by Caryl McAdoo
“Not really, this far north, we’re just as liable to need a fire as a fan.”
After the weather got hashed out, and a big good-by breakfast eaten, then promises all around to write followed with a few tears from both Lacey and Mother Humphries.
The Mister—which both ladies called the man—arrived at the train depot with plenty of time to spare. They hadn’t even got the engine’s water hot.
First Class, seemed a bit rich for Charley’s taste, but his wife insisted and had pressed the coin into his hand at the last second. Why not? Be nice to have a bed instead of sleeping with his head against the vibrating window.
A long whistle preceded the first lurch then the train chugged away from the station.
Lacey grinned at him. “Thank you.”
From across the little enclosed room, sitting on the padded, upholstered bench, he winked. “Sure, pretty lady. What for?”
“Letting me pay the difference…so we could go first class.”
Since he’d told her he had enough of Aunt May’s gold to get them back to Texas, she must not have wanted that money to go for the difference. But he hadn’t mentioned Freddie giving him the five hundred dollars.
The less said about her, the better. For sure, he didn’t want any questions about how he’d spent his time in New York.
The train reached a goodly speed. Charley figured perhaps twenty miles an hour, breakneck if you ask him, but he’d heard about some going twice, even three times that fast.
Man wasn’t meant to be hurled around in that manner in his estimation.
“Oh, I didn’t tell you, I had the wildest dream last night.”
He didn’t much care for hearing folks’ dreams, but it was Lacey and he’d missed her so long. Besides, he loved the sound of her voice, loved looking at her beautiful face. “I’m listening.”
She grinned. “You were dancing around a big fire with what seemed like the whole Comanche Nation. Three old chiefs beat a steady rhythm on three drums.”
“Hold it.” A chill started in his heart and swept through him, bringing his guard hairs to attention. “How old was I?”
“Same as now.”
He snorted, then another wave of chills. “I’ve dreamed about that same night so many times, but I was four when it actually happened. A moon or so before Bold Eagle traded mama and me to Levi. Most times, they didn’t let us boys do anything but watch.
That night my father grabbed me up and held me in his arms as he danced. I squirmed loose and danced right there in the middle of them.”
“That’s too strange. You’re saying what I dreamed really happened?”
“I am.” He bit his lip, reliving that night once again then looked at his wife. “What’s even weirder is that I dreamed about it, too. Last night.”
“You didn’t! There was more in mine. Mister Dithers came.”
“Who?”
For the next few miles, she told him about the old man. How his appearance hadn’t changed in the last forty years.
She shared about the time he came to church, what he said, and that the preacher ended up dying in his hide-away-woman’s arms because he wouldn’t repent.
And, she relayed when the guy came to the Copperhead meeting there in Glen Falls and predicted Lincoln would win the election and that Bobby Lee would surrender to Grant next April 9th at the Appomattox Court house.
“He told me something about you.” She shrugged then fell silent.
“What was it?”
She scrunched her eyes shut, then bobbed her head up and down. She finally looked up. I should have written it down. “He told me, ‘You’ve heard him sing God’s praises like the nightingale. Encourage him to dance like King David danced…’ Then he said something else I can’t recall…it’s on the closest edge.”
“You don’t remem –”
“I know! He said, ‘But remember to always give God the glory. He’s jealous of His glory, Daughter.’ That’s it. That was all he said. Did he tell you that, too? Was there a strange wild-haired old man in your dream?”
Her words washed over and through him. “Tell me again what this old guy looked like.”
She described him in more detail.
Glory bumps rose on his legs and arms as she spoke. It was him. It had to be. But it couldn’t be. There was no way it could.
“You were just a baby, barely a week old, if that. Our mothers and Wallace went one night to this church service. The very same old man you described…he was there, beating on a drum.
“I ended up dancing that night. The more I leapt and whirled and twirled, the bigger the old man grinned. Mama was leery of him when he asked if he could bless me, but I told her I wanted him to because he liked how I danced.
“I remember calling him a medicine man—you know, a spiritual leader. The strangest thing of all, Lacey…he spoke the exact same thing over me that night that you’re saying Dithers told you in your dream.”
“Oh, Charley. It has to be a Word from God.”
“Well, except that night, the old man told me I’d have a hard life.”
She scooted out and put her hands on his knees. “Charley! That was the first part. I’d forgotten the first part until you just said that. Before that other, he said, ‘You two will live a hard life. Help him choose the sweet and reject the bitter.’ What does it mean?”
“I don’t know.” He stared off as though thinking about it. “Levi told me that he also dreamed about the old man—the night before he got saved.”
“Could it possibly be the same man? It couldn’t, could it?”
“Not a man. Wallace and I think he’s an angel.”
The mention of Wallace’s name brought internal battles within Lacey, and she hated Charley bringing it up. She still hadn’t reconciled his death, preferring to think he was still home, alive, that somehow, he survived…or something.
He couldn’t be gone, and the last time she saw him was that day they rode off for war.
Perhaps once she arrived home and saw his grave…then maybe, it would become real.
But after all, her husband had left before he died. God could do all things, work miracles. She focused on him. “That would explain it. What does Uncle Levi think about him? Did he say?”
“Only that he’s not sure. You’ve heard about the note, right?”
“Yes, that came from Dithers or whatever his name is?”
He nodded. “It saved us that night.”
Before she could say more, a knock silenced her.
“Yes?” Charley jumped to the door, one hand on the lock, the other at his hip, ready to draw his knife.
“Conductor, tickets please.”
He twisted the little knob, stepped back and opened the door. Lacey handed over the pasteboard pieces. The man punched them, tipped his hat, then walked on down the hall.
“Lock the door, please.”
He did as told and turned around, grinning. “You’ve never been a scaredy cat. What happened?”
She stood and went to working on her buttons. “Still not. Just wanted to show you another reason I wanted to go first class.”
He moved to her. “Here, let me help you.”
That night after countless turns of the train’s iron wheels over the iron rails, Lacey fell into a deep sleep. As though she soared on eagle wings, she flew back to the house in Glenn Falls.
Once there, she strolled into the great room. Mister Dithers warmed his backside by the hearth’s blazing fire.
“Tell him. Daughter. The Lord has forgiven you. So will Charley.”
“No. I can’t.” Why had she come? Her head hung low. She couldn’t meet the old man’s eyes. “He’ll…he’ll…hate me.” She collapsed into a heap of worthlessness and wept.
The old man vanished without another word.
Coming to semi-consciousness, she rolled over and snuggled in next to her husband. For twenty winks, she wrestled with herself, then resolved to tell him in the morning. She had to be obedient to God in
side her, and His conviction grew stronger by the wink.
As always, he woke first and had her a steaming cup of coffee at the ready. He put the bed away and turned the little room back into the comfortable double seats.
While she dressed, she practiced the words she’d use, but kept changing them. Couldn’t find the right ones. How did a woman tell her husband she’d allowed her ex-lover to whore her out?
Breakfast was served in the first class dining car, then he followed her back to the little private room.
But each time she opened her mouth to tell him, her tongue got tangled around her eye teeth and she couldn’t see her way. She grinned just thinking of one of Uncle Wallace’s favorite sayings.
Nothing was funny about what she had to say.
Her dearest must have sensed something bothered her, but when he asked, instead of blurting it out, she put on her no-no-nothing-is-wrong face and lied. That made it all the worse. How could she lie to her love? Her soulmate?
That evening the train reached Buffalo, and she hadn’t found the words yet.
Again he let her pay the difference between steerage and first class on the steam ship, except this time, she gave him the money ahead of time. What she should do is give it all to him, but she couldn’t bring herself to offer.
It puzzled her a little that he hadn’t asked for it, or at least been curious about how much money they had now.
Surely he had to care. After all, it was his, too.
The two hundred and seventy miles from Buffalo to Detroit took two days and one night, but still the right time or exact words to tell him of her whoredom couldn’t be found.
He never seemed so happy and carefree, and she couldn’t ruin it, not then. And praise the Lord, Dithers hadn’t returned to her dreams.
Did Charley really need to know? He hadn’t told her much about his life. She’d sort of tricked him about that old whiskey lady. Lacey suspected he’d been with her…then when she acted like she knew, he fessed up.
As he settled them in their new train’s first class cabin on their way from Detroit to Grand Rapids, she decided if he said anything about Jack or Harold she’d tell him then.
On the way to the docks at the city of Holland to catch another Great Lakes Steamer, the muscles in her neck finally relaxed.
That’d be her cue, a good decision—nothing to rehearse or the exact words to find. She’d just blurt it out at his first question. And if he never did….
The evening of the thirty-first day of July found them docked half a mile from Chicago’s harbor. The city lights glistened on the lake’s still waters, but as she and her husband stood on the third floor railing looking at the sight, a dread fell over her soul.
He squeezed her hand. “Come on. Let’s get supper.”
She didn’t want to eat. She wanted off that boat, to run.
But where? And what from? What shadowed her soul?
Somehow she managed a smile and a calm voice. “How about a drink before we eat?”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Jack held the glass up. It looked clean enough, so he set it atop the stack, just as the little weasel slipped under the double doors and glanced around the near empty room.
He hurried to the bar right across from Jack. “It’s them alright. I seen ’em clear as day.”
Turning away from the sneak, he poured a jigger full in appreciation—or partial payment. Great. Instead of only the tramp’s reflection in the mirror, the bum smiled a semi-toothless grin.
Placing the whiskey in front of the man, Jack held his breath against the guy’s stench. “You’ve said that before. You sure this time?”
“Yes, sir. I seen ’em last night standing on the rail of the top floor. Lovebirds they is. I hitched a ride with the pilot, and sure as soapsuds, it’s her. Just like you said.” The guy snickered. “That Texan is staying in the same cabin as your wife.”
“Shut up. When do they dock?”
“Any minute.” He gulped the liquor in one toss. “But it’ll be another hour or better a’fore they offload.”
“You sure it’s her?”
“Yes, sir.” The man stood tall. “I’ll take that fiver you offered now.”
Jack pulled a Half Eagle from his vest pocket and held it in front of the man. “Help me get her away from the Texan, and you can have its brother.”
For the last few days, Charley had sensed something was wrong with his wife, but after what happened when he quizzed her that one time, decided to let it lay.
Whatever it might be, she’d tell him in her good time. He found he truly enjoyed traveling first class, though he ought to make her save the money—put it away for the baby—but the little one surely benefited its mother having an easier time of it, too.
As he walked the gangplank, a foreboding settled over his heart. If back in San Antonio, he’d bet hard money a regiment of Bluecoats or a Comanche raiding party hid just over the first hill. But in Chicago, no one even knew his name.
Still, he’d always follow his pa’s and Uncle Wallace’s advice to trust his instincts.
Stepping onto the dock, after only a few steps, he squeezed Lacey’s hand. “Something’s afoot.”
“What?” She snuggled in tight. “Did you see something?”
“No, just feel it.” He did a slow look over the crowd of folks, some coming, most going. Beyond them, a row of warehouses rose in front of the drab skyline. Stevedores and gangs of freedmen worked toting goods in and out.
Nothing or anyone appeared to show any interest in him or his wife.
Locating where the porter had stacked their bags, he gave her a grin. “Guess I’m being an old maid. Nothing appears out of order.”
“Never.” She giggled. “Come on. Let’s find a hack.”
He hefted the bags and headed toward the first cross street. Halfway there, a blur to his left drew his attention. He dropped the bags and turned toward the threat. A knife-wielding man rushed toward him. Charley stepped forward, threw up his left arm, and reached for his own blade.
The attacker raised his hand. The Arkansas toothpick flashed as the man plunged it down on Charley’s arm. He pulled his knife up and stabbed the guy in the belly, but withdrew it without twisting.
The guy stumbled back, grabbed his mid-section, then took off up the street. Charley turned. Spade had an arm around Lacey’s throat with a Derringer pointed right at him.
He stepped closer. “Let her go, Jack.”
“You owe me. Both of you do. I want my money.”
Charley shook his head. “No. We don’t. Let her go now, and I’ll not kill you.”
His lady opened her mouth slightly and exposed her teeth with a question in her eyes. He nodded. She bit down on Spade’s arm, and Charley sprang at him. A shot rang out. He grabbed the gun and screwed the intruder’s hand skyward.
The guy howled as Lacey’s teeth tore at his forearm.
Grabbing the man’s hand, he squeezed and twisted it. Spade dropped the gun, but Charley hung on, kept turning. “Let go, Lacey. Move aside.”
In obedience, she released his arm then hurried away. “Don’t kill him, Charley. He’s not worth it.”
As much as he wanted to, she was right. He released his grip then drove his fist square into the man’s nose. Spade stumbled back then righted himself.
For a heartbeat, it appeared the idiot wanted to fight. But as the ring of gawkers grew, he backed up and spit. “You can have her. She wasn’t that good anyway.”
Charley brought his knife up, but didn’t flip it over. He couldn’t kill a man backing away, no matter how despicable he might be. A shrill whistle sounded, and a constable came through the crowd.
The bystanders shouted and pointed toward Jack who took to running off in earnest and the lawman followed.
“Oh, baby! Your arm! Let me see it.”
Blood soaked his cuff and dripped from his fingers. He sheathed his blade then let her have his arm.
“Oh, no. You’re cut bad. We’ve got to
find a doctor!” She turned toward the crowd and screamed as though he was about to bleed to death. “A doctor! Where’s the nearest doctor?”
Lacey kept her senses all the way to the doctor, even helped the nurse get Charley cleaned up some, but when the man got out his needle and catgut, her stomach went to rolling, and her head swam.
A million tiny golden sparkles glistened all around. Small soft hands took ahold of both her shoulders.
“Honey, you look a little green. Maybe you should sit down.”
Glancing to the left from whence the kind voice spoke, she caught a glimpse of the assistant just as the backs of her calves touched the chair the woman had guided her. She sat.
In her peripheral vision, she couldn’t help but follow the doc’s hand go high in the air, pulling the catgut through Charley’s flesh. Her hands covered her eyes.
It was all her fault, she was to blame. That fool man with Jack could have cut her dearest’s arm off. She hated even seeing that toady scoundrel again. Should’ve got her pistol; out and shot him dead right there.
No. That wouldn’t please God. Or Charley.
How could she have ever thought she loved the man? He’d surely aged three or four times more than the months it’d been since last she saw him. Living evil. That’s what it did for a person—made him appear way older.
The thought struck her that maybe Charley thought that of her. Had she aged, too? He hadn’t changed one iota.
What a marvel that he defended her and himself victoriously against the two ruffians. Outnumbered and outgunned, he’d saved her anyway…again. Was there anything her man couldn’t do?
“Babe?”
She looked up. Yes, darling?”
“In my bag, there’s a flask. Fetch it for me, please.”
The bags! Where were they? Oh yes. She vaguely remembered thanking a good Samaritan who’d put them in the hack. She faced the nurse. “Do you happen to know where the driver put our bags?”
“Yes, dear. They’re in the front office.”
The doctor still worked on sewing flesh when she returned with the hand-sized fancy silver flask. She looked it over good then unscrewed the cap and handed it to Charley. He took a good slug. “Thanks, sweetness. You about through, doc?”