by Carol Henry
Charley didn’t trust Donahue. He had spotted the dirty weasel talking to the fellas down behind the roundhouse on several occasions. He’d also caught him talking to Seamus a couple of times, but Seamus wasn’t falling for the man’s claptrap.
The Blue Bottle was crowded and hazy blue from cigarette and cigar smoke. The name of the tavern was an apt description. He found Seamus leaning against the bar. Charley sidled up to him and offered him a cigarette. Seamus’ hands shook as he reached for the smoke.
“What’s going on, Seamus?”
“I hear it’s bad in Pittsburgh. What if the miners from Shawnee come here to do battle and stir up trouble? We’d have a massacre on our hands, too, we would. They like to stick their noses in where it does no good.”
“Listen, Seamus. This isn’t the only line having trouble. It’s bad in Ohio, too. Hell, it’s all around us. Up in Cincinnati, in Erie, in Buffalo, and even in Baltimore. Heaven help us, it’s all over the place. I just finished talking with Aderley. What a mess. Pittsburgh was a blood bath. I’ve seen it myself. Just got back an hour ago. We have to keep things here under control. The militia didn’t fare too well in Pittsburgh, and it’s going to be hard for them to show their faces here. But they’ll come. They’ll be looking to prove themselves, they will. We better be mighty careful what we stir up. We don’t want our women and children killed like they were in Pittsburgh.”
Charley puffed on his cigarette, his eyes watering just thinking about the child having been beaten and bloodied. The picture was still vividly etched in his mind.
“I understand Secretary of War McCrary is going to represent Aderley and Scott. For God’s sake, General Dodge and Tom Scott have McCrary in their pockets.” Charley combed his hand through his hair. He looked at Seamus. “I tell you they have powerful people on the books. We can’t win this one with such men of power.”
“If we don’t fight back, Charley, we give them the power. We have to unite. The entire population of Philadelphia is behind us. You saw the way they supported us the other day.”
“You didn’t see what I did in Pittsburgh. Women and children bleeding all over the streets. The looting and disregard for each other.”
Seamus looked at Charley and shook his head.
“They might just as well be murdered in the streets for all the good it’ll do them without a means of pay.”
Charlie blinked at Seamus’ words. Had it come to this? Donahue had muddied the waters this time. But if he was honest with himself, he’d admit Seamus was right. He didn’t know what more he could say except to warn everyone about what was headed their way. They needed to be better prepared for the consequences of their actions.
“Why don’t you go on home, Seamus. I want to talk to a couple other men before I take you up on your offer to stay at your place. They have to know what I saw. Maybe then they’ll see reason and at least keep their women and children at home where they’ll be safe.”
Seamus tamped his cigarette out on the plank-board floor already littered with a wealth of cigarette butts. It was a wonder the place didn’t go up in flames from the number of cigarettes half-stomped out by a booted foot, embers still glowing.
****
Charley left the tavern and everyone to their own disgruntled contemplations much later. He hadn’t gotten anyone to listen. For once the Irish, Hungarians, Poles, and Scots were getting along; all agreeing to strike.
He walked the three blocks to Seamus’ house, the kerosene street lanterns casting a yellow, hazy glow along the dark plank board walkway on the side of the dirt street. The leaves on the trees shadowed his steps, and an uncomfortable feeling had him looking over his shoulder. Nothing jumped out at him on his way to Seamus’ tenement. He let out a sigh of relief and walked up the five steps to the front door, a small home attached to a row of homes along the street. They were narrow, two story, drab, townhouses. Charley had no trouble recognizing company issue. He and his family had lived in one for far too long. Each house was the same inside. A narrow hallway led back into a small living room area with a kitchen off to the side. A fruit cellar in the stone-walled basement along with a tiny area with a bathtub and a commode off to one corner. The second floor housed two bedrooms. At least they had windows in each room to let in air during the hot summer days. In the small, narrow yard, there was just enough room for a garden and a clothes line. They were lucky they had running water.
Charley knocked on the door. No answer. He wasn’t surprised. Seamus had no doubt already gone to bed. He let himself in, but before he could take a single step, his foot struck an object on the floor. He swung the door wider, letting the light from the street lantern in so he could see what was blocking his entrance.
Lord. God. Almighty.
Seamus lay sprawled on his side. Blood trickled down the side of his face—his swollen eyes already turning an ugly shade of purple. This was no simple fall. Seamus had been beaten and left for dead.
Charley bent down and put his fingers to Seamus’ neck. The man was just about breathing, his heartbeat weak. But at least he was alive.
“Holy, Mary, Mother of God, Seamus. You poor soul. Who did this to you?” He nudged his friend, hoping for a response, but Seamus was beyond speaking.
Careful not to hurt him further, he rolled Seamus over onto his back. Seamus grunted, then fell silent. Charley kicked the front door shut and locked it, then checked his friend’s breathing again. He ran his fingers over the prone body to check for broken bones; there were none. Charley sighed, took a deep breath, and slid his hands under Seamus’ armpits and dragged him into the living room. Seamus wasn’t a big man, but he was dead weight. Charley drew in another deep breath, hefted him over his shoulder, and then laid him on the settee.
Seamus grunted once again as his body sank into the soft, plump cushions.
Dear Lord, don’t let there be any internal injuries.
Charley ran to the kitchen, pumped water from the dry sink into a pan, and grabbed a wash cloth and towel to take back to the sitting room. He washed the blood away from his friend’s face and discovered a large cut above Seamus’ right eye and one on his chin. Both continued to ooze. Charley figured Seamus’ nose was broken, so he took his thumb and forefinger on either side in an effort to realign it while Seamus was still unconscious. Seamus’ eyes flew open, then shut on another gasping moan. The man’s body went limp.
Charley cleaned Seamus as best he could while his friend was out cold, then covered the battered man with the quilt he found thrown over the edge of the sofa. When he bent to retrieve the soiled water and rag, a hand shot out and grasped his wrist. The water sloshed over the side of the basin.
“What happened?” Seamus demanded. “Why do I feel like I’ve been hit by one of them damn trains?”
Seamus started to sit up, but Charley placed a hand on his chest and coaxed him back down against the cushions with his free hand while he set the bowl back on the floor.
“Hold up friend. Take it easy,” he said. “What happened here? Looks like someone did a once-over on you, twice. Did you see who did this?”
Seamus sat back and took a couple of deep breaths before answering.
“No. But for sure there was more than one. At first I figured they thought I was you, but they told me to tell you if you didn’t side with them, you’d be next.”
“I’m sorry, Seamus.” Charley rubbed his hand over his face. “I never meant this to happen to you. Donahue is more than likely still upset with me over our scuffle the other day.”
“I can’t imagine what would have happened had Maggie and Madeline still been here. Likely beaten them as well, they would. I’m thankful I let you talk me into sending them north to be with your family. They grabbed me from behind just as I entered the house. They were inside waiting. Someone hauled my hands behind my back, and the other did the dirty work. I didn’t see much after the first punch.”
“Looks like they messed up the house just for fun.” Charley looked around at the chaos
all around them. Sofa cushions were scattered on the floor. Newspapers lay in a heap on the end table. Coffee cups, dinner plates, and beer bottles were everywhere.
“Nawh,” Seamus drawled, a lopsided grin on his beaten face. “T’was me made the mess, I’m embarrassed to say. I’m in and out so much I don’t keep up like my Maggie does. A bit of a slob, I am. My head throbs like hell.” Seamus rubbed the palm of his hand over a lump on his temple and lay back against the arm rest and the crocheted doily.
“You were lucky they didn’t kill you. How’s your nose?”
Seamus winced. “A bit bruised and tender. I don’t think it’s broken.”
“I straightened it while you were out cold.”
“I don’t recall a thing, thank the Lord. You know, Charley, you’d better be more careful yourself. If they can sneak up on me, they’ll have no trouble coming after you, too. If they suspect you’re staying here tonight, we might both be lying on the floor.”
“You’re right. Although I expect they won’t be back. I’ll secure things just in case the bums decide to finish the job. You stay right here. I’ll fix us some coffee and something to eat in a minute.”
Charley didn’t dally. He checked all the doors and windows, then prepared a simple meal of fried potatoes and coffee. Seamus’ store of food was as low as everyone else’s in the city. With Maggie gone, there was no fresh baked bread in the house, either.
Charley placed the fried potatoes in front of Seamus, who had propped himself up against the cushions. Charley then dished himself up a plateful and sat in the overstuffed chair next to the settee and joined his friend. The two ate in silence.
Finished eating, Charley cleaned up the kitchen and then the two of them prepared to settle down for the night. It didn’t take Seamus long to fall fast asleep right where Charley had laid him.
Charley did another quick check around the house. Seamus was snoring loud enough to bring the house down when Charley returned to make sure he was okay for the night. He then climbed the stairs and found a small tidy bedroom. He lay on top of the quilt he was sure Seamus’ wife had stitched. It reminded him of the one on his and Emily’s bed in Candor.
Sleep was impossible. He tossed and turned and lay awake contemplating the recent events in Philadelphia and Candor. Was this nightmare ever going to end?
Would they all survive?
And at what cost?
Chapter Nine
The shrill blast of the train whistle filled the empty desert. The forlorn sound reverberated against the wall of the distant mountains and hung in the air.
Emily, Marian, and her boys leaned around the corner of the observation car to see what was happening up ahead. The monstrous black engine had stopped. The cow-catcher landing within arm’s length of three wooden ties stacked on top of each other across the tracks in front of the trestle.
The Aderley boys were the first to jump off the train before their mother could stop them, their excitement evident at a new adventure. Their confinement of the past few days found them running faster than mustangs on an open range. But before they could go too far, the conductor’s loud bellow stopped them in their tracks.
“Whoa, there, laddies. You ain’t thinking ’bout crossing this here bridge are ya? There’s a hole in it as big as a Chinaman’s laundry pot. We don’t want ya to be slipping down through it. It’s a long ways to the bottom, it is.”
Jonathan and Jason looked from the conductor to the bridge and back again, their curiosity piqued. Emily could tell the boys wanted to walk right up to the gaping hole halfway across the trestle.
A white-gloved porter stepped forward and helped Marian down the steep iron steps to the hot desert floor where she proceeded to scold her sons.
Emily waited her turn for assistance down off the railcar. Behind her, Elizabeth Young, with her sound asleep baby in tow, was next. The snoring passenger, Mr. O’Leary, followed. He wore his chesterfield with a velvety black collar a bit wrinkled and out of place in the heat of the afternoon. He rubbed his eyes, squinting in the blinding sunlight overhead, and yawned. He nodded to Emily, then wandered a ways from the steel rails and hissing train. The porter helped the sisters, Pansy and Violet Weaver down next. They straightened their hats and smoothed their skirts when they stepped away from the train onto the dry earth, their thick-heeled shoes digging into the coarse, sandy soil.
Others climbed down, fanning themselves against the arid desert heat. Emily’s gingham dress clung to her legs, her skin damp from perspiring. She ruffled the hem hoping for a bit of air to cool her body. But her skirts flapped back against her legs, making it difficult to find relief.
The train gave a final burst of steam. A billow of sooty smoke rose quickly, then drifted back down. The silence was heaven. No loud clicking of the train wheels, or loud steam hissing from the monster locomotive. Emily soaked up the silence and made her way toward the edge of the steep ravine, being mindful not to get too close. She could see the trestle in the bend up ahead. Nothing looked amiss at this angle. She looked down into the ravine to her left. The great gushing river far below churned and twisted as it made its way along its well-worn path.
Emily longed for a cool drink of water. Even a cup of Sassafras tea would go a long way to help reduce her fever, which had spiked with the heat. She dabbed at the moisture on her forehead. The hot sun baked down on them with no relief in sight. Emily wiped her brow and sighed. She stretched her back and momentarily wondered what it would feel like to submerge her weary body in the flowing river down below to relieve her aches and pains. She took a step closer.
The conductor shouted to the crowd. “Stay close to the train. Do not wander too far away. We’ll telegram ahead for assistance.”
She froze. His loud voice drew her back.
How long would they have to wait for help to arrive way out here in the middle of nowhere?
“You expect us to simply sit down and wait for help to come from the other side of Weber Canyon?” one of the passengers called out.
“Why not turn around and go back to the last town?” Mr. O’Leary asked.
“Impossible,” the conductor said. “We have no means of turning this locomotive around. Besides, the coal supply is too low, and there isn’t a water tower close by to get enough steam going.”
“There’s plenty of water down below,” another passenger spoke up, pointing down at the flowing river.
“Won’t do us any good, sir. Like I said, the coal supply is low, and we can’t get turned around.”
Mumbles from the crowd ensued. Emily crossed to Marian’s side as Jonathan and Jason made a mad dash toward the edge of the ravine. But before their mother could stop them, Mr. O’Leary called out to them.
“Boys, you don’t want to be getting too close. You go over the edge, and there’s no telling how we’re going to rescue you.”
“Thank you, kind sir, for keeping the boys in line,” Marian said. “You surely saved them from a bad fall.”
“I won’t fall,” the younger boy boldly said. He turned to defy Mr. O’Leary’s claim, never looking at his mother. “’Sides, I’m strong, and I can climb back up by myself.”
“That may be,” Mr. O’Leary said, hands on his cane, his hat tipped back on his head, “But your mother here isn’t going to appreciate the fact you aren’t minding your manners in this difficult situation.”
“Mr. O’Leary’s right,” Marian scolded. “Both of you come back over here in the shade this instant.” Marian took her daredevil son by the collar and frog-marched him toward the train where she could keep an eye on them. “Come sit here in what little shade we have. It’s altogether too hot to be working up a sweat with your misbehaving.”
Emily hadn’t paid much attention, but Marian was right. The only shade visible was next to the train, the sun having dipped over the other side of the big, black, lifeless locomotive. People stretched along the rails hugging what little shade they could find. Still, it wasn’t sufficient to cool their heated bodies.
An hour later, there was still no word on what was to become of them. The boys grew restless, and several of the passengers wandered away from the train.
“When the night cools, the cars will cool down as well and we can go back inside,” the conductor said. “You’ll all be able to get some rest in the sleeping cars.”
“Do you think this has anything to do with the strike back east?” Emily sighed.
“I bet bandits are gonna come and rob the train,” Jonathan announced, matter-of-factly. “I bet they are.”
“Are not,” Jason taunted his brother. “I bet it’ll be Injuns. This is Injun country.”
“Bandits. Injuns don’t rob trains.”
“Do too.”
“Do not.”
“Boys. Please. We’re not going to be robbed. By bandits or Indians.”
Emily hoped Marian was right. She looked over at Elizabeth Young to see how she was fairing with the little one. But like others, they had climbed back on board to find a more comfortable seat despite the extreme heat.
As the afternoon wore on, the heat from the desert sun baked down on the stranded passengers and crew. The inside of the train was hotter than a wood stove. Those who had gone inside were forced out by the extreme temperatures. They came out wiping at their temples and necks, their hair damp, their clothes and bodies limp. They joined the trainmen who still lined the rails using the shadow of the railcars for shade. Some found shelter next to a large cactus growing next to the bridge. Emily hoped they didn’t get pricked by the long quills sticking out of the odd-looking plant.
Two men climbed up from the ravine with buckets of water. Going from person to person, women and children first, they dipped into the cold water and distributed it. Emily drank from the tin cup. She let the cool liquid slide slowly down her throat before she drained the rest of the sweetness to help quench her parched mouth.
The men made several trips up and down the ravine until everyone had been given sufficient water.
Unfortunately, the drink revived the Aderley boys, and they grew even more restless and wandered off. Emily, no longer able to just sit by and watch the young mother try to soothe her whimpering baby, wandered over and introduced herself.