The bandits milled about, uncertain what to do. Holding fast to his captive, Yancy began, “One… Two… Three…” His pulse held steady. He knew what he was doing. For a flicker of a moment he was Captain McLeish of the Massachusetts Second Infantry again, ready to lead his men forward, never wavering.
“Let him go. We’re leaving,” yelled one of the bandits. They began to throw the loot-filled bags to the ground. When they were done, Yancy released Jasper Cooper. Instead of fighting back, he ran to his horse like a scared rabbit and hightailed out of there with lightning speed, as if the devil himself was after him. His band of bandits followed. The Wells Fargo payroll went with them, but most of the loot collected from the passengers remained behind.
Yancy watched as the last horse disappeared. He turned to see passengers pouring off the train, smiling, issuing whoops of joy. Mr. Parkhurst came up and slapped him on the back. “By God, you saved the train!” A small crowd gathered, all applauding.
“I didn’t do it alone.” Yancy raised a hand in salute to those fellow passengers with guns who’d got their courage up and stood with him. “Thanks, boys.”
The conductor raised his hand to get everyone’s attention. “Without an engine, looks like we’re stuck here for a while, folks. I don’t know how far they took the engine, but the next telegraph station is only twenty miles from here. They should know by now something’s wrong, so help should be coming shortly.”
Nobody seemed to mind the wait. What with all the talking and laughing, the passengers were acting like they were on some sort of picnic, everyone calling him a hero, wanting to shake his hand. No need for thanks. He’d done what had to be done, and that didn’t make him a hero. He was about to get back on the train when Miss Belle Ainsworth approached. She didn’t look much like the fastidious, perfectly groomed lady he’d met last night. She’d lost her fancy hat. A few strands of hair had come loose and dangled around her face. Lucky for her she’d located some safety pins, so at least she’d regained her modesty and managed to pin her jacket closed.
Her grey eyes peered into his, all soft and filled with admiration. “Mr. McLeish, I want to thank you. You could very well have saved my life, and I’m extremely grateful.”
Was she insane? Didn’t she realize? He had to take a deep breath and let it out before he could continue. “I have a question for you, Miss Ainsworth.”
“Yes?” She fluttered her eyelids, all innocence.
“Why did you refuse to pick up the jewels?” He could hardly get the words out.
“Well, for one thing, I didn’t like the way he was talking to me.”
“You do know you came close to having your head blown off.”
His words must have given her pause, because she pursed her lips. “I suppose I was a bit stubborn. You think I should have done what he asked?”
Dear God in heaven. “You’re lucky to be alive. Jasper Cooper is a ruthless killer. He could easily have blown your brains out or crushed your skull.”
“Oh, dear.” She hung her head a moment. “What you’re saying is I made a big mistake.”
He nodded wordlessly.
“I should have done what that bandit said and picked up the jewels.”
“By far the wisest move.”
“You think I’m an idiot.”
“I wouldn’t be that unkind, but for a lady who seems quite bright, you could have made a better choice.”
“I see that now, and I see how stupid I was. Can you forgive me?”
Of course he could forgive her. He could tell from her voice and the stricken expression on her face she’d learned her lesson. “Whether I forgive you or not doesn’t matter. Maybe you thought you were being brave to defy him, but brave gets you dead a lot more often than using your common sense.”
She broke into relieved laughter. “I’ll remember that.”
He liked the sound of her laugh, not screechy like some women, but soft with kind of a soothing sound. He also liked her face with its tilted little nose and full red lips. He looked around. A few logs lay next to the tracks, some occupied by passengers, but he saw one that wasn’t. “Let’s sit over there.”
“I would love to. Looks like we won’t be going anywhere for a while.”
She followed him to the log and sat next to him in the warm sunshine. Despite the earlier excitement, the peacefulness of the day made him instantly calm. He breathed deep of the pine-scented air, took a long, indolent look at a blue sky that stretched forever over the tops of the pine trees. They started to chat. She told him about her life in Savannah. He described his cabin in the Maine Woods; his friends, the Indians; what a fine thing it was to live on a lake where the best-tasting fish in the world were his for the taking. She seemed genuinely interested, gazing at him with those big grey eyes as if she was hanging on his every word.
“I’m so sorry about your mother,” she said, when he talked about how he’d never wanted to make a trip like this.
“Thank you. How could I not have come? She’s my mother, after all. And besides, my brother traveled clear across the country to bring me back. Over the years, we haven’t seen eye to eye on a lot of things, but he has a big heart.” Only half thinking, he inquired, “And why are you traveling to San Francisco?”
“Why, I…” A strange look crossed her face.
As she struggled for an answer, he heartily wished he could take his words back. Looked like he’d struck some kind of a sore spot. “Sorry, that was rude. You don’t have to answer that.”
She laughed uncomfortably. Just then, the chug-chug of an engine sounded from a distance. The passengers started applauding.
He smiled. “Sounds like it’s here.”
She stood and brushed her skirt. “I’d better get back aboard.”
He watched her leave. He was about to follow when he spotted Mr. Parkhurst climb from the train and head straight for him with what seemed an urgency in his pace.
* * * *
With a lift in her step, Belle climbed back on the train. The day that earlier had gone so horribly wrong was ending well. The bandits were gone, and she would get her ring and locket back. She’d even managed to find all the buttons from her jacket and sewn them back on. She’d enjoyed her conversation with Yancy McLeish and would have elaborated on how grateful she was, but clearly he didn’t want her gratitude. There was something about him she liked. For one thing, he wasn’t bad looking at all with his tall, lanky build and the touches of humor around his mouth and eyes when he smiled. But beyond his attractive appearance—hard to explain with words—the force of his presence struck her anew. Just sitting and talking to him made her aware of his strength and determination. Yancy McLeish wasn’t a man who dithered or dawdled, and that she greatly admired.
His question had caught her by surprise. Since she left Savannah, nobody had asked why she was traveling to San Francisco. She didn’t expect Mrs. Hollister to ask. The woman was so taken up with herself she wouldn’t have the least curiosity about anyone else. So why, Belle wondered, had she hesitated? She could easily have replied she was traveling to San Francisco to meet her fiancé, but if she had, Yancy would have figured out she was a mail-order bride who hadn’t even met her husband-to-be.
For some reason, she didn’t want him to know. Back home, her friends and family may have disapproved, but at least they understood, or pretended to. But she wasn’t in the South anymore. Now she found the whole thing rather shameful and embarrassing, even though it shouldn’t be.
She reached her seat and sat down, happy to see Mrs. Hollister had retrieved all her jewelry, the diamond butterfly pin in place on her shoulder. “I’m glad to see you got everything back.” She readied herself for her seatmate’s usual stinging reply.
Mrs. Hollister broke into a grateful smile. “My dear, how can I ever thank you? You could have been killed, and all because of me.”
“I
survived, didn’t I? Think nothing of it.”
“You’re a very brave girl, Belle.” Tears filled Mrs. Hollister’s eyes. “I’m seventy-five years old. I’ve outlived my husband, my friends, and all but one of my children, and the one still living, well… I’ve no one left to care for, and no one who cares for me, so that’s why I’m so deeply touched by what you did for me.”
How surprising. So the old lady had a heart after all. “I’m glad you got your jewelry back. I know how much it means to you.”
“Not really. It’s only a substitute.” The older woman heaved a deep sigh. “When you get settled in San Francisco, you must come see me. I live on the corner of Powell and California. That’s on Nob Hill, not far from Leland Stanford’s mansion. It’s a Queen Ann Victorian-style house with lots of gingerbread. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember that.” Belle highly doubted she’d ever pay the old lady a visit, although she was nice to invite her.
“And if things don’t work out, come to me, and I’ll hire you as my companion.”
Companion to this difficult old lady? Not likely. “Thanks, I shall keep that in mind.”
Chapter 7
Something was wrong. As Mr. Parkhurst drew closer, he started waving. “Mr. McLeish, it’s your brother.”
Yancy started toward him, a sudden apprehension causing his heart to race. “What is it?”
“I don’t know, but one of the passengers who’s a doctor is with him. Better come quick.”
Yancy raced to the train. He remembered now. When the robbers came through their car and shot bullets into the ceiling, Ronald turned pale and seemed to have trouble catching his breath. Yancy hadn’t thought much about it at the time. Everyone was scared. Who wouldn’t be with the threat of death so terrifyingly real?
He sprang up the steps and into the car. Ronald was lying motionless in the aisle on his back, shirt unbuttoned, bare chest exposed. A cluster of passengers crowded around. One woman held a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with horror. A man was shaking his head in consternation. Kneeling beside his brother, a well-dressed gentleman in his fifties with a neatly trimmed grey beard held a stethoscope to his chest.
Yancy raced up the aisle and knelt beside the doctor. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
The doctor frowned. “He was clutching his chest in pain and then collapsed. Looks like his heart. Had he complained of not feeling well?”
Yancy had to answer over the lump that was forming in his throat. “He didn’t say anything, but after the shooting started, he turned pale and complained of being tired. Had trouble breathing. He mentioned his left arm felt a little numb. I figured it was all the excitement.”
The doctor gave a slight nod, as if Yancy had confirmed his diagnosis. He moved the stethoscope around on Ronald’s chest, listening carefully. He raised his head, eyes full of sympathy. “I’m afraid he’s gone.”
Ronald is dead? Yancy sat back on his heels. He’d seen death many times and in the most horrendous ways, but had always managed to keep his composure. This was different. This was his brother and he couldn’t think straight. “Was it his heart?”
“I have no doubt that it was.”
Mr. Parkhurst pushed his way through the crowd. In a voice that rang with authority, he proclaimed, “Nothing more to see here, folks. Kindly get back to your seats.” He bent over Yancy and spoke softly. “Mr. McLeish, I am terribly sorry. Don’t worry, we’ll handle everything.”
“What will you do with him?” Yancy could hear himself talking, yet his words seemed to be coming from someone else, and he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“We will immediately remove the…uh…remains to the baggage car. We will telegraph ahead, and when we get to Green River, we’ll have a casket waiting, that is, if you approve.”
Ronald is going home in a coffin. “That’s fine, Mr. Parkhurst. Be sure to let me know whatever costs are involved. And meanwhile…” He was about to choke up.
The conductor placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, he will be treated with the greatest respect.”
“Thank you for that.”
The train began to move. At another time, the passengers would have given a cheer, but the jovial man from San Francisco was gone, and only a mournful silence hung over the car as two baggage car employees swiftly carried the remains of Ronald McLeish away. As the train began to sway and the clickety-clack of the wheels grew ever faster, Yancy returned to his seat, turned his back, and stared out the window, clearly sending the message he’d rather not talk. Everyone respected his wishes. Now and then, a hand touched his shoulder, accompanied by a whispered “sorry,” but no one intruded on his grief. He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to think, had no idea of the passage of time. Maybe he slept, he didn’t know, but he slowly became aware of a faint scent of Belle’s perfume filling his nostrils. Her. He raised his head and shifted in his seat. “It’s you? I thought Queen Victoria was sitting next to me.”
She smiled gently. “Bad news travels fast. The whole train knows about Ronald. I’ll leave if you like. I didn’t want to intrude.”
“No, stay.”
“I’m so very sorry. I liked your brother. I liked his laugh. He was a fine man.”
“Yes, he was.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll sit here for a while.”
“I don’t mind.”
As the train sped on through the thick forest and darkness fell, she continued to sit quietly beside him. He liked having her there. Not that he couldn’t handle Ronald’s death by himself, but he liked that she didn’t ask questions and didn’t get all weepy and sentimental. They rode in silence for at least an hour before the train began to slow down and Mr. Parkhurst appeared. “We’re not at Green River yet. Just a stop for water.”
She rose and looked down on him. “I’d better get back. Mrs. Hollister must be wondering where I am.”
He had to smile. “Well, you certainly don’t want to upset her.”
“She’s had a change of heart. She actually thanked me for saving her jewels. Maybe she’s not so bad after all.”
After she left, he kept thinking about her. The more he saw of Belle Ainsworth, the more he liked her. On that god-awful march through the South, he’d seen many a so-called Southern belle, many self-centered and boring to talk to, but Belle Ainsworth wasn’t like that. She was smart. She had a compassionate heart. If she didn’t, she couldn’t have been so kind and tolerant of the miserable Mrs. Hollister. That showed a lot of character, and besides all that, she was a beautiful woman and he could hardly keep his eyes off her.
He had better get his thoughts together. There was much to do. Before they left, Ronald had sent a telegram letting his family know when he’d arrive. That meant when he reached San Francisco, they’d be waiting to greet him. Not Mother, who was bedridden, but Bernice would be there and possibly Richard, who was eight, and Beth, who was five and much too young to be greeted with such a shock. As for Bernice, from what he’d gathered, Ronald wasn’t overly fond of her, nor she with him. Even so, God forbid Ronald’s wife or his children should see him arrive home in a plain pine box unloaded along with the baggage. He would have to let them know, send another telegram. Oh, God. Yancy leaned back, shut his eyes, and tried to picture his cabin by the lake, his haven from the world, silent and peaceful, where he’d intended to spend the rest of his life. He couldn’t see it. Could see nothing but who-knew-what turmoil lay ahead. At least he could count on the Indians to take good care of the place. It might be a while before he got home.
* * * *
When Belle got back to her seat, she found Mrs. Hollister sound asleep, her mouth slightly open, head resting against the window. Thank goodness. After a day like today, she wasn’t sure she could handle the testy old lady, even though she’d taken a kinder turn. Belle sank to her seat and lowered the back. More tired than
she could ever remember, she tried to sleep but couldn’t. The terrible events of the day flooded her mind: that awful moment Jasper Cooper held a gun to her head, Ronald McLeish’s sudden death, and Yancy’s wrenching grief when he learned his brother was dead. What a shame men thought they weren’t supposed to cry. Yancy would have been better off if he had, but he’d held it all in except for the unspoken sorrow so clearly showing in his eyes. He’d even made his little joke about Queen Victoria, and she admired him for that.
All the passengers were asleep. She needed sleep, too, and badly. Funny, before this journey, she’d never thought she could sleep partway sitting up, but the lulling sound of the wheels was making her sleepy. After such a terrible day, there must be something good she could think about. Ah, yes, her future. In only two more days, Robert Romano would be waiting on the dock in San Francisco. He would be every bit as handsome as she expected, kind and compassionate, with a fine sense of humor that would be slightly on the ironical side to match her own. In no time, their first child would arrive. Just think, in less than a year, she could be holding a baby in her arms. They would have at least three, no, four. Maybe five or six, the more the better as far as she was concerned. She would love them all and be the best mother any woman could possibly be.
She closed her eyes and tried to bring an image of Robert Romano into focus, but she couldn’t. All she could see was the long, lank figure and troubled face of Yancy McLeish.
Early next morning, the train arrived at the town of Green River in Dakota Territory. As the train rolled into the station, Belle saw a long pine box resting on a baggage cart sitting next to the tracks. The instant the train came to a complete stop, Mr. Parkhurst appeared on the platform, Yancy following close behind.
“Look there,” said Mrs. Hollister. “That box must be meant for poor Mr. McLeish.”
Bay City Belle Page 7