Threads West, an American Saga

by Reid Lance Rosenthal

  The stiff leather of the holster was softening with repeated doses of mink oil, and beginning to mold to the trigger guard and cylinder. His draw seemed to be smoother as the leather became more supple.

  The Sharps rifle lay on a blanket folded in thirds lengthwise on the bunk. He planned to get familiar with the feel and operation of that weapon, also.

  His right hand dangling loosely inches from the holstered Colt, he faced the window. The pistol’s pearl handle glowed muted and wavy in the reflection of the glass, its creamy sheen accentuated by the black of night outside the train. Taking a deep breath, he drew, his hand a blur in the glass surface, the Colt appearing as if conjured in the reflected image, the menacing, unwavering eye of the barrel pointing at his chest. Reuben smiled. Getting a bit faster, too.

  The door slid open with a bang. “I am back from my afternoon reconnoiter,” announced Johannes. His eyes slid to the Navy Squareback still in Reuben’s hand, and to their reflection in the window. “Windows don’t shoot back,” he said dryly.

  “Just practicing.” Reuben was suddenly embarrassed. He put the Colt on the bed next to the Sharps. Time to change the subject. “I am sure the tall blonde was part of that reconnaissance. Is that all you think about? Women?”

  “She is infinitely more tangible than a reflection. And, what about the princess?” Johannes teased. Reuben had no retort to the friendly taunt.

  Rubbing his stomach. Johannes looked at the weapons on the bunk, then shifted twinkling eyes to Reuben. “It’s almost seven-thirty. My belly is growling, and you can play with your toys later. Our first order of business should be to get some food. Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Now that you mention it, I could use some supper,” Reuben covered the weapons with the blanket, making sure the door was locked as they left.

  The two men sauntered from one swaying car to the next until they reached the mostly empty dining car midway in the train. As their order arrived, the far door of the car swung open. Johannes’ fork froze between his plate and his gaping mouth as in sashayed the tall blonde.

  Leaning toward Johannes, Reuben whispered, “She is stunning!”

  “Shh! She’ll hear you!”

  Smiling at them, with a coy directed nod at Johannes, she chose a table next to theirs, taking great care to sit facing them. Reuben was not surprised at the distinctive Scandinavian accent when she ordered, pointing out the place setting next to hers to the waiter, obviously giving him some additional instruction.

  “You can close your mouth now,” Reuben teased Johannes. “Go on, go say hello.”

  “Why, thank you for your advice. Perhaps I will introduce you.” Grinning, his friend pushed his chair from the table and walked to her.

  Reuben watched, thoroughly amused. They are striking next to one another, both tall and fair. Bending over, Johannes spoke to her in a Scandinavian dialect. She giggled, blushing deeply as he sat down next to her. They began speaking earnestly in the arresting singsong of northern Europe. The waiter returned, filling their coffee cups, and setting a fine silver teapot down in front of the vacant chair. Shifting in his chair, his friend waved to Reuben to join them.

  Neither of them looked up as Reuben took the few steps to their table. Reuben stood, waiting patiently until Johannes turned to him.

  “This is Inga Bjorne. We come from the same area.

  Her country is our neighbor state,”

  Reuben felt one eyebrow rise, “And where might that be?” Flashing him an irritated glance, the tall man spoke in German, “Can’t you see I’m busy here? Very busy.”

  Inga admonished Johannes in impeccable though accented German, “Johannes, that is no way to talk to your friend.” Flashing a dazzling smile at Reuben, she continued, “Does he do this to you often, sir?” Despite the guttural nature of the language, her voice resembled a happy wind chime in a light breeze.

  Jerking in surprise, Johannes almost fell off his chair.

  Reuben bowed before sitting down. “I am Reuben Frank. It’s delightful to hear you soften the German language with such a lovely voice.”

  “Yes, yes, she does speak beautifully,” stammered Johannes.

  Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a woman clearing her throat. “Am I intruding?”

  Reuben looked up into the arrogant scowl of Rebecca. “This is my mistress, milady Rebecca Marx,” offered Inga in a gracious tone.

  Standing, Reuben nodded at the brunette. “Mistress Marx.”

  “It seems we are all going west, though I’m surprised to see you on a train.” Rebecca’s voice was contemptuous. “It is an expensive form of travel.”

  Inga appeared dismayed. “Do you know each other?”

  “Mister Frank and I met on the ship. He assisted me with my luggage.” Her scornful look refocused on Reuben. “Are you certain you won’t let me pay you for your services?”

  Reuben looked at her for a moment, smiling tightly. Bending forward, he pulled out her chair, making a sweeping gesture with one arm. “Your chair, madam. Thank you for the offer but we will manage without taking money from a lady.”

  Rebecca stiffened.

  Reuben remained standing and turned to Johannes. “Shall we return to our meal and leave the ladies to their privacy?”

  Whispering a few last words in a Scandinavian dialect to Inga, Johannes picked up his coffee cup. She giggled and said something in reply. Returning to their own table, Reuben asked, “What did she say?”

  Johannes’ eyes danced with mirth. “She said she was very surprised to see that her mistress could actually be interested in a man.”

  Reuben’s fork had been halfway to his mouth. Lowering it, he shook his head. “Viking, you are a rascal. And you are wrong about Mistress Marx.”

  Johannes looked at him blankly. “I am?”

  “Yes!” Reuben starting to laugh. “She is not a princess.

  She is a glacial queen!”

  From the corner of his eye, Reuben saw Rebecca’s head swivel sharply toward the sound of their guffaws.

  CHAPTER 33

  MARCH 7, 1855

  THE BAGGAGE CAR

  The train chugged west. Johannes was often missing from their compartment, and Reuben had no doubt as to his whereabouts. Inga had totally captivated him. Reuben passed the time studying his maps and continuing practice with the Colt. His draw was increasingly smooth and fast but he worried about accuracy. I shall have to practice as soon as I have a place to shoot, he told himself. Johannes is right. Reflected images don’t shoot back.

  He read several journals on the lands and mountains west of St. Louis, obtained before they left New York. He had read enough to know that the Rockies were arid. He would need a lot of land for grazing. He made lists of provisions and supplies that they would need. I will try to hire one good hand for the new ranch before leaving St. Louis. A scout, familiar with the territory and the mountains and handy with a gun, would be best. I can probably organize the rest when we reach the Rockies—ranch hands, a cook, and the purchase of breeding stock and bulls. There was much to learn. A cattle empire here would be far different from the small, lush farms of Europe.

  At other times, sitting on his bunk and thinking, he recalled his uncle’s admonitions, comparing them to his experiences. The many Americans he had met were pleasant, even helpful but he sensed an independent spirit and underlying aggressive nature that were rare in the more tranquil societies of Europe. There is no doubt that at some point I will have to fight to protect what is ours.

  *****

  Casting a snide look at Johannes, Rebecca left the women’s compartment to go to lunch. Standing together, Inga and Johannes watched the rolling, heavily wooded landscape flow to the rear as the train sped steadily west. The track curved gently and their shoulders touched. Johannes felt heat course through his body and a current pulse in his fingertips. Putting his arm around Inga’s shoulder, he turned her to face him. The front of their bodies lightly touched. Her face looked almost fevered; her par
ted lips glistened moistly and her eyes were half-closed. Drawing her tightly to him, he kissed her deeply.

  They melted together, the contours of their tall, athletic frames molding perfectly. Johannes felt dizzy with want. “Come with me,” he whispered, taking her hand and stepping out into the corridor.

  He looked both ways, and then deeply into Inga’s eyes with a voice-less question.

  Inga swallowed, and nodded, “Yes.”

  He led her forward to the baggage car directly behind the engine, deftly unlocking the door with his pocketknife, and sliding it shut behind them.

  *****

  Inga had never before known raw primal desire. She felt light-headed, almost faint but she knew with certainty that for the first time in her life, she truly wanted a man — this man.

  Without a word she pressed Johannes against the side of the car, feeling the heat and wetness surge in her loins as his hands slowly traced her breasts. Watching his hands caress her she marveled at how quickly her nipples became taut and visible beneath the fabric of her frock. There was a white-hot need in her belly, and somewhere deep in her mind she kept hearing a voice: Oh my God, oh my God.

  She heard herself gasp as he slid one hand up the inside of her thigh and pushed the hardening in his breeches against her hips. Deftly loosening the string holding up her pantaloons, his hand slid down the smooth skin of her abdomen. Wherever he touched her she could feel fire and tremor.

  His probing fingers slipped gently into her. Inga felt her legs buckle and she clung desperately to his neck with one arm, roughly loosening the buttons of his pants with the other. He sprang free and she closed her hand around him, softly stroking his length.

  Sinking to the floor, their long legs intertwined. Orgasmic tremors coursed through her belly as he sank deeply into her, the whole of her body quivering. She cried out, wrapping her legs around his hips, her arms desperately winding around his heaving back, completely consumed with a passion she had believed she could never, would never, experience.

  They remained locked together for half an hour, their breathing ragged between long passionate kisses. Tenderly brushing the blonde strands from her face, Johannes’ lips traced the pulsing in her throat. Closing her eyes, she wondered if this were a dream, wanting the perfect feel of his skin and weight on her to never end. Reluctantly, they finally arose and began to dress. Inga fixed her bodice and straightened her skirts.

  Johannes was flushed and there was a glazed look in his eyes. Gathering her in his arms, he whispered into her hair, “I suppose you and Rebecca will stop in St. Louis?”

  Shaking her head, she murmured, “No, Johannes.” She ran her fingertips down the length of his upper arm. “Although not her original intention, milady Marx has decided to head west from there. All the way to the mountains. We are headed initially to Cherry Creek. And I am delighted.”

  Deep inside her belly, she could feel her body absorbing his seething explosion and her abdomen pulsed with currents of heated energy. She knew her face glowed. Through a film of impassioned tears, she looked into his eyes, “I…I have never felt like this.”

  Kissing her slowly and passionately, his lips trailed from hers to the side of her neck below her ear. “Ah, Inga, it is new to me, too. And wonderful,” he sighed.

  “And utterly surprising. I am so glad fate has ordained us to meet and have a similar destination.”

  She laughed quietly into his shoulder. “I wonder how milady Marx and Reuben will react when they learn this train may not be the end of their association.”

  Looking at her thoughtfully, Johannes intimated, “You know, Reuben is anything but the simple immigrant Rebecca thinks he is. He is landed gentry and intends to establish a large cattle ranch for his family.”

  Tipping her head back from his shoulder, Inga smiled. “I knew when I first saw him that he was not a commoner. I’m not certain that there’s anyone that my mistress does not consider beneath her. I think, though, the more I get to know her, the more I feel that she has another side.”

  “What do you mean ‘another side’?”

  Inga shrugged. “She’s like every woman. She wants a man but refuses to admit it. There is a definite current between her and Mister Frank. I wonder if we could somehow facilitate some higher level of contact between them? It might be highly beneficial to our own relationship.”

  Johannes regarded her with admiration. “You do think things through, Inga. It would absolutely benefit our possible travel together.” Johannes’ voice was wistful. “What caused Rebecca to suddenly decide to go beyond St. Louis?”

  Stroking his cheek with the back of her fingers, she thought for a moment. “I don’t know, my love. It has something to do with some land her father left her.” She closed her eyes as he nuzzled her, relishing the pulsing in her abdomen.

  He buried his nose in the curve of her shoulder and neck, breathing in deeply. “Ah, Inga, I love the smell of you.”

  “Oh, Johannes, and I you. I want to see as much of you as I can.”

  “I like your idea, Inga. We should make a plan. It would be good for them and for us. I don’t think we should tell them we know they both plan to travel past St. Louis to Cherry Creek. Each of them is way too stubborn. They might actually go out of their way to choose different routes or means for the journey.”

  “I am sure we can manage to keep their courses parallel.” Resting her head on Johannes’ shoulder, her voice broke, “Johannes, please believe me. This is the very first time in my life that I have truly made love.”

  “Inga,” he said, pushing her away just enough to see her eyes. “The same is true for me.” He smiled. “And that is quite something.” His look was one of tenderness and delight at her words but mixed in his expression was a faint trace of puzzlement. Inga’s heart lurched. He is wondering if there is a deeper meaning to my words.

  CHAPTER 34

  MARCH 7, 1855

  ENCOUNTER

  Reuben was lost in thought as he moved toward the parlor car. A glass of brandy and the smell of tobacco is what I need.

  He was crossing the exterior separation between dining and parlor when the train lurched. Stumbling forward, head bent, he tried to regain his balance. A woman just emerging from the opposite door fell into him, her head lowered as she tried to keep from tripping on her skirt. Grasping to steady themselves, they clung to each other. It was then that Reuben recognized the dark hair and fine clothing. Rebecca!

  She tried to step back but he held her tightly. He felt suddenly, magnetically drawn to this woman, the smell of her perfume the feel and fit of her in his arms. Much softer than I imagined.

  Lifting her head, her usual haughty look was instead an expression of disbelief. She was disarmed, at a loss to regain either her balance or her composure.

  The lonesome echo of the whistle sounded, and Reuben felt the rush of evening air. The train regained a smooth rhythm and their bodies swayed together, in unison. The moment was hypnotic. Lowering his face toward hers, blood roared in his ears. Closing her delicate eyelids, she raised her face to him. Their lips met, warm, soft, moist and demanding. Responding with passion, pressing her hips into the thickening in his pants, her tongue worked its way deep into Reuben’s mouth. Slipping his hand to the small of her back, he drew the arch of her body closer, molding her form to his. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, and then she abruptly pushed him away. She steadied herself, smoothing her disheveled hair.

  “Well!” she blurted.

  Reuben grinned at her, “Well, what?”

  “Well,” she repeated, stamping her foot, “I thought you were a gentleman.”

  “And I, Mistress Marx, thought you were a lady. How delightful to find that you are also a woman.”

  Stamping her foot again, she tried to pivot away, almost falling. “This is utterly wasted effort, Mister Frank. After this train reaches St. Louis, we shall never see each other again. You took advantage of the situation and I shall not forgive you!”

  Reuben
felt the smile slipping from his face. “I have not apologized, Rebecca—I assume I may now call you Rebecca—nor will I. Contrary to your protestations, you did indeed kiss me back. Apparently, much to your own dismay.”

  Her mouth curling derisively, she snapped, “A typical commoner, Mister Frank. You have never been around real ladies. Of course, you would not know how to treat them, and you certainly are unable to ascertain what you call a response was my simple attempt to disengage from an awkward situation. I say again, you are no gentleman, Mister Frank!”

  Reuben’s elation fully dissipated. “I am when circumstances call for me to be one. You appeared to be a woman who wished to be kissed.”

  “You were sadly mistaken, sir.”

  “Mistress Marx, you would do well to cease your judgment of people based on appearance or your own immature and inexperienced assumptions.”

  “Oh!” There was no mistaking the wrath and dismay in her voice. It is likely no one has ever addressed Rebecca Marx in this way. “Oh!” Rebecca stomped her foot again, suddenly drawing back her hand to slap him but Reuben caught her wrist.

  “Rebecca, that type of behavior is not acceptable, particularly by one who proclaims herself a lady.” Stepping back, his jaw clenched. “My apologies if you were affronted in any way.”

  “This is not worth further discussion.” With her chin disdainfully in the air, Rebecca brushed past him, disappearing into the car from which Reuben had just come.

  Reuben was angrier then he could remember in some time, he could not help but remember the evocative way Rebecca’s breasts had pushed against the tight cloth of her dress. Heaving with indignation? Or something more? He stood for a while longer allowing the cool rush of air to take the heat from his face but the memory of her lips remained firmly etched in his mind.