Riding the Rails Page 2

  “All right. Let’s go.” He paused. “I’m Heston. I know you don’t want to tell me your real name, but I’ve got to call you something.”

  A name … a name … a boy’s name . . . “Dan,” she said at last, using the name of a boy she’d liked when she was twelve.

  “Dan.” Heston nodded. “That’ll do. Come on, then.”

  She followed Heston out of the trees and over to the small wagon he’d left hitched up near the ticket booth. They climbed onto the seat and Heston gave a flick of the lines, the wagon lurching forward and nearly tossing Mercy to the ground. She’d have to hold on better if she didn’t want that to happen again.

  The town of Creede looked like many of the others she’d passed through in her travels, but it felt newer. A lot of the buildings seemed to be constructed fairly recently. She’d be curious to see it all again the next day when the sun was up.

  Heston turned the wagon off the main road and down a little ways, then pulled up in front of a small cabin set back from the road. “This is my place. You can wash up while I take care of the horse.” He unlocked the front door, and as soon as she stepped inside, he pulled it closed and locked it again. “You’ll find water and soap and everything there in the kitchen,” he called out.

  Drat. Now she was locked inside his house. At least she didn’t have her arms stretched behind her anymore.

  She felt around until she located a table, and on that table was a lamp. Perfect. She lit it, then found the water and soap he’d been talking about. She wanted a whole bath from head to toe, but that would have to wait. For now, just having clean hands and a clean face felt like a blessing.

  Once she’d dried off, she moved around the room, curious to see how he lived. A few little trinkets lined the shelf over the fireplace—a pipe, a small wooden box, and a picture in a frame. She picked that up and turned it toward the lantern. A kindly looking woman looked back at her. Must be Heston’s mother—her dress and her hairstyle were too old-fashioned to be a wife or a sweetheart or someone from a current year.

  She heard footsteps outside and quickly put the picture back where she’d found it. She didn’t know what Heston would think about her looking at it, but he already didn’t trust her, so she knew she shouldn’t push her luck.

  He unlocked the door, entered, locked it from the inside, and put the key in his pocket. “Let’s get a fire started,” he said, crossing the floor and crouching down at the hearth. He’d already laid the wood sometime earlier, and all that was needed now was to spark the flame. He sat back on his heels, watching as the kindling took and then some of the larger pieces of wood. “Are you still hungry?”

  “No,” Mercy replied. “I’m fine.”

  “All right, then. Your bed’s over here.” He motioned to the corner of the room.

  It was a small cot, most likely made for a child, but it had been days upon days since Mercy had slept on anything so nice.

  “The fire will keep you warm, but I’ll grab an extra blanket, too,” Heston went on.

  Mercy watched as he opened a cupboard and pulled out not only a blanket, but a pillow, then put them on the bed. He fluffed them before stepping back and saying, “There you go.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked. She hadn’t meant to say anything, but the words slipped out before she could stop them. “I mean, I’m a criminal.”

  He looked at her. “You broke the law, but I don’t think you’re a criminal,” he said after a moment. “You’ve had a run of bad luck. Maybe you just need a chance to turn your luck around.”

  Mercy blinked several times. She didn’t mean to cry—she wasn’t the sort. But something in his tone reached out to her, and she fought to hide her emotions.

  “Well, climb in,” Heston said. “If you need anything, I’m through that door. Oh, and take this silly thing off.”

  He reached out and plucked her hat from her head before she had a chance to stop him, and her hair tumbled down around her shoulders.

  “Dan,” he said after a long moment of looking at her with astonishment, “either it’s been far too long since you’ve seen a barber, or you’re actually a young woman.”

  She snatched for her hat, but he held it just out of reach. “I’m a girl,” she said, lunging once again without success. “I thought maybe I’d be safer if you thought I was a boy.”

  “I don’t actually know that you’re safer because now I want to wring your neck.” Heston tossed the hat onto the bed and sat down in front of the fireplace. “I have a girl locked in my cabin, and I don’t have the faintest idea what to do with her. You realize,” he said, turning to Mercy, “that my mother would whip me with a willow branch if she knew about this.”

  “Even though it’s my fault?”

  “Oh, she’d find a way to make it my fault. Trust me.” He rubbed his face, and she felt sorry for him. He’d really tried hard to be fair, and she’d just complicated things.

  She took off her coat, tossed it on the bed next to her hat, and sat down across from him at the fire. “My name is Mercy Davis,” she said. “I’m nineteen, and you could say that I’m an orphan even though I’m no longer a child.”

  “And where are you from, Mercy Davis?” he asked.

  “California. My grandfather was a gold miner, and he headed that way to cash in during the Gold Rush. My father was born there, married there, and died there, and I was raised by my mother until her death six months ago. For the last five years, though, it seems I was raising her rather than the other way around. She was very ill.”

  “So you’re on your own.”

  “I am. No family to speak of, no real friends—just the dream of making it as far as Denver, where I’ll get a job and take care of myself.”

  Heston shook his head. “Denver’s a nice place, I suppose, but it’s got its faults.”

  “Every place has its faults. Are you trying to protect me from the darker side of life? I’ve already been introduced, thank you, and I’ve learned just enough to avoid it.”

  “So you’re not as naïve as you seem to be?”

  She almost took offense, but she didn’t think that wasn’t his intention. “I didn’t realize I seem naïve,” she replied instead. “Is that because I’m a woman or because I’m young?”

  “Because you have a softness in your eyes that life hasn’t chased away yet,” he replied. “You remind me of a doe in the forest—gentle and yet skittish.”

  “That might be accurate. I’ll have to think about it.” She sat back and crossed one ankle over the other knee. It was a very masculine way to sit, but it was comfortable, and as long as she was wearing trousers, she’d take every advantage she could get.

  “What made you decide to leave California?”

  “Not enough work—I should say, not enough decent work. I could have stayed if I wanted to work behind a bar or in a brothel, but I saw a better life for myself. Something where I was respected and maybe even admired.” She looked down at her fingernails, all ragged and cracked. “I want the chance to be a lady, maybe. I know that’s a funny thing to say—I’m dressed like a boy, after all—but this is just temporary. The means to an end.”

  “So you decided to leave California and come to Denver . . . why Denver, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “You’ll laugh.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. Again, not very feminine, but she didn’t care. “I saw an ad in the newspaper for a department store in Denver that was looking for clerks. They showed a picture of a young woman standing behind the counter, and she was wearing a white blouse and her hair was done up really nice, and she looked like a lady should look—decent and lovely, not all painted up. I guess I just got it in my head that if I went to Denver, I could get a job like that and be a lady like her.”

  “There are other towns with department stores and decent ladies working the counters. Like here, for instance.”

  “I know, but Denver�
�s the only one I ever saw in the paper. Never mind—I knew you’d laugh.”

  “I’m not laughing. I’m just trying to understand.”

  “I’m just tired of people thinking I’m only cut out for one kind of life because of where I was born. I have options—I can have a different sort of future.”

  “Of course you can. I believe that wholeheartedly.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, and I also believe you’re well on your way. You took the first step by leaving that environment.” He paused. “I’m not entirely in favor of how you went about it . . .”

  “I had no money, and I needed to leave. Honestly, Heston, I didn’t have a choice. I would have loved to buy a ticket and sit in a real seat like all the other passengers, but . . .”

  He lifted a hand. “I understand. So, what are you going to do now?”

  “I don’t know. You said I should come work with you tomorrow, but I don’t think that’s the best idea now.”

  “Neither do I. You’d be spotted as a girl immediately, and I couldn’t ask a girl to work at the station. We have a cleaning lady already.” He sat back and studied her. “One thing at a time. The first thing is a place for you to stay.”

  “But . . . there’s a spare bed right there,” she said, pointing at it.

  “A spare bed that was just fine for a boy, but will never do for a young woman.” Heston stood up. “I’m taking you to Widow Olson’s. She runs a boarding house in town, and she’ll take good care of you for the night. I need a little time to figure you out.”

  “It’s so late, though,” Mercy said. “Are you sure she’ll let me in?”

  “She’ll take you in rather than letting me keep you, and believe me, it’s best this way,” Heston replied. “You want to start your life over as a genuine lady, with no one thinking the worst of you? Then you’ll come with me right now.”

  Mercy grabbed her hat and coat and followed Heston outside. He got the horse hitched up quickly and they were on their way, trotting through the darkness to find this Widow Olson woman. One minute, she was being locked inside Heston’s house so she wouldn’t make a run for it. Now he was concerned about her reputation and her ability to start over again. Amazing how many things had changed just in the course of the last hour.

  Chapter Three

  Heston did feel bad for waking up Widow Olson so late at night, but for some reason, he didn’t feel right about taking her to Mrs. Jenkins’, not with those two other train passengers there. They didn’t seem the right sort of men for Mercy to be associating with. When he explained the situation—leaving out the part where Mercy was a stowaway—Mrs. Olson agreed that he’d done the right thing. She promised to take care of Mercy and to feed her a good breakfast so she’d be ready to talk with Heston first thing in the morning and decide what to do next.

  Mercy told him goodbye and gave him a wave, promising him in an undertone that she wouldn’t run away in the night.

  Heston exhaled long and loud as he walked back out to his wagon. What a mess. What a big, disastrous mess, and he didn’t have any idea how to fix it. He supposed the simplest thing would be to buy Mercy a ticket and put her on the next train, but that would mean she’d be leaving, and somehow that didn’t sound like a very good idea. Those soft eyes of hers had gotten to him, he had to admit.

  He climbed into the wagon and was just about to flick the reins when he heard a voice call out, “Wait!”

  Was it Mercy? He squinted, trying to see through the darkness.

  A woman grabbed hold of the side of his wagon and clambered in, huffing and puffing, not at all graceful. She took a moment to arrange her skirts, which had billowed out in every direction, and then she turned and looked at him expectantly. “I’m ready. Now you may go.”

  “I beg your pardon, ma’am? Have we met?”

  “No, not yet. I think that was supposed to come first, but I can’t remember . . . oh, dear.” She reached into the bag dangling from her wrist and pulled out a small book. “Let’s see . . .” She flipped through the pages until she found the one she wanted. “Here we are. Yes, I should have introduced myself right off. We’ll do that now and pretend I did it correctly, all right?”

  “All right,” he replied slowly.

  “Wonderful. My name is Merriweather Maine, and I’m your guardian angel.” She paused, her eyes flying wide open. “Oh, no. Oh, this is terrible.”

  Heston shook his head, thinking he must have misunderstood. “What’s terrible? And what do you mean, you’re my guardian angel?”

  “Well, that’s what’s terrible. I’m not actually your guardian angel, and I told you I was. Oh, dear. I’m not going to pass—I just know it.” She seemed upset, and Heston had no idea what to do about it. He’d never had a strange woman simply climb into his wagon before, let alone in the middle of the night, and especially one who said she was a guardian angel.

  And who started to cry.

  “Mrs. Maine, is there somewhere I can take you? Are you staying at a boarding house, perhaps?”

  She waved him off. “That’s of no importance. I need to fix the mistake I just made, but I’m not sure how, and I’m not sure if there even is a way, and there’s nothing in the handbook about this.”

  “Handbook?”

  “It’s not really a handbook because there isn’t one. It’s just a series of notes I took while I was being trained, and it’s really all I’ve got right now. And there’s nothing in there about how to solve this problem!”

  Heston waited until that wave of tears seemed to be over, and then he tried again. “Is there any way I could help?”

  “Would you?” She turned to him and clutched his arm. “Oh, that would be wonderful. Now I just need to figure out what to have you do.”

  “You could start by explaining the situation to me,” he suggested, realizing he sounded like he was begging. All right, yes, he was begging. He had no idea what was going on and wouldn’t until she enlightened him.

  “Yes, I can do that. But first, let’s start driving. It’s rather odd, sitting here in front of Mrs. Olson’s this late at night.”

  “You’re right. Where shall we go? Are you staying at Mrs. Jenkins’? Or Hearth and Home?”

  “I told you, that’s not important. Just drive somewhere—we’ll figure it out from there.”

  That wasn’t very helpful, but Heston did as he was told, guiding the horse toward Main Street. There were lanterns along the posts there, and he wanted to take a closer look at this unexpected passenger.

  “Can I trust you, Mr. Granger? Well, of course I can. I was told I can, and they’re never wrong.”

  “Who’s never wrong?”

  “My trainers, of course. All right—here’s the situation.” She settled onto the bench more comfortably and folded her hands on her lap. “I’m a guardian angel, as I just told you. This is my first assignment, and I was actually supposed to visit Mercy. But I got a little bit confused, and instead of appearing in her room, I showed up by your wagon instead. Now you’re the only one who can see me, but I’m actually Mercy’s angel. Now do you see why I’m so upset?”

  “I . . . I suppose so.” Heston guided the wagon along the street, trying to sort through what he was hearing. “You can only appear to one person at a time?”

  “Yes. One per assignment. That’s because I’m new. If I were a more seasoned angel, I’d have more leeway, but right now I’m operating under the tighter restrictions we’re given. It’s to keep everything organized and proper, you see. Otherwise, I might pop up in far too many places and wreak all sorts of havoc.”

  “I see.” Heston glanced over at her. She had blonde hair piled attractively on her head, and she wore a dress that looked sky blue in the lantern light. It was hard to say in the dark, but he assumed she was around thirty—if angels had ages. He’d never stopped to think about that before. Angels were eternal, weren’t they? So if they appeared to be thirty, was that part of their persona, or . . .?

  What was he thin
king? Did he believe this woman was really an angel? He was probably worn out from the events of the day and dreaming up the whole thing.

  “I know exactly what we need to do,” Mrs. Maine said. “I’ve been thinking about it quite hard for the last few minutes. We need to buy Mercy a ticket to Denver and make sure she gets on the train.”

  “And that will solve all her troubles?” Heston shook his head. “I doubt it. You see, I’ve been to Denver, Mrs. Maine, but I didn’t stay long. I wouldn’t send a young lady off to that place all by herself, and most certainly not without a guaranteed job waiting for her.”

  “I might be able to arrange for a job,” Mrs. Maine said. “Or at least, I can try.”

  “I’m not sure that trying will be enough to guarantee her safety. I get the feeling she’s been through a lot in her life, things she hasn’t necessarily said, and I’d sure hate to see her go through even more.”

  “As would I. And that’s why we’ll be a perfect team—we’ll take care of her together.” Mrs. Maine clasped her hands. “Oh, this will be wonderful—perhaps I didn’t make a mistake after all. Maybe I was supposed to enlist your help so we’d have an even better chance of getting Mercy everything she needs.”

  “I just don’t know about that, Mrs. Maine. Truth be told, I’m not entirely convinced that you’re really an angel.”

  “You’re not?” He couldn’t make out her expression in the darkness, but she sounded disappointed. “I suppose you must tell me the truth, but I confess, it’s difficult hear. What would have made the difference for you? It was my introduction, wasn’t it? I was too nonchalant. Should I have used a clap of thunder? Those are always attention-getting, but I was told those are only for special occasions.”

  “You can make a clap of thunder?”

  “Yes, I can, but at this late date, it would be rather anticlimactic, don’t you think?” She sighed. “Perhaps I should have drifted down from the sky. Would that have worked?”