An Outlawed Heiress and Her Duke

by Denise Daye

“Somewhere on the train tracks.” He straightened his shirt and vest. “Now will you excuse me? I shall sit for a bit to admire the Colorado scenery and recover from this chase and then you will explain to me in detail why I have had to lie to the police and jump on a train like Jesse James.” He put his cowboy hat on and walked straight to Milton, who instantly pointed out the window at the Rocky Mountains.

  “Can you explain to me now how mountains grow?” He begged George to continue the conversation where they had left off before they’d pulled into Denver.

  “If you don’t interrupt me incessantly with new questions before I have even answered the previous one,” George countered, sitting down across from him.

  “I won’t.”

  “Well then,” George took a deep breath. “Mountains are formed when the earth’s tectonic—”

  “Why are they called mountains?” Milton interrupted.

  George wrinkled his forehead. “Well, the word mountain originated from the word montem, which is Latin for—”

  “Do the Latins still live?” Milton blurted out again, cutting George off once more. George opened his mouth, but Milton was faster. “Don’t the Latin’s fight with swords? And what do they look like?”

  George started rubbing his temples with his hands. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled to himself. Esther couldn’t help but burst into loud laughter, rejoicing over his agony of the everyday pains of having a child.

  It must have been several hours since they had left Denver. The train ride to Antonito would take about half a day, so they must have been closer than they thought.

  George and Milton were pretty occupied marveling at the breathtaking Colorado countryside. Even the locomotive smoke creeping in through the gaps of the planks could not diminish the beauty of the golden plains that unfolded in front of them as wide as an ocean, the majestic Rocky Mountains constantly in the backdrop as if they would watch over the state’s beauty. Where George had found the seemingly endless patience to endure Milton’s thirst for knowledge, Esther didn’t know, but it had taken him further than any other human being has ever managed to withstand Milton’s interrogations.

  George stared out the window again, his eyes as peaceful as she had ever seen before, then shook his head in disbelief, something he had done several times so far.

  “I have never seen anything like it.” Words he had also mumbled in awe repeatedly on this ride. Suddenly he turned toward her. “Well. I think I am ready now for the explanation you owe me,” he declared, standing up.

  Milton and Esther exchanged nervous looks.

  “Where are we going?” she inquired.

  “Somewhere quieter and more soothing for this sort of topic.” George headed toward the door that connected the passenger wagon with the supply cars. Milton and Esther followed him. The coupling that connected the train cars was out in the wide open. The loud sounds of the train wheels and winds of the racing train danced wildly around them. George took a big step over the coupling, reaching his hand over to Esther and Milton to help both of them over the fast-moving tracks underneath them. The supply car they broke into was filled with wooden chests. There was no window in it, but its wall planks had gaps so big, it let the cold April sunshine penetrate the inside of the car like bright lanterns, lighting the whole room up in shadowy daylight.

  George sat down on a pile of three stacked boxes, crossing his arms as a sign that he was ready. Milton scratched his neck, avoiding looking at him. Esther also avoided him, staring at the floor to gather her courage.

  “Well?” he broke the silence, his foot jittering against the floor. A fluttery, empty feeling filled Esther’s stomach. What if he was angry at her for using him to get to Jones?

  “Well,” she cleared her throat, “t-there are people who are searching for me.” George stayed quiet as she stated the obvious, barely scratching the surface he expected from her confession, and she knew that.

  “First of all, I haven’t done anything wrong,” she promised him to silence the sudden worry that he might be thinking that whoever was chasing her, at this point all of America, was doing so with good cause. George crossed and un-crossed his legs, not a single word or smile escaping his handsome lips.

  Milton was pretending to inspect the wooden boxes to avoid being dragged into this conversation. The only thing that could make his performance more suspicious and fake would be for him to start whistling.

  Esther walked over to George, sitting down next to him. For a moment she was fumbling with her sleeve, preparing herself to continue. Now came the hard part. “My father just passed away.” She kept staring down at the sleeve between her fingers, trying to swallow down the tears of his memory. “And now his business partner is hunting me to claim my father’s business for himself.”

  “He is a very bad man,” Milton chipped in, still pretending to inspect the boxes.

  Esther peeked over to see how George was taking this in, only to find his face grimacing in deep empathy and sorrow.

  “I’m very sorry to hear that. I lost my own father not too long ago.”

  “Are you an orphan too, then?” Milton asked, leaving the boxes to themselves for the time being to join the conversation.

  “No,” said George, taken aback by the question, almost refusing to elaborate. “I am afraid my mother is not of this world and would survive the apocalypse, riding on the back of a flying daemon.”

  “That bad?” Esther gasped, surprised by this newfound information, which somehow now made sense of why he’d been a bachelor all these years.

  “If you consider spending and emotionally torturing my father into the ground and then engaging my poor sister to a monster to continue her lavish lifestyle bad, then yes, that bad,” George said, closing his eyes. “But this is not about me,” he added, finding Esther’s gaze with his sky-blue eyes. “This man, your father’s former partner, how can he claim your father’s business for himself?”

  “By forging my father’s will and killing me,” Esther responded in an unemotional tone, almost as if it were nothing unusual, just another day in the life of Esther Silverton. By now, excruciating poverty, Morris’ constant threats, disguising herself as a man…all of it had become the new normal to her.

  George abruptly stood up, both of his hands clenching into tight fists. “Are you saying this man is trying to kill you?” His voice sounded low, almost like a threat that was scary enough that it would make it all the way to New York right to Morris to send a shiver down his spine.

  Esther nodded. George’s joyful eyes darkened. Never before had she seen this light-hearted, calm man this angry before. He walked right up to her, placing one of his hands onto her shoulder.

  “I swear to you, this man will not harm you.” He narrowed his eyes. “Even if I have to put him into the ground myself,” George vowed with a face so serious, it could crack a mirror.

  Esther couldn’t help but feel safe for the first time since that dreadful day of her father’s passing. Not even for a brief moment did she doubt this man’s promise to take care of her and sort things out. But luckily it wouldn’t have to come to this if they made it to Chama and Jones without further problems. Since Denver, Lady Luck had been looking their way. The weather was milder than most Aprils in the Colorado mountains, so a snowstorm was unlikely. And if Esther was right about the government shutting down Chama, then there should be military all over the place from Antonito, which made it very unwise for any wannabe Jesse James to rob the train from Antonito to Chama. In short, the stage was set for Esther to come out with the rest of her story…She took a deep breath, half to get the courage to continue and half because George’s close proximity and soft grip of her shoulder sent butterflies through her body.

  “There is something else,” she finally mumbled, tearing her gaze away from him and down onto her hands.

  “No, don’t.” Milton leaped toward her, his voice shaking in distress. Esther looked up to him with a faint smile on her lips.

  “It’s ok, Milto
n,” she tried to reassure him. She trusted George with her life, so why not with this secret? This man had saved her from the police twice, both times all odds and evidence stacked against her. Not only did he have a right to know, but her heart craved to tell him her secret so he could look at her with those eyes for who she really was—not a pretty faced boy with a high pitched voice but a woman! A poor woman, skin and bones with short hair like a man, not even the shadow of a beauty like Emily Wayne, a voice in her head nagged at her confidence. And with five kids, that festering voice mercilessly added to her self-doubts. No. No, no, no! She tried to shake it all away. She had to tell him the truth before her secrets came out and he lost his trust in her. Or worse, before they would part ways and he would never have known who she really was, and how she felt about him. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest, making it harder to breathe. She unfastened the top of her collar with her finger, a desperate attempt to help her get more air. Now or never. She slowly opened her mouth, her eyes holding on to his gaze. Do it!

  “I… I… am—" the words stuck in her throat, clogging the air trying to reach her lungs. “I… am—” just say it, it’s not like it will kill you…

  She forced her every breath in her body to finally, once and for all, lift the curse, ready to tell the truth.

  “I am a wo—”

  The aggressive loud shrieks of gunfire shots startled all three of them in utter surprise. George jumped up, instantly pulling his guns out while jerking around to the source of the noise. Esther rushed Milton over to the stacked boxes to seek cover. Senses sharpened with adrenaline as George stomped over to the connection door, tearing it wide open, stepping out onto the coupling platform to see what was going on. The wide-open door intensified the sounds of the never-ending gunshots, now accompanied by men hollering frantically to the beat of galloping hooves.

  “I thought you said we wouldn’t get robbed until later?” he shouted back to Esther as loud as he could to out-yell the hollering and shooting. Esther felt her hair lifting on her arms and neck. She had tried to prepare herself for this very moment over and over again, yet it still left her with the cold feeling of nausea, frantic prayers racing through her mind that Milton would come out of this alive.

  “I doubt we can just tell those wannabe Jesses that they are too early, but you are welcome to try!” she shouted back, rushing over to Milton who was cowering behind a pile of boxes, ears held tight with his hands. Esther pulled her pistol out of a little holster she had made for her ankle.

  “Milton, you will stay here, you hear me?” she said in a firm voice, checking the bullet count in her pistol—only two.

  He just nodded, his wide eyes screaming in fear.

  Esther forced herself to smile. “Have I ever missed a target?” she asked in a confident, almost sassy tone.

  Milton took the bait and shook his head, seemingly a little less frightened.

  “I won’t start with it now. Now hide. I’ll be back as soon as I take care of those Luigis.” Esther threw him a wink before running over to George who quickly scanned her pistol in her hand.

  “Do you know how to use that?” he shouted as loud as he could against the nerve-wracking soundtrack of a speeding train’s yowling winds, human howls, gunshots, and galloping hooves hitting the shaking ground.

  Esther jumped over the coupling. “You’ll find out!” she yelled back, tearing the door to the passenger car open while holding her hat to keep it from flying off. George was right behind her. The car was empty. The passengers of this wagon must have grouped up with the other travelers in the car, so they kept moving. But instead of being welcomed by their allies, they were greeted with guns pointed right at them. Women were hovering over their frightened children on the floor while the rest of the passengers, the unarmed ones, were seeking shelter behind the metal linings of the wooden benches. There were five armed cowboys as she counted, from Esther’s age all the way up to an old rancher with a long white beard, most of whom had Colt revolvers, except for the old, bearded man who was brandishing a rifle. And as things stood right now, their outnumbered and out gunned barrels were pointed at the wrong folks.

  “Easy…” George lifted both hands to calm their nerves. The old rancher narrowed his eyes.

  “It’s thuh flannelmouth,” he announced, repositioning his rifle back out the opened window and at the real threat. The others mumbled something and followed suit.

  George and Esther exchanged looks. “As long as he can shoot, I don’t care what that means,” he declared loudly before running over to one of the unguarded windows and pressing himself against the wall underneath it.

  Esther did the same, covering her head with her hand as if that would protect her from incoming bullets.

  George quickly peeked out the window. “There are six of them on this side,” he shouted over to a young cowboy in a red shirt, barely able to get his message across over the endlessly, insufferable hollers and howls coming in from the open windows. The cowboy nodded and scouted out the situation on his side of the train.

  “Five lunkheads hair,” he yelled back at George who drew his brows together in confusion.

  Esther translated. “Five.”

  George now confirmed this information with a nod. All of a sudden, the outlaws’ bullets changed directions, unpredictably hitting different parts of the train which only fueled the fearful screams of the women and children to new highs.

  “They aren’t thuh friendly kahnd,” the old cowboy with the white beard shouted, holding his rifle against his chest.

  Without saying another word, George and the other cowboys started to shoot back in a constant pattern of seeking cover to reload, waiting a few seconds before standing up and firing out the windows. Esther couldn’t tell how successful the cowboys were on their side of the train, but George managed to land a hit, causing one of the masked robbers to force his horse to an abrupt halt, launching himself into the dust. And in a moment of brief silence from the sounds of flying bullets, with a racing heartbeat pounding against her chest so hard it hurt, Esther jerked up and stretched her arm. Her fiery eyes scanned the remaining five robbers on their horses, her gun glinting in her hand before her gaze froze on a robber with a red mask who was pointing his own gun straight at her—so she fired. Instantly, the man was propelled off his horse, plummeting onto the ground, withdrawing from the race against his will. Esther dodged under the windowsill, smiling over to George who was staring at her, eyes and mouth wide open.

  “If that’s how you use this thing then I guess I know how to,” she answered his earlier question with a cheeky grin. Despite all the adrenaline rushing through her shaking body, she couldn’t help but feel proud to gain his approval and admiration. But then there was also that sudden feeling of overwhelming guilt. Never in her life had she killed a man before. And if it was only her on the train, she might have not done it. But she was a mother now and shooting a man who was endangering her child was only the beginning of what a mother was willing to do to protect her child.

  The fire exchange continued, and with a loud cry, one of the bullets had found its way into an old cowboy’s chest. The women and children screamed as they watched him sag to the ground like a lifeless sack of potatoes, using his last bit of strength to cover his wound. The young cowboy in the red shirt crawled up to the old man, checking his injury, only to shake his head to let the others know how bad it was.

  “If thay get awn board thay will beef us all,” he shouted in a failed attempt to boost morale.

  “Fort Garland idn far from hair,” the middle-aged cowboy with a goat beard yelled over his shoulder. “If we kayun keep the train goin’ we kayun mayk it!” Everybody nodded silently in agreement with this plan which they all knew was their only chance.

  Esther shot back out the window again, hitting one of the attackers in the hand, but rather than going down, he fired right back at her before he simply switched his pistol into his other hand and continued firing. She managed to dodge just in time,
when the metallic, loud shrieking of the train’s wheels sent shockwaves up everybody’s spines.

  “Thuh train is stopping!” the young cowboy shouted over to George and Esther, who’d just dodged another bullet storm.

  “We’re all dead!” the injured rancher cried out in pain, releasing frightened screams and cries from the women and children.

  Esther had to do something. This train could not stop, no matter the price!

  “We have to get to the locomotive.” She informed George of her plan before she threw herself onto her stomach and crawled to the door that connected the passenger car with the train locomotive.

  George was now right next to her, pushing by her to take the lead of the dangerous task to open the door to the unknown. He tore on its handle, but it was locked. Without hesitation, Esther stepped back and fired with her freshly reloaded Derringer at its keylock, letting in sunrays through her bullet holes.

  George then threw his body against the door and managed to push it wide open, only to find Esther getting hit by the force of black, smoke-filled winds so strong, if she hadn’t grabbed the metal door frame in reflex, it would have blown her off her feet.

  The steam locomotive was now in front of them, only separated from the passenger car by the uncovered coal supply wagon attached to its back. The smoke was unbearable, penetrating Esther’s lungs with sheer aggression. She and George coughed uncontrollably until both of them were smart enough to cover their mouths and noses with their sleeves. It was hard to see, but even with constantly blinking eyes it became clear that the locomotive’s engineers were nowhere to be found. Had they been shot? In fact, it seemed like the train had been left to drive itself.

  “Cover me!” George shouted, lifting himself up to climb into the coal wagon, when Esther saw one of the robbers lurk up out of nowhere from the locomotive on the other side of the coal wagon. “Watch out!” she heard herself scream, and without realizing it, as if her body had a puppeteer maneuvering her moves, she launched herself against George to knock him into the coal wagon, out of harm’s way.