The Warriors (53 page)

He waved. “No intrusion. I just prefer not to discuss the woman.”

“Why?”

A sadly cynical smile. “If I told you the tedious truth, it wouldn’t enhance my already low standing in your eyes.”

This time her smile was disarming. “Your standing is not low at all, Michael. What is the truth?”

Lord, she had a way of digging into a man!

“I joined Meagher’s Irish Brigade to escape an altogether sordid situation. If you must know, I coveted another man’s wife—which I believe is definitely frowned upon by the Bible.”

The coffee tasted as bitter as his mood had become. He shouldn’t be revealing his past to a virtual stranger, yet he was. Perhaps he was like Casement discussing his report. Perhaps he secretly wanted a judgment about the degree of his guilt. Against all good sense, he kept on.

“The relationship was, in fact, adulterous. Which makes me a violator of more than one commandment, does it not?”

Asking for scorn, he got none. “Christ says all men can be forgiven. Did the woman love you?”

“No.”

“But you loved her.”

“I wanted her. I don’t know if it was the same thing as love.”

“Do you think of her a great deal?”

He started to lie, changed his mind.

“All the time.”

“Does she write you?”

“Never. She doesn’t know where I am. Or care.”

A long silence.

“When you’ve finished your work out here, are you going east to look for her?”

“She’s still married.”

“That isn’t quite an answer.”

Sometimes I want to go, but
—

“The answer is no.”

“So the truth is, you didn’t come out here just to compensate for what you did in the war. You were running away.”

“Hannah Dorn,” he exclaimed with a sharpness leavened by a smile, “you can’t be interested in my personal life at a time like this!”

“Oh, yes.” She nodded, smiling too. One of those dazzling smiles that softened her sternness and made her look so beautiful. “Every man, every human being, has something of interest to tell. But I’m sorry if my questions offended you.”

He stretched out, leaning on his elbow. “Not at all. It’s just that my story’s—well—it’s entirely in the past.”

“What about your future?”

“Beyond the railroad, I have none. Time we changed the subject. Will you and Klaus be staying in Grand Island?”

“Yes. I’ll take over the store and run it as best I can. The store is part of the reason I was thinking so hard on Ecclesiastes all afternoon. Perhaps God meant Papa to die so I could do something about the chaos he made of the business.”

He would have laughed, except that you didn’t laugh at someone bereaved and groping for answers. Softly, she continued.

“Perhaps I can turn it into a profitable enterprise, then do something for Klaus. Papa never permitted Klaus to think about attending a college. Papa didn’t consider education worthwhile. I do. If the store succeeds, I might be able to send Klaus East for a year or two—”

Another smile. “You’ve maneuvered me into talking about myself.”

“I’m interested in your plans,” he said, meaning it. “Maybe the terrible business yesterday will mean the start of better times for you and your brother.”

“In certain circumstances, that’s entirely possible.”

She was staring at him again. He couldn’t understand why she acted embarrassed.

Abruptly she scrambled up, snatched her hat, and walked toward the tent. Her cheeks were pink again. But her voice held no trace of emotion. “I’d like to rest now. Will you be comfortable out here?”

“Quite comfortable.”

“Good night, then.”

“Good night, Hannah.”

The tent flap fell. He was unexpectedly depressed not to have her still with him, sharing the fire’s warmth, sharing deep feelings it was a relief to speak aloud at last.

Quickly, though, puzzling questions intruded. Why in the world did she want to know about his past and his future? And why had she suddenly grown so nervous about the drift of the conversation?

He had no idea. But he was positive she’d been probing his background for a reason.

He left the Spencer near the fire and walked to the wagon a few yards from the tank. Starlight glinted on the rails. Somewhere a wild bird warbled. The tethered mules twitched their ears and snorted as he approached.

The liquor barrels, two sound and two broken, had been stripped from the wagon and left behind. He reached over the tailboard and found the small canvas bag in which he’d packed a fresh shirt, his razor, his churchwarden, and tobacco. He lit the pipe and strolled in a wide circle so Hannah wouldn’t catch a whiff of the immoral smoke. As he puffed, a frown deepened on his forehead.

Blast it! That woman wants something of me. What is it?

And why the devil do I care all at once?

He could find no adequate answer for either question, even though he asked them endlessly as he sat on guard beside the fire all night long.

They started east at sunup. Michael tied his red bandana around his forehead because it promised to be a hot day. About eight, they spied a peculiar caravan coming toward them. Two open phaetons, dilapidated but serviceable, following the track.

The first carriage was piled high with portmanteaus, crates, and what appeared to be folded canvas. The driver, a bearded, vacant-eyed young man, had a buck-and-ball shotgun resting across his lap.

In charge of the second phaeton was a man of quite a different sort, about forty, heavyset, red-faced. Points of a scraggly mustache hung below his jaw. He wore one of the short untapered sack coats that had been introduced about ten years earlier but were still considered cheap and ostentatious in some circles. The color of the one-button coat matched that of the thin brown lines forming large checks on the man’s gray trousers.

A black silk cravat spilled over the top of his red velvet waistcoat. His hat, cocked at a jaunty angle, was hard brown felt with a red band and a crown shaped like half a melon. An English hat. Michael didn’t know the correct name. It was sometimes called a bowler, after the hatter who’d designed it, or a derby, after the earl who’d adopted it and given it social approval. He’d seen many of the hats back east.

While the first phaeton continued on, the flashy gentleman reined in his plodding team. Beside him, a pale, coarsely attractive girl fanned herself with a lace handkerchief.

The girl was barely Klaus’ age, but she was dressed as if she were twice that. Her wrinkled bloomer frock was orange-dyed organdy. Matching Turkish pantaloons showed beneath the short skirt. A black velveteen bodice, tight on her large breasts, had been repaired several times. The ribbons dangling from her wide-brimmed straw hat were frayed at the ends.

In the second seat, also facing forward, sat two other women, thirty or thirty-five. One had a faint mustache and a heavy scattering of pockmarks on her cheeks. All three females looked uncomfortable in their heavy, gaudy clothing.

The fellow in the melon hat smiled. But his dark eyes had the warmth of lumps of unlit coal. Again Michael had encountered someone he thought he’d seen before, and again he couldn’t recall where.

“Good morning, friends,” the man said. “Brown’s the name.”

The man swept off his hat and tipped it. Before he set it back on his hairless head, Michael saw a bruise and a diagonal white scar on the sunburnt scalp. Recognition came instantly.

“Could I trouble you to tell us whether it’s far to the railhead?” Brown asked.

“No, it isn’t.” Michael was conscious of Hannah sitting stiffly beside him. Brown’s three traveling companions surveyed her clothing and unpainted face with amused looks. Back in the bed of the wagon, Klaus was goggling.

“You’ll make it before dark,” Michael added.

“Thanks kindly. We’re anxious to get there and set up.”

“And get these goddamn hot clothes off,” the young girl said. Brown’s glance made her cringe.

The pockmarked woman laughed. “Nancy’s always eager to go to work.”

Hannah clenched her hands in her lap. Brown turned, his smile fixed but his eyes furious.

“Alice, be so kind as to keep your language decent.” The woman looked as terrified as the girl. She swallowed and lowered her eyes as Brown said to Hannah, “Very sorry for the impropriety, ma’am.” To Michael, he said, “I’m positive we’ve run into each other before.”

“We have.”

“Where?”

“A card palace in Omaha. You won a big pot and were in a generous mood. You bought everyone at the bar a stein of lager.”

Brown snapped his fingers. “That’s it. You were standing right next to me. Going out to work on the line.”

“Correct.”

Brown’s smile changed again, growing unctuous. “Still there?”

“I’ll be returning in a day or two.”

“Then perhaps we’ll have the pleasure of renewing acquaintances. When we do, I’d appreciate a favor.”

“Such as?”

“Such as your confining your remarks about our first meeting to what we just discussed. My winning that pot. Buying a round. Forget the rest.”

He spoke in a casual tone. No one would have construed his remarks as a threat—unless they’d seen his eyes.

Michael shrugged in a noncommittal way. Brown looked less than pleased.

By now the young girl was paying attention to the Irishman. He was mortified when she smiled and let her gaze range up his legs to his groin. Then she looked him in the eye and slowly licked her painted lower lip. He could feel Hannah’s shoulder tremble with tension.

“Safe journey to you,” Brown said.
“Hah!”
He flicked the reins to start the team.

Turning, Hannah watched the phaetons bounce along westward. When she spoke, her voice seethed. “I knew Papa would only be the first.”

Michael shrugged again. “With a project as big as the railroad, you must expect enterprise of all sorts.”

“Enterprise!
Godless people, that’s what they are. That Brown looks absolutely vicious.”

“He is.”

“He hinted about something that happened in Omaha—”

“He has quite a reputation there. The night we met, he proved he deserves it.”

“Is he a sharp?”

“What’s a sharp, Hannah?” Klaus asked.

“A gambler.”

“Among other things.” Michael nodded. “He was referring to an incident that took place shortly after he stood everyone to drinks. He was caught cheating at stud poker.”

“Who caught him?”

“A poor fat fellow from the U-Pay roundhouse. Brown had bilked him before. He was watching for hidden cards; he claimed he saw them. With some friends urging him on, he swung a punch. Brown charged around the table bellowing about his honor. He half killed the U-Pay lad with his head.”

“His
head?”

“Didn’t you see the scar and the bruise when he took off his hat? The barkeep called him Butt Brown. Butt, two t’s. Apparently he can well nigh destroy a man with his fists and his skull. The U-Pay chap lasted half a minute. Brown would have left him dead or crippled if others hadn’t intervened. Before I left Omaha, I heard Brown has killed at least four men.”

Hannah shuddered. “Filth. And Papa wanted to mix with them. Do business just as they do—” Klaus was tugging at her arm. “What is it?”

“Who were those women? Do they work for the railroad?”

Michael wanted to laugh but felt it wiser to refrain. “My boy, they certainly do. At least that’s their intention. In polite company, Mr. Brown’s damsels are known as soiled doves.”

“If you please, Mr. Boyle! He’s not old enough.”

“Not
old
enough? I disagree! If he goes East to school, or even if he remains in Grand Island, I’m sure he’ll see more and more of such women. You’ll have to explain eventually.”

“Explain what?” Klaus insisted.

“He said eventually!” Hannah snapped.

“Mr. Boyle?”

“No, Klaus. I bow to your sister.”

“Thank you.” She was still simmering. Klaus sighed and crawled to the rear of the wagon.

Michael picked up the reins and set the wagon in motion. “For weeks we’ve been hearing there would be sharps and whor—uh, persons of questionable moral character coming out to set up tents and travel with us.”

“And you’ll soon be back among that kind!”

The rancor in her voice made him caustic. “I take it you disapprove of card playing along with tobacco?”

“I do.”

Irked, Michael craned his head to make certain Klaus was occupied. The boy was glumly staring at the dust cloud left by the phaetons.

“Tell me, Miss Dorn. Do you also disapprove of what’s discreetly referred to as congress between men and women?”

She whirled on him. “Are you trying to make me out a prude, Mr. Boyle?”

“Inquiring! Merely inquiring!”

“Evidently you think I’m a prude because I believe in the Bible?”

“Some say the two go hand in hand.”

She stared straight ahead again. “I admit I despise women of the kind that aroused such curiosity on your part.”

“Curiosity?
Damn it, I was only being polite!”

“That young slu—young woman had. something on her mind besides social intercourse.”

“What the hell is this? Why do I have to answer to you?”

“You don’t. But you’re too fine a man to squander your life among—” She bit her lip. “I’ve said too much. I’m sorry.”

He let out a long breath. “The fault’s mine. I had no right to mock your beliefs.”

“I shouldn’t have expressed them so tactlessly. I know the Lord said to forgive women like that. I try—but I hate the way they cheapen one of God’s finest gifts! Sell it, like a measure of flour—”

He was still sufficiently piqued to say, “This fine gift you mention—you speak of it only in the abstract, I suppose.”

A quick look over her shoulder—Klaus was paying no attention.

“If you mean have I slept with a man, I have not. But I talked at length with Mama on the subject. Crude as Papa was, she said he still brought her a great deal of—Boyle, you’re blushing! Who’s the prude?”

A smile softened the retort and broke the tension. He laughed, then raised a hand.

“Guilty. You took me by surprise. You take me by surprise quite often.”