by Janet Dawson
“Train robbers,” Chip said.
“Does this train ever get robbed?” Billy asked. “In the movies train robbers hide in the mountains and come down on the train and make people give them money and jewelry.”
Frank Nathan laughed. “I don’t think we’ve had a train robbery on the California Zephyr. Have you heard about any robbers these days, Miss McLeod?”
“Back in the olden days,” she said, smiling as she recalled tales of California’s past, like Black Bart holding up stagecoaches before the advent of the railroad. “But we haven’t had any robberies on this train. You see, we have special agents. Those Western Pacific agents are very good about preventing things like train robberies.”
Billy seemed satisfied with the answers. He pounded on the door of bedroom A. Emily opened the door, teddy bear clutched in one hand. “Hey, Emily, you want to play games? We got cards and dominoes and checkers.”
“Okay.” Emily stepped out of the bedroom and shut the door.
“What’s your teddy’s name?” Jill asked.
“Benny,” Emily said. “Benny the Bear.”
“I got a bear named Max,” Billy told her.
“I’ll tell Mrs. Tidsdale where you are,” Jill said. Emily nodded and followed Billy into the Bensons’ bedroom.
Jill walked back to the lounge car and saw Mrs. Tidsdale seated alone at one of the tables, a glass of amber liquid in front of her. She was smoking a cigarette as she leaned back in her seat, eyes half-closed.
“You’re alone.”
“The wolf went back to his lair. He’d already had one little drinkie too many.” Mrs. Tidsdale stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray and picked up the glass, swirling the ice cubes before she raised it to her lips.
“Thank you for taking him off my hands,” Jill said.
Mrs. Tidsdale winked at her. “Us girls got to stick together.”
“I came to tell you Emily is playing games with the Benson boys.”
“Thanks. I’ll look in on her in a while.” Mrs Tidsdale knocked back the rest of her drink and waved her hand to summon the steward. “Another Scotch on the rocks, please. Well, Emily can’t get into much trouble on a train. Still…I suspect Mrs. Benson’s far better equipped to look after a bunch of kids than I am.”
Jill didn’t respond but privately she agreed.
Mrs. Tidsdale smiled and changed the subject. ““How come you’re riding the rails, fending off wolves, instead of settling down and getting married?”
There it was again, that pang of loss. Would it ever go away? “I was engaged,” Jill said. “He was killed in Korea, two years ago.”
“Ah. I’m sorry.” Mrs. Tidsdale paused as the steward delivered her drink. She picked it up and took a sip. The whistle blew its warning as they headed past a grade crossing. “Where are we now?”
Jill looked out the window, seeing cars stopped, waiting for the train to pass. Beyond that were grain elevators, commercial buildings, houses. She recognized the plateau called South Table Mountain. They were at the eastern rim of California’s great Central Valley. Soon the train would leave the plain and climb into the mountains looming in the distance.
“We’re coming into Oroville.”
Chapter Seven
The California Zephyr slowed as it headed into Oroville. Jill walked through the train, collecting a few letters and postcards to mail. She was in the vestibule of the Silver Saddle, the third coach car, as the train pulled into the station.
A young sailor, wearing a heavy pea coat over his dress blue uniform, hoisted his duffel bag to his shoulder. He stepped down from the vestibule and scanned the platform, his gaze alighting on an older man and woman standing near the station entrance, bundled against the December cold. They spied him at the same time and rushed toward him. The sailor set the duffel bag on the platform and threw his arms around both of them. “Merry Christmas, Mama, Papa. I’m home.”
Tears glistened on the woman’s face as she embraced her son, while the man grinned. “How long can you stay?”
“I got leave for a whole week,” the sailor said. “I hope you’re fixing a big turkey, Mama, and a bunch of pies. They feed us all right on the ship, but I sure miss your home cooking.”
“I’ve been baking for days,” the mother said as the father picked up his son’s duffel bag. “Aunt Polly’s here from Susanville and Uncle Clyde brought a twenty-five-pound turkey from his farm.” The woman’s voice trailed off as the family walked away.
Jill dropped the postcards and letters into the nearby mailbox and headed back toward the train. She glanced toward the baggage car as the baggage man maneuvered a flag-covered coffin onto a cart. Another serviceman had arrived home, but there was no one here to greet him, except the man in a dark suit, ready to load the coffin into the waiting hearse.
At the vestibule of the Silver Gull, Si Lovell and a young man in a worn brown leather jacket were helping an old man out of a wheelchair. “I’ll bring the chair,” the young man said. “You just get Gramps settled into the compartment.”
Jill quickened her pace and joined them. “Can I help?”
“I got it, Miss McLeod,” the porter said. “Now, Mr. Scolari, just put your arm around my shoulder.”
The old man looked so small and frail that a breeze might blow him away. He looped his arms around Mr. Lovell’s neck as the porter put his arm under the old man’s legs and carried him up the steps to the vestibule.
The young man was a few years older and several inches taller than Jill, with curly dark hair framing an olive-skinned face. He smiled at Jill and held out his hand. “Miss McLeod, huh? You’re the Zephyrette. I’m Mike Scolari and that’s my grandfather. We’re going to Denver for Christmas.”
She took his hand. He had a firm handshake. And nice eyes, a warm brown, with laugh lines crinkling the corners. “Do you live here in Oroville, Mr. Scolari?”
He shook his head as he released her hand. “We came up a few days ago to visit my aunt here in Oroville. We’re from San Francisco, North Beach. What about you? You based in Chicago or the Bay Area?”
“The Bay Area,” Jill said.
“Good.” He smiled again.
“I hope you enjoy the trip.”
“I plan to. Well, I’d better see about Gramps.” Mr. Scolari folded the wheelchair and carried it onto the train.
Jill’s attention was drawn to a flurry of activity at the front of the train. Oroville was a crew change stop, for both the train and the engine crews. The train crew—conductor, brakeman, switchman—would ride the train from Oroville to Winnemucca, Nevada. The engine crew—engineer and fireman—would change out earlier, in Gerlach, Nevada. Now Mr. Wylie, the conductor who’d boarded in Oakland, was talking with the new conductor near the vestibule of the Silver Palace. When Mr. Wylie waved and headed for the station, Jill got her first look at the new conductor. She beamed and walked quickly up to greet him.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Haggerty. It’s so good to see you. I hope your family is well.”
Steve’s Uncle Pat grinned back at her. “Merry Christmas, Miss McLeod. Good to see you. My family’s fine. Hope yours is, too. How are things on this run?”
“Very busy. We do have a full train, even this close to Christmas. Lots of kids running up and down the aisles.”
“That’s to be expected, this time of year. I’m with you till Winnemucca. You know Brian Keller, don’t you?” Pat pointed a thumb back at the young, sandy-haired brakeman behind him.
“We’ve met,” Jill said. “A couple of months ago, wasn’t it? Nice to see you again, Mr. Keller.”
“October,” Brian Keller said with a lopsided grin. “Good to see you, Miss McLeod.”
Pat Haggerty pulled his pocket watch from his vest. “Time to go. See you on board.” He walked along the platform, calling, “All aboard.”
Jill climbed into the Silver Pony vestibule. The California Zephyr pulled out of the Oroville station, moving slowly away from the downtown and through the outskirts. T
he view from the windows changed from houses to hillsides as the train moved toward another plateau, North Table Mountain. Ahead were the rising slopes of the Sierra Nevada. The train was now traveling up the North Fork of the Feather River, crisscrossing the river on a route that had been carved out of solid granite cliffs, with a series of tunnels that had been pummeled through rock.
Jill was already familiar with the canyon’s history before becoming a Zephyrette. After all, she’d majored in American history and was knowledgeable about California history. She enjoyed telling the passengers about the places they saw as the train wound its way up the canyon. She walked to the dining car and lifted the microphone from its holder on the public address system.
“We’re now in the famous Feather River Canyon. The Feather River received its name from Don Arguello, the Spanish conquistador who discovered it in eighteen-twenty. He was intrigued by the vast number of wild pigeon feathers that floated on its ripples. Rio de las Plumas, he called it in Castilian, River of the Feathers.
“Before the Gold Rush, Jim Beckwourth, a trail blazer of the Old West, found the pass through the Sierra Nevada Mountains that still bears his name. It was a better place to cross the ridge than the route the emigrant wagon trains were using, because it was about two thousand feet lower, but the country on the west side of the pass was very rugged, and it was not until the ’sixties that pioneer Arthur W. Keddie surveyed a practical railway line down the various forks of the Feather River. A line, however, was not built until nineteen-nine, when the Western Pacific Raiload was completed.
“Gold was discovered at Bidwell’s Bar on the fourth of July, eighteen forty-eight, only a few months after James Marshall made the strike that started the big rush to California, and millions were panned from the shining sands of the Feather River. There’s still gold there, too. Most likely you’ll see a prospector or two today, working down at the river’s edge.
“In the lower half of the Feather River Canyon, you will see four Pacific Gas and Electric Company power plants. PG and E serves Northern and Central California with electricity from seventy-three power houses.
“I won’t bore you by talking about the scenery,” Jill concluded, “because I couldn’t do it justice. And anyway, you’re going to see it for yourself. I’ll just say it’s some of the most gorgeous I’ve ever seen. And three hours from now, I think you will agree with me.”
Jill hung up the mike and walked forward to the Silver Hostel. The Finch girls, Nan and Cathy, climbed the stairs to the Vista-Dome, accompanied by George Neeley, the boy she’d seen earlier, traveling with his family in the Silver Pine. “Keep an eye out for the Pulga Bridges,” she told the children. “There’s a highway bridge that crosses over a railroad bridge. And there’s another set of bridges farther on, called the Tobin Bridges. But it’s reversed, the railroad bridge crosses over the top of the highway bridge.”
As the children headed through the car, Jill went to her compartment. She retrieved a binder containing cards, then walked back through the sleeper cars to the Silver Solarium. There was no response when she knocked on the door to bedroom A. It was the same with bedroom B. She heard the sound of the typewriter coming from bedroom C. At Jill’s knock, Miss Stafford called, “Come in.”
Jill opened the door and saw Miss Stafford raise her hands from the typewriter keys, flexing her fingers. “I hope you’re getting a lot of work done.”
“I am,” Miss Stafford said. “Though I think I’ll take a break and go up to the Vista-Dome as we head up the canyon.”
“Your novel about the Gold Rush,” Jill said. “Part of it took place here.”
The writer nodded. “Yes. I’m well read on the history of this particular canyon. And I stayed up here. A friend who works for the Western Pacific has a cabin near Quincy. I’m working on a sequel to that book.” She waved at the growing pile of pages next to the typewriter.
“Wonderful. I look forward to reading it.” Jill opened the binder she carried. “I’m here about dinner reservations. Our seatings are at six, seven, and eight o’clock.”
“Seven for me, thanks.” Miss Stafford stood and stretched as Jill noted the reservation in her binder. She filled out a color-coded reminder card that designated which seating, in this case a white card for Miss Stafford’s 7 P.M. reservation. On the card, she wrote “18/1,” denoting the train number and the first day of the run.
“Here you are. Enjoy your dinner.”
“Thanks, I’m sure I will.”
As they left the bedroom, Jill stepped aside and let Miss Stafford walk ahead of her, down the steps to the lower level that held the buffet. Miss Stafford continued back toward the stairs leading up to the Vista-Dome, while Jill stopped and looked through the glass panel at the buffet. The Finches and Constanzas were in the booth, finishing a hand of bridge.
“Oh, Miss McLeod, have you seen my girls?” Mrs. Finch asked.
“Yes, they’re in the lounge car Vista-Dome.”
“Please let us know if they get in the way,” Mr. Finch said as he gathered the cards and shuffled them.
“They’re no trouble at all,” Jill said. “We’re used to having children on the train. Would you like to make dinner reservations for the dining car? We have seatings at six, seven, and eight. We also have the Chef's Early Dinner, for families with children. Those seatings are at four-fifteen and five.”
Mrs. Finch smiled. “Our girls are old enough to eat with the grown-ups. Still, I think we’d prefer early rather than late. Shall we have dinner at six, dear?” She glanced at her husband, who nodded in the affirmative and dealt another hand.
Mrs. Constanza consulted with her husband, then said, “We would prefer eight o’clock. In Italy, we are accustomed to eating later in the evening.”
Jill then went back to the lounge, where every seat on the lower level was full. She made dinner reservations there and up in the Vista-Dome, then she headed through the sleeper cars, the Silver Rapids and the Silver Pine. As she made reservations and handed out cards, she kept track of the numbers and the times in her binder, holding back reservations for the coach passengers.
When she got to the Silver Palisade, the door to one of the bedrooms occupied by the Bensons opened and the two boys charged out into the passageway.
“They’re a lively pair,” Jill said as Billy and Chip rounded the corner, heading forward, to the roomette section of the car
Mrs. Benson laughed. “You’re telling me. I was hoping they’d nap this afternoon. But they’re too keyed up about the trip. Eventually they’ll wear themselves out.”
“I thought Emily was playing with them.”
“She went back to her bedroom,” Mrs. Benson said. “My boys are a little young for her, and too boisterous. She’s a quiet little thing. Is that her mother she’s traveling with?”
Jill shook her head. “No. Mrs. Tidsdale is escorting Emily to Denver. Emily’s parents are dead, her mother some years back and her father just a month ago. She’s going to live with her grandmother.”
“That’s rough,” Mrs. Benson said. “Poor girl. No wonder she’s quiet.”
Jill told them about the dining car seatings. “Dinner at five, Ed?” Mrs. Benson called over her shoulder.
“Yep, five’s great.” Mr. Benson said. “I hear the food’s wonderful on these trains.”
“We pride ourselves on the food,” Jill said. She wrote the reservation in her notebook and gave Mrs. Benson a brown card for the Chef’s Early Dinner.
Just then Billy rounded the corner, heading back from the forward section. “There’s empty rooms,” he told his mother. “We went inside. Those rooms are a lot smaller than ours.”
“You’re not supposed to go in those rooms,” Mrs. Benson told him. “Where’s Chip?”
“He’s coming,” Billy said. “The doors of those rooms were open, and there wasn’t anybody inside.”
“All the same, I’d rather you didn’t do that,” Mrs. Benson said. “Those rooms might be empty now but other passen
gers might be staying in them later. And if you looked inside then, you’d be bothering other people. Now you go find Chip and bring him back here.”
Suddenly they heard a loud voice, and Chip ran around the corner. Behind him was the balding man who’d gotten on the train in Sacramento. “You keep out of my room, you little brat, or I’ll—”
Chip slipped past Jill and ran to his mother, hiding behind her. The burly man made as if to follow. Mrs. Benson called, “Ed.”
Mr. Benson stepped out of bedroom E and faced the other man. “What’s the problem?”
“Keep your goddamn kid out of my room,” the burly man bellowed, shaking his fist. Mrs. Tatum and Mrs. Clive opened their doors.
“No need to yell,” Ed Benson said. “I’ll deal with it.”
“You better deal with it, or I will.” The other man turned, nearly bumping into Frank Nathan, who had come to investigate. “Get out of my way, boy.” The porter stepped aside, letting the man pass.
“Well, really,” Mrs. Tatum said. “There’s no need for him to be so unpleasant.”
Mrs. Clive sniffed, then called to Jill. “Are you making dinner reservations? I want an eight o’clock seating.”
“Certainly,” Jill said. She quickly filled out a blue card and gave it to Mrs. Clive.
By now both the Benson boys were hugging their mother, frightened tears rolling down Chip’s cheeks. Mr. Benson knelt and brushed the tears away with his hand. “It’s all right. I’m not going to let that man hurt you. But I don’t want you going into other people’s rooms. It’s not polite. And it could get you into trouble. Do you understand me?”
Billy and Chip both nodded. Mr. Benson straightened and took his sons by their hands. “I’m going to get my camera. We’ll go back to the Silver Solarium and go up to the Vista-Dome so we can get a good look at the mountains and the river. I should be able to get some good pictures, even if the train is moving. I’m using a fast film.”
Jill knocked on the door of bedroom C. “Mrs. Tatum, it’s Jill McLeod. Would you like a dinner reservation?”