The Color of Ivy

by Peggy Ann Craig

  “Moira told us she emigrated from Ireland,” Harold Radford said.

  “Which I believe she probably did,” Sam replied. “But more like thirteen years ago rather than three months ago.”

  He could see visions of death and murder playing about in their minds by the horrified expressions on their faces. Mrs. Radford’s next words confirmed such.

  “Do you think she was planning my murder?” she exclaimed, a hand closing protectively around her white throat.

  Sam noticed the warnings of an impending wave of panic was about to sweep through the passengers, and decided it best to veer it off course. “I don’t know, ma’am, but I suspect it’s a good thing we have her locked up.”

  “Oh good Lord!” She turned to her husband. “We’ve had a murderer living with us!”

  “Is she safely locked away? Can she escape?”

  “No. There’s no getting out. And, no fear folks, I’ll stand guard until we reach our next stop.”

  “What’s there?”

  “A prison.” He looked around the curious crowd. “Why don’t you folks all return to your seats. Ivy McGregor is secured and will not be of any danger to any of you. It’s getting late and I’m sure all of you are tired after such an event.”

  Heads slowly nodded their agreement, though fear and shock still was evident on their faces. He watched as Harold Radford escorted his distraught wife out to the observation car. Just then the conductor came through the door as they made their exit.

  The conductor was taller than Sam and far stouter and would prove more difficult an opponent than his porters if it came down to that. Not that Sam was looking for trouble, but he would do whatever it took to ensure he captured his prisoner and brought her back to justice.

  As he neared, Sam noticed already existing wrinkles along the corners of his eyes fold as he approached him. “Are you the gentleman who struck one of my porters?”

  Leaning casually against a rail, he slipped his hand into his coat pocket and retrieved a cigar and match, before offering his hand. “Sam Michalski is the name. United States bounty hunter. Pass my apologies on to the fellow, things got out of hand. Hope the doc was able to give him something for the pain.”

  “He did,” the conductor confirmed. “The railroad line does not tolerate assault. You do understand we will have to lay charges?”

  Sam shrugged, already guessing as much. Wouldn’t be the first. “I prefer not to use force, but if necessary, I won’t hesitate to use it.”

  The conductor frowned and glanced over Sam’s shoulders. “One of the passengers’ informed me you claimed the woman is a wanted criminal?”

  “That’s right. I’ve reason to believe she is Miss Ivy McGregor, the number one suspect in the murder of Phillip Hendrickson of Chicago.”

  “The Handkerchief Murderer?” The man’s brows rose with interest.

  Sam stiffened. “She’s the prime suspect in the slaying of a man bludgeoned so severely that his own father had a hard time identifying him.” With satisfaction, he watched the disgust cross the man’s face. Sam hated the nicknames the press labelled cold-blooded murderers. It only glorified them and their crimes.

  “Are you certain?”

  “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have locked her in your baggage compartment. She’s a very dangerous criminal and the sooner I have her off your train, the safer your passengers will be.”

  He nodded in understanding. “Unfortunately, we cannot turn back and there isn’t a law enforcement office located from here to Fort William.”

  Automatically Sam’s attention shifted to the window. It was pitch black out now and the view no longer visible. But he knew out there lay a mass of untamed and untouched wilderness like none he had ever witnessed before. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pulling the strands free from the string holding them together, then placed his hat on his head. “How much longer until then?”

  Pulling his pocket watch out, he answered, “Not for another six hours.”

  “What about the southbound train? When is that expected through?”

  The conductor pulled his lower lip over his top and shook his head. “We’re using a single track this time of year. There won’t be another train until tomorrow. There are no scheduled stops from here till White River. It’s pure wilderness from this point on.”

  Which, if memory served Sam correctly, wouldn’t make much difference. The United States border wasn’t far from Fort William and so, logically, it was best he keep her in his custody until then.

  He hadn’t apprehended a prisoner in Canada before, but he had heard of a few who had endured problems with the law. They refused to pay the bounty or release the prisoner to the custody of the bounty hunter. Paperwork often got fuzzy.

  Sam sighed and found himself a bench to slip into. “So I guess I better make myself comfortable.”

  Giving Sam a smile and nod, the conductor turned and started to leave. “We’ll be passing a telegraph terminal shortly. I’ll leave word to have them wire Fort William so they can expect you and your prisoner.”

  “Appreciate that.”

  “If you need anything, just holler.”

  Glancing around, Sam slid into the closest upholstered chair at the far end of the car and nearer to the baggage car. Using the large window as a back rest, he settled himself in and tried to make himself comfortable. Like it or not, he was stuck on the train for the next six hours. He turned and glanced over his shoulder. Blackness stared back. The only thing visible was his own reflection.

  Reaching up, he pulled down the shutter and shut out the darkness. He sat awake for a long time. Simply sitting and waiting, his eyes and ears alert. But, other than the rumbling of the wheels beneath him and the vibrations of the train’s steam engine, no other sound was heard. No one dare to enter the observation car, which Sam was glad. He was not in the mood for company. Most had retreated to their seats or the parlor car and Sam was finally left alone with his prisoner.

  A feeling of exhaustion came over him and he visibly allowed himself to relax. He had headed straight to Toronto from Buffalo earlier that morning on a tip she was spotted crossing the border near the majestic Niagara Falls three months before. Fanciful rumor had circulated about her drowning at the mouth of the falls, but Sam hadn’t bought it. It always amazed him how fast rumors were created and stretched far from the actual truth.

  The overhead lights flickered, then burned themselves out for the night, throwing him into complete darkness. Crossing his arms over his chest, he tilted his head back against the window and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  Ivy’s eyes watered as she bent over and heaved up her stomach’s content all over the plank flooring in the baggage car. Something she couldn’t seem to stop herself from doing since she boarded this god-awful contraption on wheels.

  It was an accustomed response. One she often received after a vicious panic attack, or when she found herself trapped in small quarters. Such as the one she found herself in now.

  Her head felt light as she straightened and lifted her locked wrists to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. In the darkness, she sought out her surroundings, trying to orient herself. Hands trembling, she stretched her arms out into the darkness trying to feel her way around. Perhaps there was a window somewhere.

  God, she prayed there was a window somewhere.

  Several failed attempts at trying to locate one later, she felt her stomach begin to tighten. Not again. Rubbing her hands down her stomach, she bid the nausea from rising. There were no snakes, no rats, no slimy water waiting to engulf her. She was safe. Wasn’t she?

  Her thoughts drifted immediately to the man on the opposite side of the door. Who was he? What did he want? Had Mr. Hendrickson followed through with his threat? Where were the Radford’s? Had they abandoned her after Sam Michalski informed them of her true identity?

  The answer to this last question came swift. Like everyone else in her past, they had deserted her when she needed them
most.

  For the umpteenth time in her life, Ivy learned there wasn’t a sole she could count on. No one she could trust. All she had in this world was herself. And if she wanted to avoid returning to Chicago, then it was up to her, and her only, to ensure the man with the golden eyes did not succeed in dragging her back.

  * * *

  Something woke Sam. Feeling slightly disoriented, he blinked, trying to gather his bearings. It was then that he realized the car he was sitting in was bucking and rocking terribly.

  He sat bolt upright. Something was wrong. Then suddenly there was a loud screeching sound from beneath the train that pierced his ear drums. In the next moment his body was tossed freely into the air and with a hard thud, he hit the far side of the car. His head made contact with the iron table across the aisle. A reeling pain seared a path from the back of his head to the front. He blinked hard, trying to clear the wooziness in his brain and the burning red ooze flowing down his temple.

  From a far distance, he heard a low rumbling sound like thunder. It grew louder as it rolled its way down the fleet of cars toward the back where Sam was located. Then all at once the darkness was lit up like fireworks. A scorching shower of lights filled the car.

  What the hell was happening? But before Sam could think of a coherent answer, the lights went out and Sam was thrown into an unconsciousness blackness.

  Chapter 4

  When Sam woke once more, it was still dark, but everything had gone completely quiet. And still. The train no longer moving.

  Confused, he went to sit up, then groaned out loud from the pain in his head. Reaching up, he felt the top of his scalp and felt something wet and gooey. He didn’t need light to recognize the feel of blood.

  Exhaling a breath, he pushed himself to his feet, but came into contact with the ceiling of the car. Wait a minute, why was the ceiling so low? Grimacing, he squatted uncomfortably and tried to focus in the dark to orient himself. The ceiling had somehow fallen and the chairs in that particular corner had sandwiched together enclosing Sam within the compartment.

  Getting down on his belly, he went to crawl out from beneath what looked like the iron table he had hit his head on earlier, except it now was a twisted and mangled piece of steel. Placing his weight on his shoulder, he attempted to crawl out. He ignored a throbbing pain in his arm and pushed forward. Immediately, his hands scraped against something sharp lying across the floor.

  “Jesus!” he cried out as it cut through the callused skin of his palm.

  Broken glass covered the floor. He lifted his hand and shifted forward on his elbows until at last he broke free from beneath the tangled metal which had imprisoned him. Finally able to sit up fully, he stuck his hand into the side pocket of his vest and felt around for matches. With a simple flick against his denim clad pant leg, it lit up.

  Sam’s brows came down hard as he took in what he saw. The car was completely crushed. Chairs and tables had broken free of their fastenings from the floor. Shattered windows permitted the chilly night air. Shutters flapped silently in the night breeze. The smell of death swarmed around him. It was an old familiar smell. One he recognized right away.

  And the silence. No screams. No crying. No pleas for help.

  Instinctively, his head spun around toward the baggage car. The flame on his match burned down to his finger, singing the skin there and dousing the light. But before it had, he saw it. The door to the baggage car had been so severely crushed it popped right off its hinges. Reaching inside his vest once again, he lit another match and held it up. The gaping hole where the door once stood, looked like a big black abyss waiting ominously for him.

  He shivered from an early morning blast of cold September wind. Struggling, he pressed forward. Within there he would find the body of Ivy McGregor. And he would deliver it back to Chicago. Not merely for the sake of collecting his reward, but to give the Hendrickson’s closure.

  Sam crawled over to the opening and paused just outside the entrance. A breeze from within swept past him, carrying with it the smell of vomit. He cringed slightly, then held up the match. Crates and luggage scattered the interior of the baggage car. She wasn’t visible from where he kneeled, so he crawled through the web of chaos, pushing large trunks out of his way as he went, fully expecting to find her flattened beneath the heavy luggage. Instead, there was no one there.

  Frowning, he pushed his hair out of his eyes and paused to catch his breath. The crash must have left him more winded than he realized. About to push forward, a tiny reflection of light flickered and caught his eye. Tilting his head, he peered through the heap and recognized what it was. Handcuffs. They lay abandoned on the floor of the car.

  It took a full second for the realization to hit him. When it did, he reached down and angrily snatched up the cuffs. She was gone. His prisoner had escaped.

  With a violent shove, he pocketed the cuffs and crawled back out of the baggage car. His eyes fell upon what was left of the observation car. Where the hell could she be? How could she have managed to survive the crash? More important, how did she manage to escape his restraints?

  Sam made his way through the rubble, stopping only once when he spotted his hat. Snatching it up, he rammed it on his sore scalp before heading toward the nearest opening. Cussing and groaning at the pain in his shoulder, he crawled through the jagged edges of a broken window. In truth, however, he knew he was overreacting. It didn’t hurt nearly all that bad. He was just so damn mad she had managed to slip right past him.

  Finally able to stand completely upright, he turned and surveyed his first sight of the crash. The train lay off the tracks in a mass of crumpled steel. The baggage and observation car were turned completely on their side, but otherwise remained in tack. The other cars hadn’t fared so well. They had folded into the one before until all that remained was one heap of twisted wreckage.

  From out of a large black cloud of smoke, he spotted the first car. Or what was left of it. The wooden coach lay in one, huge heap of kindling wood. He grimaced imagining the state of the occupants. He and Ivy McGregor's lives had been spared because they were located in the least damaged cars in the back of the fleet.

  He weaved his way through the charred remains of the front cars not expecting to find any life, but needed to search for his own peace of mind. Not surprisingly, not a single life stirred. Other than himself, there were no survivors.

  Except one.

  Anger pierced his conscience. Out of all the decent folks on that fateful train, Ivy McGregor, a cold-blooded murderer, had survived.

  Thrusting his anger aside, he forced himself to concentrate. He was an expert tracker. Recapturing her would not be a problem, though the darkness wouldn’t be of much help. He glanced toward the eastern horizon and spotted the trace of gray sky. Dawn would be arriving within the next hour.

  That would give him enough time to collect some much needed supplies for trekking through the wilderness. He’d pick up her trail and hunt her down. If there was one thing Sam was proud of, it was his tracking skills. He was the best. His expertise was often sought. And a woman with nothing but the clothes on her back, would be a cinch. He’d find her and haul her back to where she belonged. Prison.

  Covering his mouth with his bandanna, he climbed through the black smoke and into the shard remains of the engine. Finding and lighting a kerosene lantern, he uncovered a satchel and quickly gathered what he needed. In a cabinet drawer, he found a map and was able to pinpoint where the accident occurred to the mile board he spotted on the telegraph line near the back of the fleet. With his finger he traced a trail to Fort William. Three days of walking he figured.

  With a sigh, he turned and blew out the light. Crawling back out of the wreckage, he gave a quick glance up and noticed the gray sky beginning to spread westward. They were closer to Fort William than he realized, which made him wonder just how long he had been unconscious. And how much of a head start Ivy McGregor had on him. All he knew for certain was, he wanted to re-apprehend his p
risoner as soon as possible. Dead or alive.

  * * *

  Ivy struggled through the heavily dense forest. It was cold, but she barely noticed over her own sweat. She had been on the move for several hours. How many? She wasn’t certain. Where she was headed? Even less certain.

  The wilderness was one huge maze of forest and bush. She knew she was over her head in the surroundings. But she would not go back to Chicago. She would rather die at the hands of nature before she succumbed to her fate back in the United States.

  She swiped at some mosquitoes buzzing around her sweaty face. It surprised her at their unexpected appearance being it was so late into autumn. However, though it was cold it was not nearly frigid enough. With the warmth of the sun beating down on the earth and the lure of the many marshes she had passed, more than likely helped prolong their life.

  Tugging her hood closer to her face to help prevent their invasion, she pushed forward only to stumble over her own feet. Exhaustion had long gone and crept into her weary bones. She had gone without sleep. Not uncommon for her, as she had trained her body years before to survive on the most minimum amount of sleep and at those, in short spurts. But last night, she remained awake and alert. Her body engulfed in terror. A terror that had long ago permanently embedded itself in Ivy.

  She hated being enclosed. Walls all surrounding her. The train had been bad enough, so small and compact. But the baggage car Sam Michalski had sealed her into had no windows and felt ten times smaller. The old fear had bubbled instantly and resurfaced. She had begged him for compassion. Mercy. He gave her neither.

  As her entire life had been. No mercy. No one had ever shown her an ounce of compassion. Except Moira.

  But she wasn’t that meek little girl anymore. She wouldn’t sit back and let it happen. She hadn’t survived this long to have some selfish cowboy drag her back to her sure death.