CHAPTER 35
MARCH 7, 1855
THE DECISION
The next day, humming “The Wearing of the Green,” Jacob purchased a new shirt. Need one anyway and even had a bath, he thought, smiling to himself. The previous night had been a good night for poker and after his visit to Sarah, he had enjoyed another hour of brutal possession of Miss Mary. Play my cards right and soon enough, that will be Sarah.
After their session, the tart had drawn a hot bath for him. He planned his return to the dress shop this day to coincide with closing time to avoid the interference of customers. Along the way, he heisted another bunch of flowers from the same hapless vendor.
Greeting him at the door of the shop, Sarah’s smile was reserved but genuine as she thanked him for the bouquet.
“Tea?” she asked over her shoulder as she led him back to the parlor.
“Yes, please.” Jacob stayed several steps behind her admiring the movement of her hips. “I like your dress.”
“Why thank you, Jacob. I designed it myself and sewed it just before coming over from England.”
“Well, Miss Sarah, I don’t know much about these things but I would say you have a definite talent.”
Sarah blushed, obviously pleased by the compliment. Jacob liked the way the reddening of her face accentuated the freckles over the bridge of her nose.
Drawn to the parlor alcove by the whistle of the kettle, Aunt Stella smiled at Jacob, “Jacob, how pleasant to see you back again so soon. What’s this I hear about you going west?”
“I hear the West is a land of possibility. I have good contacts out there in the gold mining business.”
Hesitating a moment, Aunt Stella became serious “My concern, Jacob, as you can understand, is that Sarah be accompanied in a proper manner. It’s important that her reputation not be tarnished. I am also anxious that she have someone to help her find work as a dressmaker when she arrives. I don’t want her to spend her entire inheritance to get there and have nothing left with which to start a new life.”
Jacob felt a sudden keen interest at the word “inheritance,” but he was careful to show no reaction. “It would be my honor to escort your niece if she would like to make the journey to St. Louis. I’m headed there, anyway, but perhaps if she stayed here in the city with you it would be a safer course of action.”
Aunt Stella made a show of moving sugar and spoons around the small tea table. “There, there,” she clucked. “Would you like milk in your tea, Jacob?” She stirred her tea slowly, obviously collecting her thoughts.
“Sometimes a person, even a woman, has to take a path that is a little less customary.” She sighed and her lips quivered slightly. “I did that myself coming here years ago. The journey killed my poor husband. I’ve heard some great things about the West. My friends and I talk about it. Often there are stories in the paper. It has become crowded here, and there is great competition. It’s difficult for a new dressmaker to get established. The wages for a simple seamstress are minimal. If I were younger, I’d make the trip myself.”
“For someone as established as you are, it might be a bad business decision. But I’d be glad to escort you both if you’d like.” Reaching over, Jacob offered Aunt Stella the sugar.
“That’s very kind of you, Jacob.” Aunt Stella sighed again, slowly shaking her head. “If I were younger, without this shop…” Her voice trailed off.
Sarah had left the table to tend to a plump, middle-aged patron. The customer left. Locking the shop door, she turned over the “Open” sign that hung in the glass, returning to the tearoom and sitting quietly off to the side, her face pensive. Realizing Jacob had spoken to her, she looked at him blankly.
“Have you given the trip some thought? I plan to catch the New York Central train west on Saturday morning. Do you wish to accompany me?”
Her hands pulling nervously at her collar, Sarah looked at her aunt, who gave a slight negative shake of her head. Finally, she said, “I’ll go as far as St. Louis. St. Louis is growing, and I will stop there.”
Staring at her niece, Stella’s face paled and her lips parted in surprise.
Struggling not to appear overly elated, Jacob nodded his head. “Shall I meet you at the train, then?”
Aunt Stella protested. “I insist that you collect Sarah here and help her to the station.”
“Of course, of course,” he stammered. “What a careless mistake on my part. I thought the two of you…well, I didn’t know. Sarah, if you will give me your fare, I’ll purchase our tickets today.”
“Yes, Jacob, I shall get the money for you after tea.” She studied her hands, which rested in her lap, then looked up. “Have you seen Mister Frank since arriving in New York?”
“Mister Frank?” Jacob was puzzled.
“Yes, Reuben. Reuben Frank.”
Jacob felt his cheeks warm and his eyes narrow. “Oh, Reuben. The Prussian farm boy? I did not know his last name was Frank. No, I have not. Why?”
Looking away from his sudden, very intent stare, Sarah’s voice was soft and wistful, “I was just wondering.”
Sarah’s aunt began to speak “I think…”
Better not let her muck up the works. Standing suddenly, Jacob bowed to Stella, “Mistress Stella, it was a pleasure to share tea with you.
“But…” the older lady stuttered.
I shall take good care of your niece. Sarah, if you would be so kind as to fetch the train fare, I shall be on my way. Our departure will be at nine, and Saturday is the day after tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 36
MARCH 8, 1855
DANGERS AHEAD
Reclining on one of the divans in the parlor car, Reuben forced his mind from the encounter with Rebecca and sipped his brandy. He didn’t smoke but he liked the smell of pipes. The aroma always reminded him of his father and Uncle Hermann. He also found surreptitious eavesdropping on tongues loosened by tobacco and alcohol informative. Johannes sauntered in with his face cracked in a wider than usual toothy grin and his hair slightly disheveled. A pink hue colored the normal fair cast of his Scandinavian skin, and there was a faint circular red smudge on his neck.
“Your breeches are undone,” said Reuben dryly.
“Oh! Must have caught my trousers on a door latch,”
The two men laughed as Johannes fastened two buttons on his pants. “Let’s go back to our compartment,” Reuben said. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Licking his lips, Johannes glanced at the bar. “Can we discuss the matter over a drink?”
Reuben looked around the car. “No, there are too many eyes and ears here.”
Back at the sleeping berth, Reuben pulled out the leather map case. Carefully, he rolled the maps out on the bunk, weighting down the corners with their pistols, and the length of the bottom of the top parchments with their rifles.
Johannes frowned at the spread out parchments framed with weapons. “I hope that is not an omen.”
“Come on over here.” He motioned to his friend, ignoring the comment.
Hunching over the maps the two men looked at the territory west of St. Louis. “I shared these with you at Uncle Hermann’s but it is time to review them in detail. Here is the route we need to take toward Cherry Creek. It is called the Mormon and Emigrant Trail. We will follow the Missouri River, and then the North Platte to Fort Kearney. Out here, we will swing south before Fort Laramie and follow the South Platte to Cherry Creek. From Cherry Creek, we head southwest into the mountains. It will be a very long journey, with lack of water, extreme weather, no law, maybe trouble over this American slavery issue and Indians upset that their treaties have been ignored.”
“What’s the good news?” Johannes asked with suppressed mirth.
“The good news is that you and I will get fully outfitted for the journey to the mountains in St. Louis. When we reach the mountains we will hire some help, locate cattle to purchase, and then we’re going over the Rockies to right here.” Reuben punctuated his comment with
a punch into the map.
Johannes peered closer. “If you would remove your hand, Reuben, I could see what the hell you were pointing at.”
“Oh,” Reuben chuckled, moving his fist.
Johannes read the words on the map. “Tell me more of Las Montanas Rojas.”
“As I told you at Uncle Hermann’s, it’s a set of three reddish-colored mountains in a range called the San Juans. Most of the features were named by the Spaniards before they lost it to Mexico, and then Mexico in turn was defeated by the United States and Texas. The Americans call the area Red Mountains. Supposedly, one of them has some type of red stone cliffs with strange interspersed hard rock formations. Along the base of the cliffs is a creek, which flows down to the Uncompahgre River you see on the map. The cliffs come down in big grassy plateaus. On the other side of the mountain, there is scattered timber, which is supposed to be great cattle range, good south sun for the winter, many springs and grass as high as your waist. Also, some smaller creeks and level areas, which we might be able to farm for winter hay.”
“How do you know all of this? You haven’t been there, have you?”
Reuben straightened up. “Of course I haven’t. My father hired a scout through Uncle Hermann. He gave him a two-year commission. His job was to find the best area for cattle, based on a set of requirements my father and my uncle wrote down for him. This is information we got from his letters, and he drew these maps, which he also sent to us.”
“That’s it?” asked Johannes. “We’re going on a five-month-long journey, to an area that I hear is like the Alps, in a country where half the citizens dislike the other half, filled with hostile Indians, all based on one man’s assessment? How do you know what you’re going to find when you get there?”
Reuben felt his jaw set. “If you have something better to do, you can certainly back out now.”
Johannes’ head jerked up. “I was bringing up the obvious, Reuben. I made a deal. I keep my agreements and I think that I’d better be around to be your rear guard.” His lips slipping into a sly grin, he added, “And maybe protect you from that dark-haired woman too, the princess.” His tease broke the tension in Reuben’s chest and he sat down on the bunk.
“I will have to tell you of my encounter with Rebecca between the train cars.”
Johannes’ eyebrows shot up with anticipatory delight. “Oh? Rebecca? A rendezvous with the princess? What happened with Mistress Marx?”
“But first, one more thing about Las Montanas Rojas.”
“And that is?” Johannes’ impatient tone clearly indicated he wanted to hear about Rebecca.
“One of the scout’s letters said something about potential gold in the area. He was supposed to have sent back a third map but it never arrived. Uncle Hermann told me he died. Killed by Indians.”
He gave the map to his brother in St. Louis, who then supposedly headed to New York. Despite his best efforts, Uncle Hermann was not able to locate the brother.”
“Gold?” echoed Johannes. “I am not sure if that is good or bad news. Gold seems to bring out the worst in men.”
“Yes,” responded Reuben, “and cows can’t eat gold, either.”
CHAPTER 37
MARCH 9, 1855
INNOCENCE STOLEN
The expense of transportation for Sarah angered Jacob but he found a dowdy buggy for hire, rationalizing it was a small price to pay to get what he wanted.
Arriving at Aunt Stella’s shop slightly after nine the morning of their departure, he found Sarah waiting inside, her trunk packed and ready to leave.
He smiled at Sarah’s aunt. She looks very agitated. Invoking his most charming demeanor, “Stella, what a lovely dress. That fabric is perfect for this bright sunny day.”
“Why thank you, Jacob. That is very nice of you to say.” Her eyes bored beseechingly into his. “Now, please, take good care of my niece—she is very special to me and her sister back in England. We entrust you with her well-being. Hopefully, you will have time to help her get settled in St. Louis before you proceed west for your mining business.”
“Don’t worry, Stella; Sarah’s care is foremost in my mind. Sarah, that dress is perfect on you. I haven’t seen you in green before. You ready?”
Her lips forming a tight smile, Sarah nodded without a word. She was very pale.
Aunt Stella and Sarah hugged a tearful good-bye, and then Jacob assisted her into the open cab. Cracking his buggy whip, the silent, surly driver forced the sullen, slightly emaciated horses into an unenthusiastic clip-clop of hooves, which echoed off the sheer walls of the buildings on either side of the street. Waving from the doorway Aunt Stella dabbed at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief.
“Write me, dear Sarah,” she cried out.
*****
They reached Central Station after the ferry across the East River. People milled on the street unloading bags from many different types of horse and oxen-drawn carriages, buggies and wagons. Couples and families were hugging and waving farewell to one another all around the curb and entry to the station. Jacob made two trips back to the buggy for their bags and Sarah’s lone trunk. The driver offered no assistance.
Clutching her satchel with the secret compartment tightly to her chest she waited for him a short distance from the train. The porter loaded Sarah’s baggage and Jacob’s small greasy duffel into one of the sleeping cars. Sarah hesitatingly climbed the steps into the car throwing a last uneasy glace at the throng that ebbed and flowed on the platform. Jacob climbed up, taking her hand in his and they walked down the passageway of the car, checking the numbers of the compartments. He stopped at door 1204, car twelve, berth four. Holding open the door, he smiled, “After you, Sarah.”
A small closet was situated next to the door. Two bunks, one on either side, hung from the sidewalls. A tiny washbasin with a pitcher secured by a fabric thong perched below the window on a narrow table that doubled as a shared nightstand. People on the platform outside were waving. Wisps of steam scuttled by the window. The car lurched slightly. Sarah turned to Jacob, wide-eyed.
“Are we leaving?” she stammered.
“Yes, Sarah, we are. That green really does suit you,” said Jacob, his hands on his hips.
“This is my compartment, then?”
Jacob shook his head slowly. “This is our compartment.”
Sarah took a step back, a cold trepidation stealing through her.
“But…I thought you were going to have your own compartment. That’s why I gave you the money to purchase my fare.”
Jacob shrugged. “They were all out of other compartments. We’ll have to share. But the money we have saved will come in handy later.” Jacob flashed a smile.
Sarah took another step back.
“Of course, I’ll be a complete gentleman. I’ll fetch us some water.”
Watching the cityscape begin to speed past the window, she tried to think. She had never felt so alone and vulnerable. The image of Reuben slipped into her thoughts. She bit her lip.
Returning with a tray of breads, cheeses and water Jacob seemed full of a strange energy. “I’ll go fetch some wine for us.” He left again.
Sarah heard the lock turn in the door after he closed it. She suddenly felt nauseous. He returned with a bottle of red wine and two goblets. “Make sure those don’t fall over,” he said, pouring one goblet to the brim. “Have some wine.”
Perching on the edge of the bunk, she clenched her hands so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white. She still wore her coat.
Jacob closed the door and locked it again, the deadbolt making a loud click in the small space. He handed Sarah the untouched glass of wine.
“But it’s not yet noon,” she protested.
Jacob leaned forward over her. “Drink it up.”
Her shaking hands grasped the glass, spilling a few drops as the train hurtled down the track. She took a sip. Jacob leaned against the door.
“Finish it up, woman.”
Raising the goblet t
o her lips, she took another large swallow.
“All of it,” he insisted.
They had left early for the station. Sarah had been too excited and nervous to eat. “But, Jacob,” she protested, “I have not had any breakfast. This will go right to my head.”
Jacob walked slowly over to her and took away the wine.
“Let me help you take off your coat.”
She hesitated, then rose uncertainly. The train swayed and she was thrown against him. His arms slid around her waist and he pulled her into him, his lips pressing against her neck.
“Jacob!” she said sternly. Rising up the bodice of her dress his hand cupped her breast. A jolt of fear coursed through her. Struggling against his grasp, she opened her mouth to scream but Jacob smothered her lips with his, pinning both her hands behind her back with one arm. With his free hand, he untied the top bow of her blouse, slipped his fingers through the open fabric and below the camisole.
Feeling the strength leave her legs she gasped, “Jacob, no!” The tiny space began to spin.
Growling out a knowing laugh, he ripped the fabric of her blouse down to her waist. Sarah was shocked. This can’t be happening. Not to me. She felt like an observer who was simply watching some strange man and woman. She felt faint.
“I have wanted you since I first saw you standing there in the wind on the ship,” Jacob whispered in her ear. Sarah felt her heart pound. His hand began lifting her skirt and petticoats, a few inches at a time. His forefinger stroked upward against the thin fabric of her drawers and her inner thigh. Desperate, Sarah wrenched her shoulders from side-to-side in an attempt to get her arms free. He tightened his grip. She opened her mouth to scream but Jacob quickly covered her lips with his hand, pushing her backward onto one of the bunks. “Shh, woman; don’t fight. You’ll like it.”
Threads West, an American Saga Page 20