River of Fire

by Darrell Case

  Chapter 9

 

  Maples handed Victoria her bag. It felt surprisingly light. He and Harvey Anderson walked away. Placing a step down onto the platform, the conductor extended a hand to Victoria.

  "May I help you aboard, miss?" he asked, smiling. He was one of those men who looked like everyone's grandfather. Gray hair stuck out from under his small blue cap, deep lines creased his face. He reminded Victoria of a friendly scarecrow.

  "Are you all right, miss?" he asked, the creases in his face deepening.

  "I'm fine, thank you," she said feeling guilty for lying.

  He nodded, picked up the step, and placed it back inside the passenger car.

  "Better find a seat, miss."

  Leaning out, he held onto the car with one hand and swung a lantern with the other. Victoria's eyes swept the interior of the passenger car. Every seat was filled. A tall square-jawed man with dark hair and eyes, his ruddy face broken by a trim mustache, stood up. Pulling off the old leather hat from his head, he motioned to the now empty seat.

  Smiling her thanks, Victoria was making her way to the seat when a little man with a potbelly and red veins on his nose pushed by her. Claiming her seat, he regarded her with baleful eyes. The train lurched, throwing Victoria against the tall stranger and she grabbed his arm to keep from falling. She could feel his muscles ripple through his worn blue suit. A strong hand caught her, helping Victoria regain her balance.

  "I'm sorry," she said, feeling awkward in the presence of the handsome stranger.

  "No need to apologize," he said, smiling at her. He turned around to face the potbellied man, his tone icy.

  "Sir, I believe you're in the lady's seat."

  "Ish tha' so?" the man asked, his speech slurred.

  "Yes sir, it is."

  "Wadda are you gonna do 'bout it?" the man laughed and then hiccupped loudly.

  "I'll just stand back here," Victoria said, intending to move to the end of the car.

  The stranger placed a firm, gentle hand on her shoulder.

  "It's only proper for a gentleman to offer his seat to a lady."

  The potbellied man fixed his gaze on Victoria with a blank stare. "I would iffen I could find one." Addressing the car full of passengers, he said, "Do ya know what this'n did back in Pottsville?"

  Adam's face turned to stone. His eyes became as black diamonds. Leaning over, he grasped the man by the front of his shirt. Bracing himself, he jerked the potbellied man over the arm of his seat into the aisle. The man's face was purple with rage as he struggled to his feet to face Adam. He stood up and raised his bloodshot eyes to face the broad-shouldered preacher. Muttering curses, he scurried away to the back of the car.

  "I believe this seat is yours, ma'am," Adam said, bowing to her.

  A murmur of approval ran through the car. An elderly woman in the seat opposite

  Victoria whispered, "Now there's a real man."

  "Thank you, Mr...." Victoria said.

  "Adam Wakefield at your service. And you are?"

  Victoria hesitated. Would he know about Pottsville and the accusations?

  "And you are?" Adam repeated, smiling.

  "Victoria Winters, Mr. Wakefield."

  Adam extended his hand. Victoria took it and was rewarded with a gentle squeeze.

  "Do you live in Chicago, Miss Winters?"

  "Unfortunately, yes." A shadow crossed her face.

  Adam didn't comment on her choice of words.

  "Is Chicago your destination, Mr. Wakefield?"

  "Yes, I'll be pastoring Market Street Church."

  Victoria blinked in surprise. "You're a minister? Please excuse me for not using your proper title."

  "Ma'am, I'm from the Ozarks. Down there we don't hold with titles. It's just 'preacher' or 'brother." Changing the subject, Adam asked, "Where do you attend church, Miss Winters? Dare I hope you're a member of Market Street?"

  "Oh my, no," Victoria said. "My aunt and I attend a working class church."

  "Working class church? I'm afraid I don't understand. Don't all the classes worship together?"

  "Oh no. My aunt works at a sewing factory. The owner would be very displeased if his workers shared the same pews with his family."

  Adam was silent for a time. Victoria worried that she had discouraged him.

  "I'm sorry. Forgive me for speaking out of turn," she said.

  Adam smiled. "God is going to make some changes at Market Street, Victoria. Will you help me change the attitude of the congregation? Please say you'll be there."

  His use of her first name sounded so wonderful. She felt as though she had known him forever. Adam gazed into Victoria's pale green eyes and felt as if he was falling through fields of light. She smiled and the light expanded to her ivory-chiseled face.

  "I will speak to my aunt. Perhaps we will come."

  "Wonderful, I'll look forward to it."

  At Springfield, the elderly lady and several of the other passengers disembarked. Among them was the potbellied man. As he passed her seat, he leaned over and was about to say something. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the preacher's cold hard stare. Straightening up, he hurried off the train

  After their departure, Adam sat down and they continued their conversation. Adam told her about his home in Apple Valley and the loss of his father. Tears came to her eyes as he spoke of his struggle to survive. His face glowed as he told her stories of visiting in the hills with Pastor Ashmore. He concluded with "That's the reason I wear this old hat," taking it off his head and holding it up thoughtfully. "Other than my faith in God, it's the only thing I inherited from my friend."

  Adam's easy manner comforted Victoria. She found herself opening up to him. "My mother taught school and kept the farm running. She was so worn down when the fever came that she didn't have the strength to resist it. She was planning my sixteenth birthday party for Saturday, but by then she was lying in the cemetery beside my father."

  Adam had the urge to take Victoria in his arms to protect her from the pains of life.

  "My father died at Gettysburg before I was born," she said.

  "War is so terrible. I pray my sons will never have to fight."

  Victoria's breath caught in her throat. "Oh you're married?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the click of the rails.

  "No," he answered, a little too quickly, "but I plan to be some day and have a brood of children."

  Victoria's heart leaped in her chest. 'Don't be such a ninny' she told herself. 'You don't even know a thing about him. You trusted Fred and he betrayed you.'

  As the countryside sped by, she spoke of her life with her mother and he shared about his mother.

  The train slowed as it came into the station in Chicago. Passengers picked up their bags and prepared to depart. They stepped from the train onto the platform.

  Reminded of the lightness of her carpetbag, Victoria opened it. Glancing inside, she gasped and her heart plummeted. It was empty! She plunged her hand into the pocket of her coat. Her mother's broach was gone! Tears welled up in her eyes and a cold shiver overcame her. Her emotions changed from disbelief to anger and resentment. How could they? They had lied to her. They deceived her. Fred broke their engagement. They had stolen everything that she held dear to her heart.

  Suddenly she felt a renewed determination well up wit
hin her, an inner strength she had never felt before. It rather scared her at first but on second thought, she liked the feeling. She would show them. She would show everyone! She steamed with anger. It even touched Adam. What did she know about this man? Only what he told her. Perhaps he was a liar like Fred.

  Adam tried to take her bag but she held on to it with new resolve. Adam gave up and went in search of a cab. After hailing one, he rejoined her, again reaching for her bag.

  "I'll not be accompanying you, Reverend Wakefield," Victoria said loudly. 'If that's who you really are' she thought to herself.

  "Do you have someone coming for you?" he asked with evident concern in his voice.

  "That's no concern of yours, sir."

  "But Victoria!"

  "Good day, Mr. Wakefield."

  Rebuffed, Adam turned away.

 

  RIVER OF FIRE