Her tears were not just for the president and memories of her father, but for the nation as a whole. How would they ever rebuild and get back to the business of being a united country? She had read about the horrible destruction of whole cities in the South, some destroyed by Sherman, some destroyed by the southerners themselves who wanted to make sure that when Union soldiers arrived, there would be nothing to capture or steal. Atlanta, burned to the ground—Richmond, burned to the ground—so many other cities as well as elegant plantation homes lying in blackened ruins.
A way of life for the South was over. Slaves had been freed, but no one knew what to do with them. They were left to wander and fend for themselves, a poor, lost people who had no idea where to go. Some were already filtering into Chicago, others, she had heard, were heading west to find land of their own.
A lot of people would be heading west now, not just Negroes, but southerners who had lost everything and could not afford to rebuild—some who would lose their land because banks would foreclose on them—taxes would be applied that they would not be able to pay.
How could this happen? Everything was so wrong. The president’s assassination had left her and many others in a kind of shock, especially when it came on the heels of a war that had touched so many lives. This latest tragedy had brought back memories she would rather not dwell on—memories of a man who had gone off to war after awakening her passions one moonlit night on the shores of Lake Michigan. She had never heard from Colt, and when she read the daily lists of so many wounded and dead, she had little hope that he was still alive. She had already made up her mind she must forget him, and now his memory was stirred in her soul all over again. If only she knew for certain what had happened to him, she could perhaps rest a little easier. She could only pray that if he was still alive, he was not hurting, or missing a limb; that he would at least send her one letter, just to tell her he was all right.
“Sunny, you should leave here and get some rest.” Blaine came to sit down beside her again, after he’d left her to talk to some nearby dignitaries. “We have that train ride to Springfield and the funeral; and then the long trip to Omaha. This has all been too much for you.”
“I’ll be all right once I get back out to Omaha. When does the train leave for Springfield?”
“In three hours. I had Mae get all your things together and Page drove your trunks down to Union Station.”
Sunny took a deep breath and wiped her eyes with a silk handkerchief. “I’m so glad we happened to be in Chicago when the body came through.”
Blaine put an arm around her shoulders. “I just wish I didn’t have to leave you at Springfield and go back to New York. I hate these separations.”
Sunny rose. “All the more reason we can’t make any serious plans yet,” she told him. She met his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Blaine.” Just a couple of weeks before he had again asked her to marry him, and then the news came about President Lincoln, sending her spiraling back down into a world of confusion and grief. Again she had put off making a decision. How much longer was he going to wait? When would she know it was the right time, and why didn’t she have enough passion for him to be more eager to be his wife?
“I know what this has done to you, Sunny,” he answered. “After New York I’ll stop to see you in Omaha and then I’ll be going back to Oregon for a few months. Maybe this time when I get back, you’ll finally be ready. Construction of the U.P. should be well under way by then. Maybe you and I could get married and go to France, meet my mother and sister, get away from all of this for a while. That’s what you need, Sunny. You just need to get completely away, relax and be a woman—just a woman.”
“I can’t think about any of that now. All this has brought back so much—especially my promise to Father. I need to be here, Blaine. I want to follow every step of construction, be present when the rails meet.”
“That could take another three or four years. I know this isn’t the time or place to talk about it, Sunny, but I simply won’t wait that long! I’ll be back in another year, and I want to be able to place the biggest diamond on your finger money can buy, and then set a date. Surely we can do that much.”
She took his hands, studying his dark eyes. “Maybe by then we can. You’ll have a lot more straightened out as far as your new logging company, and I’ll be more settled in Omaha. Now that I know I can count on Cyril Brown to do a good job of handling Landers Enterprises, I don’t have as much here to worry about.”
“Except Vince trying to stick his nose into things. He must be furious that you appointed Cyril to the job.”
“Cyril knows how to deal with Vince. He was Father’s right-hand man for a lot of years and knows as much about the company as I do. And he doesn’t give me any argument over using funds for the U.P. Even Vince seems to be coming around a little. He’s been sitting in on meetings involving the railroad. He hasn’t said a word, but I think he’s beginning to realize what a lucrative investment I’ve made after all. I’ll win him over yet.”
Blaine sighed deeply. “You’re not going to give up on him, are you? Do you realize how much of your life has been spent trying to prove things to your brother, Sunny? Not just to your brother, but to practically everyone you know.”
She folded her arms and stepped over to the balcony railing, looking down at the coffin again. “I don’t think you understand how hard it is being a woman in my position, Blaine. Certain people, especially Vince and Eve, have hurt me deeply. I see how men watch me, wait for me to make a mistake. Even you were that way in the beginning.”
“Sunny, that’s all in the past.”
“Not completely. There are still a few men who won’t meet with me directly. It’s like, like there is something more wrong than my just being a woman. The way some of Father’s old friends look at me—it’s different from when I was a little girl. They accept my knowledge of the business, but there is still something about me they don’t accept.”
“They’re just a bunch of old coots who think Bo Landers was the only one who could handle things. You’re proving them wrong. To hell with them.”
She sighed, turning to face him again. “It doesn’t matter for the moment. Lying down there is one man who did listen, who received me with the same respect he would receive a foreign dignitary or one of his congressmen. He believed in the railroad, took time to give attention to it in spite of the ugly war around him. He was a good man, Blaine, one of the wisest I’ve ever known. Father saw that inner strength in him, knew this was the man who not only was capable of being broad-minded about this nation’s progress, but who could carry on his shoulders the turmoil that was about to beset us. I’m just glad Father didn’t live to see this.”
Blaine put his hands on her shoulders, feeling sorry for her, but in despair of ever getting her to the altar. He was beginning to wonder if she was incapable of physical passion. He knew people gossiped about their relationship, wondering when they would ever marry, and it annoyed him. He was beginning to consider it a slam to his own manhood, and it made him more determined to know the final victory.
Still, he had told himself he could not and would not wait forever. He already had his eye on the young daughter of a wealthy New York industrialist. She was only sixteen and not ready to be seeing someone his age, but she was a beauty and came from a family of good standing and great wealth. She was not as lovely as Sunny, or as rich or well known, but she was good enough material to mold into the beautiful wife of a congressman and future president. When he got back from Oregon he would be ready to get more involved in politics, and a married man was always thought better of by the public than a single one. Sunny was the only woman he wanted, but if she again refused to at least become engaged, he had already decided to begin courting Bess Hammond.
Much as he hated to think about it, he couldn’t believe it was just the railroad and business and the war and all the other outside
factors that were keeping Sunny from making a decision. He couldn’t help the feeling that the woman was waiting for something…maybe for someone. She never mentioned Colt Travis’s name anymore, but he guessed she was wondering if he had survived the war. How he hated the thought that she might think of him at all!
“Let’s get out of here and get you something to eat before the train leaves,” he told her. “My coach is waiting outside.” He gently pulled her away from the railing. “You’ve been here long enough, Sunny. Let’s go.”
She reluctantly obeyed, letting him lead her down the stairs and outside, where they were literally attacked by reporters asking about Sunny’s friendship with President Lincoln, her relationship with Blaine. Blaine shielded her in his arms and got her into the coach, pulling down the shades to shut out the faces while his driver snapped the horses into motion, nearly running over some of the onlookers.
“Bastards,” Blaine fumed.
Sunny leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes as the buggy left. Minutes later, it clattered past a nearby hospital on its way to Union Station. Inside that hospital, Colt Travis lay resting.
***
Colt could see the fire creeping up on him, feel its heat. He rushed toward the only pathway out of the inferno, only to trip over something. He looked down to see a dead baby. He screamed and ran, then suddenly awoke with a gasp to find himself sitting up in bed, sweating and shaking.
“Here now, what is this?” a woman’s voice asked. “You poor thing. Bad dreams about the war?” She set an oil lamp down near his bed. “Let me bathe you and cool you off. Do you want anything?”
Colt heard the sound of water as she dipped a cloth into a wash bowl and wrung it out. “A cigarette. I need a smoke,” he answered, breathing in near gasps.
“I’ll see what I can do. Here. Just breathe deeply and try to put the dream out of your mind. This happens often in here, men like you with horrible memories.”
He felt a cool rag at his face, and he closed his eyes and breathed deeply as she moved the rag to his neck.
“Dear God,” she suddenly whispered. “Colt?”
He opened his eyes to a familiar face, but he could not quite place her. “Do I know you?” he asked.
“It is you! I’m Violet Landers, Stuart’s wife! I met you that night at Sunny’s dinner party. Why, that must have been at least three years ago!”
Colt thought for a moment, then took the rag from her and rubbed the back of his neck. “Jesus, go away,” he told her.
She touched his arm. “Why? Because of the way you look? For God’s sake, Colt, we have a hundred men in here who look like this. It’s only a matter of time before you’re back to your old form.”
“Please go.”
She took the rag from his hand. “Don’t be silly. Thank God you’re alive and have all your limbs. Sunny will be so happy to know—”
“Don’t tell Sunny!” he said in a louder voice. “Don’t you dare tell Sunny I’m here!” He stood up on rubbery legs and grasped the bed rail, almost going down. Vi grasped his other arm.
“All right, Colt, I won’t tell her. Just calm down and get back into bed, please. I’ll go see about finding some tobacco.”
He leaned over the bed, half falling into it. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.
Vi hurried away, returning moments later to find him sitting on the edge of the bed. “Here,” she told him. “We keep some pre-rolled smokes on hand since so many men ask for them.” She handed him a cigarette, then brought the lamp over and turned up the wick so he could light it. When she saw him in the brighter light, her heart ached at the embarrassment and agony in his eyes. She turned the lamp back down and set it aside again, then sat beside him on the bed. “Tell me where you’ve been, Colt. Belle Isle? Andersonville?”
He took a deep drag on the cigarette, closing his eyes and breathing deeply for a moment. “Andersonville,” he finally answered, his voice quieter now. “If I died and went to hell tomorrow, it couldn’t be any worse.”
“I’m so sorry. We’ve all wondered what happened. You never wrote Sunny. She worried more than any of us, although she didn’t speak of it. I saw it in her eyes.”
He took the cigarette from his mouth and stared at it a moment. “Just don’t tell her I’m here. I’d never want her to see me like this. Fact is, I don’t want her to see me at all. It’s best that way, for both of us.”
Vi touched his back, wanting to cry at its boniness. “I think I understand. She’s gone to Springfield for the president’s funeral anyway, and from there she’ll be going on to Omaha again.”
“Let her go. If you send her any kind of message that I’m here, she’ll come back first. Wait till I’m gone. Then you can tell her I’m alive and all right.” He looked at her. “Why aren’t you in Omaha? I thought you and Stuart were both going.”
“Eventually. Stuart is out there now having a home built for us. I thought it my duty to continue my work here until the war was over. The children and I will be going out soon.”
He put the cigarette back to his lips, resting his elbows on his knees. “How is Sunny?”
“She’s fine—very distraught over the death of the president. It brought back painful memories for her. But she’ll be all right as soon as she gets back to Omaha and her work with the railroad. That’s all she seems to care about.”
Colt nodded. “Figures.” He paused, smoking quietly a moment. “What about that Blaine O’Brien? They engaged or married yet?”
Vi rose, going to the wash pan and rewetting the cloth. She wrung it out and came back over to him. “I’ve never quite been able to figure out how Sunny feels about Blaine. I don’t think she knows herself. The day after you showed up at the party, they had some kind of falling out. Blaine left and didn’t contact her for two years.” She sat down beside him and started to wash his back, but he straightened, turning to face her.
“What the hell happened?”
Vi hesitated, watching his eyes. “Why don’t you tell me, Colt? Sunny wouldn’t. I know only that she met you on the beach, and after that she changed, grew somehow harder and more determined. She had an argument with Blaine and he left. I think he was terribly upset that she had met alone with you. What happened, Colt?”
He turned away again. “Nothing really. We just realized that trying to be only friends wouldn’t work, that’s all. And since it’s ridiculous to think we could be more than that, we decided it was better not to stay in touch anymore. That’s why I don’t want her to see me now. She’d come rushing over here full of pity, and I’d look into those damn blue eyes of hers, and we’d be in the same miserable predicament all over again. She’s better off with somebody like Blaine, although I don’t particularly like the man myself.”
“That’s because you’re nothing like him.” Vi began washing his back again. “You both made the right decision, but then again, I care very much for Sunny, and I don’t think she’s very happy. Actually, I’ve never seen her quite as happy as she was that night at the party after you showed up, or quite so miserable as when you left.” She laid the rag over the back of his neck. “That better? You woke up in a terrible sweat.”
“Thanks. As far as the dreams, I get them all the time. Sometimes they get mixed up—the Indian attack on my family mixed in with memories of the war, watching the medics, the horrors of Andersonville. A few stiff drinks before I go to sleep might do the trick.”
She touched his arm. “Don’t do it, Colt. I’ve seen men turn into drunkards over the war, fall into complete ruin. You’re too good a man for that.”
He snickered. “You hardly know me.”
“Oh, but I do know you through things Sunny used to tell me, things she let me read in her diary.”
He grinned and took another puff on the cigarette. “She still keeping that journal?”
Vi smile
d. “Yes. She has a fine talent for writing.”
Colt sighed deeply, staring at the floor. “Yeah. She has a lot of talents. She’s one intelligent, sophisticated, educated woman, and beautiful to boot. She must have about a thousand men after her hand.”
“Oh, there have been many, but she saw only a few socially after you and Blaine left. There was never anything serious. Now Blaine is back, and they’re together again. I guess they patched things up. Blaine would like to get married, but Sunny still insists she can’t give attention to that part of her life right now. She’s too wrapped up in the Union Pacific—traveling, raising funds, trying to keep a reasonable hand in Landers Enterprises and keep Vince from moving in where he doesn’t belong.”
Colt put what was left of the cigarette between his lips again. “So, Blaine is back.” He rose, feeling stronger now. He took the rag from his neck and pressed it to his forehead, then ran it back through his hair. “There must be something special between them if she didn’t take much interest in anyone else the whole time they were apart.”
“Maybe. Then again, maybe it wasn’t Blaine she was pining for.”
He turned to face her, and he couldn’t help a grin. The woman had a lot of insight. “Maybe not. But I imagine she’s over it now.”
Vi moved her eyes over him, noticing the scar at his right side. “Is that from when the Pawnee wounded you?”
He put a hand to his side. “This one and the one over my eye.” He realized then that he was standing there bare-chested and wearing only his long johns, but somehow it didn’t matter. If Vi had been working much at this hospital, she had seen a lot more than this. “I’ve got a scar on my right thigh from a Crow knife, this one on my left arm is from camp robbers who shot at me when I was camped alone in the Rockies. That was before I met my wife. I got a couple of broken ribs when I rode for the Pony Express and outlaws shot my horse from under me.” He put a hand to his neck. “Here’s my newest—a Confederate bullet.”
She smiled softly. “Apparently, you’re a hard man to put down.”
Thunder on the Plains Page 31