Betina Krahn (29 page)

“Just open the danged door. You’ll have to sooner or later.”

“I will.” Bear shrugged off his uneasiness. “I was just waiting until we reached a stretch where we wouldn’t be stopping any time soon.” She’d never try to jump from a moving train, he told himself, hoping he was right.

When he went to the door and turned the key in the lock, nothing happened. A full minute later, he opened the door himself.

She was standing on the pile of her petticoats with her skirt raised and tucked into her waist and her stockings rolled down around her ankles. Her hair was a shambles, her face was blotchy, and her eyes were slightly puffy. But she radiated a dignity and resolve that defied all suggestion of surrender. Without uttering a word, she untucked and lowered her skirts and stepped past him into the comparative freedom of the parlor.

“Where are we?” she asked as she paused by Robbie’s plush upholstered chair and looked over his shoulder out the window. They were passing through hilly, mostly wooded terrain, punctuated by occasional sharp valleys containing modest farmsteads.

“Nearing Pittsburgh … headed for Chicago,” Bear said when Robbie looked to him for the answer. “Still on B and O track. Are you hungry?”

“No.”

He expelled a patient breath. “Then I think we should talk.”

“No.”

She spotted the door to the sleeping compartment at
the rear of the car and headed for it. He followed her in and she flattened back against the wall in the narrow compartment, glaring at him.

“Look, I know that you’re angry and not thinking straight,” he declared, realizing what a poor choice of words that was the instant it was out of his mouth. “You have no money and no baggage, and you’re too far away from Baltimore now to get home without either of those. So you may as well settle in and make up your mind to cooperate.”

She studied him briefly and then responded with determination.

“No.”

Taking no chances that she would escape and somehow talk her way onto the next eastbound headed to Baltimore, Bear locked the car as he left it at the siding in Pittsburgh later that morning. He said he had to check on the allotment of rails and the construction crane they were taking on and to check on a second dormitory car he had learned was for sale here. Robbie begged to go with him and Bear allowed it, leaving Diamond to suffer through three hours of the clangs and jolts from coupling cars and the growing midday heat by herself.

By the time they returned, she had washed up and brushed her hair and made herself reasonably presentable. She had also explored the papers littering the desk in the office area of the car and spent some time poring over the financial agreements Bear had signed with her companies. For providing the capital to build, Wingate received a one-third share of stock and profits as well as title to one-third of the land granted to the MCM by the government.

She was loath to admit it, but it seemed a fair and potentially profitable arrangement for Wingate—provided there really was a railroad called the Montana Central and Mountain—and that it actually issued stock, made profits,
and received federal land grants—all of which she seriously doubted.

When they returned late that afternoon, Robbie was full of the sights and sounds of the train yard, roundhouse, and switching station. He eagerly described two tall dormitory cars, a string of flatcars filled with steel rail, and three boxcars filled with tools and equipment.

“And that crane—you should see it, Diamond. It’s tall as a house an’ has big ol’ pulleys an’ steel gears—Bear says he’ll let me sit in the driver’s seat sometime.” His face glowed with excitement.

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up, Robbie,” she said, keenly aware Bear was watching her reaction. “There may be a crane in the train yard, but that doesn’t mean it belongs to McQuaid or that it’s coming with us. And judging by my experience, McQuaid doesn’t usually let anyone but himself sit in a driver’s seat.”

“No, Diamond, honest … it’s Bear’s … I swear,” Robbie said earnestly. “I heard him tell th’ switcher to shunt it over here.”

“That’s low, McQuaid,” she said, rising irritably to face him. “Using me, taking me for a fortune, is one thing … but using my ten-year-old cousin to vouchsafe your stories is intolerable.” She turned to her cousin. “Robbie, from now on, we’ll occupy you with lessons … starting tomorrow.”

When the door to the sleeping compartment slammed behind her, Robbie looked at Bear with horror dawning. “She’s gonna make me do
lessons
. Ya got to do something.”

“Any suggestions?” Bear said irritably.

Robbie scratched his head and thought for a moment, searching back through his vast experience in observing man-woman relationships.

“Buy ’er somethin.’ ” he declared. “That usu’lly works.”

By the time they reached the main rail yard on the
south side of Chicago, Bear was desperate enough to take Robbie’s suggestion and try a bit of bribery.

“Diamond,” he addressed her after breakfast that morning, “I have a number of things to do here, and we won’t be leaving until tomorrow evening. If you promise that you won’t—”

“No.” She rose and began stacking the dishes into the basket they came in.

“But you haven’t heard my proposal,” he said, scowling.

“I don’t need to hear it to know that the answer is
no
.”

“So you don’t want to go shopping for some clothing, then,” he declared, rising and throwing his napkin onto the table. “Stupid me … I could have sworn you’d be sick of wearing the same things for three straight days. Or maybe it takes you a while longer to ‘ripen’ … say, the seven more days it will take us to get to Montana.”

He stalked out the door, telling himself that that was what he got for taking marital advice from a ten-year-old.

Diamond stood with her face burning, watching the glass rattle in the door he slammed, realizing that she had just doomed herself to wearing these same wretched clothes for at least the next week. Her annoyance soon mellowed into surprise that he would think of such a thing … buying clothing for her.

The hope that gesture stirred in her was painful in the extreme. It took some time for her to quell it and convince herself that whatever concessions he made toward her didn’t change the kind of man he was or the facts of what he had done. He still had lied to her at every turn, married her to finance his mythical railroad, taken advantage of her deepest feelings, and taken her from her home against her will. She’d be an idiot to fall for his cozening a second time.

“I’ve found a book we can use to begin your lessons,” she informed her cousin, causing him to freeze with one
leg out the small sleeping-compartment window. “
The Geography of North America.
”

“Jesus H. Christ.”

“You’re going to recite sums and multiplication tables, young man”—she snatched him by the ear and dragged him out of that opening—“until you forget all about giving Jesus a middle name.”

When Bear returned, some time later, things were tense in the extreme. Overriding her objection, he ordered Robbie to accompany him as he paid a call on the stationmaster and transacted some business. She was clearly furious, but instead of railing at him, she folded her arms and sat down forcefully, refusing to look at him. For some reason, that was more disturbing than if she had yelled or belted him one. He was so agitated when he shoved Robbie out the door and exited himself, that he forgot to lock the outer door of the car.

It took a few moments for Diamond’s thoughts to clear and register that she hadn’t heard the click of a key. Watching the pair disappear across the tracks toward the main platform and station house, she quickly tried the door, hurried down the steps, and struck off for the station platform herself.

The sun shone through a thin gray haze created by the collection of large, coal-burning engines staying warm while loading and unloading. It felt wonderful to be out in the open, even if the air did have an acrid, oil-and-metal tang … even if she did look like a drudge … and even if she soon was being jostled by passengers, freight haulers, and porters, and half deafened by conductors shouting out boarding calls. Above it all, she could hear the shouts of hotel hawkers and food vendors and the intermittent shrieks of train whistles. After two days of strained quiet, the noise of station life was music to her ears.

When she reached the far end of the wooden siding outside the station, she stood looking down at the cinder-laden tracks that led east.

Pittsburgh was a long way from Baltimore. Assuming she could inveigle tickets home for herself and Robbie, what would she do once she was there? Her directors had been all too pleased to turn over control to her husband; they’d probably be no help in her bid to reclaim control of her fortune. And if she called her lawyers together and demanded they sue for an annulment? Social suicide. Everyone was shocked by her hasty nuptials as it was. To have to go back and admit that she had made a terrible mistake …

Then there was the house itself, empty of pride and pleasure and joy and purpose … at the same time, perversely full of memories. She would have long years ahead to regret whatever hasty decision she might make now.

As she stood contemplating her course, she looked up and across the open tracks. There, some distance behind her distinctive green and burgundy private Pullman—on the same track—were two double-story wooden cars with small windows inset at irregular intervals in two rows along the sides. A face appeared briefly at one of the windows and she realized with a start that those two cars must be the dormitories that Robbie had described with such enthusiasm. She felt a twinge of guilt for having been so adamant in negating both his news and his excitement.

While she was concluding that the cars needed painting, her eye strayed to the string of flatbed cars coupled just ahead of them. There were at least a dozen cars heavily loaded … with steel rail. At the head of the train, almost out of sight—behind the engine and tender, but ahead of their private car—sat a construction crane with its huge arm fitted with pulleys and a massive metal bucket. The sort of construction Bear had once described
to her would certainly require that sort of heavy equipment. Her heart began to pound.

Then she noticed some lettering on one of the boxcars near the end of the train. Squinting, she made out the letters
M
,
C
, and
M
. The full impact of all she was seeing struck her like a hammer hitting an anvil. This was the Montana Central and Mountain in the making. He really was building a railroad!

She looked at the empty eastbound track, then back at the Montana-bound train carrying a future railroad on its back.

“God help me,” she muttered, meaning it as a prayer, and headed for the steps at the end of the platform. She darted across the empty tracks to investigate and came first to one of the dormitory cars. It was empty except for the scent of stale sweat and tobacco and two burly hard-bitten fellows lolling on the bunks.

“Whadda
you
want?” one demanded, popping up and staring at her.

“I’m Diamond Wingate … McQuaid. Just making sure everything is … suitable.”

She could feel their heated gazes on her as she made her way down the center aisle and out the door. Relieved to be out in the open again, she settled for a peek into the other dormitory. Between the two cars, there was space here for forty or fifty men.

Next, she investigated the steel on the flatbed cars. Standard gauge. Probably “ninety pound” … heavy enough to ship cattle, wheat, or even coal over. She couldn’t resist climbing up onto one of the cars and running her hand over the sun-warmed metal. It was oddly reassuring. She had heard endless talleys of rail laid during B&O stockholder meetings, but she had never truly understood what creating those numbers involved. Until now. A kernel of excitement opened deep inside her.

When she finally reached the crane, she climbed up the steps and tried the door to the enclosed metal platform overlooking the boom of the crane and the balancing weight. Inside, she found massive levers in the center of the floor connected to gears, chains, and cables clearly visible through the floor grating. Behind her was the boiler that provided the power to run the crane and in the center was one leather-covered metal seat. The driver’s seat. As she stood looking out over the crane, she felt some of her anger melting away.

Here was incontrovertible proof that the Montana Central and Mountain was real somewhere besides on paper. The solidity of those oiled steel rails … the dormitory cars … the power sleeping in that giant of a crane …

“Miss Wingate!”

The sound of her name startled her and she looked down to find a long, lanky fellow in a disheveled suit climbing up the steps. When he looked up, she spotted a pair of spectacles on his nose and a moment later recalled where she had seen him before. She closed her eyes.
The moving-steps man
. Good Lord—a thousand miles from Baltimore, he was still pursuing her!

“No, no—don’t come up!” she called, heading for the ladderlike steps. “I’ll come down!”

He backed down the steps and stood on the ground by the tracks, waiting for her with a faintly hopeful expression. The instant her feet touched the gravel he was hovering over her.

“Why, Mr.—”

“Ellsworth—Nigel Ellsworth,” he said, righting his battered spectacles, which promptly slid askew again. “Do you remember me, Miss Wingate? My invention—my—”

“Moving steps,” she said, looking around for help. “Of course. But I must tell you, I am no longer in a position to fund proposals such as yours.”

“Oh.” He smiled ruefully. “That’s all right. I’m out of the inventing business. It didn’t pay enough to keep body and soul together, so I’ve gone back to my former profession.”

“You did? And what profession was that?”

“He’s an engineer,” came Bear’s voice from over her shoulder. She turned and found him and Robbie hurrying up the siding toward her.

“You’re a train engineer?” she said, frowning. Ellsworth was lean to the point of being gaunt and had an aesthetic, “bookish” air. She had never seen anyone who looked less like a locomotive driver.