Carved in Love
Page 8
Chapter 8
Curtis slid his arms into his clean frock coat, which had been returned to the hotel as fresh as new by Ellie’s taller brother, Jack. He sure was a quiet one. If Curtis hadn’t seen him and Jesse eating at the same table and calling the same woman, “Mama,” he wouldn’t have believed they were brothers.
Curtis grabbed his short top hat and strode into the hall, shutting the door on his spartan bed. A small, scuffed table with a pitcher and wash basin on top sat in the far corner, and the utilitarian white curtains hung limply at the window.
As Curtis hurried down the stairs, the train whistle sounded. He slowed at the bottom to let a lady walk by. When she gave him an appreciative glance, he smiled, nodded, and said, “Ma’am.”
As soon as his boots hit the porch, he pushed his hat on his head and dashed across the street to the station, the tails of his frock coat flying. He had to be there in time to see everyone who disembarked.
He slid to a stop at the edge of the platform just as the train came to a hissing stop, layering its scent of coal smoke and dissipating steam over the people waiting on the platform.
The arm on the side of the water tower was swung over to the water tender by a burly train fireman. The train doors opened and passengers began climbing down the steps like busy ants from an anthill. Curtis’s eyes scanned their faces, searching, without seeing who he was looking for.
Disappointment crept over him, but he refused to leave until he was sure he’d caught sight of every passenger. He walked the length of the train clear back to the caboose, gazing in every window, glancing back every few seconds to be sure no one got off without his notice, even though M.J. was hard to miss.
He turned and slowly walked back to the front of the train, dodging men and boys who were busy loading and unloading freight.
A conductor appeared in the doorway of a passenger car with a suitcase in each hand, following a couple dressed in dusty traveling clothes. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and set the cases down on the platform. “There you go, sir,” he said to the man who was burdened with a bulky carpet bag and hat box, while his wife held a muff in one hand and a parasol in the other. “If you’d like, a porter can help you the rest of the way.”
A lanky boy who looked to be around thirteen hurried forward and offered to carry the couple’s bags. As they negotiated, the conductor disappeared back into to the train and the station master strolled over to Curtis. “Still didn’t find who you’re looking for?”
“Not yet.”
“The train tracks are reaching more and more places every day,” he assured him. “They’ve got to deliver whoever you’re waiting for by and by.”
Curtis rubbed his forehead. “I’m afraid M.J. may never be able to get away.”