3. Rocheport #4
She laughed. “But you’re not the church going type, and were in the saloon instead.
Nice to meet you, Fred. You, too, Ethel.
” She reached out and shook his hand, and then that of his wife, surprising her.
Kizzy shrugged. “My father is a man of loud opinions which he cannot keep to himself, either in his church or out.”
“So, we heard, no offense.” Ethel chuckled.
“We both think it’s a damned, excuse me…
a shame. My father was the same.” She patted her husband’s arm.
“Pa tossed me out of the house when he caught me with my mister, here.” An understanding passed between the two women.
“You’re smart to get going while the going’s good, girl. ”
“It is good, isn’t it?” Kizzy smiled, her shoulders relaxing for the first time in hours. “With the gold rush out west, there’s plenty of opportunity for everyone.”
“Sure,” Fred grinned, two teeth missing, “and dozens of men for each woman, you’ll have your choice of husbands.”
“Whoa, slow down. Who said anything about a husband?” Kizzy shook her head. “I’m strong, and willing to work hard. I’ll search for gold myself.”
“A single woman prospector?” Ethel looked at her sideways. “Never heard tell of one, and it’s lawless territory with mostly men. You’ll be safer with a husband to take care of you.” She looked Kizzy over with an appreciative eye. “And you won’t have any trouble there.”
The older woman patted her hand. “See if you can get a job down toward the business end of Independence. Lots of shopgirls land themselves fine husbands, and if you’re looking for one to take you to California, that’s the place to start.”
“I’m not stopping in Independence,” she decided. “I’m going all the way while I have my nerve. Maybe as far as the Sierra Nevada Mountains. I read about gold nuggets lying around in riverbeds, caught up in old tree roots and such, just waiting to be found.”
Fred had read the same, and Ethel related other rumors. The three enjoyed their meal, sharing tales of the gold rush for a comfortable hour before she rose to return to her coach.
A businessman in eastern wear held the door open for her, then followed her down the train corridor. Feeling his eyes on her, she lurched along, moving forward one step at a time as the train swayed back and forth. She tried to walk a straight line, but her shoulder bounced off the wall.
“You get used to it,” she heard behind her as the door to a private compartment opened and closed, leaving her alone in the corridor.
She breathed easier and continued back into the shared public coaches. A man sat on the bench beside her suitcase, gazing out the window into the dark night. He looked up and smiled as she approached, then placed his hand on her suitcase with a proprietary air. “Yours, young lady?”
“Mine,” she declared, taking the handle and pulling the case free.
The man sprang to his feet. “Allow me, Miss.” He tried to take the suitcase from her, but she yanked it away.
“No, thank you,” she said, retreating to an open bench. “I can manage.”
The man sat back down, but once in a while his gaze strayed from the dark window to her.
Kizzy avoided making eye contact, keeping to herself on the last bench of the coach.
Another man walked over. “May I share your bench, Miss?” He tipped his hat.
She looked around the coach, where at least a dozen other benches sat empty. “No,” she blurted. “There are plenty of other places. Choose one, this bench is taken.”
Surprised, he paused, frowned, but did as she suggested.
She tried to rest, but didn’t feel safe enough to leave her eyes closed for long.
Half an hour later, a third man approached. “A beautiful woman such as yourself shouldn’t be lonely. You need some company. Allow me to introduce myself…”
He got no further. Kizzy raised her hand, palm out. “I’m not lonely, and do not wish company. Leave me alone.”
This man sneered, eyes turning mean, and sat down anyway. “Don’t be that way, honey,” he drawled.
Kizzy jumped up, grabbed her suitcase and bag, and headed back through the railroad cars toward the dining room. She didn’t look over her shoulder, but heard someone following her, and sped up.
Several times, her suitcase banged against the corridor along the private rooms, struggling against the rhythm of the rails and the erratic beating of her heart. Her steps quickened as she pulled on the door to the dining car, hearing a private compartment open behind her.
Darting through, she slammed it shut and hurried to an open table in the back. She watched the door. It started to slide open, then shut again with a bang and didn’t open again. After several long moments, she relaxed.
“The dining room closed at ten, Miss,” said the same man who served her earlier. “The cook’s off duty and cleaning the kitchen.”
“Oh,” she said, looking around at the cleared tables, the few diners almost finished with their meals. “Can I have a glass of milk, maybe?” She wouldn’t admit she didn’t want to go back to sitting alone among the men. “I was hoping for a snack to help me sleep.”
The waiter looked her over with an appreciative eye, then winked. “I shouldn’t do it… but a glass of milk and slice of pie, coming right up.” He left for the kitchen as the door to the private car opened.
Kizzy’s eyes darted up, expecting to see the man with the mean eyes.
Instead, she saw the businessman who opened the door for her earlier, then followed her until turning into his private room.
Deep-set light brown eyes met hers across the dining car, as if looking for her.
A flicker of interest rose between them, which Kizzy shut down immediately, hooding her eyes and shifting her gaze, confused and wary.
He strolled through the dining car, stopping to speak to one man sitting alone. He looked her way and nodded toward Kizzy.
She froze, racking her brain for what to do. Her heartbeat raced, watching the businessman continue up the aisle toward her, closer and closer. He reached out… for the door right behind her she hadn’t noticed, slid it open, and without another glance her way stepped through, letting it slide shut.
Kizzy turned to look after him, seeing the words Saloon Car printed on the heavy pane of glass. She took a deep breath of relief, surprised by a shadow of disappointment.
What in the world? She liked women. She’d always liked women, that’s what got her into trouble the first time, and the last. To feel even a slight attraction to a man, Kizzy must be exhausted.
The rest of the diners finished their meals, and when the man he’d spoken to rose and followed the businessman into the saloon car, she was the only one left, eating a generous slice of peach pie, lingering over the milk.
She wouldn’t go back to sitting alone among single men, but she couldn’t go into the saloon car.
Could she? She would never have entered the Rocheport Hotel and Bar before needing a place to sleep last night.