Jo and the Pinkerton Man

by Dorothy A. Bell

  “He’s with Percy,” Ryder said without turning to look at his father. “Percy can handle Jewel. Three beers, the kid passes out.”

  After a few soothing draws on one of Buttrum’s rum-soaked cigars, and watching the smoke coil up to the embossed ceiling, Royce asked without making eye contact, “I don’t s’pose you’ve eaten today? I know you don’t eat when you’re on duty. Your mother sent me a wire especially to remind you to eat.”

  Looking down into the pan of disgusting dirty dishes, Ryder hid his smile and forced himself to sober up. He came to the booth and refilled their water glasses carefully, so as not to spill a drop.

  “Tell Mother not to worry. I’ll eat,” he said, nodded, and returned to scraping plates.

  Behind his back Royce said, “It’s the girl. She’s over there. I noticed. She’s the girl that testified in the trial against McDaniel and those kidnappers. You’re following her, not the old couple or the salesmen.”

  Ryder tipped his head to the side and made a face, refusing to respond, and went to work folding some soiled napkins.

  ∙•∙

  The three men in the booth broke from their conversation, glanced up, and nodded at the busboy when he moved his utility cart full of soiled dinnerware an inch or two closer. He tipped his head and said something to Mr. Sandy-Hair. Jo saw his lips move. No, definitely something was not right. The busboy looked up and caught her staring at him. He nodded to her and then went back to scraping the plates that didn’t need scraping.

  She drew herself up, feeling foolish and chagrined. She told herself one more time to mind her own business. Tonight she had a lot to celebrate. Justice had finally been served after a month of waiting, testimony, and more waiting. Kidnapping mastermind Ivers McDaniel, who’d committed multiple acts of fraud, and his gang of thugs, who’d assaulted anyone who dared to put up a fight to hold on to their properties, received twenty years at hard labor.

  Jo and Birdie’s morally deficient childhood friends, Tommy and Ronnie Dixon, were also sentenced to ten years hard labor for their part in the kidnapping. Jo thought it a high and hard price to pay for a few pieces of gold. She regretted having to testify against them, but they’d committed a crime, and put her and Birdie in grave danger on purpose.

  Jo told herself she didn’t have any worries now. She had a whole new life to think about. Her father had found a new love, Adella Millican, a truly lovely woman, kind and sweet natured. Her father had grieved for three years the loss of Jo’s mother, his wife of twenty-five years. But Jo no longer faced the bleak prospect of spending the rest of her days at the hot spring baking, washing, cleaning up, repairing, and making do. The hot spring had Jauna and her daughter and all her relatives to help Van and Buck and Adella keep Hoyt’s Hot Spring running smoothly. And Adella, Adella would take care of her father, give him what he needed most, the love of a fine woman. Although it made her feel a bit sad and unneeded, Jo could leave, confident life at the hot spring would most likely prosper without her.

  She shook her head to dislodge her errant thoughts and gave her full attention to the pork chop and baked potato on her gold-rimmed porcelain plate. She added an extra dollop of sour cream to the potato and another ladle of gravy to the chop. Men, especially mysterious and good-looking men, had no place in her plans.

  Chapter Two

  At dawn, standing on the front porch of Gabe and Birdie’s Baker City home, Jo wrenched herself from Birdie’s embrace. Then she came up on her toes and gave her father a peck on the cheek. His lips trembling, he patted her on the back.

  No one would ever suspect her big, brawny father of having a heart as tender and soft as custard. His jaw clenched, and he swallowed hard. His silver eyes were awash in unshed tears. Silver threads outnumbered the honey brown at his temples, invading the whiskers on jaw and chin. Jo had never really noticed before.

  She put her hand to his cheek. “I know you want to come with me to the station, but if you come, then everyone will want to come, and I couldn’t stand it. It’s easier for me to say goodbye here at the house.”

  “You send a telegram. Let us know you arrived safe. If you need us, send a wire to Gabe and Birdie. They’ll be here in town, and get word to me right away.”

  “I’ll be a teacher at an all-girls Christian school, Daddy, I doubt I’ll be in much danger, but I’ll stay in touch and let you know how I’m settled.”

  “Today, Jo,” he said, giving her a little shake. “You send a wire when you get there. I want to know you arrived safe.” He enveloped her in a crushing bear hug, giving her no hint he ever intended to let her go.

  “Daddy,” she said. “I will. I promise. You’re not to worry about me. I’m going to be fine.”

  With one hand on her father’s arm, Jo turned to Adella. Everything about the woman was soft. Her silver-white hair in a loose braid lay over one rounded shoulder. Dressed in her white robe and nightgown, she could be an angel. She’d certainly made all of her father’s dreams come true. Jo hadn’t seen him so happy and content in a very long time.

  Sniffling to hold back her own tears, she put her arm around Adella and pulled her to her side. “You’ll have your hands full with this guy, plus taking care of the guests at the hot spring.”

  Reaching for her father’s hand, Jo said to both of them, “I peeked at the bookings for the hot spring—you’re both going to be busy.”

  Adella sniffled and dabbed at her tears with her handkerchief. “I know, isn’t it wonderful? We’re booked right into the new year. Don’t worry about us. Thanks to Jauna and her family we have lots of good help with the cooking and the housekeeping. Birdie tattled and told me Van isn’t much of a communicator. And we all know Buck writes good stories but he skips over the hard stuff. So you and I will have to share news. I’ll tell you ours and you tell me yours.”

  Tears clogging her throat, Jo nodded and kissed the lady on the cheek. “It’s a deal.”

  Van pulled up in the buckboard to the front of the house and shouted, “If you want to make the train, Jo, you better shake-a-leg. Stationmaster says it’s running right on time.” He hopped down and swung the yard gate open. “I set your trunk down on the loading dock. You sure you don’t want me to take you down there?”

  Jo embraced her father and Birdie one more time and accepted a hug from her brother Gabe. “I have to go,” she told them and firmed her grip on her valise.

  “I’ll write,” she said, skipping down the steps.

  Marching toward the yard gate, she said to Van, “I’ll walk. I’ll be a long day on the train sitting. A walk will do me good.”

  She stopped in front of him. He’d filled out this summer. No longer did his legs and arms remind her of the limbs of a spider. His shoulders were broad and well-padded with muscle now. He had the dark hair and lake-blue eyes of their mother. Although quiet and on the shy side, it wouldn’t surprise Jo if the single ladies of Baker City didn’t begin to take notice and swoon at his big feet by the droves. “Bye, Van. I feel guilty leaving you.”

  “Don’t,” he said. “Dad and I have talked about hiring help with the maintenance of the cabins and the livestock, and I think he’s coming around.”

  “You answer my letters,” Jo said, grabbing his corduroy jacket front and giving him a shake. “I want to hear more than a grunt from you.” He nodded and grinned at her.

  Still in her dressing gown and in her bare feet, Birdie jumped down off the porch. “Jo, wait.”

  Wrapping her arms around Jo, and coming up on her toes, Birdie whispered in her ear. “I think I’m going to have a baby. I threw up my oatmeal again this morning.”

  “Why didn’t you say something last night?” Jo asked, and giggled through her tears. God, she was going to miss her silly good friend Birdie-Alice.

  Bridie shrugged and pulled back. “I don’t know. We’ve only been married a month and a half. And it was a wedding party. And your going away party. I only half believed it last night, but this morning, well I’m pretty sure now. Mama say
s I’m a fertile puss. She wasn’t at all surprised. She caught me tossing up my breakfast, said she was the same way when she was carrying me. I’m sorry for springing it on you like this, but I wanted you to know you’re going to be an aunt come spring. I’ll miss talking to you, Jo. Really, I’m going to miss you like crazy.”

  “Well, way to go, Birdie. Have you told Gabe?” Birdie shook her head, curls bouncing. “You’re going to drive my brother to drink, Birdie.”

  Her hand over her mouth, brown eyes sparkling with unshed tears, Birdie nodded in total agreement.

  Jo endured one more wrenching hug before she could pull free of Birdie. Going through the gate, she turned to wave at everyone, their faces blurred by the tears in her eyes.

  Homesickness hit hard the second the yard gate latched behind her. The closing of the gate separated her from everything and everyone she loved. Before her lay the unknown, the untried. From here on in she would have no one to catch her, no one to rely on but herself. She couldn’t turn back. She had to move forward. Squaring her shoulders, she switched her bulging valise to her other hand. Behind her, shouts of safe journey and best wishes cheered her on, and she started her march to the train station.

  Three blocks wasn’t far, but she had to wait at the corner for the wagon traffic and then skirt the muck and mire in the ruts in the road. She heard the train’s screaming whistle blow as it rounded the curve at the south end of town. Two long whistles, a short toot, another long blast announced its imminent arrival at the station. She had about five minutes to get to the station and get her ticket.

  She arrived breathless as the train came to a hissing halt at the depot. Amidst the steam and the passengers disembarking, Jo took her place in line to board. In front of her, a woman, with six children ranging in age from infancy to ten or twelve, fussed and scolded her brood. They ignored her and continued to weave in and out of the line of waiting passengers. All came to a standstill when their father joined the group, ordering them all to behave or be left behind to stay with their Aunt Ginny.

  Aunt Ginny, Jo surmised, posed a serious threat, and the hooligans froze, still as statues, to wait their turn to board. Even the baby stopped mewling, putting his thumb in his mouth.

  An elderly couple at the head of the line couldn’t manage the steps. The porter and a gentleman in a fine black suit stepped in to offer assistance. The elderly man refused to be lifted into the train. An argument erupted. The old man insisted he could manage while the porter insisted the elderly gent be hoisted up the steps.

  Two salesmen behind Jo grumbled over the delay. One of their sample cases struck her in the back of the knee and she nearly crumpled, the weight of her valise causing her to tip forward. Neither gentleman took any notice. When she got bumped again, this time in the rear, she turned to give them a scowl. Both of them had their heads down with hats pulled low over their brows. She suspected they were having a bit of fun at her expense. She pulled out of line and slipped behind them. Swinging her valise in a wide arc, she managed to catch both of their rears. When they turned to complain, she smiled innocently.

  The line started to move once the elderly couple was safely stowed aboard. The man in the fine black suit stepped down to the dock and strode off toward the front of the train to the cargo car. Jo gasped, recognizing the black braid down his back.

  Then she caught a glimpse of her traveling trunk on the dock before the cargo car doors. It was hard to miss. She and Birdie had painted it powder blue with a yellow lid. Mr. Fancy Suit pointed at it. A man stepped up to help him drag it out of sight into the cargo car.

  The line slowly moved forward. She jerked to attention when a porter put his hand beneath her elbow. “Careful, miss, mind the steps. Stay to the left. Plenty of seats in the last car. You’ll find it’s pretty comfortable, back far enough from the smoke and noise of the engine, don’t yah know.”

  “Yes, thank you,” she said, offering him a smile. Her gaze traveled down the length of the dock, and there sat her traveling trunk. She took one step up and stopped. “My trunk? Porter. It’s on the dock.”

  He didn’t even bother to glance at it. He nodded and said, “Yes, miss. We’ll take care of it right enough—don’t you worry. Best take your seat. We’re about to get underway.” He helped her up to the entrance to the car before pulling up the steps. Then he tipped his cap and entered the passenger car to her right and closed the door on her.

  The train whistle sounded, and the train lurched into motion. Jo opened the door on her left to the passenger car to find very few seats available, at least not on the front end of the car. The family took up six seats. The salesmen had taken up four with their traveling cases. The elderly couple had taken up four seats, her with her knitting basket and him with his cane. Jo’s interest in the seating arrangements died as her gaze traveled to the depot slowly sliding by and her powder blue and yellow traveling trunk sitting on the dock.

  “Oh no, my trunk,” she cried and staggered down the aisle. Amidst the protests of those she bruised in passing with her valise, she reached the far end of the car and slid the heavy door aside. Stepping out onto the platform at the end of the train, she watched the Baker City depot, and her traveling trunk, slip farther and farther away.

  Chapter Three

  Dropping her valise, Jo gripped the railing at the back end of the train. Leaning out, she called out an utterly useless plea to the heavens to stop the train. Her trunk contained all of her new clothes, lesson books, school supplies, shoes, work boots, new bonnets—all of her worldly goods were tucked inside it.

  The valise she carried with her contained one of her old dresses, a black skirt and white blouse, a sweater, a change of underclothes, a pair of stockings, her hairbrush and hair combs, a looking glass and two romance novels she’d thought to read on the train, or read during an evening if she became idle.

  “My trunk,” she whimpered, the rattle and clack of the train drowning out her pitiful plea. A young boy ran out onto the track. She jumped up and down, leaned out from the waist and waved and yelled at him, pointing at her trunk. The boy jumped up and down and waved and waved in return, a big grin on his face.

  Fully aware of the futility of her actions, she waved at the boy and shouted and pointed at her trunk on the loading dock, her torso hanging over the rail, feet off the ground. A pair of masculine arms locked around her waist. Startled, she squealed and attempted to right herself. The arms pulled her back, and it occurred to her that perhaps she had more to worry about than her traveling trunk. Perhaps she was now under attack. Memories of being kidnapped resurfaced and she started to fight back. Instead of her legs going down, they went out and back, and her upper body pitched forward. Shoulders and torso dangling over the rail and eyes wide open, ties and gravel glided below her, creating the illusion of a fast flowing dry stream.

  The coach car listed and bucked, and the hard rail at the end of the train bruised her rib cage. Pain brought tears to her eyes. If it weren’t for the arms holding her, she would’ve gone overboard for sure. Her new bonnet, with the beautiful pheasant feather and bouquet of rust-colored silk roses nestled around the crown, slid down over one eye. Her mother’s pearl and gold hat pin scratched her scalp, slipping through the twisted knot of hair on top of her head. Frantically, she tried to grab hold of the handrail. Her fingers could touch it, but she couldn’t get a good hold.

  Unfortunately, her attempts to get her legs down and find her footing loosened the precious bonnet from its one and only pin. She fell limp with futility when it lifted off her head. Set free, a coil of her hair straggled down over her eyes. Unable to track her new bonnet’s fate, she dropped her head.

  “Let me go,” she said to the unseen person holding her back from a very bad end, raising her voice to be heard over the noise of the train. “Let me go this instant. I can stand on my own, if you will let me go,” she managed to say even louder, twisting her head around to throw her voice at her captor.

  Slowly, the arms maneuvered her
back over the rail. Her feet once again beneath her, she slapped at the hands at her waist. Struggling to regain a modicum of dignity, she brushed her skirt and petticoats down to cover her exposed stocking-encased limbs.

  “Let me go. Take your hands off my person this instant.” Back to the rail, head down, she rubbed her head with one hand and irrationally slapped the chest of the brute whom she now blamed for the loss of her new bonnet. “My hat. My beautiful new hat.”

  “Stop it,” said a deep masculine, cultured voice. Clamping down on her flying fist, he froze her hand at his chest. “Stop it now, you’re safe.”

  His voice, she did not doubt, in any other circumstance would have reassured her she was safe from an attack, but in this instance, she found it decidedly patronizing and irksome. He patted her captive hand, as one would a dotty flibbertigibbet.

  “I’m sorry about your bonnet,” he said. “When I saw you dangling over the rail, I thought I better save you from falling off the end of the train. When I came through the door and saw what you were doing, a vision of you…crumpled, battered, and busted, lying in the ditch beside the tracks flashed before my eyes. I didn’t give a thought to your hat.”

  Inhaling to calm herself, Jo stopped fighting him and opened her eyes. Removing the hair from the front of her face, she locked gazes with a pair of black orbs set deep beneath straight black brows.

  The Indian. My God.

  For a second she thought she might swoon but then remembered her hat and refused to be a ninny. The busboy-stable-hand-guard-mystery man who had haunted her dreams last night stood right before her. And he sounded well-spoken, educated. Birdie was right. He’s a sharp, maybe a gambler. The clothes, his voice, everything about him said he’s playing a part. But why?