by Stephen Bly
Pinehurst waved his half-limp arm at them. “Conductor says we’ll be stopping in Rock Springs for supper.”
Catherine stared at the setting sun. “I’m not getting off.”
“You have to,” Zane insisted. “All who met you this afternoon will expect to see you with me. I think you made a hit with them.”
She tried to rub the wrinkles from her forehead. “Tell them I don’t feel well.”
Zane tapped her shoulder. “Need I remind you of our arrangement?”
“Don’t touch me.”
He pulled back his hand.
“I agreed to play the part in front of your potential investors, not for some greasy supper in the middle of Wyoming.”
“We’re just about out of the Territory,” Pinehurst said.
“Tell them I have a headache, that I’m not used to the altitude or something. Tell them I’m basking in the splendor of such wonderful conversations this afternoon. I don’t care what you tell them.”
“You have to eat,” Zane said.
“Bring me a cup of tea and a biscuit. I don’t want to see my friends in the couches. This situation is too impossible to explain.”
“Are you saying you’re ashamed to be seen with me?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
She received two sourdough biscuits, a large wedge of sharp white cheese, and a glass jar with tepid tea. The train had propelled into Utah Territory before she finished the meal and picked the crumbs from her dress.
Zane and Pinehurst wandered towards the front of the train and Catherine washed her face, neck and arms in the tiny basin of water. She was startled to hear someone in the next compartment cry.
I didn’t know you could hear between compartments. How much do they know what has been going on in here?
She leaned her ear against the cold, slick wall of the compartment. Feeling a sharp pain, she reared back, removed her earring, then leaned again to the wall. She discerned a slight whimper and a deep voice of comfort, but otherwise the sounds were so muted she could not tell what was being said.
I didn’t hear a word, yet I sensed sadness or fear. All of that going on only a few feet from me. That’s the way life is, Lord. A few feet away broils an entirely different crisis. In a crowded room, or on a crowded train, I believe mine is the only drama that matters. That’s one of the many lessons I’ve got to learn. Catherine Goodwin’s melodrama might not be on the center stage of life. That’s a rather humbling thought. Lord, bring some peace and joy to those next door . . . and get me to Paradise Springs, quick.
She was reseated by the window, fastening her earring, when the men returned.
“Several asked about you. You Goodwin twins are both quite charming, when you want to be.” Zane hung his crisp, black silk hat on a hook behind the door. “Are you going to wear that dress all night?”
“I trust, Mr. Zane, no one has ever made the mistake of calling you charming. I informed you before, I will sit right here, fully dressed, all night.”
A tint of lilac tonic water drifted across the otherwise stuffy compartment.
Zane slid next to the window and she tucked her feet to give room for highly polished black boots. “You might be fearful for nothing. Aren’t you presuming a lot? What makes you think either of us have any desire to take advantage of you?”
“You have both proven yourselves to be despicable men.” She tried to concentrate her gazing out the window, but the glass reflected both men’s images. ”Why should I not assume that?”
“I will be just as glad as you are when this is over. At times, you remind me too much of Catelynn.”
She talked to the reflections in the glass. “I take that as a compliment.”
Zane ignored her comment. “As long as we are to sit up all night, you need to know what happens tomorrow.”
“I do not want to know any details about the mining claim transaction. I want to look all parties in the eyes and truthfully say, ‘I don’t know anything.’ I told you, I will not lie.”
Still wearing his slouch hat, Pinehurst sat next to Zane. “Your sis knew plenty. You should have seen her get excited about the Law of Apex litigation.”
“Yes, but she knows nothing about how to teach thirty fourth-grade students to divide fractions. We have our separate fields of interest. I will smile and nod and act demure at tasteless humor. But that is all.”
“You will need to know the schedule,” Zane said. “We will be in Ogden at noon to meet three men there: Mr. Cyrus Daily, Mr. Edward Longtire and Mr. Bertram Woolsey.”
“Will their wives be with them?”
“I presume not. But you made a hit with the wives in New York in the Spring.”
“I didn’t. Catelynn did.”
“Of course. They will ride with us to Reno Station. Be pleasant to them.”
“Did I make a hit with the men as well?”
“Oh, yeah,” Pinehurst smirked.
“Catelynn and I met with them several times. They are New York industrialists with friends who made money in western mines. They want in on the action, but know very little about mining.”
“And it’s your job to give them an education?”
A pasted grin surfaced on Zane’s face. “Exactly. The other three men . . . Worthington, Hall and Fryberg . . . will be join us at Reno Station. They consider themselves experts in the business because they have a little copper mine on the south end of Lake Superior. In fact, they are confident that they are pulling something over on me.”
“How frightfully slack of them.”
“It’s the nature of this mining speculation business,” Zane continued. “At Reno we will all take carriages to Carson City. And, I presume, appear before the judge to get the documents finalized. At that point, I get their investment funds. I give you your money and you are on your way.”
Catherine again studied his image in the window. “And you give me that final photograph.”
“Of course.”
“And fifty dollars to buy a dress in Ogden.”
“I agreed to that. Whether you buy the dress in Utah or Nevada doesn’t matter to me.”
If Matthew Zane never talked or moved, you could call him a handsome man.
She turned back to face him direct. “Do I need to go to Carson City?”
“Yes.”
“But if I go with you, I’ll miss my train.”
“I’ll put you in a Pullman on the very next one.”
“I will have to telegraph Phillip and let him know which train I’m on.”
“You can telegraph Leland Stanford for all I care.”
She turned back to the windowed image. “You are wrong about one thing. You will in no way be as happy as me to get all of this over.”
Why doesn’t someone tell men with sagging jowls they should never grow drooping mustaches. So comical looking, yet impolite to laugh. I must be polite. I must. I must.
“. . . well, I chuckled about that for weeks. Speaking of Henrietta, she told me I must insist that you come out this fall to our place on Long Island. She so enjoyed that luncheon you gave at the Crystal Ballroom. She wants to have a little affair in your honor. You know, an afternoon tea with a few dozen of her dearest friends.”
Catherine patted his arm. “Cyrus, you tell her I’ll be there.” She nodded over at Matthew Zane. “I’ll make Mattsey buy me a completely new wardrobe for the occasion. Not, of course, that I need a reason for new clothes.”
Cyrus Daily’s smile revealed a wide gap in his upper front teeth. “No wonder you and Henrietta get along so well. You shop alike.”
A tall man wearing a beige linen suit and battered flop hat strolled across the platform. “I say, Daily, you don’t intend on monopolizing all of Mrs. Zane’s time, do you?”
“I intend to monopolize silver production in Nevada, but not our Catelynn.”
Catherine slipped her hand into the arm of the beige linen suit. “Edward, Edward, I’ve been meaning to ask you ever since last Spr
ing, what is the origin of such an intriguing last name as Longtire?”
He held the knot of his brown tie as if it gave more authority to his words. “It’s Scottish. A proud name that goes back hundreds of years. There have been Longtires leading Scotland for centuries.”
She tilted her head and grinned her charming best. “Why, Edward, do you mean you have one of those cute little wool plaid kilts?”
“Well, eh . . . yes, of course.” His face reddened. He let her arm drop from his. “But I don’t wear it often.”
“I am going to insist you wear it for me.”
“I’m not sure where Pearline has put it.”
Catherine clutched back his arm. “Do you by any chance play the bagpipes?”
“No, I do not.”
“I’ve always wanted to know a person who played the bagpipes. There is a burning question I’d love to ask them.”
“What is that?”
Catherine wrinkled her nose. “Why do you do it?”
“Yes,” Longtire chuckled. “Pearline says the pipes bleat like a herd of young goats, but they are a way of life to me.”
Broad shouldered Bertram Woolsey slipped his arm in Catherine’s. “Mrs. Zane, allow me to escort you to the carriage. The train won’t leave until 2:00 p.m. and there’s a fine restaurant on the south side of town. You will be our guest.”
“Is there a nice dress shop near it?”
Woolsey cleared his throat. “Well, eh, I’m not sure at all. You need to do a little shopping?”
“Bertie, Bertie, Bertie, did you ever know a woman who didn’t need to shop? It’s in our bones. We just can’t help it.”
She turned back to a cluster of men on the train platform. “Sweetheart, we’re going out to lunch. Are you going to join us?”
“Yes . . . yes . . . .” Matthew strolled towards them. “I was just reading over these final purchase papers.”
Cyrus Daily jammed his hands in his pockets. “I trust everything is what we agreed on in New York.”
The creases on Zane’s forehead relaxed. “Seems to be in order. I’m just working my way though the ‘misinterpretation clause.’”
“That’s standard in all contracts,” Longtire insisted.
“Well, you boys know I’m a small town man who’s spent most of his life out here in the West scratching for a living from the hard dirt. My legal training was by the only barrister in Tuolumne County . . . but I’ll trust you men.” He folded the papers and slipped them into his coat, then offered Catherine his arm.
She stared across the station at a young boy chasing a thin rooster.
Zane, if I can continue this charade without gagging, I will consider it my greatest performance.
Zane patted her hand. “But if I have any trouble with this contract, boys, I’ll send Catelynn to visit with your wives. I imagine they could straighten it all out.”
“Now, wouldn’t that be a fine pickle?” Longtire chuckled. “Maybe the wives should draw up the contracts. Could make for a happier home. Except for Bertram, the old bachelor.”
“When Berty gets rich with this mine, no telling how many women will be flocking to his side,” Daily commented.
“There have been plenty of opportunities over the years,” Woolsey huffed. “But I always thought I was the one who ought do the asking.”
Catherine clapped her hands. “Well said, Bertie. Don’t let these old bears badger you. I do hope the restaurant has fresh strawberries. I haven’t had a fresh strawberry since the day we left New York. Mattsey fixed me a delightful breakfast that morning of berries . . . fresh, thick cream and Swedish crepes.”
“Your husband cooked your breakfast?” Longtire asked.
Catherine laid her head against his sleeve. “Oh, he does it all the time on the maid’s day off, don’t you dear?”
She couldn’t tell if he look more startled or just annoyed.
“Catherine, I need to speak to you.” The words broke across the train platform more like an alarm than a friendly greeting.
She turned to see Race Hillyard, hat in hand, twenty feet away.
“Eh . . . excuse me?”
“Catherine, we need to talk!”
Cyrus Daily stepped forward. “Who’s Catherine?”
Matthew Zane shoved Catherine behind him. “Mister, my wife’s name is Catelynn.”
Hillyard stalked forward waving his finger. “Zane, I took care of you in the Pullman car yesterday, but I can do it again.”
Catherine turned to Daily and Longtire. She lowered her voice. “My identical twin sister is named Catherine. He must have me confused.”
“Rather a rude chap,” Woolsey mumbled. “Perhaps we should contact the marshal.”
“You’re giving the rest of your heart away, Catherine Goodwin,” Race shouted. “You can’t do that. You won’t have anything left.”
Matthew Zane herded the others toward the carriages. “He’s a drunk. Just ignore him. Let’s go eat.”
Hillyard lurched closer, waving his finger. “Catherine, we need to talk and you know it.”
She spun around. Zane grabbed her arm, but she broke free.
“My name is Catelynn Zane. If you would address me by my proper name, I will take a moment to chat with you.”
Race dropped his hands to his side and let out a deep sigh. “Mrs. Catelynn Zane, may I please have a word with you?”
“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Daily cautioned. “He looks a bit rough.”
She lowered her voice. “I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with this type in my work down in the Bowery Mission.”
“You do charity work there?” Daily twisted his drooping mustache. “My, you are an amazing lady.”
Zane sided up to her and whispered. “Do you have any idea what you are doing?”
She spoke soft, without moving her lips. “I’m trying to save your miserable hide.”
Catherine marched past Race to the other side of the platform. He trailed behind. She stood where she faced the others, but with Hillyard’s back toward them.
“This is absurd,” Hillyard fumed. “I can’t believe you are doing this for money, like that phony kiss in Omaha.”
She brushed her bangs back and took two pinched lip breathes before she spoke. “I am not doing this for the money. You don’t know the story.” She pointed at him as if identifying the guilty party in a courtroom drama. “Don’t judge until you know all the facts.”
His shoulders relaxed as he shoved his hat back on. “Then, for the sake of my sanity, tell me the facts.”
She looked away at the steam drifting out from under the locomotive. “I can’t.”
He leaned his head closer. “You can’t or you won’t.”
“Both.” She didn’t back away, but did drop her chin. “I don’t want to do this, but I have to. It’s not for me, it’s for others. I must do it. That’s all I can say.”
Hillyard slapped his hands on his hips and shook his head. “It’s not enough, Catherine. I have to know what’s going on.”
“It has to do with my family. Actions in the past. A myriad of worries. My only chance to simplify it, is to do things this way. Believe me, I have considered all the alternatives.”
He reached out his hand. “We’re not just walking away from each other.”
“Of course we are.” She refused to take his hand. “We both knew that would happen when I get to Sacramento. It just happened sooner.”
He dropped his hand and stared at his boots. “I told you this would happen.”
His voice was so low, she stepped closer. “What would happen?”
“You have given your heart away so many times, you have nothing left. You have no feelings because your heart is gone.”
“That is not true, Race Hillyard. I do have a heart and what’s left I intend to give to Phillip.”
“You don’t have anything to give him. It’s gone. Look at you. There you are standing between a worm and a cockroach, smiling at some rich old saps. Good grief, Cathe
rine Goodwin, you’ve lost your soul as well as your heart.”
The slap across his face stung her hand. The sound silenced all conversation on the train station platform.
Bootheels striking the warn wood deck caused her to spin and point a finger at the approaching Matthew Zane. “I do not need your help. Go back.”
“We need to get to lunch.”
“I will be there when I’m through.”
She turned back to the piercing eyes of Race Hillyard. “You have absolutely no idea of the anguish I am going through with the Lord, trying to do the right thing in this matter. You don’t have a clue as to the horrible complications and shame it will bring to others, whom I love dearly, if I don’t do this.” Warm tears rolled down her cheeks. “If I had an alternative, I would do it. The only reason I didn’t throw myself off the train last night is because I could only open the window a couple of inches. So, how dare you judge my relationship with the Lord.”
He took a deep breath. “You’re right. I thought we might be close enough that I could . . . well, you are right. I regret causing those tears. I will have prayers of repentance because of them.”
“Perhaps we don’t know each other all that well.”
“Well, here’s what I do know Miss Catherine Goodwin. In the few days that we’ve been acquainted, you have revived my dead heart. My life was without purpose. You gave me hope that I might be able to survive this crisis with Robert. I will always be grateful.”
“I am not sure I get any credit for that. Much of what you despise in me, I despise also. Pray for me, Race. Pray that I will do what is best for those I truly love.”
“And I’ll also pray for a day to come that you can explain to me. Don’t tell me that will never happen. My faith is just naïve enough to believe that miracles can happen.”
“Knowing you has changed me. You might not see those changes, but they are there. The last few days have made me feel truly alive. I haven’t felt that since before the war.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Goodbye, Race Hillyard. Thank you for putting up with me.”
Catherine wiped the tears from her eyes before she strolled back to the men.
“What was that all about?” Cyrus Daily asked.
She refused to look back across the platform. “He’s a man my sister, Catherine, used to know.”