by Natalie Dean
Prayer came easily to her here, the noise of the wind and the constant clank of the metal wheels on the train tracks were comforting. She asked God for direction, for a chance to make things right with Simon, and for deliverance from Daniel. It was an odd mixture of prayers, but she knew the Lord would understand.
After almost an hour, when Simon hadn’t appeared, she decided to go back, comforting herself with the thought that, should he truly believe her to be married, it was right and proper that he wouldn’t want to see her. That made it even more difficult for her to imagine being able to tell him the truth, but she’d prayed about that too and felt a peace that ran deeper than her surface fears. A peace that assured her things would work out for those who loved God.
With her chin held higher than it had been on the way to the caboose, she traveled quietly through the hallways of the train. As she neared their compartment, she slowed down when she saw two figures making their way toward her. They had likely just been to the facilities in the opposite direction. They came closer, and she noticed it was the odd, scruffy man followed closely by the taller man who was with Simon. She assumed now that he was probably a marshal as well.
They were about half the length of a train car away when a man slid out of a compartment. He wore a thick beard and had his head down as if he was still blinking away sleep and the lamps of the hallway were too bright for him.
She watched from her vantage point, having subconsciously come to a stop where she stood and saw the newly emerged man slip something to the scruffy man. She blinked. Had she truly seen that?
Then he looked down at the paper for half a second and dropped it. The next moment they entered the compartment across from hers, and the whole incident was over.
At first, she doubted she’d seen what she thought she had, but as she neared her compartment, she saw the piece of paper. She knelt down and picked it up, making sure the bearded man was nowhere in sight.
Quickly, before the bearded man came back or someone else came by to ask her what she was doing, she slid into their compartment. The small piece of paper burned in her hand, but there was no way she would be able to read it until morning’s light. Careful to fold it over so the ink wouldn’t smear, she slid it into the top of her bodice for safekeeping.
She sat down and rested her head back against the seat. She had no idea why the tall man and Simon were with the strange-looking, scruffy man, but he had evil in his eyes if she’d ever seen it. She wondered if it were possible he was a criminal?
She knew she could be jumping to conclusions, but she’d always seen someone with him, and he’d never been free to go about the train on his own that she’d noticed. It was a strange thing to think about, but she had a feeling that there was more to the occupants of the compartment across the way.
After a deep breath to calm herself down, she closed her eyes and tried to relax into sleep. Her mind whirred with possibilities, but she finally slipped into blessed sleep.
* * *
Simon stretched his arms above his head. He was more than ready to be off a train and on to normal, non-moving ground. They were about a day and a half away from their destination—and thank goodness for that. He couldn’t stand much more of this prison—or, was it more that he wanted to be far away from the beautiful and distracting Greta?
He mentally berated himself. She was married, and while he could admit her beauty to himself in an innocent way, he couldn’t let those thoughts stray any further from that. He had to keep his mind settled on what was truly important. On the reality that she was out of reach in so many ways.
He and Tom had stayed up late, talking into the night as Boomer slept on, and Simon had enjoyed getting to know the young man. He was only a few years younger than Simon, but he’d seen and done a lot for his young age.
Now, as Tom adjusted in his seat, he nodded at Simon. They had discussed him talking with the conductor to make sure that they were on schedule and that they would be arriving when they said they would to Dry Gulch. It was crucial for the timing of everything, especially the delicate transfer of Boomer.
“I’ll be back,” he said. Tom nodded again and shifted his gaze to Boomer.
Simon had been on duty for the last few hours with the man, and while it was easy since he’d mostly been asleep, he was thankful for a few minutes of rest where he didn’t have to be on high alert should the man try something.
The idea seemed almost impossible though. Boomer’s hands were either constantly secured together or to something else. It would be extremely difficult for him to attempt anything, but he wasn’t going to put it past someone who’d grown up as a criminal.
In his days as a deputy marshal, Simon had seen some very twisted individuals. He’d come to appreciate those who abided by the law and come to feel an ever so slight sorrow for those who disobeyed it.
Shaking his thoughts away so he could focus on the task at hand, Simon made his way down the narrow corridor of the private compartments. Soon, it opened up into the general seating area. As he walked through, his gaze naturally ran over the faces in each row. It was a habit he’d gotten into when he’d first become a marshal. He needed to be aware of his surroundings at all times, sometimes that meant life and death.
Subconsciously, he knew he was also looking for Greta. He tried not to and willed her not to be in any of the cars he walked through, but if he were honest with himself, he would admit that he wanted to see her again.
Finally, with only a few cars left to go, he slipped into the observation car. There were more windows in that car, allowing for the guests to look out. It was also much warmer in here than the other cars, and he wondered why anyone would stay.
Then he saw her. Toward the front of the car and sitting facing the aisle, Greta stared out the window, fanning herself with a piece of paper.
His gut clenched, and he willed his face not to react. He had to walk by her without incident. He didn’t trust himself to talk to her without embarrassing himself and asking her why she’d never said she was a married woman. It wasn’t his place to shame her for not telling him something. Besides, as he’d reminded himself, they would soon go their separate ways and none of this would even matter.
He stepped on a section of the floor and a loud creak emerged. It caught her attention, and he saw the moment she recognized him. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open to form a perfect “O” shape. Then she glanced in front of her. As he came closer, he could see that she sat across from the horrible man—her husband—and who Simon assumed was the man’s mother. Or was it her mother?
It didn’t matter. He just needed to walk past her. That was all. But, as he approached, she did something that shocked him. She stood.
He fought with himself about what to do. Should he ignore her completely? Or would it only cause more of a scene? Could he just walk past with a shake of his head to indicate he didn’t want to speak with her? Would she understand that?
But, as he approached, she reached out a hand. He looked down and saw a piece of white paper in it. He frowned. If he were to accept it, was that wrong? Was that giving in to communication with her—a married woman? Then again, he had questions, and she had answers. Perhaps this was a missive that would explain her actions to him, or was that wishful thinking?
As it came down to the last moment, he drawing near and about to pass her, something in her eyes gave him pause. It was a type of raw honesty that enticed him to reach out and take the note from her. Their fingers brushed, the slightest bit of contact, and he felt warmth spread through his chest. He tried to stop the feeling immediately and pocketed the note as he walked past.
At the doorway to the next car, he paused for the slightest moment. A hesitation born of questions and confusion. He didn’t turn around though; he didn’t allow himself to look into her eyes again—for fear of what he might do. Fear of what he might say if he went back. Instead, he refocused on his mission and headed to speak with the conductor. The note could wait.
After confirming with the conductor about their arrival time the next day, Simon made his way back to their compartment. He was somewhat relieved to see that Greta had left the observation compartment by the time he walked back, but still felt the weight of her letter in his pocket. He’d wanted a private moment to look at it, but by the time he reached their compartment Tom had to use the facilities, and he’d decided he wasn’t sure if he wanted to read it.
As the day progressed, he warred with himself. He considered both sides—reading it could mean disappointment or understanding or confusion, while not reading it could mean he would be able to put their conversations in his past and move on from them.
He felt like a flag that changed directions with the ever-changing influence of the wind. First one way, then the other. Finally, when he wasn’t sure if he could take it anymore, he excused himself from the compartment and went to stand in the small space between their car and the next. It was a small area that most would only walk by, but it afforded a secluded location, and he hoped he’d be free from interruption there.
With a deep breath, he pulled out the note, now crumpled from being in his pocket. He smoothed it against his leg and opened it. There were only a few lines of text in what looked to be a hasty scrawl. It looked as if she’d been rushed for time in writing it, and he had no doubt that she was. It was unlikely her unruly husband would be all right with her sending notes to another man.
His conscious pricked again. He shouldn’t even be reading this. But something caught his attention, and it was too late.
She begged him to meet her late that night in their spot. He knew she meant the caboose viewing area, and he felt his stomach twist at how private a location that was. He was about to immediately say no, not that he’d tell her, but that he just wouldn’t show up. But then the last line caught his attention. She told him everything was not how it seemed, and she’d explain.
Wasn’t how it seemed? How could it be anything else?
Then he wondered if she were somehow being forced to stay with the man against her will? She didn’t seem abused, aside from perhaps verbally, but it was possible there was more to the story.
Then, below that line, she said that she also had something to share that concerned the man with whom he kept company. That worried him even more. Did she mean Tom…or Boomer?
Simon rested his head back against the metal wall, the momentum of the train making it hard to stay still. What was he to do? If he did think she had information regarding Boomer, he should go to her cabin immediately and confront her. The thought of that sat heavily on his chest though.
The man she was with—her husband, if his words could be believed—was not going to take kindly for him to talk with his wife in private. At least not with his knowledge. Was it wrong for him to agree to meet with her?
He lifted up a prayer for wisdom and made his way back to their compartment. Tom and Boomer were playing a game of cards, and after declining Tom’s invitation to join, he sat and stared out the window, lost in thought. What should he do?
“Looks like you got a lot on your mind,” Boomer said. While he wasn’t anywhere close to being accepted by the marshals, it was hard to share such a small space and not have a few conversations with someone. Tom and Simon had found themselves conversing with Boomer on a more regular basis but were careful to keep the subjects informal and not to allow it to get too friendly. His statement was bordering on that.
“Don’t you worry about me. You’ve got your own problems,” he said. He was pointing to the cards in front of Boomer and trying to make light of it, but Boomer took the words seriously.
“Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t.”
The words drew Simon’s gaze up to meet the man’s, but at the same moment, he looked down and made his next move. It was hard to tell what he had meant. Was Simon reading too much into the statement? He looked to Tom, but the younger man was engrossed in his cards and didn’t seem to notice.
Simon rolled his shoulders and leaned back, deciding to watch the rest of the game and make up his mind later that evening. It would be during Tom’s shift that Greta wanted to meet, so—if he did decide to go—he could. He’d wait until then to make the decision. Hopefully, by then, he’d have more clarity.
* * *
Greta rushed down the hall. She hadn’t specified a time on her note to Simon, but she wanted to be there earlier than she had the day before—just in case he decided to come but lost his nerve.
She debated with herself whether or not it had even been right for her to ask him to come. Wasn’t thinking that she was married enough to ensure that he shouldn’t come? Wouldn’t that be the actions of a proper man? And yet, she’d hoped that she’d convinced him things were not what they seemed by her wording—though she’d had to be cryptic in case Daniel had seen her writing and confiscated it.
Was it too much to ask that he’d come and they could have a conversation?
She wondered if she should feel guilty about sneaking around as she was, but part of her remembered how belittled she felt by Daniel. If there was any chance that she could make Simon see that he didn’t speak for her but for himself, then she would do it. She would take a risk as she was, no matter what the outcome would be, because she wanted just a moment to explain to him what the truth was. After that, she would have no choice but to leave it in God’s hands.
She reached the back of the train and paused, her hand on the sliding door. Taking in a deep, steadying breath, she slid it open and stepped into the warm rush of night air. The train ambled on; it’s destination not too far in the future for them all.
Greta craned her neck upward and took in the familiar stars. It was beautiful out here, and she would miss this most about the train. She could do without the constant motion, the cramped quarters, and the heat, but this she would miss. She’d also miss having the opportunity to see Simon every day.
She knew he must think poorly of her, but she hoped she could clear that up tonight. To explain to him her obligation to Daniel, even though she wished she didn’t have that, and to see if he would forgive her for keeping any part of her life a secret to him. Would he understand? And why did it matter so much to her that he did?
Sighing, she rested her forearms against the railing and let her mind wander to happier times. To playing in the yard with June when they’d been younger to hanging the wash as older girls. To all of the lessons they’d had, teaching one another how to speak their languages. It was those things she missed the most. She couldn’t wait to be able to write to June and tell her of her adventures, and yet what would she say? That she was engaged to a tyrant of a man who enjoyed making fun of her? Whose mother, as it turns out, was almost just as bad?
Greta fought the tears that rushed to her eyes. She wished—prayed—that things could change. Was Simon somehow an answer to those prayers? Or was it wrong of her to hope that they could somehow escape the life she’d all but sold herself into? Or was she relegated to her fate?
The door to the inside slid open, and she whirled around, breathless in excitement.
“I knew you’d come. Or…I hoped you would.” She spoke at the dark shape that stood half in the doorway and half hidden by the rest of the door.
“You did, did you?” came a cold voice that didn’t belong to Simon.
Then, with the horror of realization, she saw who it was, as he stepped fully onto the platform. “Daniel.”
“Yes, it’s me.” He gripped her upper arm with such force she whimpered in pain. “Can I suppose you were waiting for someone else?” He ground the words out between clenched teeth, and it was the first time she felt fear for herself. A deep-seated fear that reached beyond what she’d known before.
“What do I know when I wake up but that you—my bride-to-be—is gone from our compartment. I waited, thinking perhaps you had gone to use the facilities, and then when you didn’t come back, I began to worry. What if something happened to her? What if…well
, all of those worries were for naught.”
She briefly wondered how he’d found her but knew she wouldn’t ask for fear of inciting more anger.
“So what did I do? I came after you.” He leaned in close. “I found an attendant who said he’d seen you come here several nights in a row. What am I to think? A clandestine meeting with…whom? Whom are you meeting?” His tone left no room for argument.
“N-no one,” she said, though she felt the sting of the lie on her tongue.
“How dare you lie to me,” he said.
The sudden force of his hand hitting her cheek sent her reeling back, her back slamming against the bar that kept her on the platform and away from tumbling into the speeding dark night.
“I will forgive for you this, and for so many other indiscretions, if you will come quietly with me and promise to never disobey me again.” His eyes, catching the light from inside, flashed in a dangerous way.
She was caught. If she said no, she feared what he’d do. Would he go so far as to toss her from the train and to certain death? Or would it be worse—dragging her through the compartments and into the rest of their life, fighting until he broke her will?
The moment stretched between them until, slowly, she began to nod her head. She had no choice but to accept his terms. Her future—perhaps her life—depended on it.
* * *
Simon left the compartment later than anticipated. Ever since he and Tom had gotten better acquainted, they’d stayed up later and later talking and sharing their misery as bachelors. They’d laughed and commiserated until both were tired and, at times, introspective. Tonight had been no different, but now he was finally able to slip away.