind Patricia and Mrs. Mason, and an unbidden and unwelcome thought bounded into my mind – the memory of Miles cast in red light, the horrible notion that he was in harm’s way. My gut clenched.

  Miles, I thought, willing him to hear me. Be careful. Please, be careful.

  I was abruptly furious with myself. You are being ridiculous, Ruthann. He is a grown man. He’s the marshal, for Christ’s sake! He can more than take care of himself.

  We climbed the clanging metal steps to Patricia’s car, Mrs. Mason stumbling to manage the task.

  Patricia reached to unlock the door, fetching a long key from the pocket pouch sewn into her dress; she paused and muttered, “That’s strange.”

  “What?” My heart clanked.

  Mrs. Mason made a low sound of distress and I wanted to tell her to shut the hell up.

  “It’s unlocked. I swore I locked it as we left, but perhaps in my excitement…” Patricia eased open the door. The stuffy interior was black as a nightmare.

  I thought, We shouldn’t be here…

  Patricia entered first and bumped against something, muttering, “Dammit.” I heard her open and begin riffling through a drawer. She requested, “Allow me a moment,
” before locating a match, which she struck to life with a small crackling sound.

  “Patricia…” I did not know how to express my growing concern.

  In the sudden illumination I realized Mrs. Mason was staring at me. Unable to help it, I gasped at the sight of the woman’s waxen-looking face; the expression pressed in its surface looked just this side of insane. Her ruffled nightcap and braids only added to her frightening appearance.

  “They’re coming for her,” Mrs. Mason muttered, gaze unblinking. “He made certain of it before we left.”

  “What the fuck?” I snapped, in stun more than anger. I demanded, “Made certain of what?”

  “Ouch!” The match burned low, grazing Patricia’s fingertips. She blew it out, plunging us into abrupt darkness. “Ruthann, never mind her blathering. If you would help settle her there, on the wingchair just to your right, I’ll light another match. Pay her no mind, she is often incoherent.”

  “And she’s supposed to take care of you?” I nearly spit these words, disgusted by Mrs. Mason and Patricia’s lack of someone to protect her. Anger and determination rose in my chest. “I won’t leave you here alone this week with this woman.”

  I could see the image of the match flame emblazoned on the backs of my eyelids whenever I blinked; my eyes had not yet adjusted. I fumbled, feeling the wingchair near my knees, and bent to help Mrs. Mason sit; as I did so, the woman muttered, “I am so sorry…”

  Before I could stand straight a chill clawed my spine, an animal’s instinct that danger was near; a predator had closed in, however unexpectedly, and the coldness in the spine was the body’s last-ditch effort to warn. There was a sense of movement, an outline even darker than the interior of the train car, and Patricia made a strangled sound, no more than two feet from me. I spun toward her, armed with nothing but the strength afforded by fear, and it was my sudden movement that sent a heavy object clattering to the floor.