Charley’s mind was racing. The first hold-up of her career, and of course, Tonia had to be with her. She pushed her into a flattened position down by her feet. There was no way to hide her, but at least she was out of the range of any random flying bullets.
“Everybody out of the coach and hands high in the air. Now. Including you driver. And the kid,” shouted the bandit.
The first-class passengers exited the coach and joined the frightened group, hands raised high. They all looked over at the bizarre figure standing before them.
The bandit’s entire face was covered with a sugar sack, slits for his eyes, nose and mouth. His feet were covered with a pair of burlap sugar sacks as well, tied around the ankles.
“Damn it,” said Charley under her breath. “It’s Sugarfoot.”
Although Charley had never had the pleasure of Sugarfoot’s company, she knew, as everyone knew, about his peculiar signature—his face and boots always wrapped in sugar sacks. No one could understand why he covered his boots. Charley also observed that the well-armed bandit was toting a pair of low-slung revolvers in addition to his shotgun. He wore an elegant brown duster and leather gloves. The duster looked somehow fresh, laundered.
She looked around to see if there was anyone else hiding in the bushes. Sugarfoot appeared to be alone, but she had heard rumors that he worked with a gang.
“Gentlemen…and ladies…this is a hold-up,” said the bandit. He was now courteous and soft-spoken. “Stay calm and no one will get hurt.” He looked them over, his wrapped feet planted in shooting position, his gun trained on the lot of them. “I want you gentleman one by one to reach for your guns nice and slow. Place them on the ground. Then I would appreciate you kicking them towards me. If any of you decide to challenge me, I guarantee you, my men hiding in the bush will send you speedily to your maker. You driver, let’s begin with you.”
He braced himself behind his shotgun as each man complied.
“Thank-you gentlemen. Now driver, would you be so kind as to climb up and throw down the box.”
He had a peculiar kind of English accent Charley noted, even with his voice somewhat muffled behind the sack. That was something she never knew about Sugarfoot—he’s a damn Britisher.
Charley looked at him straight on. “I got nothing but mail.”
“Indeed,” said Sugarfoot. “But that’s what they all say. You don’t mind if I ascertain that fact with my very own eyes, do you, sir? It’s not that I don’t trust you. Now, please throw down the box.”
As Charley climbed up to the driver’s seat, she felt her legs shaking. She reached under into the strongbox hold. She tugged the box forward and with difficulty toppled it down to the ground. She then returned to her place next to Tonia and the rest of the passengers.
The box lay there on the dirt for a moment while all of them stared at it.
Sugarfoot aimed, shot off the lock, and advanced towards it, kicking off the last remnants of the twisted metal. He then kicked it open. White paper spilled out. Mail. Just mail.
“Ah, a man of his word, for once,” said Sugarfoot. “I salute you, driver.” He sighed, looking at the row of pale-faced passengers. “Oh dear. What to do?”
He paced up and down the row. “I do apologize. You look like a kindly lot. You wouldn’t send me away empty-handed now, would you?”
He trained his gun on the first passenger in line, and threw an empty sugar sack at him. “You,” his voice turned cold and threatening.
The man jumped and plunged his hand in his pocket for his coin purse. He placed the purse into the sack, “Here. Take it.”
“Your watch too.”
The man quivering, opened his waist coat, removed his gold pocket watch and dropped it into the sack.
“Thank-you my good man,” said Sugarfoot. “Now please pass the sack along to our next friend.”
He pointed the gun at the next passenger. “I’m afraid it’s your turn, sir.”
The next passenger made no move for a long moment. Instead he chewed on his tobacco. Then keeping his eyes fixed on Sugarfoot, spat on the ground.
Sugarfoot stepped forward. “Tut, tut,” he said scolding, cocking his gun. “The goddess Hygeia, my dear sir, begs observance. It’s plain prudence to display good manners to the chap with the gun.”
The man kept his eyes on Sugarfoot and continued to chew, but now his hand was reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and dropped it into the waiting sack.
“Wise man,” said Sugarfoot. “Next.”
One by one, the passengers relieved themselves of the contents of their pockets: their gold dust, money, watches, and jewelry.
Charley, who was the last to receive the sack, emptied all the coins from her pockets. She dropped them inside and held it out to Sugarfoot.
“Please young lady,” said Sugarfoot pointing to Tonia. “Would you be a little angel and deliver the goods to me?”
“Hell, don’t involve the girl,” said Charley.
“I must insist. But don’t fret. I would never hurt a child.”
Tonia stepped forward, her eyes bright with excitement, “Don’t worry, Charley. I’m not afraid.”
Charley hesitated but then handed the sack over to Tonia.
Tonia’s little feet began to move towards Sugarfoot and everyone held their breath.
Charley felt her whole body trembling. She wanted to leap at Sugarfoot and defend the child. But she knew that to act would put Tonia in even greater danger.
Tonia reached Sugarfoot and held up the sack, her face defiant and feisty.
He studied her for a long moment. “You’re quite the brave little girl, aren’t you?” He reached down with his free hand and pinched her chubby cheek. “Thank-you my dear child.”
Sugarfoot removed the sack from her hands. He then surprised them all by reaching into it and lifting out a silver dollar. “Here sweetheart,” he said, handing it to Tonia.
She took the coin and stared at it, stared at him.
He said, “They’ve all been so good, haven’t they?”
Fascinated, Tonia nodded.
“Tell you what,” continued Sugarfoot with loud stagy intimacy. “I want you to buy them each a cup of coffee when you reach your destination. Will you do that for me, my little sweetheart?”
She nodded again.
Sugarfoot regarded the others.
“Oh and by the way, my friends, now that you have made your charitable contribution for the day, don’t forget your civic duty…remember to vote when you get to Stockton. And with that, I bid you farewell.”
“Who are you going to vote for sir?” squeaked Tonia.
Charley gave an infuriated look. It was not the occasion for chitchat.
“I don’t mind telling you,” said Sugarfoot, continuing his loud but confidential tones to Tonia. “It will not be for Mr. Franklin Pierce. I cast my vote with the thinking minority of this country, for old General Scott.
A distraught portly woman shouted, “I knew it. A Whig. A Democrat would never rob a woman.”
Sugarfoot addressed her, the shotgun still trained forward. “A Democrat, madam, would not have left you with the price of a cup of coffee, and would have taken your bloomers as well.”
He gave a jaunty wave of his shotgun.
“Everyone face down on the road, if you please. And I’m ever so sorry, my little sweetheart,” he said to Tonia, “but you must take this undignified posture along with the others.
As they all lay face down on the ground Sugarfoot approached Charley. His burlap-clad feet stepped close to her head, the shotgun coming close to her temple.
Fuck, thought Charley.
But then the bandit bent down and placed a cigar on the ground by her hand. “No hard feelings, I trust?”
Charley was not amused. “Next time I’ll break even with you,” she
said looking up at him.
Sugarfoot laughed. “Break even with me?”
“I’ll be ready for you. I promise,” she said.
“And the time after that?”
“There won’t be another time after that.”
Sugarfoot let out another laugh and then vanished into the tall brush.
The passengers, still on the ground, heard the sound of a horse galloping away into the distance. They sat up in the dust…angry, relieved and bewildered.
Thirteen
Anna forbade Tonia from ever riding the coach again. Tonia was not daunted. One morning, after the incident, she set up an imitation of a driver’s box and team, with four lengths of rope attached to pieces of wood that were meant to be the horses’ heads. She sat up on a little box, calling out words she’d heard Charley say. She was commanding the imaginary horses to gallop faster and faster and to turn at the same time.
Charley was nearby repairing the corral fence…amused at watching Tonia play her game of make-believe.
Tonia saw Charley watching her. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“I would never ever laugh at you. You’re doing a good job. But we’re both going to get in trouble when your mother sees what you’re doing.”
“I don’t care. Do you really think I’m doing a good job?”
“Yes, I do. Your reining is improving. I can tell you’ve been paying attention on our coach runs. Did you know though, that a horse can sense what you want even without the reins?”
“What do you mean?”
“Once they trust you, they respond to your energy—what it is you want from them.”
“They can read my mind? Like a fortune teller?”
Charley laughed. “Not quite. But you can’t hide anything from a horse. They know if you care about them, respect them. And after a while there’s a strong connection that can happen between you and them. They’re smart and wise creatures. And you know what? I’ve heard that the Indians even believe that horses are spiritual teachers, that they are a bridge between heaven and earth.”
“Really?” said Tonia, not quite understanding but captivated by Charley’s words. “How did you learn so much about horses?”
“I had a great teacher…a man who was like my father. His name was Jonas. He taught me everything I know about horses. And about people as well. I miss him. I wish he could see me sometimes…up on the driver’s box.”
Just then, Anna appeared, stepping out on the porch. “Charley. Get in here.”
“See,” Charley said to Tonia. “I told you we’re in trouble.” She smiled a henpecked smile and shrugged.
Tonia shrugged back; it was a little thing they did.
Anna turned and went back inside. Charley followed.
Kneading bread with a vengeance, Anna did not bother to look up. “I don’t like what you’re doing with Tonia. I want it to stop.”
“What?”
“All this nonsense with the horses and the stagecoach driving. She could have been killed the other day. And besides, it’s not proper.”
“Look, I agreed to not ever take her on the coach runs again, but I don’t see any harm in her having some fun and playing her pretend games. Besides, I don’t see as it hurts a woman to know her way around a horse.”
Charley picked at a little piece of the dough.
Anna swatted her hand away. “It is all she talks about, all she thinks about. She dreams about it at night.”
“Well, I was the same way at her age—”
“But you’re a man. It’s cruel to encourage her to have a dream that will never come true.”
“I won’t encourage her, then.”
“It’s not just that. She admires you. She looks up to you, as if you were some kind of god. She loves you. I’m afraid of how she will be hurt when—”
“When what?”
“When you ask us to leave.”
“My God, who said I would want you to leave? I know we haven’t talked about it…but I’m very happy with the way things are. I love having you and Tonia here.”
“But that will change. I’ve known men like you. Maybe not tomorrow or the next day—”
“Anna.”
Charley moved toward her wanting to embrace her, to assure her. Not knowing if she should dare. What was this thing between them? Not the love of a woman for a man, as Anna believed. Not exactly love between two women, either. It was something else, made up of equal parts gratitude, need, and fear.
Anna held herself very still.
“I’m not going anywhere—and neither are you,” Charley said.
Anna looked up, brushing away her tears with a floury hand.
Charley, not knowing what the hell to do, turned and walked out the door.
Fourteen
It was the following summer that Charley, Ben and Hank with several other whips were finishing up a new, one room cabin adjacent to Charley’s original structure. The men, sweating hard under a hot sun, were pounding in their last nails before lunch.
“Anyone want a nip before we eat?” Ben asked, offering up a flask.
“Are you crazy?” laughed Hank, “You’ll pound a nail through your fucking drunk hand if you’re not careful.”
“And if you’re not careful Hank, I’m going to force feed you some of my Indian whiskey.”
“What the hell is that? Or should I ask?” said Charley.
Ben took a long swig from his flask. “Well, you take one barrel of river water, and two gallons of alcohol. Then you add two ounces of strychnine to make the Indians crazy, cuz strychnine is a fucking great stimulant. Add three plugs of tobacco to make ’em sick; an Indian wouldn’t figure it was whiskey unless it made him sick. Then add five bars of soap to give it a bead, and a half-pound of red pepper. And then you put in some sage brush and boil it until it’s brown. You strain this into a barrel and hell, you got yourself some delicious Indian whiskey.”
Charley let out a high-pitched hoot, “Remind me never to ask you for a drink. No wonder you can’t get yourself a woman…drinkin’ shit like that.”
“I just make it…I don’t drink it. And you’re not one to talk about the ladies.”
“Yeah,” joked Hank. “Whenever any marriage-minded spinster pursues Parkie, he solves the problem by switching routes. So then Charley, why the hell you building this sage hen a cabin right next door?”
“Shit,” slurred Ben. “With the price of lumber these days, wouldn’t it a been cheaper just to marry her?”
Everyone laughed.
“Come on, Parkie. We all know you’re a little peculiar, but tell it to us straight. That Anna is one damn fine lookin’ woman. Don’t the two of you ever do it?”
“I’m a man as likes my privacy, Ben. That’s all.”
Charley gave Ben a dirty look, then turned her attention to hammering in a nail. Around her now, the men were trading sly, suggestive glances. She pretended not to notice.
By evening, most of the cabin had been finished—orange-yellow lantern light spilled out through its open window. There was still a sound of hammering; alone, Charley was putting up the shutter on the window frame.
Anna walked through the front door. She was carrying a tray with a covered plate of food, a large jar of homemade wine, and two tin cups. She set the tray down on the floor.
“I brought you some supper.”
“Smells good, Anna. Thank-you.”
Charley finished the hammering and sat down on the floor while Anna knelt and poured the purplish red liquid into the cups.
She then sank down next to Charley, spreading her skirt around her. “Tonia’s in bed asleep.”
She caught Charley’s eye. She smiled and handed Charley the wine. The two clinked cups, raising the wine to their lips to drink.
Something was happening or about to happen.
Charley could feel it moving through the night air. She took a swig of her wine.
“The place isn’t much, but it’ll keep the rain off your head.” She looked up at the roof and laughed. “I hope.”
Anna looked around the cabin. “It’s nice. I can see it’s going to be nice. Thank-you.” She refilled Charley’s cup. “And, you won’t have to stay in the barn anymore. You can sleep in your own bed now.”
“Oh, I haven’t minded. Spent most of my growing up years sleeping in a stable.”
There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence.
“Charley?” said Anna. “Can I ask you something? Do you like me?”
Oh shit, thought Charley. She felt a wave of nausea. She knew what was coming. What the hell was she going to say to Anna?
“Well…sure. Of course I like you fine.”
“Charley, it’s been a year that we’ve been living here with you. You never speak of yourself. You hardly speak at all to me. And you have never once spoken of…that is…” She looked right at Charley. “How is it that you think of me?”
“How do I think of you?”
“I’m like a wife to you, Charley, in every way but one.”
“I think of you as…as my friend.”
“But why have you never touched me? Why have you never tried to make love? Is there something wrong with me?”
“Of course there’s nothing wrong with you.”
Fuck. Had she deluded herself into thinking that this moment would not come, or had she just ignored all the signs because she didn’t want to face the inevitable questions. Hell, she barely remembered she was a woman most days. But then the words were at the tip of her tongue…I’m not who you think I am. Dear God yes—the relief of being known. She wanted to shout it—to show her. She caught her breath, slowed her thoughts. If she revealed her secret, she risked losing everything—the daily, comforting presence of Anna and Tonia, not to mention her job. She risked losing who she had fought so hard to become. Far safer, far surer to continue to be whom people thought she was. She opted for the noblest-sounding lie.
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