Squire's Quest Page 8

  Before she went back down the steps, she looked around the bare little room she'd lived in for nearly six years. It was snug, with the kitchen chimney rising on one end, and more comfortable than any place she'd ever lived. A raggedy but soft chair sat by the chimney, with a good lamp on small barrel beside it. I don't want to go. I like it here. I've been happy. Mostly.

  She swallowed and it hurt her throat. Why didn't I write to Merlin's folks? He said they'd take me in.

  She knew why. They weren't family, and her pa was. Family was more important than anything else. Even Mrs. Flynn said so, and she thought Pa was worthless.

  Mrs. Flynn was at the bottom of the steps. "Take this," she whispered, holding out a small packet. "Don't let your pa know you've got it. You owe him duty, but you don't owe him support. Everybody needs get-away money."

  Callie couldn't answer, Not without blubbering. She dropped her blanket roll and threw her arms around Mrs. Flynn. "Thank you," she whispered. "You've taught me so much. I--"

  "You're a good girl. Mind you recall what you've learned here. You can always make yourself a good living." Batting Callie's hands aside, she unbuttoned her dress halfway to her waist and tucked the packet into her corset. "There now. Give me a hug and get yourself out to your pa. He's not a patient man."

  "About time," Pa said when she came out the door. "Let's go." He strode away, leaving her to keep up as best she could. At the stage station, he told her to wait while he oversaw the loading of a wooden crate, about two feet on a side. "Books and keepsakes," he told the driver. "Nothing breakable."

  Callie wondered what keepsakes were in it. She didn't recall seeing anything worth keeping in his cabin, when she'd stayed there.

  The stage was crowded. Callie was crammed between her pa and a miner who smelled like he'd slept in a cess pit. But at least she was warm. All but her feet.

  After the first night and day, she'd decided she'd rather travel with a string of freight wagons. At least then she'd had a comfortable bed and decent food. The road was better than it had been the last time she'd traveled this route, though. They reached Ogden in six days instead of the month her journey had taken.

  Her pa wasn't good company. The only times he spoke to her was to hurry her back onto the stage when she'd only half eaten her meals and to warn her to behave herself and not speak to strange men. Twice he hit her for asking questions. The second time she was sure he'd blacked her eye. After that she only spoke when he said something to her.

  Since in her opinion, none of the men on the stage or at the stops were anyone she wanted to talk to, she didn't have any trouble keeping silent.

  They got to Ogden late in the afternoon. Her father muttered about needless expense, but he got them rooms in a hotel close to the depot. It wasn't much of a hotel, far as she could see. There were mouse biscuits in the corners, and the sheets smelled musty. She slept on top of the bedding, with the quilt wrapped around her. Come morning, Pa took her to a dingy little café and ordered mush for her. The milk was watery and there was no sugar on the table. He had coffee and toast, but she'd learned better than to say anything.

  After breakfast he walked her rapidly to the train station. Her blanket roll had gotten all squashed and misshapen in the stage boot, and it was hard to hold onto. What with trying to keep everything from falling out and trotting to keep up with his long strides, she was breathless by the time they got there.

  He went right to the ticket window, but she stopped and set the blanket roll down on a bench so she could tighten the leather thongs.

  "Where are we going, Pa?" she said when he came to join her.

  "Cheyenne. You set here and wait for me. I've got business to take care of."

  They'd passed a little café on the way here. Hungry from too many half-finished meals, she'd hoped they would have time to sit down and have a filling meal. "When does our train leave?"

  "Eight this evening. I'll be back before then." And without another word, he walked away.

  Mouth agape, she watched him disappear through the swinging doors. This evening? What is it now? Nine in the morning? A burning anger filled her, that he would care so little about her he'd leave her alone here, with no money, no food, and no one to protect her from those strange men she'd been warned against.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she strode toward the sign that said LADIES. The necessary was outside, but just before the door leading to it, there was a small lounge, with chairs and a vanity. The room was empty, so she had privacy to pull out the packet Mrs. Flynn had given her. When she opened it, she found six silver dollars and a five dollar gold piece. She extracted two of the silver dollars and rewrapped the rest. While it wasn't real comfortable tucked into her corset, it was probably as safe there as anywhere.

  She checked the tie around her waist that held up her other purse. It was secure. I'm not rich, but I bet I've got enough to buy a ticket to Boise City on the stage.

  "And what would Merlin's folks think, you showing up there out of the blue?" she muttered. "Likely they'd slam the door in your face."

  She returned to the station lobby and sat down. There was a big clock over the doors and she watched the hands as hour after hour passed. In between she looked around. There was a telegraph office next to the ticket window. Finally at five minutes to five, she took her courage in hand and walked to the telegraph office. "I'd like to send a telegram," she said, when the man inside looked up.

  He slid a pad of paper and a pencil across the counter. "Write it there. You get the first ten words and after that you pay by the word. Address don't count."

  She stared at the blank sheet so long that he came back and said, "Hurry up. I'm about to close."

  "Oh! Yes, I will..." Unable to think of a better way to say it, she wrote: PA TAKING ME CHEYENNE STOP PROBABLY UP TO SOMETHING BAD STOP SCARED. She addressed it to Merlin Lackland in Boise City and signed it CAL SMITH.

  The telegraph man's eyebrows rose when he read it, but he didn't say anything. He took her money and gave her change, then sat down and laid his finger on the key. "Miss? How's he to find you?" He sounded concerned.

  Those were the first kind words she'd heard in near a week. Callie almost wept. "I-I don't know. But he will." Her voice broke. "He will."

  She had to believe Merlin would come to her rescue.

  * * * *

  On a clear day, he could see the mountains rising in the distance.

  He took his time. If something caught his eye off to one side or the other, Merlin went to see it. He reckoned this would be the only time he'd pass through this part of the country, so he might as well see what drew so many folks here.

  Western Kansas was getting settled, little by little. At the rate railroads were building across the state, it wouldn't be long before they spilled over in to Colorado Territory, if they hadn't already. He stayed well off the road to Santa Fe, for after seven months of sharing every waking moment with a dozen other cowhands, the silence and solitude were to his liking. After a while the country all looked about the same, short grass prairie, dry and windswept, and chewed some, a result he reckoned, of the locust plague he'd heard about. He wasn't sure when he passed across into Colorado Territory.

  He was somewhere short of Las Aminas when got his chance to try out the binoculars he'd bought second hand. The night was clear and cold, with hardly a whisper of breeze. When the fat old moon came up over the horizon, he felt a shiver of anticipation. Once he'd fed himself and Gawain, he put out the small cook fire and crawled into his bedroll. He'd refrained from using the binoculars until now because he'd wanted to be high up, where the air was clear and the sky dark, for his first good look at the moon's surface.

  He stared at the moon until his eye ached and his fingers were numb. It was high overhead when he carefully tucked the binoculars into their case and lay back, arms behind his head. "Great God, who'd have known the moon could look so close, and be so rough? Why I'll bet some of it's just like the big lava flow I passed on the
way to Eagle Rock."

  The moon shone whitely in the sky, and the dark areas some called The Man in the Moon looked no different from before. Yet now he'd seen them for what they were. "I wonder if there are maps," he said, as he scooted down under the covers. "I'd like to see if there are names for those big flat places. And that hole, with the white rays stretching out from it. Wonder what it's called."

  He fell asleep, wondering if Jules Verne had ever seen the moon up close before he wrote his story about it.

  Chapter Eight

  Something was eating at Pa. Callie could tell, the way he kept fidgeting and fretting. Every so often he'd get up and pace the length of the car. And the way he cracked his knuckles made her just want to scream.

  At least he'd brought her food to eat on the train. Not that dry bread and cheese was any banquet, but it was better than nothing. She'd rather have the cornbread she'd bought at the little café across from the depot in Ogden, but she didn't dare bring it out as long as he was apt to see it. He'd give her the dickens for going out when he'd told her to stay put.

  The Conductor came through, turning down the lamps. She propped her blanket roll against the window and leaned against it, shivering. The stove down at the end of the car didn't give out much heat unless you sat right close to it. The seats close to the stove had filled up before she and Pa had got aboard.

  "You stay here, girl. I'm goin' to the observation car."

  "Can I come along?"

  "Didn't I just say to stay here? 'Sides, its' like a men's club there, No women allowed." He swayed his way up the aisle and through the door into the vestibule. Seconds later a cold draft made her shiver even harder.

  At least she could lie across both seats while he was gone. It wasn't any warmer, but it was sure a lot more comfortable. Instead of just dozing, she managed to sleep well for long spells, as long as the train was moving. When morning came, she felt almost rested.

  They were stopped in some desolate little town when Pa came back. "Wake up."

  She sat up and looked around. It was almost light outside, so she reckoned it was morning. "Where are we?"

  "It don't matter. Let's go. They're servin' breakfast." He turned away and headed toward the front of the car.

  "Pa! Wait. I've got to--" But he's already pushed through the door. Knowing she risked missing her breakfast, she ducked into the women's necessary, giving silent thanks it was empty. As fast as her nearly numb fingers would allow, she took care of her needs and straightened her clothes. A quick glance in the small mirror showed a pink crease in her cheek and hair that would make any smart rat look for a better nest. "Oh, well, Pa won't notice, and I just won't worry about anybody else." She hurried through the train, stumbling often as it swayed and jerked.

  The dining car was the fourth one forward. Pa was sitting at a table with two men and waved her to him. When she sat, both men stared at her and she ducked her head, unwilling to meet their eyes.

  She'd no sooner sat down than a colored man in a white coat set a steaming bowl of porridge in front of her. Pa was eating ham and eggs, and had a cup of coffee next to his plate. "Pa, can I have some coffee?"

  For a moment she thought he was going to refuse, but then he glanced across the table at the two men and nodded.

  There was a silver pitcher of cream and a matching sugarbowl right in front of her. She helped herself generously. The first bite of the creamy, sweetened porridge was like heaven. She could feel its warmth all the way to her belly. When she took a sip of the coffee, she almost wept with how good it tasted. She heard Pa talking to the men across the table, but she didn't listen. His voice had that "I'm a great man" tone to it she'd learned to hate. Had he been such a liar, such a braggart, when she was little and thought he was only one step below God?

  She didn't think so.

  Her spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl with a sound that sent shivers up her spine. Pa looked over at her and frowned. "If you're done, you can go on back to your seat. I've business here."

  There was still coffee in her cup. She grabbed it and drank rapidly, almost choking. Pa's fingers were tapping impatiently on the tablecloth by the time she'd swallowed the last drop.

  When she stood up, so did the men across the table. Pa didn't.

  * * * *

  They arrived in Cheyenne late on the second day. As she was stumbling toward the vestibule on feet so cold they didn't want to work, she heard someone say the train was three hours late. The icy wind that met her as she stepped down to the platform made her wish it had been on time. Wouldn't it have been warmer in the daytime?

  Inside the station, she collapsed gratefully on a bench while Pa talked to a man behind a brass-barred window. He was mad, and the longer they talked, the madder he got. She couldn't hear what they said, but decided it didn't matter anyway. She'd learn soon enough where they were headed next.

  Why didn't I tell him I wanted to stay in Virginia City? He couldn't have forced me to come, could he?

  Mrs. Flynn had said she had to go because she wasn't of age yet. But she would be, come Christmas. Leastways she thought she would. Wasn't eighteen a woman grown?

  How much duty does a daughter owe her folks, anyhow? Don't they owe her something in return? Those were ungodly thoughts and she quickly banished them.

  After a few minutes, she heard him swear. Fingers crossed, she hoped he wouldn't take his anger out on her. The bruise around her eye had faded, but was still tender.

  He was digging in his pocket when he came back to her. His hand came out, holding coins and a couple of crumpled bills. "Here, take this. You're on your own 'til I come back. Shouldn't be more'n a week." He picked up the valise he'd left with her and stared to walk away.

  "Pa? Wait!"

  "What?"

  "Where are... What am I supposed to do?" She looked down at the money he'd handed her. Two dollar bills and half a dozen coins. One was a five dollar piece, but the rest were silver and copper. No more than eight dollars in all. "Where will I stay?"

  "Find a place. Get yourself work. You can't expect me to take care of you all the time." Without a word of farewell, he strode to the door and disappeared into the night.

  The station agent was a nice man. He let her stay in the station until morning.

  * * * *

  Eight weeks after leaving Dodge City, Merlin rode into Denver. He'd climbed three-quarters of the way up the mountain they called Pike's Peak, nursed a homesteader with a broken leg until he could hobble around on his own, and spent near a week in a snow cave when winter swept down from the peaks as he was making his way out of the Rockies.

  Denver was a mighty fine city, but it looked to be a lot quieter than Dodge had been. He'd heard Colorado was going to be a state soon and some said Denver was to be the capital. Maybe next year was the word he'd heard in some saloon or other, if Congress would get off its collective arses.

  For the first time since he'd ridden out of Dodge City, he was glad to see other folks. Before anything else, he got himself a room in a hotel with indoor plumbing.

  What the day was didn't matter much to him. When he heard church bells somewhere, he decided it must be Sunday, which explained the lack of traffic on the streets. There was a bath house next to the hotel, so he took advantage of it. Got himself a shave too, and vowed to buy a new pair of socks to replace the ones he'd wore holes in, first thing on Monday.

  Maybe while he was here, he'd look up that woman Buff and Silas were acquainted with. Tilly Something-or-Other. "Bet if I ask about high-class bawdyhouses, I'll find her, "he mused as he turned off the gaslight.

  The next morning he took himself over to the Post Office to see if there was any held mail for him. When he'd sent the telegram from Dodge City, he'd let the folks know where he was heading.

  "Lachlan? I did see something with that name," the clerk said, when asked. He turned to a wall full of cubbyholes. "Lachlan. Yes, here 'tis." Pulling a bundle of envelopes from a well-stuffed cubby, he checked their addresses.
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  "Merlin Lachlan?"

  "That's me."

  "Then these are all yours. 'Pears you've got a sight of readin' to do."

  "I'm obliged," Merlin said, taking them. He restrained his curiosity until he was outside.

  Most of the envelopes were from his folks, but there was one from Regina and one from Iris. The return address on the forwarded one with foreign stamps was illegible, but his name was carefully printed. He reckoned it was from his older brother. Buff's handwriting was a caution. He crammed the bundle into the pocket of his duster and headed toward the hotel. He had all afternoon to spend on his mail, before he went out to see what Denver had to offer after dark. Maybe he'd have dinner sent up, with a pint of brandy. After more than a year of living rough, he felt like enjoying a little luxury. He hadn't slept on ironed sheets since he left New Orleans.

  Later, replete with rare steak and creamy mashed potatoes, he leaned back against a pile of pillows and started with the oldest letters first. Ma and Pa were well, and starting to plan their trip to Australia. He reread the paragraph where Ma said they were thinking to come home the long way, through Europe. She'd a hankering to see Rome and Paris.

  He had to chuckle. His ma had always said she was done with traveling, but he guessed trains and steamships were a far cry from covered wagons.

  Buff was in England, still working for the Coalition, but he was setting up an office of Dewitt Shipping there, too. The kids were fine. There would soon be a fourth little Lachlan. He chuckled when he saw the P.S. Silas says we'll change the name of the company to D&L Shipping if I don't manage to run us into bankruptcy. He's given up hoping Tony will take over.

  Hard to imagine Buff a daddy, after the adventurous life he'd led for so long.

  Regina had decided to stay in college, even though she'd graduated once. What good all that education would do her, he hadn't a notion, but he wished her well. Iris now planned to study economics, whatever that was. He had a feeling she'd get tired of it within a year, just as she had science and mathematics, literature and philosophy. His littlest sister was smart as a whip, but had a butterfly mind, flitting from subject to subject, never staying with one for any time at all. Nobody said what Rhys was up to, which he was afraid meant his younger brother was raising hell instead of minding his studies.