A Broken Wing (Kansas Crossroads) Read online

  He leaned forward. “No, please. I’d like to know what you mean.”

  She shifted on the bench, wishing it were a couch or something a bit more comfortable. “Sometimes when we protect ourselves from getting hurt, we put up walls and don’t accept true sympathy. I didn’t mean to judge you or your actions—I’m sure you don’t need my opinion.”

  He nodded a few times and looked out the window. Neither of them spoke for a long minute, and she didn’t know if he’d accepted her apology or was preparing another pithy remark. “You’re right,” he said eventually. “I’ve become rather defensive when anyone speaks to me, and I don’t always pause to consider their real intent. I’m sure I’ve been rude to those who just want to be kind. Thank you for pointing that out.”

  Thank goodness he wasn’t angry. Trinity didn’t know how she would have handled the remainder of the ride if he’d been cross. She gave a polite nod, fearing that she’d stir up the argument again if she gave a longer reply.

  The new conductor strode up the aisle just then, his mustache twitching as he smiled. “Hello there! I’m Wallace Dupree, and I’ll be your conductor for this leg of the journey. I’m sorry I didn’t greet you as soon as we got underway in Kansas City, but we had a few issues to work out with baggage and someone’s excitable horse. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “No, thank you, Mr. Dupree. I’m quite all right.” Trinity turned to Mr. Foster. “And you?”

  “I’m fine as well.” Mr. Foster gave Mr. Dupree a short smile.

  “You folks just let me know if you have any questions or concerns.” The man touched the brim of his cap and turned to continue down the aisle, but as he did so, the three men who had been sitting at the end of the car, the three with shifty eyes, rose from their seats and pulled guns from holsters under their jackets.

  Chapter Two

  “This is a robbery,” one of the men called out. “Everyone, stay right where you are.”

  Mr. Dupree spun on his heel to look at them, and Trinity held her breath. This couldn’t be happening—it just couldn’t be. She glanced at Mr. Foster. His lips were pressed together in a tight line. He was facing away from the robbers, so he couldn’t see their guns, but he’d certainly heard what they said.

  “I’m sure we can resolve this without a squabble, gentlemen,” Mr. Dupree said, holding up both hands in a calming gesture. “What can we do for you?”

  “Well now, that’s right nice of you, wanting to make this a peaceful holdup and all.” The first man gave a nod. “Certainly not like that last train—we had a little trouble with those folks. Ended up with one or two less passengers than we started out with, if you catch my meaning.”

  “I do indeed, sir.” The conductor’s voice sounded forced. “I’m Wallace Dupree. And you are?”

  “I suppose if you’re all crazy for introductions, you can call me Joe.” The man grinned. “Not real original, I know, but it’ll do. Let’s see—this here, we’ll call Bob, and this one will be Hank.” He nodded toward his two friends. One pushed the brim of his hat higher with the tip of his gun. The other, Hank, didn’t even blink.

  “Nice to meet you, gentlemen. Now, why don’t I come sit down with you, and we’ll talk this over?” Mr. Dupree took a step toward them, but Hank pointed his gun at a middle-aged woman who was sitting next to the aisle, and she gasped.

  “I think you’re fine right where you are,” Joe said. Mr. Dupree didn’t move another muscle. It almost seemed to Trinity that he’d stopped breathing.

  “That’s better. Now, for starters, I think everyone on this train could cooperate by tossing their guns over here. I know you have them—let’s see them.”

  The men on the train looked around uncertainly.

  “You all don’t seem to understand the situation here.” Joe took aim and fired at one of the windows, shattering the glass and sending it flying in a hailstorm of shards. The woman sitting under the window screamed and darted away. “I want your guns, all of them. And I want your jackets lifted so I can see what’s underneath. Get a move on.”

  The men did as they were told, and Hank and Bob tossed the weapons off the train through the broken window. Hank did keep one of the nicer pistols for himself and tucked it into his belt. Trinity supposed it would be some kind of macabre souvenir for him to brag about later.

  “Well now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Joe leaned his elbow on the back on one of the seats, but his casual posture didn’t fool Trinity at all. He was coiled like a snake ready to strike. “I think these good folks need some help cleaning out their pockets. I’m sure they’ve got some traveling money on them, and of course, the ladies could donate their jewelry.” Joe’s eyes flicked around the car until they landed on Trinity. She wanted to cringe under his gaze, but forced herself not to react. “You there.” He pointed at her.

  No. Whatever he wanted, no. “Yes?” she replied.

  “Get over here. You’re gonna help us round up the goods.”

  “You . . . you want me to help you rob these people?” He was clearly insane.

  “That’s right. Now come here, or Auntie gets it.” Joe nodded at Hank, who raised his gun at the woman again.

  Trinity glanced at Mr. Foster. He gave her a slight nod, as though to indicate he thought everything would be all right. She pressed her lips together and came to her feet, then stepped into the aisle. Mr. Dupree took her elbow.

  “Train robbers rarely shoot,” he said into her ear. “If we’re all calm, this should be over in a matter of minutes. You can do it.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, then made her way down the aisle, holding on to the backs of the seats as she walked.

  Bob handed her a dirty handkerchief. “Gather up all the jewelry in this,” he said. “We don’t want any of them fancy bits getting lost on us. You can start with those things in your ears.”

  Trinity touched her little baubles. “These? I don’t think they’re worth much.”

  He thrust his pistol into her face. “Do it. Now.”

  She swallowed hard, trying to keep from crying out. “All . . . all right.” She took the earrings and put them in the center of the handkerchief, then brought the corners up to form a little basket. “What next?”

  “You and I are going to walk real slow down this aisle, and we’re gonna collect. It’s almost like donations at church, except this ain’t church.” He laughed, and she made herself smile. If Mr. Dupree was right, the robbers would leave as soon as they had what they wanted, and she could try her best to humor them in the meantime.

  Bob stayed right at her side, encouraging the passengers to give generously as Trinity tucked their things into the cloth. She hoped they all knew she wasn’t doing this willingly, that she’d never seen these men before and was in no way connected with them. She smiled encouragingly to each, mouthed “I’m sorry” to several, and shed a tear herself when one woman cried while handing over her wedding ring.

  They reached the end of the car, and Trinity all but thrust the handkerchief into Bob’s hands. “I don’t know why you made me do that. You didn’t need me.”

  “Well, maybe we just wanted to show these good folks who’s really in charge right now. We couldn’t have them thinking they could refuse, could we? You made a real good model of what it means to be obedient. We like obedience.”

  The jovial tone in his voice brought her up short and made her angry. “This is all a game to you, isn’t it? You think you can toy with people, control them like puppets on strings!”

  “You might say that.” He gave a long, slow smile. “You certainly did what you were told.”

  She glared at him. A million words rose to her lips. She wanted to spit at him, stomp on his foot, scratch his eyes out, but a glance over his shoulder told her that Hank’s gun was still trained on the middle-aged lady, and she knew he was right. She would not endanger the lives of anyone on board for the sake of her pride. With a sharp nod, she said, “May I please return to my seat?”

  �
��You may.” He gave her another smile and waved her along with the barrel of his gun.

  Her knees shook so badly, she almost didn’t make it to her bench before she collapsed. Mr. Foster reached out with his good arm to support her. “Are you all right?” he asked in a low voice.

  “They didn’t hurt me. That was awful, though.” She closed her eyes. “Those poor people—that wasn’t just money and jewelry. There were memories tied up in those things, precious memories. Things they’ll never be able to replace.”

  Mr. Foster touched her elbow, and she opened her eyes to see his compassionate look. “Perhaps you being there helped ease the blow,” he suggested. “I’m sure it was much less painful to give it to you than it would have been to hand it to . . . Bob, was it?”

  She nodded. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know.”

  Mr. Dupree had remained exactly where he’d been told to stay, standing in the aisle near their seats. “You did well, Miss . . .”

  “Scott,” Trinity said.

  “Miss Scott. You showed grace and courage.” He gave her an approving nod. “Everything will be all right.”

  Joe came up the aisle at that moment, trailed by Hank. “We’ll take your gold now, Mr. Conductor. We understand you’re carrying a deposit for the Topeka bank.”

  “That money has been locked in the onboard safe, and I don’t have the combination,” Mr. Dupree replied. “Only the bank manager has it.”

  “Well, that don’t mean a lot to us,” Joe replied. “We brought along some explosives, and Hank here considers himself quite the expert on using them. You can just take us to the safe and he’ll manage it for us.”

  Perhaps Mr. Dupree didn’t answer quickly enough, or maybe he looked doubtful. Whatever the cause, Trinity didn’t know. She just knew that Bob’s face was suddenly in hers, the gun in his hand pointing into her ribs. “I suggest you do as Joe says, Mr. Conductor, or our pretty little helper here might find herself in a heap of trouble. Oh, yes, she is pretty, isn’t she? Wouldn’t want anything happening to her, would we?”

  Trinity closed her eyes as his implication became clear.

  “Of course not,” Mr. Dupree said. “I’ll cooperate. Please take a step back from Miss Scott, and I’ll show you the way.”

  “Hmm. I don’t know about that,” Bob said. He was so close, Trinity could smell his breath and his sweat. “What if I like cuddling up to this woman? She’s mighty sweet.” She closed her eyes. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. One of her imagination games had just gotten a little out of hand—that’s all this was. But then again, she’d never imagined anything like this.

  “Now, that’s enough!”

  Trinity looked up to see an elderly man coming to his feet down the aisle. His wife reached out to grasp his sleeve—whether to give him support or to yank him back down into his seat, Trinity wasn’t sure. “I’ve had about enough of this! We’ve given you everything we have—stop threatening our women!” He shook his finger at Bob.

  Bob apparently didn’t like being scolded. He raised his gun and pulled the trigger once, and the man fell back in his seat, clutching his chest.

  “I’d like to see that safe now,” Joe said, his voice as cold as iron.

  Mr. Dupree bent and said something to Mr. Foster.

  “I don’t think I like people keeping secrets from us.” Hank spoke for the first time. “What’re you whispering about, Mr. Conductor?”

  “I just asked him to keep an eye on the passengers while I step to the other car,” Mr. Dupree replied smoothly.

  “Oh? Then why whisper? That don’t seem like something you need to be whisperin’ about,” Joe said, taking a step nearer.

  “Just trying to keep things calm. Come this way, please.” Mr. Dupree cast another look toward the other end of the train, and Trinity followed his gaze. The wounded man was still conscious, and his wife had pressed a handkerchief to his chest. Tears coursed down her face, and she looked on the brink of hysteria.

  “Bob here will keep an eye on things,” Joe said. “Hank, you’re with me.”

  Hank and Joe followed Mr. Dupree, who led the men to the nearer end of the car, where they stepped out onto the platform and across the coupling to the car behind. Bob took up a stance near the door, a smirk on his face, his pistol still ready.

  “Tell me about the gunshot victim,” Mr. Foster said, his voice low.

  “He’s conscious, but pale. His wife is holding a handkerchief to the wound,” Trinity replied. She cranked her neck to see a little better, but that’s all she could make out down the length of the car.

  “No talking!” Bob barked. He strode up to their seats and scowled at them. “Stay where you are, keep quiet, and maybe you’ll get a reward for good behavior.” He flicked his eyes at Trinity, and she nearly vomited on his shoes. The feeling was so sudden, it caught her off guard.

  She swallowed. “About the man . . . the one you shot . . .”

  “What about him?”

  “He needs medical attention.”

  Bob looked at her as though she’d just sprouted whiskers. “You think? That’s generally what happens when someone gets shot, missy. There’s a bullet in them, see. That’s sort of the whole point.”

  “Won’t you let us try to help him?” Maybe he’d relent if she begged. Or maybe that would make her more vulnerable to his advances. She had no way of knowing, but she had to ask.

  “No, I won’t. See, when I shoot someone, I kind of like them to stay shot. Otherwise, it’s a waste of time and bullets.”

  “I just—”

  “Quiet,” he growled, his face in hers again. “No one goes near that man. No one stands up, no one talks, no one even whispers. Do I make myself clear?”

  She nodded, and he took a step back. “Good.” He glanced up and down the length of the train as if to see if anyone else was going to disagree with him, and then he resumed his stance by the door.

  A moment later, Trinity heard a loud boom, and the train car rocked back and forth. She whirled around, but couldn’t see anything in the car behind. Then Joe stepped across the coupling and opened the door.

  “Five minutes. Be ready.”

  Bob nodded once, and Joe went back the way he’d come.

  Five minutes? Five minutes until what?

  The elderly man had closed his eyes and was leaning against the window. She imagined she could still see his chest rising and falling, but from this distance, it was hard to tell, and her eyes might be playing tricks on her.

  The train began to slow, and Trinity looked out the window in alarm. They couldn’t be in Topeka already—not enough time had passed. Was something else wrong? No, it appeared they were coming around a curve, and they needed to decelerate to do it safely.

  Joe stuck his head back into their car. “Come in,” he hissed.

  Bob nodded, then turned and grinned at Trinity. “Sorry to break up this little party,” he said. “It’s a shame we couldn’t get to know each other. Maybe another time.” He stepped through the doorway, and she watched as the three men jumped off the platform and rolled a few times in the long prairie grasses before getting up and running toward a stand of trees she could see in the distance. She thought she could make out horses waiting there. So that had been their escape plan this whole time. She couldn’t help but smile—one of the men appeared to be limping as he ran. Apparently, he’d hit the ground a little harder than he’d intended. It served him right—and she hoped it was Bob.

  Mr. Foster sprang to his feet and looked around. “Where’s Mr. Dupree?” The conductor didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight. Fear clutched at Trinity’s chest yet again. What if the man had been injured in the blast, or what if they’d shot him so he couldn’t identify them?

  “I’ll go look for him,” one of the passengers said, and the man sitting next to him stood as well.

  “Excellent.” Mr. Foster then reached across the seat and grabbed his bag. “I’m going to need your help, Miss Scott.”

  She didn
’t think she could move. All her muscles felt weak, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and pretend that none of this had happened. But then she realized he was going to help the wounded man, and she rose immediately.

  Together, they made their way back up the aisle to where the elderly couple sat. The man gasped for breath, his eyes still closed, his wife patting his hand.

  “My name is Raymond Foster. I’m a doctor,” Mr. Foster said. “May I please examine the wound?”

  “Of course,” the woman said, her voice tremulous. “I’m Alice Jensen, and this is my husband, Doyle. Please, Doctor, do whatever you can for him.”

  Mr. Foster gave her a nod. “I promise I’ll do my best. If you’d be so kind as to move out of the seat . . .”

  “Oh, of course. You need room.” Mrs. Jensen gave her husband’s hand another pat, then gathered up her skirts and edged out into the aisle. She peered over the top of the seat, watching everything with keen interest, tears rimming her eyes. Trinity could only imagine what she was going through.

  “Miss Scott, if you’d be so kind.”

  Trinity pulled her attention away from Mrs. Jensen. “Yes?”

  “Could you please unbutton this man’s shirt?” Mr. Foster glanced down at his sling, then back up at her.

  It was a reasonable request under the circumstances, but Trinity still hesitated. She’d never even touched a man’s shirt button while it was being worn, let alone unfastened one. But this wasn’t the time for squeamishness. She edged into the narrow space between the seats, her skirts taking up far too much room, and looked down into Doyle Jensen’s eyes. He had opened them just a slit and seemed somewhat aware of what was going on around him. “Hello, Mr. Jensen. Is it all right with you if I lend the doctor a hand? He’s in a sling, you see.”

  The elderly man nodded, and Trinity folded back his jacket and unbuttoned the shirt. Then she pulled the sides of it apart to expose the wound.