Jo and the Pinkerton Man

by Dorothy A. Bell

  Neither Royce nor his mother had ever tried to erase what he was, what his sister and brother were. They were Indians, they were orphans, they were strong-minded, independent, and yes, insubordinate at times and incautious, but always true to themselves. He doubted society would ever consider him anything but an outsider no matter how hard he tried to polish himself, reshape himself in the image of a true Victorian gentleman. However, he could admit, he’d overstepped the bounds of propriety when he’d kissed Miss Buxton to keep her from giving him a piece of her mind.

  After a long silence, spine straight, hands clenched tightly in her lap, she finally spoke. “You, sir, are a dangerous man. I don’t know who you are or what you are, but I want no part of whatever you are up to. I want no part of you. I’ve asked you to move to another seat. You’ve refused. I want to move. You won’t allow it, which leaves me to conclude I am your hostage.”

  Suppressing the urge to laugh outright, he pressed his lips together and shook his head at her. “Hostage? No, Miss Buxton, you’re my chosen volunteer.”

  “Ticket, please?” George said, coming to stand next to their seats. Ryder removed Miss Buxton’s ticket from her fingers and handed it to George who punched a hole in it. George handed it back to Miss Buxton and leaned in a little to say in a lowered voice, “You ride easy, miss. Mr. McAdam, he knows what he’s doin’.”

  “Thank you, George,” Ryder said and gave the man a nod.

  George proceeded to make his way down the aisle, gliding from side to side as if he were on ice skates. At the other end of the car, he disappeared through the connecting door without a backward glance.

  Chapter Five

  Given her level of frustration and confusion in response to the avalanche of heat and emotions generated by one uninvited kiss, Jo focused on the dilemma of what to do about it. One thing, for sure, she would not give him the satisfaction of thinking his lips had upset her equilibrium in any way.

  She’d never received a shut-up kiss before, but she’d witnessed her friend Birdie-Alice receive many a shut-up kiss. Her friend, being the fiery sort, usually kicked the offender in the shins before running away, shouting to all the world all the things the kiss-er had tried to hush up.

  Hemmed in, Jo couldn’t run, and she really didn’t think shouting would do her any good at all. The bounder had friends on this train, the porter, and for all she knew, those men from the restaurant. Something about them being on this train, in this car, didn’t smell right. No, she had to use her head, but if he thought she would cower or succumb to intimidation, he was well off the mark.

  She’d been kissed, many times, by boys. A handsome bounder, a man, not a boy, had stolen a kiss, which she could admit added a thrilling edge to the experience. The proper response, she knew, was outrage. It was the only response a lady could give. But looking inside herself, delving a little deeper, he’d gotten her blood pumping and her pulse racing. No man or boy had ever managed that before.

  Frightened? No, she decided. Startled and puzzled as to his motives, yes. If he’d introduced himself, started a conversation with her in the proper manner, she doubted she’d be wary of him at all. He didn’t pose a threat; he wouldn’t harm her. She didn’t know why she thought that, but somehow she knew it, he wouldn’t harm her. No matter, he’d stolen her lips to shut her up, and that was not playing fair. Deduction, he was an arrogant beast.

  Clearly, he was up to no good, and it had something to do with her trunk being left at the station. Why did he insist on imposing himself on her? What the devil did he need her for? Who was he? These were the questions she would demand he answer first and foremost.

  Turning her shoulders a bit, the better to face him, she asked in a cold and quiet voice, “The porter, he addressed you as Mr. McAdam. I will presume for the moment that is your name. You have neglected to formally introduce yourself, although you clearly know mine. I suspect you have many aliases and guises. I demand you explain yourself. Who are you and what possible use can I be to you? Explain this cause to which you have volunteered my participation.”

  He grinned at her and nodded, also turning his shoulders in and leaning toward her. “My name is Ryder McAdam,” he said and held out his hand to her. “My apologies for not introducing myself sooner.” Reluctantly she took his hand. He held it a second or two, his eyes holding her attention hostage. He shook his head and let her hand go. “Perhaps I should tell you where I first saw you. You were standing in the street in Baker City, the setting sun turning your lovely hair to flame. I wanted to know your name. Sheriff Phelps identified you and told me you had come to town to give testimony in the McDaniel’s trial.”

  She shook her head at him. “I should warn you charm won’t work on me. I have brothers. Compliments make me suspicious. All right, Mr. McAdam, what were you doing in Baker City? And why the interest in me?”

  He pulled his shoulders back and shook his head. “I was in the sheriff’s office when your father and Mr. Bollo brought in McDaniel and his cohorts. I had an assignment in the courtroom. During the trial, I took note you would soon be leaving Baker City to teach at the Ascension School for Girls in Cherry Grove. I have a sister, Melody McAdam, at the school.”

  Jo nodded. At last a connection she could understand. But still, so many questions unanswered. She now gathered he wasn’t an outlaw, but he had a connection with the law. But how?

  He tipped his head toward Mr. Sandy-Hair and Mr. Muttonchops and Mr. Big-and-Powerful. “My….friends…have daughters enrolled in the school as well. They’ve reported a couple of instances of near abductions. When I learned you were going there, it occurred to me someone, someone such as yourself, a person in authority could observe with fresh eyes and keep us informed of any suspicious activities or behaviors. With help, we might be able to put a stop to whatever is going on and alert the proper authorities before anyone comes to real harm or disappears.”

  Jo considered his explanation. “Harm? What kind of harm? And disappearances? Abduction? How could anyone disappear? I don’t understand. Why not simply alert the administration at the school? Surely they should be informed if there’s danger.”

  He nodded. “Yes, we asked the girls those same questions. They tried, but Mr. and Mrs. Jones, the administrator and headmistress of the school, dismissed their stories. The girls were given extra chores, punished for making up wild tales and scaring the other children. Which led me and my friends to suspect the administration is somehow involved.”

  He paused a moment to allow her to absorb what he was telling her. “There are two teachers. You will be number three, all women. You will be the youngest. Your predecessor, a young woman like yourself, vanished into thin air. There is no trace of where she might have gone. Her only family, a brother, hasn’t seen her and didn’t even know she’d left the school until I notified him.

  “Mr. Jones, Ira Jones, takes care of the business end of the school. He’s a preacher, or so he says. So far, from what I’ve been able to discover, he’s a preacher who has never had a church or a flock. Mr. Jones’s wife, Ester, oversees the day to day operations of the place. She’s not a certified teacher. However, she supervises the teachers and is in charge of the curriculum.

  “The students do the laundry and housekeeping and the cooking. According to what we know, the school raises most of what they eat, taking from their garden and the chickens and hogs they raise. Many of the repairs to the buildings are taken care of by the Jones’s son, Gerald. According to my sister Melody, he’s a clunk, but harmless. Very few outsiders ever set foot on the campus.”

  She resented him for it, but what he’d related to her had her second-guessing her decision to accept the teaching position. “The school came highly recommended,” she said on the defensive. “I checked before I applied for the teacher position,” Jo said, ashamed of the little white lie. In truth, she’d made out a list of schools seeking teachers and applied to all eight of them. When she found out Birdie had mailed them, she held little hope of hearing an
ything at all. So, surprised and flattered the Ascension School had accepted her application, she hadn’t looked into anything but the minimum of details.

  “In their brochure, it gave a brief summary of what my duties would be and how the school is run,” she said. Another lie, she hadn’t received a brochure at all. Drat the man. He had her doubting herself. He’d made her feel like a fool for waving at a boy who couldn’t possibly help her get her traveling trunk. Of course, the train wouldn’t back up just for her and her silly traveling trunk; she could accept that now. For heaven sake, she might very well have fallen off the back of the train if he hadn’t come to her rescue. And now, it was none of his business why or how she’d come to choose the Ascension School. Perspiration beading on her upper lip, she said to justify her decision, “I’m accustomed to maintaining a garden and preparing animals for food, so I’m not put off by the prospect of hard work. Far from it, I think it’s resourceful and instructive. I’m not a religious person, but I did think I would feel safer at an all-girls school, on a closed campus.”

  He sat back and rested his arm on the back of the bench seat. Lowering his voice, he said, “I don’t doubt your credentials. I’m sure you’re an excellent candidate for the teaching position. It’s Mr. and Mrs. Jones’ credentials I question.

  “The supposed abduction attempts, from what we’ve been able to piece together, and from what the girls have said, were perpetrated by an elderly couple, or possibly men disguised as women. The girls said the two would-be abductors were very strong. They were taken by the elbow and propelled along, nearly picked up off the ground. Without interruption, it would’ve been difficult for them to break free. He, she, or they inform the victim they have an urgent message from home. They don’t give their victims any time to question what they’re being told. They are deliberately rushed and purposefully instilled with a strong sense of urgency.

  “Using the names, first and last of the victim’s family members, they give one or two specific details, such as the occupation of the parent, or spouse’s name or the name of a family acquaintance. The victim is urged to accept their aid immediately, no time to lose. Transportation is near at hand, a closed buggy or wagon offering them a safe and expedient journey home to deal with whatever emergency they’ve invented. As you may know, trains don’t run but one way on alternate days and not at all on Sundays. The timing of these attempts is such there would be no train going in the direction of the girl’s home for two days. Which makes the offer of ready transportation a godsend. Or at least that’s the way it is presented.

  “This person, or these persons, have personal information, I believe, personal information the school would have in their records, and from conversations with the parents of the victims. You’d be surprised how much personal information people give out during a casual conversation. It wouldn’t be hard for the directors of the school to have details of the lives of the girls.

  “One of the older girls, a Miss Grace Buttrum, was approached. She’d hesitated before the milliner's shop window in town. She was approached, urged, taken by the elbow and moved along toward a nearby alley. The elderly couple explained they’d been sent by her mother to see her safely home to Laura Creek. There was a fire. Her father, who is a member of the local fire brocade in Laura Creek, was badly burned. They used her mother’s name. They used her mother’s sister’s name and the name of the pastor at the church in Laura Creek. Grace wanted to tell her friend Twyla-Rose she had to leave for home, but the couple wouldn’t let her. Grace has a temper and started to scream and kick. The couple let her go and disappeared down the alley.

  “The group wasn’t far away, a few steps, Grace rejoined them and found her friend Twyla-Rose Longtree and told her the story she’d been told. The two girls reported the incident to one of the teachers. The teacher allowed Miss Buttrum to send a wire home to Laura Creek. Miss Longtree’s father, the sheriff, assured Miss Buttrum all’s well, no trouble at home. But of the elderly couple, there was no trace.”

  Now and then with the motion of the train, their arms accidentally or on purpose, Jo couldn’t say, brushed up against each other, sending a little shiver through her that distracted her thoughts when she really needed to pay close attention. She moved away from him. He adjusted and scooted closer, his body instinctively mirroring her movement and maintaining close proximity. Hypnotized by his words and by the brush of his arm, she caught herself nodding in agreement, falling for the story he’d laid out before her.

  Seemingly unaware of her thoughts, Mr. McAdam continued. “They used the trouble at home ruse on three different occasions at the school. Fortunately, the young ladies are looking out for each other. During the remaining two months of last year’s school term and so far this year, no abduction attempts were made. Abductions are on the rise in the bigger cities and ports, especially Portland. Human trafficking, the trafficking of young teenage girls, is on the rise, and I fear we must be on our guard.”

  Jo opened her mouth to speak, cleared her throat, and said, “I was recently abducted myself. It is a very frightening experience, I can tell you.”

  “I heard the details during the trial,” he replied. “You and Miss Bollo were very brave. It was, in part, your experience that served to convince me you would be up to helping us investigate the incidents at the school. I’m pleased you are on the train today, and have the opportunity to speak with you about this.”

  Jo pulled back and blinked. “Incidents? Investigating?” Her voice rose in alarm with each word. “So I’m no longer a volunteer. Now, I’m investigating incidents. I was right in my initial assessment of you, Mr. McAdam, you are a dangerous man.”

  Leaning in toward her, he reached out and barely touched her hand. “If you would keep your voice down, I would appreciate it,” he said.

  She drew back, and hating herself for going along with his silly scenario, she complied and asked in a whisper, “Why?”

  He sighed and tapped her clasped hands with a finger. “I’m afraid, Miss Buxton,” he said, speaking very confidentially and close to her face, “I’ve involved you, and everyone else on board this train, in a very dangerous mission. A mission I hope to carry off without injury or delay. But it’s imperative nothing and no one tip my hand, so to speak. Surprise and timing, Miss Buxton, I’m counting heavily upon it in this game of hide and seek.”

  She wrenched her hand out from under his and held it to her bosom. But without her permission, she obeyed and kept her voice to a hiss. “So it is a game with you. Hide and seek, is it? Whatever game you’re at, sir, I want no part of it. Now,” she said, facing forward, locking her fingers in a tight fold in her lap, “I’ll not say another word. Stay if you must, but I’ll have no further conversation.”

  She heard him chuckle but refused to meet his eyes or respond and focused on the scenery outside her window.

  “Do you know how to use a pistol, Miss Buxton?” he asked her, whispering, his lips very close to her ear.

  It took everything she had not to look at him and to maintain her focus on the passing sage and boulders. Dismissing his ludicrous question, she tipped her head to the window, feigning a special interest in the scenery. “Of course I do,” she said to her reflection in the window. “I wish I had one right now, I’d poke the barrel up your nose.”

  “Good,” he said, and with a shake of his coat sleeve, he produced a small but deadly looking Derringer and put it in her lap. “It’s loaded. The safety is on. Once we leave the North Powder station remove the safety. It is my belief this train will be robbed.” He put his finger against her lips. “Shhhh. I don’t know what will happen, but I want you to be able to protect yourself if the need should arise.”

  She could find no words. Stunned, she stared at him, mouth open.

  She could barely hear what he was saying, his voice was so low. “We’ll be pulling into the station soon. I’m going to see if there’s room for the family in the forward car. I would appreciate it if you’d stay right where you are. My
friend, the big man up there, that’s Telt Longtree. He’s a sheriff, and he’s going keep an eye on Grandpa and Grandma. I don’t think the salesmen will go anywhere. My father Royce O’Bannon is watching them. If they do leave this car, if you could tell me where they go or who they talk to, it would help. You’re a good sport, Miss Buxton. I knew I could count on you. Mr. Buttrum, Howard Buttrum, will be seated back here near you and the rear door. He’s armed. You’ll be well guarded.”

  Jo closed her mouth and blinked. Incredulous, she struggled to process the extent of his audaciousness. She had questions, a lot of questions. He stood, tapped her on the nose, leaned down and planted a light as a feather kiss on her lips.

  The train whistle sounded, warning passengers they would soon arrive at the North Powder Station. “Duty calls,” he said. “Save my seat."

  The train began to slow, and the whistle sounded again. Mr. McAdam slipped through the sliding door at the back of the train. His leave-taking went unnoticed by all except Jo, who put her fingers to her tingling lips.

  Chapter Six

  Alert to every little movement her fellow travelers made, Jo sat with the weight of the silver pistol cradled in her lap. With the safety lock off, she folded her hands over the weapon to conceal it. Outside, the station platform was busy with passengers disembarking and boarding. She searched for Mr. McAdam. He’d gone out the door behind her and disappeared. Like a bandit, he’d stolen another kiss. She wondered if he’d gone around the other side of the train where he would be out of her line of vision.

  The two salesmen hadn’t left their seats. They were too busy telling loud, vulgar jokes which were disgusting, but hardly criminal behavior. The elderly couple hadn’t moved a muscle. She thought it ludicrous to suspect them of being criminals. But they could’ve died in their sleep, not a pleasant prospect at all. At this point, on edge and over-vigilant and her imagination running away with her, Jo thought anything possible.