Thunder on the Plains

by Rosanne Bittner

  Thank you so much for your letter, and for remembering me. How could you think I would not remember you? I still have my journal from our trip west, and I often open it and read it. Somehow it comforts me to think of that beautiful land and the peace I felt there. I don’t blame you for loving it and wanting nothing more than to do exactly what you are doing. Some of us have duties handed to us in life that we might not really want, but we do them anyway, because it’s right and necessary. I am old enough now to know the difference between fantasy and reality, and my reality is right here in Chicago.

  If you ever have reason to come this way, you must visit me. You would always be welcome. Just look up Landers Enterprises, and anyone there can tell you where my home is. Just because four years have gone by, and we live in two different worlds, doesn’t mean we can’t remain friends. Right now I could use a pen pal who has nothing to do with my daily life here. I will be very upset if you don't write back.

  God bless you and keep you safe. Sincerely, Sunny.

  Colt folded the letter, managing to take another deep drag on the cigarette in spite of his pain. He tried to picture himself visiting Sunny in her mansion of a home, and the thought made him grin again.

  He stomped out his cigarette and stood up, shoving the letter into the pocket of his denim pants, afraid if he put it back into his shirt it would get wet. He wondered what others would think if he told them he was corresponding with Sunny Landers, one of the richest women in the country. They would probably laugh and call him a liar, and he wouldn’t blame them one bit. He decided it was best to keep this one to himself.

  ***

  All ten men at the round table in Thomas Durant’s elegant boardroom rose respectfully when Sunny walked into the room. Some literally gawked. In spite of the wealth they all represented, and the beautiful women such men were accustomed to associating with, Sunny was still a sight to behold. How many nineteen-year-old women held so much power, as well as being so stunningly attractive?

  Sunny’s wide blue eyes scanned the circle of men, all in silk suits and vests, wearing gold watches and expensive rings. She was perfectly aware that some of them thought of her only in the way all men thought of beautiful women, that they were nice to have on their arms and to flaunt in public, but that they had no head for business. She would set these men straight.

  She strolled into the room, wearing a soft lavender silk dress overlaid with white lace that cascaded in an apron down the front of the dress and trimmed its hem. The fitted bodice and bustle in the back accented her tiny waist. The neckline was scooped just enough to reveal a diamond and amethyst necklace. Her hair was drawn up to the crown in a cascade of curls and topped with a fancy silk bonnet that matched the dress, plumed feathers of white and lavender putting a finishing touch to the hat.

  Mae, whom Sunny had brought along as an aide, had spent over an hour fussing with her hair, pinning the hat just so. Sunny wanted to look perfect for this first meeting alone with Durant and his men. Hannah Seymour and two bodyguards waited outside in her special coach. Because of her wealth and importance, Sunny had decided it would not be wise to travel alone, and the entourage with which she had arrived in New York had made the society column in the New York Times.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said. They all replied in near unison, their eyes following her as she was escorted to her seat. She thanked the man who had shown her in and sat down. The men took their seats again, and Durant himself introduced them, some of them from his own newly formed Union Pacific Railroad Company, some from the Pennsylvania Fiscal Agency, the company that “the Doctor,” as everyone called Durant, had set up to raise funds for the railroad. Sunny knew several of them from other meetings, but there were a few new faces at the table.

  Durant himself was the most elegantly dressed of the men. He was rather handsome, of slender stature and impeccable taste, and, everyone knew, a man with splendid manners. His hair, mustache, and goatee were dark, his eyes a warm brown that did not always reveal the schemes behind them. Sunny knew what a clever businessman Durant could be. Her father had taught her well when it came to men of power. She had grown up with one of the best, and she knew how they thought.

  Durant had given up a medical career as well as his family’s grain business in New York to help build the Michigan Southern Railroad; and he had had a hand in the Chicago & Rock Island lines in which she now owned considerable shares. He was a railroad man at heart, and, Sunny knew, very important to her cause. He was the only other man of wealth and influence, besides her own father, who had a passion for seeing that a transcontinental railroad was built.

  Durant ordered an office boy to bring a bottle of his finest wine from his own cellars in the basement of the office building. Another young man hurried in with crystal goblets, quietly setting a glass at each man’s position, as well as in front of Sunny.

  “We’re all so glad you are finally getting out,” Durant told Sunny as he took his own seat. “I told you in my letter how sorry I am about your father. He will be sorely missed by a lot of people.”

  “Thank you,” Sunny answered. “It has been hard for me. I’m sure you have all read about my problems with my brother.” She moved her eyes around the circle again, gauging the looks, picking out the ones she could tell doubted her abilities. “At any rate, I can assure you I am getting back to normal, and that I do own all the railroad stock that was my father’s, including his investments in the U.P. I am here to carry on for him. As you all know, a transcontinental railroad was his last big dream. I will do what I can to help make that dream came true.”

  Most of them smiled and nodded, one man in particular, whom Sunny had never met before, staring at her so intently it made her a little uncomfortable, albeit flattered. He was exceedingly handsome, his hair dark and wavy, his eyes dark brown, every feature in his face seeming flawless. With one or two quick glances, Sunny guessed he was in his late twenties or early thirties. Durant introduced him as Blaine O’Brien, son of the late William O’Brien, a shipping magnate who had invested in railroading. “Blaine is interested in the potential of the logging industry of the Northwest,” Durant had explained. “Obviously a transcontinental railroad would do such an industry a great service.”

  The young man who had been sent for the wine came back into the room and began pouring some into each glass. Sunny looked around the cheerful room, decorated, as all of Durant’s offices were, with potted palms and rococo statues. There was even a canary in a hanging cage in one corner. Sunny liked the sound of its singing and decided something similar would be a nice change to her own office in Chicago, for which she had left redecorating orders before she left. She decided she would wire Tod and tell him to make sure a canary was included in the decor.

  Durant held up his glass. “To the Union Pacific,” he said.

  Sunny and the others held up their glasses and replied the same, a couple of the men gulping their wine, Sunny and the rest just sipping theirs. Sunny had tasted wine only three times in her life. She had seen what too much drink did to some men, and she decided to be careful with such things herself, a hard thing to do when constantly being invited to parties and dinners; but the last thing she ever wanted to do was make a fool of herself, especially now that she was on her own.

  Durant began mapping out the extensive work that lay ahead for them. “Each of you will have to press your business associates to rethink their refusal to invest in the U.P. Never has the future of our railroad been more promising,” he told them. “A vote is very near, and if we can convince just a few more congressmen to vote in our favor, the bill will be passed and the groundwork will be set for government aid in this thing.”

  “What about Huntington and the Central Pacific?” Sunny asked.

  Blaine O’Brien grinned. “We’ve been keeping an eye on him,” he answered for Durant. “With this war going on, the Central Pacific is having one hell o
f a time getting any kind of supplies. Prices are up to begin with, and after paying freight charges to get around Cape Horn or through Panama, there is simply no profit for the C.P., and other supplies are often impounded by the War Department for their own use. The C.P. line has barely made it out of Sacramento.”

  “We still can’t underestimate Mr. Huntington’s clever business mind,” Sunny answered. “And don’t forget that he has three wealthy associates, Charles Crocker, Mark Hopkins, and the governor of California.”

  O’Brien was stirred, not only by Sunny’s beauty, but by her knowledge and assertiveness. He nodded. “Agreed that we can’t be too careful. But they have even more problems—trouble from Wells Fargo and other shipping companies who don’t want the competition, the danger of investing nearly all their personal profits from their grocery and hardware businesses, and the simple fact that they don’t all get along that well.”

  Sunny looked around the table. “There is one thing my father said they have done and will keep doing, and that’s buying elections in California, making sure the right men are elected who will go over the heads of companies like Wells Fargo and vote to help finance the C.P. with California money, and we all know California has plenty of that. If we don’t want the Central Pacific to be the primary builders of the transcontinental railroad and get the greater share of government help, then we will have to do a little under-the-table bidding ourselves in Congress.”

  Sunny was finding it difficult to be cool and firm under O’Brien’s stare. He kept watching her as she spoke, making her feel as though he could tell how she looked naked.

  “The lady also has no scruples when it comes to getting votes,” he said with a grin. “Your father did teach you well.”

  The others laughed lightly.

  “Scruples or not, Miss Landers has a point,” another spoke up. “I think we should all set up meetings with various congressmen. We’re all pretty well aware of who can be bribed and who can’t.”

  “And there is no room for scruples when it’s for the U.P.,” Sunny added. “There are a few men I know I can handle myself. I was always with my father when he met with them, and I’ve seen them take money from him before.”

  “And you have them wrapped around your pretty little finger, no doubt,” O’Brien said. “Would that we all had the weapons you have.”

  There came another round of light laughter, and Sunny felt the heat in her cheeks. She rose, her eyes meeting O’Brien’s boldly. “I don’t care for the insinuation that I use myself like a harlot, Mr. O’Brien,” she said firmly. “I happen to be in charge of one of the biggest business enterprises in Chicago. My father would not have handed over something he spent his life building to someone who knew nothing more about how to handle it than how to sway when she walks. I live in a man’s world, and when it comes to business, there is nothing female about me. I will not sit here and be taken lightly just because I am a woman. I’ll wager I can outtalk you on stocks and bonds and Wall Street activities any day of the week. Maybe you feel I should be questioned, to see if there are really any brains under this feathered hat.”

  The others lost their smiles, and O’Brien reddened slightly. “You take offense too easily, Miss Landers. I was envying you, not insulting you. I’m sorry I spoke out of line.” God, I like this woman, he thought.

  “I can assure all of you that keeping Miss Landers with us is very important,” Durant said in defense of Sunny. “Don’t any of you let her youth and beauty fool you. She is as on top of things as any of us, and she has invested a good deal of money both in the U.P. and in the Pennsylvania Fiscal Agency, which I will incorporate into the U.P. as soon as we get federal support.” He looked at Sunny. “I also apologize, Miss Landers. I didn’t ask you here for you to be offended.”

  Sunny tore her eyes from O’Brien, sitting down again. “Apology accepted.” She looked at the others. “The fact remains that between the money we can raise through investors and money the government might vote to give us, it will likely take a good hundred million dollars to finance a transcontinental railroad. It is a mind-boggling figure, and that is part of the reason we’re still having trouble getting private investors interested. They still simply don’t believe it can be done.”

  “Then the key is to first be able to tell them that we do have federal support,” Durant said. “Once we can say that the government is footing most of the bill, private investors will be much more willing to take a chance. All we have to do is get Congress to pass a bill that will set some guidelines so we know what we have to work with. One good thing about this war is that most southern states have dropped out, so we have fewer men we’ll have to approach about this. Without the South present to argue about the route the line should follow, we have eliminated one big barrier. Most of those in the Senate and Congress now favor the northern route. I personally think Omaha would be the best starting point, but we can iron that out later.”

  The man went on, naming certain congressmen who were most likely to take bribes. His mention of Omaha took Sunny away for a moment, to another time, another place. She thought about Colt’s letter and wondered if he had hers yet. Her trip to New York had been delayed by three weeks because of more problems Vince had caused at home. The letter had been sent off nearly a month before.

  “We will decide here today which of us will visit which congressmen,” Durant was saying, “and after today none of us will even mention the word bribery. We don’t deal in such underhanded methods, do we, gentlemen?” He turned to Sunny. “Miss Landers?”

  Sunny smiled. “Of course not.”

  There came another round of laughter, and Durant ordered that more wine be poured, but Sunny refused, some still left in her glass. Durant raised his glass again. “Gentlemen, Miss Landers, good luck to each of you. The first order of business, then, is to get a railroad bill passed so that we have something to work with when we go after the private investors.”

  “Hear, hear!” another cheered.

  They all raised their glasses and drank again. The meeting went on for another two hours before it finally broke up. Durant pulled Sunny’s chair out for her and thanked her for coming all the way from Chicago.

  “I needed to get away anyway,” she answered. She shook the man’s hand. “Thank you for your condolences, and for showing me the same trust and respect you always showed my father.”

  Durant smiled. “He taught you well. You’re quite a woman, Sunny.”

  She picked up the list of congressmen she was to visit. “I will study this tonight and decide what it will take to talk some of these men into helping us,” she said. “I know a couple who will simply take money, others want to buy into Landers Enterprises, some may just want a promise that I will endorse them in the next election, or will want campaign money.”

  “Well, I trust you’ll handle each one according to his need,” Durant told her with a sly wink. He looked past her. “Ah, I see another apology coming.” He turned then to talk to someone else, and Sunny turned around to see Blaine O’Brien standing behind her. She looked up into his dark eyes, thinking how there were things about him that resembled Colt Travis, his height, his dark hair; but his looks were too smooth, not ruggedly handsome like Colt’s, nor was his skin as dark. She wondered then why she had made the comparison at all.

  “My apology isn’t enough, Miss Landers,” the man was telling her. “Please, let me take you to dinner tonight. We’ll go to the most expensive, elegant restaurant in New York. Where are you staying? I’ll send a coach for you.”

  “It isn’t necessary, Mr. O’Brien. Besides, I have a lot of thinking to do tonight over this list, some notes to take. I’ll be leaving early tomorrow for Washington.”

  The man folded his arms, studying her with a scowl. “Okay, I was wrong about your abilities,” he told her. “I can see you are all business, and I have to admit I am very impressed. But tell me
, do you ever let yourself be a woman? Do you have a male interest back in Chicago?”

  His eyes dropped to her breasts, and Sunny felt the odd flutter again. Ted Regis had never made her feel quite this way, but then, there had never been anything seriously romantic between her and Ted. After her father’s death she had refused to see anyone for a long time except Vi and Stuart, putting a total halt to her social life. She had heard that Ted was now seeing someone else.

  She wondered at the feelings Blaine O’Brien stirred in her. It was not that she was attracted to O’Brien in particular, she thought, but more the fact that she had begun realizing lately that womanly needs were beginning to stir in her. She had never forgotten Eve’s remark to her about behaving like a man, and she realized she had never explored the feminine, sexual side of herself. Something about O’Brien’s attentions had awakened her curiosity. Besides, she told herself, this man was important to the railroad. “All right, Mr. O’Brien,” she answered. “One dinner. Pick me up at eight at the Waldorf. I will be bringing a companion, a Mrs. Seymour. I don’t go out in public with a man I hardly know without a chaperone.”

  “Fine. Bring her along, then.” He bowed slightly. “Thank you for accepting and giving me a chance to make up for my blundering remark. I really did mean it as a compliment.”

  “I’m sure you did,” she answered, thinking what an attractive man he was at that. “You have to understand that things have been very difficult for me, Mr. O’Brien, since stepping in for my father. People don’t always treat me with the respect I deserve, and they doubt my abilities. It makes me rather defensive.”

  “Of course. I don’t blame you.” He grinned. “I think you underestimate your own beauty, Miss Landers, and what it does to a man’s thinking. The fact is, we find it hard to think at all when we see something as beautiful as you. If we get flustered and say the wrong things, it’s because of our own shortcomings when we’re near an attractive woman.”