Tracks

by K. M. Tolan

  They turned toward a modern log cabin at the end of the rutted gravel road. The quaint home sat on a brief spit of land jutting into a small lake.

  She wiped her palms against her jeans. “I’m not looking forward to this.”

  “They know?”

  “About me?” She smoothed back her hair. “Yes, they know. It’s why I had to leave.”

  “Well, it’s too late to change your mind now.” He motioned toward a white-haired old woman staring at them from the porch steps.

  Samantha took a slow breath. “That’s Chepi.”

  Taking her hand, he walked toward the elfin-faced Shawnee woman, noting the garish yellow shirt she wore over a long purple skirt. Beady eyes and a puff of ivory hair suggested someone approaching their ornery eighties, an impression enhanced by her disapproving frown as they neared.

  “You should not be here, little hanikwa.” The statement aimed at Samantha, Chepi’s voice sounded no less wrinkled than her tanned skin.

  Samantha tilted her head toward Vincent, her face flushed. “I know. Chepi, this is Cracker Jack’s son. His father died, leaving him untrained.”

  “Jack dead?” Her eyes squinted. “You kill him?”

  Samantha stepped back with a stung look. “Of course I didn’t.”

  “She saved me from the two yegg that did,” Vincent interjected, already seeing himself and Samantha heading back up the road they’d just come down. Since Samantha used his father’s moniker, he reverted to the name King Willy gave him. “I’m Brass.”

  Chepi ignored his outstretched hand and instead pulled at the skin of her left cheek with a thumb and forefinger, revealing a series of thin white lines. “She did this.”

  “Your damn mushroom tea did that,” Samantha retorted. “The vision quest was your idea, not mine.”

  The elder regarded her with little charity. “The Grandmother spoke, but you weren’t ready to listen. This one knows of your bad spirit, yes?”

  Vincent favored his traveling companion with a sidelong glance. “Oh yeah.”

  “Then why do you walk with her?”

  “Like she says, I need the training,” he offered, not knowing what else to say. “Besides, I gave her a break. Maybe you should too.”

  That seemed to please the woman, or so he thought until she waved a dismissive hand. “You can stay. She goes to the woods along with the other beasts.”

  Okay, that was a bit too much. “Then I guess I can’t stay, either. Just tell your husband we need his help, okay?”

  Chepi aimed her next question at Samantha. “Does he know why you walk with him?”

  “No.” She delivered her reply with a quavering sincerity that surprised Vincent.

  A smile crept across Chepi’s face. “So you finally wear the truth? Do not look so ashamed. It fits you well.” She pointed to the left. “He’s out in the shed.”

  “Mind letting me in on what that last bit was about?” Vincent inquired in low tones once they were out of earshot.

  “When you’re ready,” she grated, as if putting a hard clamp on her own temper.

  “Try now,” he returned with a smile, hoping to find the bottom of her seemingly never-ending pit of deceit.

  “Also when I’m ready,” she threw back after rounding a rose bush. Samantha paused at the mouth of a small flagstone path bordering a vegetable garden, her eyes pleading. “This is very personal for me, okay? Very hard. Let it wait, please, can you do that?”

  He made a show of rubbing the back of his neck. “Not sure I can take this sudden honesty.”

  Samantha looked ready to kick him. “Vincent!”

  Now who was being the bastard here? “Sorry. She’s not really going to send us out to the woods, is she?”

  “No. We must’ve said something right, otherwise Chepi would’ve gone back herself to fetch Red.”

  He grasped her hand in what he hoped would be taken as a conciliatory gesture. “I’ll try not to spoil things, then.”

  “And I’ll tell you the last of my dirty little secrets in due time, once I get my courage up, okay?”

  What would be worse than what you’ve shown me so far? “Fair enough.” For once, he felt he could trust her, at least on this one promise.

  The orderly rows of a well-tended garden gave way to corrugated steel sheets braced by ivy-entwined rock walls. More garage than barn, the enclosure rang with the sound of metal on metal. Inside, wearing jeans and a brown-checkered shirt, a grizzled old man glanced up from his work at a rustic bench. The fellow reminded Vincent of a cross between an unkempt Timepiece and a country singer he once saw on a poster. Strings of gray hair hung about a wry smile set below a sharp nose. A pair of lined brown eyes fixed themselves on Samantha. “Didn’t expect you back in these parts, Sammy.”

  “Neither did I,” she replied. “Red, this is Brass. He’s Cracker Jack’s son. His dad was killed in Chicago by two yegg.”

  The man sighed and set aside his hammer. He swiveled around on his stool. “Your father send them, girl?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Jack tried to kill the rail line out to Detroit, after all. Brass needs to learn how to be a gandy dancer.”

  “I bet you want him when I’m done,” Red finished with a shake of his head. He stood up and grasped Vincent’s hand. “My condolences. I knew your father. He was a good man faced with some hard choices, the least of which being leaving his family.”

  Vincent thought the man’s down-to-earth sincerity genuine enough. “You’re a gandy dancer?”

  Red kicked at a maple cane next to him, and for a moment Vincent glimpsed something else in its place—a man-sized metal rod.

  His confusion wasn’t lost on Red, who leaned against the bench and folded his arms. “Ain’t carded, are ya? Not a member of the I.W.W.”

  Vincent shrugged. “The union? Been asked that a couple of times now and I’m still not sure what being a member has to do with anything.”

  Red’s chuckle was half-grunt. “Man sees what he needs to, I suppose.” He cast a wary eye on Samantha. “You gonna behave yourself while you’re here, little lady?”

  “Providing your wife keeps her medicine away from me,” she said with a frown. “You know I didn’t mean what happened.”

  Red waved a dismissive hand. “We’ve had that talk, Sammy. I’m getting a bit long in the tooth for summoning track, but damn if I won’t give you the boot if we’ve trouble again.”

  “Yes, he knows,” Samantha cut him off as Red inclined his head toward Vincent. “His father never had the chance to train him, so I brought him to you.” Her words hardened. “Yes, I need him. Just give me the chance to tell him why, okay?”

  “Scared he’ll tell you the same thing I did?”

  Her hands balled up. “Yes.”

  Red grinned and reached behind himself for a stool to scrape across the floor. He sat with the satisfaction of a poker player holding all the aces. “Man can’t make an important decision without the facts, girl.” He turned his attention to Vincent. “She wants a piece of the Rock Candy Mountain in order to clean the yegg out of her. Needs a gandy dancer to fetch it. Tried me and I told her she was crazy. Guess it’s your turn.”

  Samantha’s face twisted and darkened. “Damn you!”

  Vincent clamped a firm hand on her shoulder, seeing rage about to explode into something neither of them wanted. Her desire made sense. Something capable of bringing Freedom back to human form should also do the same for Samantha. So why the subterfuge? “That’s your big secret?”

  “That’s it,” she admitted, the anger in her eyes cooling.

  Red Socks cleared his throat.

  Her gaze flickered over him before she looked away. “Fine, all of it, then.” She seemed to steady herself before continuing. “Freedom and I made a deal. She would have her father get me a rock after he returned from home. When you came back instead, we agreed to have you get one instead. It’s the real reason I brought you out here.”

  Red applauded her admission with a slow cl
ap. “Not bad. Not bad at all. Figured there was more. Always is with Sammy. Took me a few weeks to squeeze a little honesty out of her during her first visit.” He rubbed his hands. “So, Freedom’s your sister, is that it, Brass? Looks like sis has been playing you for the fool, son. Don’t know what promises that rider made to get you out here, but I’ll bet a hobo nickel Freedom’s not the only thing full of hot air.”

  Dad’s still on that train, Vincent reminded himself, his only umbrella against a deluge of doubts. How sincere was Freedom’s promise to return home to Mom now if she never intended to use the rock? What was really keeping Dad from moving on?

  Red leaned forward, pouncing on Vincent’s silence. “You know what it takes to ride the Westbound, don’t ya? You damn near gotta die, then figure a way to get off the train before it gets where it’s going. Being a gandy dancer only means you’ve got a shot at laying tracks of your own back to where you came from. No guarantees, not even for us. If there isn’t enough life left on the other end of the line, you’ll be taking a round trip. This is what Sammy and your sister got cooked up for ya.”

  “I’ve seen the Westbound once already,” he said. “My father was still on it, and we don’t know why. I’ll be heading back to find the answer whether I get a piece of the Rock Candy Mountain or not.”

  Samantha let out a breath. “I was going to explain things. I told you I was.”

  Yeah, but when? “I know,” he said, struggling to keep both his and her anger in check. “How about you head back to the house and get settled. We’ll talk later.”

  She turned to leave, favoring him with a sullen “Can’t wait.”

  Vincent watched her walk away, wiping at her eyes as she did so. Only after she rounded the corner of the house did he confront his intended teacher. “If you knew what she was, why did you try and goad her like that?”

  “Had to see if all that stuff Chepi taught her was still working. She holds herself pretty good.” Red Socks patted the iron knob of his cane with dangerous undertones beneath his reply. “Otherwise it’d been a damn shame.” Using the cane, he returned to his feet, his lips pursed in introspection. “So you’ve seen the Westbound already, have you?”

  “Found myself staring at it after a bad derailment when we rode an engine stripped of its caboose. The locomotive ended up a loss. It ran off the tracks before we got to Lima. I saw my father. He was still on the Westbound when it pulled up for me. I was about to board when my sister dragged me away. She said he was stuck there. Our best guess is he can’t rest until Mom sees Katy again. That’s where the Rock Candy Mountain idea came from—to make Freedom human again, but now I’m to believe needing the rock is nothing but hogwash? A deal between Samantha and Freedom?”

  Red rubbed his stubbled chin. “No offense meant, but the last part sounds a bit tacked-on. Your sister owes Sammy one hell of a debt.”

  He nodded. “I know. Samantha saved her from slavery.”

  Red crinkled an eyebrow. “That’s what Sammy told ya, was it? You and…” He paused; then grinned. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you like the girl.”

  “I like the fact she fights what’s inside her,” Vincent deflected, not sure where his feelings lay. He felt a flush rise in his cheeks all the same. “She didn’t ask for this, Red.”

  “Who does? So, Brass, knowing what you know, you still want to follow in your father’s footsteps? It’s tough work that’ll tear the bones from your soul if you let it.”

  “If being a gandy dancer gives me a shot at seeing my father and living to tell about it, I’m all for it. Besides, I’ve had enough of other people making my decisions for me. Maybe with a little smarts under my belt I can make my own. I’ve been walking blind since I stepped on that first track heading to Hobohemia.”

  Grinning, the gandy dancer shook his head. “Damn if you ain’t Jack’s son by the sound of it. Look, young man, the best advice I could give you is the same words your father told me. Get the hell out of this business. Grab Sammy and find yourselves a backwater paradise where you can live in peace. You start laying track and every baron and Hobo King in Hobohemia will be after ya for one reason or another.”

  “I’ve got family depending on me.”

  The man sighed. “I suppose you do. Well, I owe your father about as much as Freedom owes Sammy, so I guess we’ll do what we have to.”

  Red walked over to a rusty chunk of rail he was using for an anvil and tapped at a strand of metal destined for a wind chime. “This’ll have to wait. So what brought ya into Hobohemia, Brass? Fix’n to avenge your daddy?”

  “Was out trying to find my sister,” he admitted. “Found her, but now she’s stuck in one of Baron Van Erie’s diesels until I get her out. Figure I’ll knock down two birds with one stone.”

  Red shook his head. “Steam children. Hell of a thing to watch your little one up and vanish like that. Hell of a thing.”

  Vincent blanched, realizing who he was talking to. Another gandy dancer. One whom might’ve had a daughter of his own. “I’m sorry.”

  Red laughed. “Me? Oh hell no. Never had children. Didn’t want to run through the same thing I saw your old man endure when he showed up in Hobohemia again searching for his Katy. Him, and now his son, after the same thing. Ain’t nothing right about that. Just like Sammy. Hell of a thing. Don’t blame her for wanting to be rid of what she is.”

  “I don’t, either. I’ve seen Samantha resist the yegg inside her. Just wish she’d told me before I found out the hard way.”

  “She wants to be a good girl,” Red pointed out. “I assume you treated her as such, or she’d have left you dried out somewhere by now.”

  “That she would,” Vincent agreed, sensing enough concern in that area to add, “I didn’t do her wrong, if that’s what you’re asking. So, this candy mountain thing, is it real? Can it help her?”

  “She seems to believe so. Not too keen on how one gets a chunk of it, though.”

  “You ever see the Westbound?” Vincent had to ask.

  “No, and ain’t volunteering for the pleasure. But you said you already got some experience in that area.”

  “Enough to never want to do it again,” Vincent admitted. “What I need most right now is a track up to Cleveland. The baron’s got my sister and I’m going to get her back. Dad’s next.”

  “Marching into the Erie Railroad might get you seeing your daddy right quick. Heard the place was going bad. Taylorism. Stealing little girls—that’s, well, I think you figured out the rest for yourself. That’s enough of a good a reason to get you trained up.” Grabbing his cane, the old man abruptly plunged it deep into the work area’s dirt floor, transforming the rod into a steel bar nearly equaling its owner’s height. Vincent eyed the wedge-shaped tip, the tool’s other end tapered down to a point Red Socks used to drive the bar into the soil.

  “This here’s a lining rod,” Red explained. “You plunge it deep through that crap in your head. Dig into the real you and see where you want those rails to go. No picnic doing it, either.” His wrinkled eyes lit on the flush running over Vincent’s face. “That’s what happened, wasn’t it? You and your sister. Along comes that train and next thing you’re telling Daddy and Momma they ain’t seeing their little girl for a spell.”

  “That’s about the size of it,” Vincent ground out.

  “You’ll have to face what you did with each track you lay, son. It’s about returning to that moment before innocence lets go of ya. You forge your bar out of what you are, and what you were. No way around it.” He thumped the rod against the floor. “No way at all.”

  “It was good enough for my father.”

  Red leaned forward. “It’s never the same from one dancer to the next.” The lining rod once more assumed the guise of a simple cane. “Don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”

  A lazy afternoon sun and glass jars of peach wine made talking easy. Vincent rocked the swinging bench seat on which he and Samantha sat, having finished talking too much about him
self. She silently drank from her jar as if realizing the same thing about herself. Their hosts occupied rockers across from them with the patience of counselors paid by the hour.

  “So your sister up and disappeared,” Red Socks spoke, shaking his head. “Damn if that ain’t something. Your mother must’ve given you hell, not knowing what her husband was and all.”

  “Pretty much,” Vincent agreed, the sweet drink prying the misgivings of a loose tongue from his mind. “She thinks to this day I dug a hole out there, even if the cops never found one.”

  “How do you figure you’ll get Freedom now?” Samantha queried with acid in her voice as if to remind him she still had value. “Don’t expect to walk in to my father’s estate alone. You won’t get past the yards, let alone to the house.”

  “And your plan coming out here was any better, child?” Chepi pointed out with a scornful chuckle. “Taking up with those fanatics down at Red Sticks. What were you thinking?”

  Samantha’s nose curled, but she kept her answer to herself.

  “We’ve an extra room you two can use,” Chepi offered in careful tones, eyeing Samantha.

  “That’ll be fine,” Samantha quickly returned before Vincent could suggest himself holing up in the work shed. She regarded him with a crooked grin that dared him to say otherwise. He wondered if this was the tail end of some challenge between her and Chepi.

  The old woman pointed a finger at them both. “You two had best turn in early. Brass will need iron to forge his bar. There is a cave. Sammy, you will find it for him. You will both need strong hearts.”

  “Cave?” Samantha asked with a confused look. “There’s no cave around here.”

  Red Socks coughed loudly. “You two like fishin?”

  ~ * ~

  Sunset found Vincent and Samantha sharing a loamy rock while catching perch with worms he dug up among the rocks. Both the old gandy dancer and his wife had discreetly left them alone to sort out the day’s revelations. Samantha’s sullen mood made for sparse conversation, however.

  “At least we’re not sleeping out in the woods,” he offered.

  “No,” came her terse reply.