by Janet Dawson
Tidsy and Emily continued on their way. Jill stopped and tapped on the door to compartment F. When Mike Scolari answered, she said, “I’m just checking to make sure the porter brought dinner for you and your grandfather.”
“Yes, he did,” he told her. “He’ll be back to collect the dishes. Everything’s fine. Thanks for checking.”
Jill headed back to the Silver Palisade. Dr. Kovacs came out of roomette 2, holding the white card for his seven o’clock dinner reservation. He smiled at her. “I was reading, and I nearly forgot about dinner. Until my stomach began to growl.”
“Enjoy your dinner, Professor.”
Jill walked down the aisle between the roomettes. When she rounded the corner at the linen locker in the center of the car, she came face to face with Mr. Smith, the man who was staying in roomette 10. He was looking down at something in his cupped hand. This was the first time she’d seen him since she’d tapped on his door while making dinner reservations. Had he been back to the observation car? But no, he wasn’t very sociable. She couldn’t see him mingling with the other passengers.
“May I help you with something, Mr. Smith?” Jill gave him her brightest smile.
He glared at her and tucked whatever he held in his trouser pocket. Then he brushed past her and turned right, heading for the roomettes.
Some people, she thought.
Billy and Chip Benson burst out of bedroom E, both dressed in red pajamas, laughing and yelling as they ran down the corridor with Mrs. Benson in pursuit. “You boys get back here. It’s time for bed.” She caught up with her sons and took each one by the arm.
Mrs. Clive opened the door of bedroom D and stepped out, her face red with indignation. “Really, the noise is intolerable. Can’t you control those children?”
Norma Benson looked at her, with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, the boys are wound up, and excited about their first train trip. They’re going to bed soon.”
Mrs. Clive gave an annoyed sniff. “Honestly, children running wild all over the train. I had hoped this would be a relaxing trip.” She went back in her bedroom and shut the door, a little harder than she needed to.
Mr. Smith or Mrs. Clive, Jill thought. It was a toss-up as to which passenger was more disagreeable.
Mrs. Benson shrugged and smiled at Jill. Then she shepherded the boys into their bedroom. “Into those bunks, you two. One story, and then lights out.”
Jill walked past the two bedrooms where the Bensons were staying, then through to the Silver Pine, the sixteen-section sleeper where, later in the evening, the porter would convert the passengers’ seats into berths, with curtains for privacy.
Things were already quiet in the Silver Rapids. Then Miss Wolford, the young Englishwoman, stepped out of her roomette and looked down at the floor.
“Are you looking for something?” Jill asked.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” Miss Wolford said. “It’s a little gold Biro, ballpoint pen, you call them here in the States. I knocked over my carry-all before I went to dinner. I thought I’d gathered up everything that came out, but the Biro’s gone missing. My roomette door was open, so I thought it might have rolled out into the corridor.”
“Was it open when you knocked over your bag? Or when you came back from dinner?”
“Both times,” Miss Wolford said. “When I’m in the roomette I leave the door open a bit. I rather like seeing people come and go. And when I returned from dinner, it wasn’t properly shut. I’ve noticed when we go round a curve the door sometimes comes open. Been meaning to speak to the porter about that. At any rate, I don’t see the Biro. Perhaps the porter found it and picked it up.”
Just then, the porter rounded the corner, coming from the bedroom section of the Silver Rapids. “Mr. Calvin,” Jill said. “Have you found a pen? Miss Wolford seems to be missing one.” She described the situation.
He shook his head. “No, ma’am, I haven’t.” After Miss Wolford described what had happened, he said, “You know, it might have rolled under that seat where you can’t see it. If you’ll step out, ma’am, I’ll get down there and look for it.”
But the pen was nowhere to be found. “Oh, bother,” Miss Wolford said. “Now I’m wondering if I lost it somewhere else. I was back in the observation car before dinner, with my carry-all. Could have dropped it there. Maybe one of the other passengers found it.”
“I’ll keep a lookout, ma’am,” Mr. Calvin said. “And check the latch on this door.”
“And I will ask the porter in the observation car if he’s seen your pen,” Jill said. “Now, what does it look like?”
“It’s real gold, you see,” Miss Wolford said, “but it has more sentimental value, as it was a gift from my aunt. It’s engraved with my initials, ‘EFW.’ About five inches long, I’d say.”
In the Silver Solarium, Jill found the porter, Mr. Parsons, in the buffet and asked him to look for Miss Wolford’s pen. Mr. and Mrs. Finch were playing bridge with the Constanzas, and in the lounge section each seat was taken by passengers. Mr. and Mrs. Cole sat together on one of the settees at the end of the car, their heads close together as they talked.
Jill went up the stairs to the Vista-Dome. The Finch girls and Emily sat in the very front seats. Nearby were George Neeley and his father. Now that the train had come out of the tunnel to the Great Basin of Nevada, the night sky was clear, stars twinkling in the blackness above. Mr. Neeley was an amateur astronomer, as it turned out, so he was pointing out constellations. “You can really see the stars without all the city lights around. Now over there, that’s the Big Dipper.”
When Jill returned to the Silver Hostel, she found Mrs. Tatum and Mr. Webb at a table in the coffee shop section, deep in conversation. Jill sat down and nodded when the steward asked if she’d like coffee.
“I remember it like it was yesterday,” Mrs. Tatum said, “even though it’s been more than thirty years.”
Mr. Webb nodded. “Thirty-four years since then.”
“Since when?” Jill asked as the steward brought her coffee.
“The Spanish Flu epidemic,” Mrs. Tatum said. “Back in nineteen-eighteen.”
“My mother lost her older brother to the flu,” Jill said. “They lived in Denver. She says people were afraid to go out of their houses.”
“It was terrible.” Mr. Webb sipped his coffee. “We was living in Ouray at the time. That’s a mining town in the San Juan Mountains, southwest Colorado. The folks that lived there, they set up what they called a ‘shot gun’ quarantine, to keep out the miners from Silverton and Telluride. But that sickness got there all the same. My cousin and his wife died, and their two little children.”
“The flu didn’t get to Gunnison,” Mrs. Tatum said. “When the word got out about the flu and how bad it was, they quarantined the whole town.”
“How could they do that?” Jill asked.
“If you’re familiar with Colorado,” Mrs. Tatum said, “then you know how isolated Gunnison is, with Monarch Pass to the east, and the Black Canyon to the west. There was already a ban on public gatherings. The city fathers decided to close off the town. The police blocked all the roads. They wouldn’t even let passengers off the train at the station, said if anyone stepped down to the platform they’d be arrested. Two fellows from Nebraska tried to drive through the blockade and they threw them in jail. Seems harsh, but no one in Gunnison died of the flu.” Mrs. Tatum sighed. “Now what are we doing? Sitting here just a few days from Christmas, talking about people dying.”
Jill took a sip of coffee and set down the cup. It was too strong, as though it had been sitting at the bottom of the pot too long. “I lost someone, two years ago this month. My fiancé. He was killed in Korea.”
Mrs. Tatum took Jill’s hand. “Oh, my dear. I’m so sorry.”
“I didn’t mean to blurt that out. It’s just that it’s December. I think about him a lot in December.”
“Of course you think about him.”
Jill took a deep breath and let it out
. “Let’s talk about something else, then. You said you wanted to hear more about my mother’s family. My great-grandfather came to Colorado back in eighteen fifty-nine, when they discovered gold in Central City.”
She felt better as she told the family stories. The comfortable rhythm of the train clacked away the miles as the California Zephyr crossed the Nevada desert.
Chapter Ten
The Zephyr pulled out of Gerlach, Nevada at 7:42 P.M., right on schedule, with a new engine crew. The train now headed northeast, above Pyramid Lake, on the flat playa of the Black Rock Desert. If this were summer, Jill would have been able to see the stark landscape. But tonight winter darkness enveloped everything outside the train windows. Only the stars were visible, bright points of light above.
Jill left Mrs. Tatum and Mr. Webb in the coffee shop and walked forward to the dining car, where she saw Dr. Kovacs at a table, talking with his companions as they finished their meals. As passengers vacated their tables, the waiters quickly exchanged soiled linen for fresh, setting the tables again for passengers with eight o’clock reservations.
Dr. Kovacs got up from his table and walked back toward the sleepers, passing Mr. and Mrs. Cole, who were being seated by the dining car steward, and Mr. and Mrs. Constanza, who had just appeared at the door. Jill reached for the mike on the public address system and made her last announcement of the day. “This is Miss McLeod, your Zephyrette. Before retiring this evening, you may wish to set your watches ahead one hour, as we will be entering the Mountain Time Zone at Salt Lake City early in the morning. Thank you and good night.”
Jill replaced the mike. When she turned from the PA, someone called her name. Pat Haggerty walked toward her, down the aisle between the tables. “We haven’t had much time to catch up since I got on board. And I get off the train in Winnemucca. Let’s have some pie and coffee.” He glanced at the dining car steward. “Got a free table for us?”
The steward pointed to an unoccupied table in the nearby nook. “Take that one.”
Once they were seated at the table, Pat pulled a meal check from the holder as the waiter approached with a coffeepot. “That chocolate pie I had with dinner was really good. Any more of that left?”
The waiter nodded and took the check Pat had marked. “Yes, sir, I’ll bring you a piece. How about you, Miss McLeod? Would you like some pie to go with your coffee?”
Jill marked her own meal check and handed it to the waiter. “No coffee for me, Mr. Taylor. But I will have a dish of custard.”
When the waiter had gone, Pat Haggerty doctored his coffee with cream and sugar and took a sip. “Did anyone find that gold pen?” he asked.
Jill had reported Miss Wolford’s missing pen to the conductor and made a note for her trip report. “Not so far. I hope it turns up.”
“It will. Too bad you have to be on a run during the holidays. Bet you wish you were home, with your family for Christmas.”
Jill smiled. “It’s all right. I don’t mind. Mom was upset at the thought of me being away from home on Christmas Day. It’s the first time. I didn’t have to work the holiday run last year. But keeping busy, that’s what’s good for me.”
The waiter returned from the kitchen and set their desserts in front of them. Pat picked up his fork and dug into the chocolate pie. “I know December’s hard on you. The anniversary of Steve’s death, and all. It’s hard on Mick and Betty, too.”
Jill dipped her spoon into the custard. “I miss him, of course. I guess I always will.”
“You can’t be a Zephyrette forever. Have you thought about what you want to do with the rest of your life?”
It was a logical question. The tenure of a Zephyrette seemed to be two or three years, and Jill was approaching her second anniversary with the railroad. The Zephyrettes moved on to other jobs. Or a Zephyrette left because she was getting married, often to someone she’d met on the train, either a crew member or a passenger. Fran Ellis, the Zephyrette who had trained Jill, was engaged to a Denver and Rio Grande Western fireman. One of the Chicago-based Zephyrettes had married the previous summer, to a passenger she’d met on a run.
“I like being a Zephyrette. It’s a good job for me right now. I’m not ready to settle down just yet.”
“You and Steve were going to settle down.”
“I know, but that was two years ago. And Steve’s dead.” Jill took a deep breath. “You know, I really don’t feel comfortable talking about this. We’re supposed to keep things on a professional level.”
“I know,” Pat said. “It’s because I’m Steve’s uncle. If the two of you had gotten married, I’d be your uncle, too. Even though Steve’s gone, it still feels like you’re part of the family.”
“I appreciate that you’re concerned about me.” Jill toyed with her spoon.
“You’re right, it’s none of my business. I won’t bring it up again. Except to tell you that brakeman, Brian Keller, he’d like to get to know you better.”
Jill smiled. “I figured that out on my own.”
The train whistle blew a crossing warning. Outside, the darkness was pierced by a single light in the distance. Pat pulled his watch from his vest pocket. “That’s Jungo. One of those little towns that grew up along the Western Pacific line. It’s practically a ghost town now, been that way since the ’forties. We’ll be in Winnemucca soon. I’ll spend the night there and be on the westbound Zephyr a little after four tomorrow morning. That will get me home to Oroville before noon, in time to help with the Christmas preparations.”
They left the diner and walked forward to the Silver Palace, where Pat Haggerty stepped into the conductor’s office to prepare for the train’s arrival in Winnemucca. Jill continued forward to the Silver Pony and climbed up to the Vista-Dome. She looked out at the darkness, thinking about her conversation with Pat.
What she’d said was true. She liked being a Zephyrette, traveling on the rails. Besides, what else would she do? Teach? Work in her father’s office? At some point she wanted marriage and a family. But at present there were no men on her horizon.
In the distance she saw a glow of lights. The Zephyr was coming into Winnemucca. There was a train crew change here, a new conductor to take Pat’s place. The new train crew would ride all the way to Salt Lake City, where the California Zephyr would be handed off to employees of the Denver and Rio Grande Western Railroad.
The train blew a grade crossing warning as it approached a country road. A lone pickup truck waited at the crossing, then disappeared from view. The lights of Winnemucca got brighter as the Zephyr narrowed the distance. Jill went downstairs and walked back to the Silver Palace. In the conductor’s office, Pat Haggerty reached for his bag and stepped out to the corridor. He and Jill walked to the vestibule, where the car porter waited. The train slowed, whistle blowing, as it came into the station at Winnemucca.
“Nine-ten,” Pat said, looking at his pocket watch. “On time.”
The train would be here seven minutes, while the new train crew boarded, then the California Zephyr would depart at 9:17 P.M. The porter opened the vestibule door. Pat peered out at the conductor who would replace him.
“Loren Bullis will be with you to Salt Lake City,” Pat said. “Merry Christmas, Miss McLeod. Hope the rest of your run is uneventful.”
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Haggerty,” Jill said. “Give my best to your family.”
He patted her arm and stepped down to the platform, stopping to talk with Mr. Bullis. There were just a few people on the platform here in Winnemucca this cold December evening, some of them waiting for passengers who were getting off the train. Others were boarding. A few minutes later, the new conductor called, “All aboard.” At 9:17 P.M., the Zephyr blew its whistle and moved slowly out of the Winnemucca station.
Jill greeted Mr. Bullis, the new conductor. “The trip’s been uneventful so far. We have a lot of children on board.”
“Sure do,” the car porter said. “They’re roaming the aisles, getting into mischief, while their parents ta
ke a vacation from being parents.”
Mr. Bullis grinned and rubbed his nose. “Kids always do. Roam the aisles, I mean. Mom and Dad seem to think we’re the babysitters. But the kids don’t usually cause too much trouble. This time of night most folks will be sleeping, young or old. Weather’s cold and clear, all the way to Salt Lake. Which is where I get off, so I won’t see you in the morning, Miss McLeod. Unless you’re up and about at five-twenty.”
“I don’t plan to be,” Jill said, “not that early. Have a good run, Mr. Bullis. And a Merry Christmas.”
The train picked up speed, moving eastward through the night. The next scheduled passenger stop, which was also an engine crew change, would be at Elko, Nevada, at 11:19 P.M. Jill left the Silver Palace vestibule and walked back through the Silver Saddle. It was not yet nine-thirty. Some passengers read or talked among themselves, illuminated by the lamps over their seats. Others had extinguished the lights above. They slept, lulled by the darkness outside and the rhythm of the train.
In the Silver Hostel, the passengers in the coffee shop section had thinned out, since it was nine-thirty. Food service stopped at ten o’clock. Alvah Webb was alone, with a cup of coffee and his battered paperback in front of him. He looked up. “Mrs. Tatum was tired. I walked her back to her car.”
Jill glanced at the book’s title, Destry Rides Again. “Max Brand is one of my dad’s favorite writers.”
Mr. Webb smiled. “He writes a good story. Him and Zane Grey. I like to read a bit before I turn in.”
“So do I,” Jill said. “I have the new Agatha Christie book waiting for me. I hope you sleep well. I do, on trains.”
“Guess you’d have to, doing this kind of work. How long have you been a…what do you call it? Zephyrette?”
“Almost two years,” Jill said. “May I sit down?”
“Oh, please do, ma’am. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
Jill shook her head. “I’d better not. If I drink coffee this late in the evening, it would keep me awake.”