Throw the Devil Off the Train Page 14

  “Maybe I should close the door now,” Zane offered.

  “No. The door stays open. Do you have pictures of the baby?”

  “Yes, I do.” Zane opened a black satchel, and pulled out a flat leather binder. “I believe little Marie is about three months in this one.”

  She stared at the half-smiling round face of the tiny naked girl propped up on a blanket. Catherine held her chest with the palm of her left hand as if to calm the rapid breathing.

  “Oh . . . my . . . I, she looks just like Catelynn when we were young.” Her right hand still clamped on the revolver, Catherine wiped a tear with her gloved left hand.

  “Therefore, she looks just like you at that age, too.”

  She took several deep breaths. “How do I know for certain this is my sister’s daughter? You are a lying and deceitful man, Matthew Zane.”

  “I thought it was obvious. You said you see the family resemblance.”

  “I love all pictures of babies. Do you have a photograph of my sister with her baby?”

  He glanced down at the leather binder. “Eh, yes . . . but you don’t want to see it.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Hey . . .” the drunken man braced himself at the doorway. “Are you the Turkish jelly-bouncer? Eh . . . no . . eh jelly-dancer?”

  Catherine tried to smile. “I thought she was Persian.”

  “I don’t have a prejudiced bone in my body.” He staggered back toward the aisle. “I’m not sure I have any bones in my body.”

  “I am not a Persian, Turkish or Lithuanian belly dancer. Please don’t bother us again.”

  “Mithuanian belly dancer? I never heard of them. I never heard of Mithuania. Say, you wouldn’t happen to have a . . . .”

  Catherine pointed the revolver at the man. His bloodshot eyes widened. “I think I’ll look in the next car.”

  Catherine turned back to Matthew Zane. “What about the pictures?”

  “I will show them to you if you release the hammer on the revolver and return the gun to your purse.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will. I really must insist. If you don’t, you may just go on back to your coach.”

  Catherine eased the hammer down, then shoved the gun into her purse, but did not release her hand from the walnut grip.

  Zane reached in the satchel, then handed her several three-by-five inch photographs.

  Her heart raced. Her head pounded. Catherine shook her head, but couldn’t speak.

  With arched dark eyebrows and a dominating smirk, Zane admonished, “I warned you.”

  “But . . . but . . . but . . . why did you have pictures of my sister and her baby totally naked?”

  “It was the ‘artistic’ thing to do.”

  “It is indecent and immoral.”

  “It’s a popular thing among some of the theater types in New York.”

  “How much brandy did you pump down her to get her to agree to this?”

  “Perhaps you don’t know your sister as well as you think you do.”

  “I know my sister’s heart. We have been united in heart since the day of our birth. She would not do this. You got her drunk, didn’t you?”

  “That is not a difficult thing to do lately.”

  Catherine pulled the gun back out.

  “Wait,” Zane protested. “Put the gun back. Let me explain the situation. You, me, and Catelynn are the only ones that have seen these photographs.”

  “And the photographer.”

  “Yes, but as I said, he does lots of these and it’s of no importance to him. When Catelynn saw these the next day, she insisted on him destroying the plates, so these are the only copies.”

  Catherine reached her arm across the narrow aisle. “Give them to me.”

  He pulled them back to his vest. “Yes, I’d like to do that, however . . . .”

  “You want money for them?”

  “Not money . . . just a favor.”

  “Are you trying to bribe me?”

  “It’s a rather long story. Little Marie is sick. It is a lung problem of some sort. I really don’t understand all that is involved. I tell you the truth, I do not always comprehend a doctor’s prognosis. But the leading lung doctor in New York is Dr. Dankshiem. He has told us about a treatment that involves injecting oxygen into the blood that is working extremely well in Germany. There is no equipment or skill to accomplish this in the states. It not only makes the patient feel better, but will actually bring about a permanent cure in just a matter of weeks.”

  Catherine felt numb. She couldn’t erase from her mind the unclad pictures of her sister and the baby. “Then why aren’t you and Catelynn and Marie on your way to Germany?”

  “I was getting to that. Such a trip is expensive, of course. And, to be honest with you, I’ve made a few foolish investments lately.”

  “I can believe that.”

  “I’m coming west to make one more deal. It’s a very nice sale of mining claims and real estate. As soon as the transaction is complete, I’ll have the funds to go to Europe.”

  “Okay, that’s your story. Give me the pictures and I’ll pray that your business deal succeeds.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  A commotion out in the aisle halted their discussion. The drunk man cowered in front of the large, dark-haired woman with immodest blouse. She pounded him on the head with her small black purse.

  “She’s not Mytholanian,” he shouted to them as they rumbled out of sight.

  A shout. A crash. Then silence.

  Zane turned back to Catherine. “Some weeks ago we met with the Nevada mining investors in New York.”

  “We? You and Pinehurst?”

  “Me and Catelynn. She is quite anxious for this deal to succeed so we can get the medical attention Marie needs. In fact, it was her charisma and grace that sold the investors on the deal. She can be quite charming, as you know.”

  “That’s the first thing we’ve agreed about.”

  “Now the investors want to meet us in Nevada to complete the transaction and they wanted Catelynn to come with me. With Marie sick, this couldn’t happen. I’ve worried about how they will respond if I show up without Catelynn. This is a delicate transaction. Now, your presence is like an answer to prayer.”

  “Words about prayer coming from your lips sound like blasphemy.”

  “And yours show no sign of grace. The truth is . . . you and Catelynn are identical in looks. You could pass for her, as you did when younger ladies. She’s told me about those times.”

  “You want me to pretend to be your . . . .”

  “My wife.”

  “Did you marry my sister?”

  “Not officially, but that’s what we told these investors. We intend to get married before we sail to Europe.”

  “So, I pretend to be your wife. You make this big deal. I get these photographs?”

  He patted his vest pocket. “And one hundred cash dollars.”

  “And you?”

  “I go back to New York, get married, and book passage for the three of us to Germany.”

  “This is insane.”

  “I know it’s a drastic measure. But it might be the only way to get little Marie to Germany. Will you do it? You’d be expected to stay in my compartment for the remainder of the trip.”

  “That’s impossible. This is like a bad dream. When does it stop getting worse?”

  “I don’t think it’s an accident that we find each other on the same train.”

  “You knew I was headed west. I told Catelynn last February I was going out to marry Phillip. You could have arranged all of this.”

  He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “This is one time you must trust me.”

  “I will never trust you. I will not consider your proposal until I get some confirmation from my sister.” She paused. “I’ll will telegraph her in Ogden. If she tells me about the baby and needing treatment in Germany, I will consider it.”

&nb
sp; “But that’s impossible.” He scooted to the edge of the seat and lowered his voice. “She heard the ocean air would be good for the baby. Some friend of hers at the theater had access to a cabin out on Cape Cod. She’s there now. Just a temporary therapy until I return with the funds. I have no way of contacting her until she comes back. We were both to be back in New York in two weeks.”

  “You told me an incredible story . . . and expect me to believe it with no confirmation? I want to wait and talk to Catelynn. Zane, nothing you have done since I’ve known you has prompted me to believe you. If you are through, I’m going back to my coach and try to absorb all that you have said.” Catherine stood to leave.

  The drunk man blustered into their compartment, bounced into Catherine, then tottered back into Zane’s lap. The man slammed the door, then whimpered, “You’ve got to hide me! It’s a matter of wife and death.”

  Catherine shoved her revolver towards him. “Get out!”

  “Shoot me. It would be a kercy milling.”

  Catherine scrambled to her feet. Zane lunged for the revolver. She slammed her elbow into his neck and hurled herself into the drunk. When he pitched forward, the door popped open under the weight of his shoulder.

  “I believe the Queen of Sheba is in the last car. You should go check it out,” Catherine said.

  He squinted down the aisle. “The Sheen of Queba? Whoa. Thanks. I owe you one . . . if you are ever in East Alton, Illinois, you should stop by and see my ex-wife.”

  Catherine closed the door and switched the dead bolt.

  “Are you sure you’re safe?” Zane smirked.

  “I’m not sure of anything except I have five 255 grain lead bullets in this Colt and I intend to use every one of them if need be.”

  “Sit down. I have another proposition for you to consider.”

  She plunked back down across from him. “I trust it’s better than the first.”

  “It’s worse, but you are forcing me to it.”

  “I’m forcing you?”

  “I need this deal to go through, Catherine.”

  “For a sick baby?”

  “You will not believe anything I tell you.”

  “You’re right about that What is this horrible proposition?”

  “When we get to Reno, you pose as my wife for a day as we meet with the all the investors in Nevada. I’ll return to New York with the funds needed, and you go to your Phillip with one-hundred dollars to aid the new marriage.”

  “What makes you think Phillip will need money? Besides, I’ve already rejected your proposal. What will you do if I refuse?”

  “Only what you force me to do. I will circulate these photos on the train, with the judge, with your friends in the coach . . . and with Phillip and the whole town of Paradise Springs. You seem to forget at times that you and Catelynn are identical twins. I will simply tell them this is you and your illegitimate daughter.”

  “What?”

  “Do you think the judge and Amanda Sue will believe some story, ‘oh, that’s not me, it’s my identical twin?’”

  “Phillip knows Catelynn.”

  “Well, he’ll know her a whole lot better after he sees this. And how about Paradise Springs? Will they want to patronize the store where such a woman works? They will all know every detail of your . . . eh . . . appearance. How about that Texan you’ve been partial to on this trip? Pinehurst has filled me in.”

  “Race knows I have a twin sister.”

  “Do you think he’ll see Catelynn when he looks at this. He’ll see you. Like it or not, this is you, Catherine. And your daughter looks just like you.”

  “She looks just like Catelynn.”

  “That’s my point. There is no difference.”

  Catherine jammed her hand into her purse.

  “That’s it. Pull the gun and shoot me. I won’t be the first man you’ve shot. I know all about the lawyer in northern Virginia. But you can’t shoot me. Your sensitive Christian conscious will constrain you.”

  You think so, Matthew Zane? Just watch this. I’ll pull the gun out, point it like this at your black heart, and pull the trigger. The report deafened, the recoil rocked her and deep, red blood spurted from the round hole in his chest.

  ‘I didn’t believe you’d kill me’” he blurted out. ‘It was my Christian duty to rid the world of evil,’ she replied.’Now, run along to the tortures of hell.’

  “You see, you can’t do it. You sit there unable to respond.”

  My mind has been very active.

  “I misjudged you, Matthew Zane. I knew you were a woman beater, a cheat, and a despicable man . . . but I did not know the depths of your evil.”

  “You still don’t.” He stood up and straightened his suit coat. “I want you to do this. And you will. If you don’t, after the pictures make the tour of this train, I will talk to the conductor. I will inform him that you came to my compartment, showed me the pictures and tried to solicit me. I’ll demand he immediately toss you off the train. That will leave you in the middle of Wyoming Territory with no money.”

  “You can’t do that. I . . . I have friends on this train.”

  “You won’t for long.” Zane stuffed the photographs back into his satchel. Think it over. I’ll give you some time.”

  She stood and stepped towards the door. “I will never . . . .”

  “You might.” Zane gripped her shoulder and pulled her back. “Ponder it a while.” Then he closed the door behind him. She heard him lock it from the hallway.

  Catherine stared down at her shoes.

  Oh, Catelynn, my dear sweet sister. How could you get yourself into such a mess? You started to drink brandy when mother and daddy died in the war. You never could face things, could you? Lord, I would do anything to help my sister, but nothing for Matthew Zane. I just want to be in Paradise Springs. I need to be with Phillip . . . or even in the coach with Race and Francine. If I had the funds I could switch trains in Ogden and get away from this ugly, horrible man.

  Phillip, you need not know about any of this trip. I will show up and your strong arms will encircle me. Your love will engulf me. If I had money, I’d buy a beautiful trousseau. We’d have a very proper church wedding . . . and live in love and laughter all the days of our lives. That will all begin only three days from now. Except for the trousseau. I should have listened to Race and not squandered the twenty dollars on a compartment that never happened. Of course, I have a compartment now.

  She studied the door.

  It has an interior deadbolt as well as a keyed lock. Perhaps I’ll lock myself in the room for three days. I’ll have a comfortable bed, a private water closet . . . but no food.

  She peered out the window at the black Wyoming night. She couldn’t tell if they had started climbing into the mountains or not. The rhymic sway of the train leveled any incline. When she closed her eyes, she could not tell if the train raced forward or backward. Opened, she thought she spotted a farm house lantern, but wasn’t sure.

  Some gal is at the dishpan, listening to the train whistle and wishing she was on it, headed for some distant adventure. I wish I was in the farmhouse . . . with my Race . . . I mean, my Phillip . . . settled, comfortable, secure with someone who loves me, not someone trying to manipulate me.

  She eyed the door closer.

  I could shoot the lock . . . and hope no one stood on the other side and the bullet did not ricochet. The conductor would stop the train to investigate and Matthew Zane would show him the picture, claim it was me and that I was trying to solicit him or kill him. Then I would get kicked off the train.

  I could pull the brake cord and stop the train. Or open the window and drop down to the . . . well, I’m not sure what’s out there . . . or how far down it is. I can just wait for Zane to return, shoot him dead on the spot and claim he made improper advances. They will put me off at the next stop, haul out his body, discover the photographs, and assume it is me. They will call it a jealousy slaying and only me five to ten years at some disma
l Wyoming prison for women. Which might be worth it, but Phillip won’t wait that long. I just need to get out and find my way to Paradise Springs.

  She tugged at the window but could only get it to open a few inches.

  But what if Catelynn is truly in trouble? What if the baby does need help? I couldn’t live with myself if I knew I had failed her. If my decision led to her baby’s death . . . oh, Lord, I would curl up in a ball and die. I have to do it. He knows I have to help her. How can I do anything else? Oh, Catelynn, how I wish we were still giggling little girls running through Mamma’s garden chasing baby rabbits. Life was good and we thought it would last forever.

  The door handle rattled and she pulled her revolver. Then a knock and some muffled noises. There was a shout. She leaned her ear against the polished wooden door.

  “I said, that’s my compartment. What do you think you are doing?”

  “Looking for a friend.”

  “She’s not there.”

  That’s Race and Pinehurst . . . I think.

  “I didn’t say I was looking for a woman.” Bang, bang, bang . . the door rattled. “Catherine!”

  “I told you no one is in there,” Pinehurst insisted.

  “Race?” she yelled out. “There are two of them.”

  “What?”

  “Move it, pal!”

  “A little man with a knife is still a little man,” Race hollered.

  A knife? Race . . . no.

  There was a crash against the door and several more out in the aisle.

  “You broke my arm!” Pinehurst screamed.

  “You’ll live. Another one? What is this, the idiot train?”

  There was another crash, a shout, a sickening thud after thud after thud. Then silence.

  “Race?”

  Nothing.

  “Race, are you alright?”

  Someone fumbled to put a key in the door. She stood on the seat and raised the revolver above her head.

  Zane is the only one with a key. If he’s injured Race, I’ll shoot him. At least, I’ll cold cock him. I know how it’s done. You won’t even know what . . . .

  The door swung open and a dark haired man staggered in. With all her might she drove the barrel of the gun square into the man’s head. He crumpled to his knees.