Threads West, an American Saga

by Reid Lance Rosenthal

  Rebecca sat back down on the settee lost in thought. Ferdinando, my dear, I know exactly how you can render that assistance you so graciously offered. Smiling down into the milky amber tea, she took a last sip and then rose to prepare herself for dinner with the mayor.

  CHAPTER 27

  MARCH 5, 1855

  THE TRAIN

  The high ceiling of the Central Train Station of New Jersey’s main terminal echoed with the sound of travelers scurrying on tile floors. Mothers shepherded children. Men wore derbies or coonskin caps and there were the occasional broad brims of western hats.

  Standing transfixed by the tumultuous scene, Johannes and Reuben carried only their duffels, the map case and their Sharps rifles, each clutching his long gun sleeved in fringed leather. The electricity of the crowd fired their already heightened sense of adventure. Behind them, a porter hefted Reuben’s trunk. A Colt Army pistol was tucked into Johannes’ waistband. Reuben’s Navy Squareback Colt was snugged into the Slim Jim on his hip, its tapered, scrolled leather sleeve loosely strapped to his thigh with a rawhide tie as the mercantile clerk, Wallace, had advised. He had oiled the stiff skin of the holster but it still had that peculiar light tint of new leather.

  The curved black scabbard of Johannes’ saber was tied with rawhide to the supple hide which blanketed his Sharps carbine. Watching Johannes deftly bind the sword to the rifle before leaving for the station, Reuben had again recalled his uncle’s conjecture about Johannes’ possible military experience.

  “There it is!” Reuben pointed toward the track. The sign read, Westbound: Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Chicago, St. Louis. Steam was billowing from the engine of the Pennsylvania Railroad train.

  Shouting above the din, Reuben bellowed, “Let’s go!” realizing Johannes wasn’t beside him, he glanced back. His friend had stopped to look down the terminal. Following his gaze, Reuben laughed. Johannes’ attention was fixed on a stunning blonde five cars down the track, her form half a head above almost all the other travelers. The crowd momentarily parted, revealing a petite, dark-haired beauty next to the tall, fair-skinned woman.

  Rebecca? Can’t be! Reuben shook his head.

  The New York streets and the bridge to New Jersey had been crowded with pedestrians and carriages. He and Johannes had arrived late. Two sharp toots bellowed from the engine of the westbound train. Taking the few paces back to Johannes, he tugged on the taller man’s vest. “Easy boy.”

  Johannes muttered something in his Scandinavian tongue. Reuben didn’t understand the language but the meaning was clear. They both laughed. Hurrying over to a conductor, they showed him their tickets, asking which of the sleeping cars was theirs. He directed them toward the rear of the train. Johannes clambered up the steps, reaching back to drag up the duffels Reuben tossed to the steps. Tipping the porter, Reuben took one last glance down the track as he perched on the bottom step. The tall blonde and the shapely dark-haired woman she accompanied were followed by seven men who lugged trunks and baggage. They moved toward the front of the train. Doubtful that it’s her. Besides, Johannes will certainly investigate.

  Squeezing down the narrow corridor, Johannes grinned over his shoulder, “As soon as we get settled, I think I shall take a walk.”

  Reuben chuckled inwardly but said nothing.

  Finding the compartment, Johannes slid open the pocket door and groaned with disgust. “Don’t they have full-size people in America?” Reuben peered around his arm. Their berth was tiny, and the bunks seemed too short for either of them to stretch out fully.

  “Well, Johannes, maybe that tall blonde has better arrangements!”

  “Yes!” replied Johannes, rubbing his hands together and making a face. “I will have to make friends with her for her bed.” His look became mischievous. “Maybe the dark-haired woman with her can sleep in here with you.”

  Reuben felt himself flush. “What dark-haired woman?”

  Johannes slapped his thigh. “Reuben, if I were you, I would be sure to never play poker.”

  Reuben grunted, looking around the compartment. The journey would be cramped but this was the most expedient form of travel.

  Reuben sighed as he tried to wedge the duffel and map case under his bunk. The heavy cotton duck fabric of the duffel strained at the seams with the addition of his work coat tucked at the very bottom.

  He straightened, his stomach growling. “Why don’t we get something to eat? Then you can take your exploratory stroll.”

  CHAPTER 28

  MARCH 5, 1855

  AT FIRST SIGHT

  After sharing a slab of cheese and half a loaf of bread in the dining car, Reuben returned to the berth and Johannes made his way forward through the parlor car and then down the long corridors of the train toward the locomotive.

  Standing courteously to the side as other passengers entered and exited from their berths in the sleeping sections, he hailed a conductor. “There are two ladies who embarked,” he said. “One brunette and the other a tall blonde, both very attractive.”

  The conductor looked up from his study of the ticket of another passenger. He was short and had to raise his head considerably to peer up past the bill of his cap at Johannes.

  “You are a relative?”

  “No.”

  “A friend?”

  “No.”

  “Do the ladies know you?”

  Johannes winked. “Not yet.”

  The conductor regarded him seriously for a moment, then smiled. “I did notice them myself, indeed, but I’m much too old and besides, the wife would not be happy with that type of thought. The two ladies about whom you inquire are in the next car, third on your left, compartment 310.”

  “I thank you very much. Would you happen to know their names?”

  Shaking his head in amusement, the conductor consulted his manifest. “Rebecca Marx, and Inga Bjorne.”

  Reaching berth 310, Johannes could hear the muffled voices of the women through the door. Hesitating for a moment, he straightened his shirt and ran his hands back through his thick blond hair, moving it to behind, rather than over his ears. What’s this? She is simply another beautiful woman. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

  The door slid open and Rebecca stood there. She still had on her traveling clothes.

  “Yes?” There was a definite challenge in her query.

  Looking over Rebecca’s head, Johannes saw the lanky blonde had turned to see to whom Rebecca had spoken. Their eyes met, blue to blue, locking for an extended moment. Johannes felt a skip in his chest. Then the golden-haired woman looked down, her cheeks bright pink, smoothing the front of her dress over her thighs.

  “Yes?” Rebecca’s tone was a bit harsher.

  “I’m traveling with a friend and noticed you two lovely ladies board the train in New York. I took the liberty of requesting the location of your compartment from the conductor.”

  At the sound of his voice, Rebecca’s eyes flickered with recognition. “You were on the SS Edinburgh. Your name is Jan or Yahn, I believe?”

  “Johannes, Johannes Svenson. Yes, I was on the Edinburgh. However, Mistress Marx, I was not aware you were traveling with your beautiful companion on that voyage.”

  Rebecca snickered. “That might be because I was alone on the ship.”

  Johannes found himself annoyed with Rebecca. Reuben is right about this woman. He desperately wished to respond with a sarcastic comment. Instead, he paused, peering past Rebecca again, and in a most polite tone, addressed the other woman. “Inga?” The blonde’s eyes met his again in an evocative but puzzled stare. She’s wondering how I know her name. The pink turned to scarlet and crept down her throat. “I have always liked that name. I cannot ask you to take a sunny walk in the park but perhaps you would join me for a glass of wine or sherry in the parlor car?”

  Inga shot a questioning, hopeful look at Rebecca. The brunette nodded her head. “Do as you wish,” she said curtly.

  “It will take me just a moment to tidy up.”
>
  Johannes smiled at the sound of her voice. “It would be my pleasure to wait outside the door, Inga.”

  Johannes reached for the door pull but Rebecca’s hand had never left it and she slammed it shut.

  Several minutes later, Inga appeared. “I shall be back shortly,” she called back into the compartment.

  “As you wish,” Rebecca’s voice drifted back.

  Moving from the door, they both kept their hands over their mouths to subdue their chuckles. “My name is Johannes Svenson and the conductor tells me yours is Inga Bjorne.”

  *****

  Inga felt flushed and warm. Looking up to Johannes, she smiled. “You inquired of the conductor?” I like that he is taller than I. That is rare. I’m acting like a schoolgirl. “I take it from the lovely introduction by milady Marx that the two of you have met previously.”

  “Yes, we have. Apparently, I did not make much of an impression.” Involuntarily, Johannes’ hand reached out and gently brushed one of the long strands of her golden hair from her forehead and cheek to behind her ear. Inga closed her eyes, feeling almost lightheaded at his touch.

  “We met shipboard. Or should I say, we saw each other on the ship. I am not sure she ever said a word to me, though she had a few conversations with my friend, Reuben Frank.”

  “You are traveling with him?”

  “Yes, Reuben is a fine fellow, though young. Shall we head to the parlor car?”

  Johannes followed behind her as they moved down the narrow corridor. She could feel his energy and his eyes on her body. Trying to still the flutter in her belly, she sighed deeply and Johannes caught the sound of her exhaled breath.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Oh yes. I’m just tired.”

  Entering the parlor car, they chose a small table tucked into one corner. Digging in his pocket, her tall, equally blond companion withdrew a flint sparker, and lit the candle in the center of the little table. It was perched on an iron candelabrum with a wide base so as not to topple from the sway of the train. Watching Johannes’ movements, she felt herself drawn to the way the fabric of his thick, cotton shirt rippled across his shoulder as he extended his arm. Fluid. Athletic. She looked down at the table studying her clasped hands intently.

  Their conversation was effortless, as if she’d known Johannes long before this encounter. She shared with him parts of her life that she hadn’t spoken of to anyone for many years, brushing over the several years spent with her uncle, referring to him only as, “a relative with whom I lived for two years who wasn’t quite right and made me uncomfortable.”

  During the course of their discussion, Johannes inquired about what she had done for work in New York. Inga felt a momentary panic. She realized her finger was playing and twirling nervously with her hair. In some way, she felt compelled to tell Johannes the entire story, though she couldn’t fathom why. This was information about her very soul.

  “I was a waitress and assisted the manager of a very nice establishment, The Carriage, in Manhattan.” She willed herself to maintain eye contact with Johannes as she spoke but somehow felt Johannes was aware that this wasn’t the whole story.

  Unconsciously they had been leaning further and further toward each other during the course of their talk, their elbows supporting the forward posture of their upper bodies. Johannes was clearly about to ask a follow-up question.

  Tilting back suddenly, she pointed at the clock next to the window behind the bar. “My goodness, we’ve been gone more than an hour. Milady Marx will not be happy.” Laughing, Johannes stretched back in his chair, his heels far out to the side of the table and his hands raised

  in the air behind his head.

  “Milady Marx?” There was sarcastic humor in his tone. “A little secret, Inga. There was definitely something between my friend Reuben and milady Marx on the ship. It reminded me of two swordsmen circling before a duel. If you wouldn’t mind, don’t mention Reuben is traveling with me. I’m sure the two of them will cross paths. This train is a rather small world. You and I can be observers. At least it will provide some amusement.”

  Inga felt flattered to be invited to share a simple innocent scheme that could be fun and could have no bad ending. Feeling her chest constrict with a guilty surge, she concentrated on her hands. Ah but my secret is much darker.

  Raising her eyes to Johannes, she bobbed her head, “It will be our secret, then. We will wait until they come across one another.”

  Moving back up the train, they stopped and faced one another outside the women’s berth. She knew Johannes wanted to say something, and he wants to kiss me. She realized she was leaning forward.

  Placing a hand on either of her arms just below the shoulders Johannes slowly lowered his lips toward hers. Anxiety clutched her, constricting her chest, and she stepped back, just beyond his reach.

  “I had a wonderful time, Johannes. I…I’m not sure I’ve had a talk like that with anyone in quite some time— maybe ever.”

  He was studying her face intently, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Nor I, Inga, nor I.”

  Still facing him, Inga reached behind her and tapped three times softly on the compartment door. She heard the deadbolt slide open and Rebecca’s cold voice. “You call this shortly?”

  The pocket door was ajar just a crack and only the brunette’s partially hidden face could be seen. “I’m in my nightgown. Are you coming in or do you plan to sleep in the hall tonight?”

  Ignoring Rebecca, Johannes smiled. “Breakfast tomorrow? Dining car? Let’s say eight?”

  Inga felt that surreal tingle once again. “That would be lovely, Johannes.”

  Smiling, he pivoted and walked down the passage; Inga watched his retreating form, fascinated with the way he moved.

  *****

  Inga tossed and turned for hours. Even the rhythmic sleep breathing of her traveling companion did nothing to calm her. She buried her face in her pillow. Rebecca is such a lady; she doesn’t even snore. Listening to the wheels of the train click against the breaks in the tracks, she tried to lose herself in the gentle movement of the car but to no avail. Should I have told him? The question wound through her mind a hundred times. Her spirit vacillated between a compelling need she didn’t understand to share everything with Johannes, and her worry that he would not be able to assimilate the information. Would he think me cheap? Soiled? Would he treat me less kindly because of what I have done? Or would he understand?

  Rolling restlessly to her back, she stared at the ceiling, vaguely aware of the dim light from the bright starry night that filtered through the window. The entire situation was dreamlike. It’s all right to have a secret, she argued with herself. There’s something about him. Much different. I can’t risk it. Besides, there’s no way he could ever find out.

  Her decision made, she shifted to her side, finally shutting her eyes. As she felt sleep overtake her, she whispered to herself, “A girl must do what a girl must do.”

  CHAPTER 29

  MARCH 6, 1855

  SECRETS

  Awake with the first tinges of dawn, Johannes lay in his bunk consumed by the vision of Inga’s eyes, her smile and her habit of looking down into her hands whenever she was flustered. Their conversation played repeatedly in his mind.

  When is the last time this happened? he mused to himself. Sifting through his many memories of women, he could not recall this type of immediate, more than just physical, magnetism. Extending one long arm down to the floor, he groped for his trousers, pulling his watch from a pocket. Six-thirty a.m. He could lie in his bunk no longer. Rising as quietly as he could, he glanced over at Reuben, who lay turned to the opposite wall, snoring gently. Dressing, he slipped into the corridor, found a porter, and with charm and a five-cent tip induced him to furnish a small bucket of hot water.

  Returning to the berth, he quietly slid open the door. He used one of the hand towels from the rack above the small pitcher and the small bar of lye soap to sponge his upper body, paying speci
al attention to his underarms. Every once in a while, he cranked his nose to an armpit and inhaled. Splashing water on his face, he looked critically in the mirror, running his hand thoughtfully over his cheeks and chin. He reached over to borrow Reuben’s razor, which lay near the pitcher, smirking to himself in the mirror as he ran the blade quickly over his cheeks. I never could grow a beard.

  Satisfied with the results of his impromptu sponge bath, he took the saber from under the bunk, withdrew it from its sheath and held it. It had a good feel, was well balanced and sliced the air cleanly. With another glance at Reuben, he reached into his duffel, pulled out a whetstone and slowly, being as quiet as he could, began to hone the blade.

  The slight rasp of stone on steel caused Reuben to stir. Rolling partway over, he looked at Johannes. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Johannes chuckled. “I wanted to put an edge on my saber. I have a breakfast meeting at eight.”

  Shaking his head, the young Prussian had begun to roll away. At the last comment, though, he shifted his attention back to Johannes. “A breakfast appointment? Oh, I see. Evidently your explorations last night were successful.”

  “Her name is Inga Bjorne. Delightful woman.” Johannes kept his attention on the saber blade.

  “A delightful woman?”

  “Yes, and even more beautiful close up than at a distance.”

  Rolling away from Johannes again, Reuben chortled into his pillow, “Wake me when you return.”

  Johannes was at the table in the dining car ten minutes before eight, drumming his fingers on the tabletop and sipping coffee. He was lost in wondering what the land was like west of St. Louis when he heard her voice. Snapping his head up from the coffee cup, he sucked in his breath. Inga was dressed in a simple but stunning deep royal blue traveling dress. It came down to just below her knees, high for the fashions of the time, and was more fitted around her legs and hips than the standard flare designs worn by most women. The body of the dress molded to her long figure and small but perfectly formed breasts. Johannes noticed the soft mounds of partially erect nipples just below the tips of her long blonde hair.