by Kaki Warner
“For a long time I wanted to. But the man who found me bleeding in the ditch taught me a better way.”
The notion was strange to Thomas, so he said nothing.
“I’m telling you this,” the reverend went on, “so you’ll know your wife is safe with me.”
“I think she would have been safe, even if you had not been cut.”
Brakes squealed. They both swayed for balance as the train slowed and couplers between the cars banged against one another. Thomas felt the floor shift beneath his feet and sensed they were going into a curve. At the front of the train, the steam whistle shrieked.
The reverend braced a hand against the wall as the car jerked and bounced. “We must be slowing for another bridge.”
“Good-bye, then, nesene—my friend. I will remember you.” Turning, Thomas opened the door onto the observation deck.
“Is there anything you want me to tell your wife?”
Wife. Another promise broken. But Thomas had no more anger left. If Eho’nehevehohtse did not want to stay with him, he would not make her.
“Tell her I understand.” And letting the door swing closed behind him, he vaulted over the railing and dropped into the brush beside the tracks.
By the time the car carrying Eho’nehevehohtse rolled over the bridge, he was jogging back the way they had come, the voices of his spirit guides echoing in his mind.
* * *
Hearing footsteps behind her, Pru twisted on the bench seat to see Brother Sampson coming from the rear of the car. “Did you see him?” she whispered as he sank into the seat across from her.
“I did.” Pulling a wadded handkerchief from his pocket, he scrubbed at a stain on his hand. A red stain. Blood.
Panicked, she leaned forward. “Is he all right? Is he hurt?”
“Ssh. He’s fine.”
When Brother started to slip the kerchief back into his pocket, Pru grabbed his arm. “Why is there blood on your hand?”
“It’s not his,” Brother murmured. “It’s the steward’s.”
The steward’s? Sweet heaven. What had Thomas done?
Seeing her look of alarm, Brother leaned close to add, “The man fell and nicked his head. That’s all. He’s fine.”
Speculation ran rampant. “Fell how?”
“He doesn’t remember.” With a warning look, Brother added, “And he assures me he never will.”
Both relieved and confused, Pru sat back. “What about Marsh?”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Thomas said he left. That’s all I know.”
Left? The train? Did that mean . . . “Is he . . .” She couldn’t say the word, not because the notion of Thomas throwing Cyrus Marsh off a train horrified her, but because it didn’t. What a ghoul she had become.
“Dead? I assume so.”
“How can you be sure? People fall from trains all the time and live to tell about it.” Tait Rylander had. He bore scars from his fall, but he lived.
“We were going over a trestle at the time. A very high trestle.”
It took a moment for the full meaning of his words to sink in. When it did, relief almost caved in her chest. She began to tremble, buffeted by an onslaught of thoughts and images and emotions.
It’s done. Over. Thomas and Lillie are safe. Marsh is gone. We’re free.
Dropping her head into her hands, she struggled to catch her breath. It took a long while for her nerves to settle, and by then, they had reached the next station.
The train rolled to a stop. Around her, people rose from their seats and stretched. Others moved toward the observation deck at the rear of the car.
A giddy sense of euphoria blossomed in Pru’s chest. Pulling out the valise stored under her seat, she rose. “I have to go back.”
“You can’t.”
“I need to tell him—”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone?” She sank back into her seat, the valise in her lap. She saw pity in Brother’s eyes. “Gone like Marsh?” Or gone . . . from me?
“He jumped off after we cleared the trestle.”
Gone forever. She slumped back, her mind reeling.
The train car emptied except for a man snoring near the front, another man reading a newspaper, and a woman rocking a crying baby in her arms while an older child slept against her side.
Gone. Without a word. Not even a good-bye. Her fingers curled into fists atop her valise. She wanted to throw it through the window. They were safe now. Why had he left her?
Because you told him to go.
Brother’s hand closed over hers. “I’m sorry.”
No! A sense of desperation gripped her. With trembling fingers, Pru shoved the reverend’s hand away and pulled her gloves from the pocket of her coat. “I’m going after him. I have to talk to him. Explain why I got on the train.”
Why wouldn’t her fingers go in the holes? In mounting frustration, she stuffed the gloves back into her pocket and clasped her shaking hands on top of the valise. In clear, precise tones, she said, “I need to tell him that Marsh would have had him arrested and sent Lillie back to the school. But now, without Marsh’s threats hanging over our heads, we’re safe. I don’t have to go on to Washington. I can go home with him and Lillie.”
“No, you can’t.”
“You’re wrong! I have to!” Or he would never forgive her.
“Think, Miss Lincoln. Wouldn’t the authorities find it suspicious if you left the train right after Marsh disappeared? Especially after that scene last night at the fund-raiser?”
So what if people had seen her shouting at Marsh and the senator? Pru swiped dampness from her cheeks and wondered when she had started crying. It seemed she was always crying lately. “They were taking Lillie away.”
“For her own good, they’ll say.”
The senator’s exact words. But it wasn’t true. The best place for Lillie was with her and Thomas. “No. She belongs with us. Besides, with Lillie safely returned, I’d have no reason to push Marsh from the train.”
“Perhaps. But there’s still the fact that you were arguing with Marsh last night, and again at the station this morning. When the authorities find out he’s missing, and learn that you’re involved with Redstone, a man who has made no secret of his animosity toward the missing man . . . who do you think they’ll blame?”
Pru stared at him, icy hands of panic closing around her throat.
“The woman at the heart of it all, that’s who. The black woman. The one who was sitting beside Marsh just before he disappeared.”
“But I’ve done nothing,” she cried.
“Ssh. I know that. I’m sure they will eventually realize you’re innocent. But when they do, who do you think they’ll suspect next?”
Thomas.
Pru closed her eyes, desperate to block Brother’s words. But she couldn’t ignore the truth behind them. This was her doing. She was the one who had brought this horror down on Thomas, on Lillie, on herself. It was all her doing.
Out by the depot, the conductor called the “all aboard.” People entered the car and settled into their seats.
“So what do we do?” she whispered. “Just continue on to Washington as though nothing is wrong?”
“For now.” Brother paused while two men moved past. “After a few more stops, I’ll tell the conductor we haven’t seen Marsh for a while. He’ll probably think he got off at one of the earlier stops and didn’t get back on. Maybe he’ll get around to checking the other cars to see if he changed seats. But it probably won’t be until we reach the big terminal in Philadelphia that anyone will take our worries seriously. By then, we’ll have established our concern.”
She studied him, surprised that behind those hound dog eyes lurked such a devious mind. It seemed uncharacteristic for such a godly man. H
ad she misjudged him, thinking he had turned a blind eye to Marsh’s manipulations? “Why are you helping us?”
He opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed. “Even in Schuler, I saw how Marsh treated you, Miss—Mrs. Redstone. I know he was using both of us to further his own ends, yet I looked the other way because he made it possible for me to spread the Gospel to more people.” A look of disgust crossed his sad face. “I thought the good would outweigh the bad. But after what he did to Lillian, I realized how wrong I was.”
Pru looked out the window, digesting all the reverend had said. Was she any better? Hadn’t she been just as guilty of being blinded by her own ambitions?
“Thank you for shielding Thomas.”
“He’s a good man. And God needs all the warriors He can get.”
The locomotive whistle blew. With a jerk, the train began to move.
As the outskirts of the town slipped past the window, images of Lone Tree and the Indian camp flashed through Pru’s mind. Dark eyes watching. Heads turning away. No voice rising in protest.
She remembered how utterly helpless she had felt. She had realized then how her black brothers and sisters must have suffered—doubly damned, first by their white owners, then by a world indifferent to their plight. A plight she had neither shared nor understood until Lone Tree’s brutality had opened her eyes.
That was how evil flourished. When good people looked on, but did nothing. Well, she would no longer remain silent.
“Marsh sent men to kill Thomas and”—she caught herself—“another man.”
“Mose Solomon.”
Pru drew back in surprise. “You knew about him? That I was helping the Underground Railroad?”
He gave that sad smile. “Who do you think recruited you?”
Pru thought of the black woman who had stayed behind after her speech at a local church. “You sent her? Wisteria Price?”
He nodded.
“I’m glad you did.”
“But it’s troubling that Marsh found out,” Brother went on. “Is Mr. Solomon safely away?”
“So far.” Without revealing where Mose was now, Pru told him about the shooting and that Mose was recovering at one of the safe houses. “But you must warn others in the organization. Thomas thinks Chester Hogan alerted Marsh.”
“If so, he was probably forced to do so. Doesn’t matter now, I guess.”
“Why do you say that?”
“With Marsh dead, the threat to all of us is gone. For a while anyway.” He gave her a speculative look. “I’m assuming you’ll go back to Colorado once we’re finished in Washington.”
Pru thought of the set look on Thomas’s face as the train had pulled away. “If he’ll have me.”
“He killed for you, didn’t he?”
Maybe. But that didn’t mean he would take her back. Thomas had a strong sense of right and wrong and a strict code of honor. He had made it clear that if she walked away from him again, he would put her from his life.
And Thomas never lied.
“He said he understood,” Brother told her. “When I asked him if he had a message for you, he said, ‘Tell her I understand.’”
“Understand what?”
“The way he said it, sounded like he thought you would know.”
What it sounded like to Pru was defeat. That he had given up on her—on them. That he understood why she had lied to him, yet again—and even though she was walking away from him, yet again—it was okay because he understood why and forgave her for it. Thank you, good-bye, it’s over. The end.
What drivel.
This from a man who carried a grudge and a spent bullet around for years, nursing his need for vengeance. Understanding? Forgiving? She didn’t believe it for a moment. And the more she thought about it, the angrier she became.
It wasn’t okay. And this certainly wasn’t the end of it. She wasn’t about to let him get away with such a pathetic good-bye.
She and Thomas Redstone were far from over.
Part Two
A Native American grandfather talking to his young grandson tells the boy he has two wolves inside of him struggling with each other.
The first is the wolf of peace, love, and kindness. The other wolf is fear, greed, and hatred.
“Which wolf will win, grandfather?” asks the young boy.
“Whichever one I feed,” is the reply.
Twelve
The soul would have no rainbows if the eyes had no tears.
—Native American proverb
HEARTBREAK CREEK, COLORADO TERRITORY, JANUARY 1872
As the chuffing of the locomotive faded, other sounds penetrated the gentle drift of snow falling silently down from clouds that hovered just above the tops of the trees.
Thomas closed his eyes and listened. The plop of snow sliding off a drooping limb. A lone chickadee calling his mate. The rattle of wheels over frozen ruts. And, barely heard, like the whisper of wind through summer aspens, the sound of rushing water.
It was good to be home.
Lillian moved restlessly beside him, interrupting his quiet thoughts. “This it, Daddy? Fo’ true?”
He looked down and saw frizzy black hair already poking out from under the woolen scarf he had wound tightly around her small head. Maybe Prudence Lincoln’s sister, Edwina, would know how to make braids. Or how to deal with the girl’s moods. Or could teach Katse’e to speak so people could understand her.
He had not realized how troublesome a girl-child could be until they started this long journey.
Katse’e let out a deep sigh that fogged the air. Did she feel the mist of it on her face, or remember watching clouds form from her own breath?
“Miss Minty say this place quiet as a church on Monday.”
“Then she is not paying attention, Katse’e. Close your eyes and listen.”
“Hope you not tellin’ us close our eyes. I blind, ’member? And Miss Minty only gots buttons fo’ eyes. We cain’t even see the things hittin’ our face. They better not be bugs.”
“They are snowflakes.”
Maybe he could get Edwina to take Lillian as her own. She was raising Declan Brodie’s children. Why not his? The girl needed a mother, and he was tired of being fussed at for allowing Eho’nehevehohtse to leave them.
“Miss Minty wonderin’ why we standin’ here gettin’ snowed on. She cold.”
“We must wait for the wagon that will take us to town.”
“I thought we already in town.”
“We are at the depot. The town is nearby.”
“Hope that wagon get here ’fore Miss Minty pee her pants.”
“Redstone? That you?” A grinning man wearing a snow-dusted slouch hat stuck his head out the depot door. Thomas recognized him. A drinker, but harmless. When Thomas had been Declan Brodie’s deputy, he had locked him up several times. It was good he carried no grudge for that. “Ho, Kincaid.”
“Welcome home, you damn wagon burner. Clerk said you needed a ride?” When Thomas nodded, Kincaid waved them inside. “Come on, then. I got womenfolk waiting at home.”
Thomas guessed he meant his milk cows. Kincaid supplied most of the milk for Heartbreak Creek. Maybe he needed help. Thomas smiled, picturing the look on Lillian’s face if he set her on a stool and put a teat in her hand.
“Here to stay this time?” Kincaid asked as they crossed through the depot and out front to where his wagon waited.
“Maybe.”
“Take a seat.” Kincaid hooked a thumb toward the back of the wagon, where crates and boxes and a bulging mail pouch were already loaded.
Thomas lifted Lillian up, tossed their clothes bags over the back rail, and climbed in beside her. As soon as he settled, the girl pressed up against him.
“How far town?” she asked.
“Not far.”
“It where y
ou live, right?”
“Sometimes.” Although now that he had a child to watch over, he would probably have to spend most of his time in town. He frowned, not liking that idea. Maybe he could leave her with the old couple who had come to Heartbreak Creek with the woman Ethan Hardesty married. Winnie and Curtis Abraham. They were black-skinned, too, and might understand the girl better than he did.
Lillian pressed closer. “You not run off an’ leave me, will you, Daddy?”
Thomas looked down at her, ashamed of his unkind thoughts. She looked so small and defenseless huddled beside him. It must be hard for such a strong spirit to rely on others to show her the way. Thomas doubted he would have had the patience for it. Looping an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her tight against his side. “I will never abandon you, Katse’e. You are my daughter.” Whether the judge in Indiana ever mailed the papers or not, Lillian was his. For better or worse.
She sat in silence for a moment, then tipped her face up to whisper, “You know I make that up, right? You not my daddy fo’ true.”
He picked up the hand not holding her doll and put it to his chest. “In here, you will always be my daughter. And as your father, I will watch over you, and take care of you, and do what is best for you. You know this.”
“That why you let Mama run off?”
Thomas released her hand. He thought about tossing her off the back of the wagon, but restrained himself. “I told you we will not speak of that.” He was glad she did not know he and Prudence were married, or she would never shut up.
Several minutes later, they stopped in front of the Heartbreak Creek Hotel. Many horses stood at the rail out front, and several wagons sheltered against the side of the building. “What is this day called?” Thomas asked Kincaid as he unloaded Lillian and their clothes pouches from the back of the wagon.
“Sunday.”
Sunday was the day a number of local families gathered for dinner at the hotel after they left the Come All You Sinners Church of Heartbreak Creek. But there were too many wagons and horses here for that small a group.
Kincaid leaned over and spit into the snow. “Lucky you missed the service this morning. Heard the reverend was in top form. Gave a fine, arm-waving, Bible-thumping, come-to-Jesus welcome to the New Year, bless his heart.”