The silhouette of a horse and rider is pounding toward us from town.
“What’s that?” I ask. I point at the form.
Eustace squints. “Oh no.”
“What is it?” I ask. “Who is it?” But I already know.
“Come on,” Eustace says. “Come on. Come on!”
We dive out of our hiding place and head toward the berm on which the tracks lie. It’s rocky and gravelly and a bit slippery. I hadn’t thought about having to climb a hill and then jump onto a moving train.
It’s dark and breezy, and as the train gets closer, noisy. But above that noise is the screeching of the Medicine Head. It’s enough to drive me mad.
“Be quiet!” I say to it.
Eustace tips his head at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Not you,” I say. I have a bad feeling in my gut. I don’t think the Medicine Head is calling to me right now. I think it’s wailing to someone else, to Captain Greeney. And I have a notion that Greeney is listening and coming for it. Does the Medicine Head know what I’ve got planned for it? Is that possible? Is it angry? Does it want to be with someone who will use it?
“OK!” shouts Eustace. “I see it! When I spot a car that’s open, I’ll point and then start runnin’. Just follow me.” He picks up Fob and gets into a crouching stance. The train roars toward us. So does Captain Greeney. I’m sure I can hear him shouting “Yah! Yah!” at his horse.
“Go!” Eustace yells, and he starts running up the berm. I follow him. Rocks and gravel slide down, and I lose my footing, but I get up again and keep climbing. At the top, Eustace is standing a few inches from the rushing cars. I fear he’ll get hurt, fall underneath, or get hit by a car, but it’s hard to tell if the doors are open or not unless he gets really close. Next thing I know, I hear Fob yelp as he flies through the air and into a dark car, and I see Eustace running and reaching for that same car’s door handle.
“Come on!” he yells back at me. I start running.
Ahead, Eustace grabs hold of the door and pulls himself up. He turns back toward me. The train is building speed, and the chug-chug is getting faster. I look behind. Captain Greeney is coming. He’s getting closer and closer.
“Lu!” shouts Eustace. “Look at me! Don’t look back!” I run harder and push the satchel out in front of me. Eustace takes it and sets it inside the car; then he reaches his hand back for me. I’m getting tired, but I’m still moving my legs as fast as the stumpy things will go.
I hear Captain Greeney shouting, “Halt! Halt! Do not get on that train!” I sprint. My lungs feel like they may explode. I’ve only run this hard one time before, and that time I was too slow.
“Go!” Eustace yells. Fob’s barking, too. I pick up my legs and will my feet to move faster. I reach out my hand, and then I can feel Eustace’s fingertips touching mine. He’s leaning way out from the car, barely holding on to the door to give himself enough reach to hold on to my hand. I finally get close enough that he can grab it. Now he’s pulling, pulling me toward him, but the train’s traveling too fast for me, too fast for anyone to run alongside it.
“I won’t drop you!” Eustace says. And then my feet give way beneath me, and I’m being dragged.
I think I’m going to die.
My feet swing behind me. I can feel them get close to the undercarriage and running wheels and gears of the train. There’s so much heat coming off them, and I can feel the speed of the train increasing and my legs being sucked under.
“Hold on!” Eustace yells.
“Stop!” Captain Greeney shouts. “Drop her!” he orders.
Fob is howling and pacing back and forth in the car like he’s upset he can’t help. Eustace pulls on me harder than ever, and with the strength of two grown men, he heaves me into the train car.
My stomach scrapes along metal, and my head hits a hard floor. When the rest of my body lands with a thump, I begin to cry. “Lordy,” I whimper. I roll onto my back. It’s very dark in the train car, but I know Eustace is there.
I touch my arms, my legs, my face. I’m not dead, I tell myself. I’m not hurt. I look out the door and as the train speeds up, Captain Greeney falls behind. He pulls the reins on his horse, and it slows and then stops. But he watches us. And I watch him until he’s nothing but a dot on the horizon. The farther we get from Greeney, the quieter the Medicine Head becomes, until it’s silent.
I breathe deeply. I’m glad he’s behind us, but he won’t wait to follow. I know he’ll come after us as soon as the next train leaves Tolerone. I’m persistent, like I already said. But maybe so is Captain Greeney.
CHAPTER 17
My boots burn. They’ve been close to fire or the heat of grinding gears. “Eustace,” I say, “how did you do that? How did you get me up? I thought I was going to die.”
I hear a voice that does not belong to Eustace say “¡Tontos!” and then a string of things I do not understand.
“Who’s there?” I ask. I try to sit up, but I just curl up on my side. “Who said that?” Whoever it is keeps talking, keeps repeating that word tontos, which doesn’t sound like a compliment.
“Eustace?” I say. My eyes are adjusting now, and I can see Eustace and Fob sitting up against the wall of the car, near the door where we flew in. Both their chests rise and fall in exaggerated breathing. I can see my Medicine Head resting there, too, safe and sound. There is a tall man standing close to them. He’s wearing a railroad worker’s uniform, a smart one with a black coat and white shirt. He’s the one talking.
“He’s calling us fools,” Eustace says, “and he wants to know what we’re doing here.” Fob makes a groaning sound, like he wants to know what we’re doing here, too.
I’m worried the man’s going to stop the train and kick us off. He’s pointing at Fob and shaking his head, then pointing at us and shaking his head some more. He’s flailing his arms and saying “Dios mio.”
“Is he Spanish?” I ask. I finally feel oriented enough to sit up, which I do. My head pounds. I put my hand to it and discover a huge bump near my hairline.
“He’s speaking Spanish, yes,” says Eustace.
“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish, Eustace,” I say.
“A little,” he says. “My ma speaks some. My old man was half Mexican.”
For a moment, I consider asking Eustace all the questions I ever wanted to know about his father, but then I decide this probably isn’t the right time. The tall man continues to rant, wave his arms, and slap one hand against the other like he’s a stern schoolmaster. I’m not scared of him, though. He doesn’t seem mean, only wound up by having two kids and a cowardly animal heaved up into his train car. With my objective, scientific mind, I am able to understand that this reaction is completely reasonable.
“Well,” I ask, “what else is he saying?” I peer at the man.
Eustace is scratching his head, trying to decipher it. “I think something about how crazy we are and how we almost got ourselves killed,” he says. “Plus something about the dog having more sense than both of us.”
“Well,” I say. “That’s not very nice.”
“Phew,” says Eustace. “That was close, Lu. Greeney was right on your tail. And you almost got sucked under.” The movement of the train grows louder and smoother. “This man saved your life.”
I shake my head. “You saved my life.”
“Some,” he says. “But I wouldn’t have been able to pull you up without him pulling me.”
I think about that for a few seconds. The man is still rambling. I understand one word: idiota. He walks back and forth in the train car. Then I understand another word. The man says “Greeney,” and then he says “muy malo” and draws his finger across his neck.
Seems like this man knows Captain Greeney. And even though he might be mad at us for hopping on this train, he seems like he might even help us. Sometimes I just get a good feeling from people, and I’ve got a good feeling about this man. I know that’s not a very scientific way of thinking, but you proba
bly know what I mean anyway.
Mother used to call this type of phenomenon “women’s intuition.” She said that at the exact moment Father discovered Antarctica and she was in labor, she felt a freezing jolt lurch her body. She intuitively knew that Father had made the discovery. Priss probably has women’s intuition, too. She seems to know every time I’m up to something I don’t want her to know about. I wonder if that feeling is the same one I get before something is about to happen, like when I found the dead snake. I wonder if that means I’m developing women’s intuition.
“Idiota,” the man says again.
“I knew you were going to say that,” I say to him.
Then I close my eyes. I don’t care if he calls me an idiot for hours. I’m very tired. I just have to rest for a minute. I wrap my arms around my knees and place my head on them. I take in air and blow it out slowly as I replay all the events of the past two days: the cave, the Medicine Head, the fire, Captain Greeney, the articles, the letter, the train, Captain Greeney again. I wonder how dangerous this journey will be, since I almost just got myself killed and we aren’t even out of Tolerone yet. I wonder if Captain Greeney will be on the next train.
Of course he will.
Do you know what a theory is? Well, it’s an educated position based on facts. Based on all the facts I have so far, including the ones where Captain Greeney chased Father across the country, killed him, and came back to Tolerone again, I’d say it’s safe to theorize that Captain Greeney will be on my tail quick.
I sigh.
The Spanish-speaking man comes to me, kneels down, takes my hand, and pats it. Then he drops it, sits, and puts his head on his knees like me. I don’t know a thing in the world about him except that he saved my life and then called me an idiot, but somehow I feel safe around him. I don’t have a scientific explanation for how you can sometimes tell if a person is good or bad after only a couple of minutes, but I hypothesize that this man is a nice one.
I suppose now you’re wondering what a hypothesis is. One thing I try to remember is that not everyone, hardly anyone, was lucky enough to have a famous scientist for a father to teach him or her everything there is to know about the world. A hypothesis is an educated guess.
I smile at the man. He smiles back and shakes his head like he can’t believe his eyes. Then he puts his hands together, as though in prayer, and rests them against his cheek. He closes his eyes. He’s telling me to sleep.
After a while, I do.
When I wake, Eustace and the man are sitting on the edge of the car with their feet dangling over the side as the train moves. Eustace slices an apple and gives half to the man. They act chummy as old friends. They laugh together, and they take turns petting Fob. I watch them for a while, and I can see that the man is not as old as I first thought. He is maybe only eighteen or nineteen. He has fascinating hair, black, glossy, and curled over like a plowed furrow of earth. He has very dark brown eyes and thick eyebrows. He has excellent posture.
I sit up, and then I realize that sometime during the night he covered me with his wool coat. He is already providing me with lots of evidence to prove my hypothesis, and that makes me smile a little. I take the coat off and fold it over neatly.
“Well, look who finally decided to wake up,” says Eustace. The man stands up and makes a slight bow.
“Perdon, niña,” he says. “¿Cómo dormiste?”
“Huh?” I say. I look at Eustace.
“He wants to know if you slept OK?” Eustace translates.
“Sí,” says the man. He closes his eyes and pretends to rest his head on his pressed-together hands.
“Uh… uh,” I stammer. I look outside, at the land rushing past. I see cows in pastures, birds in the sky, huge full clouds against a blue sky. “I think so. How long have I been sleeping?”
“All night,” says Eustace. “And most of the morning.”
“Wow,” I say. “I was tired.”
“You were snoring,” says Eustace. He snorts like a snore. The man looks at him and smiles and then says something to me. I look at Eustace.
“He says you purr like raindrops when you sleep,” says Eustace.
I blush. “Are you sure you translated that correctly?” I ask.
“Not really,” says Eustace. “My Spanish is rusty.”
I hand the coat to the man, and I look deep into his eyes, which are quite pretty and fringed with very long black lashes. Even though they are very different in color, the mood they express reminds me of someone. Priss.
“What’s his name?” I say.
The man must understand because he answers, “Lopez de Santa Anna-Carson.” He takes his coat from me and bows again. It occurs to me that he is quite handsome and also debonair, not at all like most of the boys I know. I think I’d like for Priss to meet him someday.
For the rest of the ride, Eustace asks Lopez my questions and then tries to translate the answers back to me. Lopez asks me questions, too. I tell him all about New Bedford, Tolerone, and Priss. He asks lots of questions about Priss. I tell him about how boys sometimes try to come and ask her out for walks and sometimes even bring her flowers from the prairie. Lopez is very curious about this. He raises an eyebrow quizzically.
So I make Eustace act it out with me.
Eustace bends over, pretends to pick flowers from the train car floor. Then he pretends to arrange them in a bouquet. And I have to admit that Eustace is a very good thespian. Finally, he brings the pretend flowers over to me, bends down on one knee, and reaches them toward me. I put my hand on my chest and pretend I’m surprised, because that’s what Priss does. I open my eyes and mouth really wide. I say, “Oh, for me?” Then I pretend to take the flowers, clutch them to my chest, and raise the back of my hand to my forehead, as though I feel faint.
Lopez laughs and laughs. He applauds and says, “Bravo. Bravo!”
I don’t know what language that word is, but I know what it means.
I don’t understand anything Lopez says, but I like him a lot and decide I wouldn’t mind one bit if he came to court Priss someday. It turns out he’s a porter on the railroad, which is why he’s dressed in that dapper black coat and creased trousers. He’s in charge of the passengers’ baggage that doesn’t fit in the passenger cars.
Riding on a train makes my stomach lunge and lurch, flip and flop. Once in a while, despite how warm it is in the car, I break out in a cold sweat and think I might vomit. Most of the time, I sit with the Medicine Head’s crate on my lap and think. So it’s nice when Lopez takes a break from his work to talk with us. Sometimes, for a little while anyway, he helps me forget all the bad. But the bad always comes back.
Lopez points to my crate and asks Eustace a question. Eustace looks at me and shakes his head.
“What?” I ask. “What did he say?”
“He wants to know what’s in the crate,” says Eustace. He raises his palms. “What should I tell him?”
I hug the crate to me. “Don’t tell him anything,” I say. “Tell him nothing. Tell him it’s none of his business. In fact, tell him to mind his own business.”
Eustace doesn’t say any of that. He shakes his head at Lopez.
Lopez lifts his shoulders, gesturing Why?
I wag my finger back and forth. I wonder why Lopez is so interested. Does he know what’s in the crate already? Maybe he’s heard of the Medicine Head. Maybe he wants it for himself. Maybe he’s been hired by Captain Greeney to take it from me and is just pretending to be nice to us.
I point to the crate and use both my hands to simulate a great big explosion. I make a noise like Boom!
Lopez raises his eyebrows. “Boom?” he repeats.
“Big, big boom,” I say with a nod. Lopez looks at Eustace, who shrugs.
“OK, OK,” Lopez says. “Big boom.”
CHAPTER 18
That night, Lopez has to leave us to check on the other cars and make sure there aren’t any stowaways hiding among the packages. He tells Eustace and me to stay away fr
om the door. Well, he uses a combination of talking and gesturing to tell us these things. He warns us that the train will stop in the morning, and that the conductor will make his rounds, peeking into each car to make sure everything is as it should be.
While Lopez is out, Eustace and I work on moving boxes and crates to create a small cubby in which we can hide when the time comes.
It’s hot in the car with the door closed, and the Medicine Head is whispering to me again. My palms sweat. “Why does he think it’s any of his business what’s in my crate?” I ask crossly. I’ve got the bad feelings, the angry ones that make me want to walk hard and talk sharply.
Eustace sighs. “He doesn’t,” he says. “He’s being as curious as any other normal person would be. Don’t be distrustful.”
I think about this for a minute as I inspect the cubby from all angles to make sure we won’t be seen. “Maybe you’re right,” I say. I pick up the Medicine Head’s crate, weasel my way into the cubby, and push it back behind other boxes.
“What are we going to do about Fob when the conductor comes?” asks Eustace.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Can’t he sit and be quiet?”
“Not reliably,” says Eustace. “Can you, Fob?”
Fob barks. For the next hour, Eustace tries to teach him the difference between “speak” and “be quiet.” As evening comes, the train car becomes cooler and more comfortable. The light from the moon and stars creates a very dim glow in the car, but I wouldn’t be scared even if there were no light because I’m used to being in small dark places. I wonder if Eustace is afraid, and I’m about to ask him when I see that he and Fob have fallen asleep together, Eustace curled up and Fob resting his head on Eustace’s legs.
I’m just about to doze off, too. I close my eyes and see the things that I miss: Mother and Priss… and even Kansas, a little bit. I scoot a bit closer to Eustace and Fob.
In the morning, the train pulls into Chicago, Illinois, and Lopez bursts in from the small door at the end of the car and tells us to hide. Eustace, Fob, and I squeeze into the small place we’ve created behind the boxes, and Eustace tries to keep Fob quiet. Lopez leaves again through that small door and crosses a platform into another car.
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