Far Away Home (21 page)

She strained to
focus in the darkness. He found her gloved hand and began to slowly draw
circles on her palm with his thumb. Her mouse-like fear had returned, and she
tried not to tremble. His free hand moved into her hair, and his mouth came
down on hers. He felt like a humid day, hot and moist, and she levitated
towards his heat. Moran reached under her thighs and lifted her into his lap.
While he kissed her, he slowly pushed the broad strap off her shoulder and down
her arm; detouring, his hand uncovered her breast. Her mind said, “Pull away,”
yet her back arched, and his mouth followed his wayward hand.

Aislynn felt
confused. Ideas and evidence collided in her mind. She stood on a ledge, dizzy
with feelings of flying. Unbidden, she remembered Tim and took a step back from
the precipice. Behind Tim, Johnny came tripping into her mind. She stiffened.
His head rose and she murmured, “Liam, please.”

His tongue dove
into her open mouth. She could feel it probing in her most private parts.
Resisting the temptation to melt into him, she found the hands she had lost in
his hair. Pushing him away, she could see his pale eyes were soft. “Please,
Liam. Stop.”

“No.” His
moustache brushed her lips, “We’re going to be so good together.”

Aislynn was
puzzled. She did not know what he was proposing. “Together?”

“I want you to
be my companion, to live with me, travel with me.” Moran was speaking into her
neck.

Aislynn
straightened, “Companion?” She reached for her strap and pushed it back. “Your
whore?” Her words were angry. She tried to move off his lap, but his hand held
her fast.

“A whore is
someone you spend a few hours with and throw a few dollars at. I’m offering you
a home, an income.

“Your bed?” she
spat back.

He smiled
broadly and ran his hand up her side, “That’s the best part.”

“For you. What
if I get pregnant?”

Startled, he
joked, “How very direct. There are ways to avoid such an occurrence, but if it
happens, we can work something out.”

Aislynn was in a
fury. She had heard about women who were forced to give up babies and those who
lost their lives having abortions. She would have none of that and was rankled
by his gall. “Let me go, you snake!” She slapped at him.

He grabbed her
hands, and she slid off his lap. “If you calm down and think about it, I’m
offering you a good deal. You have no idea what you really want. You think you
love Tim, and you’re being backed into a marriage with Johnny. It’s ridiculous.
With me, there’s no permanent commitment. You can leave whenever you like.”

“So can you.”
She moved into the corner of the coach, crossed her arms over her wounded
pride.

“It’s better
than being trapped in a marriage with no way out.”

Aislynn fumed.
“What I do is none of your business.”

“You can’t marry
a man you don’t love.”

“I love Johnny;
it’s just … different.”

Moran studied
her, “Let me ask you something very personal. Do you respond to Johnny that
way?”

Aislynn’s
irritation grew. It rankled her that he would ask such a personal question, but
it infuriated her to discover not only could she not trust Moran; she could not
trust herself with Moran, and he knew it. Aislynn could feel the answer being
revealed on her face.

“I didn’t think
so. He’ll notice, Aislynn. It’s a rather important issue for a man.” She
squirmed in her seat, wishing he would stop talking or disappear. “Even a
boundless love like Johnny’s can’t survive in a frigid climate.” There was
softness in his voice, but she was not being fooled.

She bit her lip
and wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “You’re trying to scare me.”

Moran shook his
head. “No. I will admit I have, shall we say, a very personal interest in you
not marrying him, but it’s not a scare tactic; it’s the truth. You don’t want
him, and believe me, Aislynn, when you’re alone with him and naked, you’re not
going to be able to hide very much.”

His frankness
was astounding. A blush burned over her, and she was grateful for the lack of
light in the carriage. “You don’t understand. I do care for him. Oh,” she
huffed, “it’s what my father wanted; it’s what Tim wants.”

“Good God, are
there no limits to what you’ll do for Tim?”

Aislynn was
furious. She would not make excuses for her devotion to Tim. She decided the
interrogation was over. “It took two minutes to get here. Why is it taking so
long to return to the hotel?”

“I told him to
drive around.”

“Oh, you are a
skunk. Tell him I want to go back.”

“You just have
to knock on the front panel.”

Aislynn leaned
forward and pounded her anger into the carriage until it rocked. Moran took her
hand and said calmly, “I believe he’s gotten the message.”

She fell back
into the corner. She was defensive under his stare. “Johnny’s a good man. He’s
kind and considerate, and I can trust him.”

“Mr. Maher is a
wonderful fellow, but the point is you’re not in love with him.”

Aislynn looked
down and replied, “But I can’t hurt him.”

“You only have
one life, Aislynn; don't throw it away.”

The coach
shuddered to a stop. The light of the hotel spilled into the carriage. Aislynn
reached up and repinned her hair. She was straightening her gown when he pushed
a stray lock behind her ear. His long, warm fingers stroked her cheek, and his
eyes repeated his offer.

“Don’t,” she
whispered, moving her head away from his hand. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

She started for
the door. His arm blocked her. “Let’s try to remember our manners.”

Aislynn sat back
and waited for him to alight. He reached up and held her by the waist as he
lowered her to the sidewalk. She bobbed a perfunctory curtsy and said, “Good
night, Mr. Moran, and thank you.”

“Should I see
you in?”

“No, thank you.
I can find my own way.”

Aislynn gathered
her skirt, tilted her head back and balanced her pride on her shoulders as she
glided up the stairs.

She was greatly
relieved when Moran appeared at breakfast to explain a business necessity would
keep him from returning to camp with them. For most of the nine-hour carriage
ride back, Aislynn feigned sleep, not in the mood for small talk with Murphy.
Her mind jogged between shame and remorse. Although she was not ready for
intimacy, she resolved to make more of an effort with Johnny. The carriage
rolled up Main Street as the sun was setting and the lamps were being lit. When
they reached the smithy, Aislynn peered out the window and screamed for the
driver to stop. Her shrill cry woke Murphy who found her clutching the sill,
her face white, with terror in her eyes.

Chapter 21

Johnny put his
hand on her sagging shoulder, “I’m sorry, Angel. You probably weren’t even out
of town when No Nose saw the flames.”

She studied the
destruction of her restaurant with disbelief. It was gone. In its place, lay
the pile of burnt timbers and a bitter, damp smell rising from the puddles of
black water. “How?” she asked.

“Most likely the
chimney. Seemed to spread right across the roof. We saved the cabin and the
smithy.”

“You think I
could salvage my money jar.”

“Not out of that
mess. I’m sure it’s broken, and the paper’s burned.”

Aislynn nodded.
She had two hundred dollars left on her loan, and she was looking at her dashed
opportunity to earn it. She dragged herself home.

“A hundred now
and a hundred in April.” She paced, mumbling to the cabin. “I’ll sell what
stores I can. That will help. But I have to make that money.” 

Aislynn rose
before dawn and began baking. Pasties would earn her the money to pay her debt.
The miners liked to take these hardy turnovers down into the mine, and Aislynn
believed she could pay off her mortgage with meat pies. She made eighteen and
decided seventy-five cents each was a fair price.

Standing on the
sidewalk, she hawked her pies. The men walking to the mine already carried
their meals with them. A few loyal customers purchased her pies upon leaving
the mine, but most men passed her by. She met each shift change and at the end
of twenty-four hours she had six dollars.

The following
day, she lowered her price to fifty cents, but business remained slow. She fed
her men the leftovers. “For fifty cents, they want to eat in a restaurant. It’s
the Silver King’s fault. They serve the same tired slice of steak and a pile of
greasy potatoes at fifty cents and call it a meal,” she complained.

“You get too
many choices here ‘bouts,” No Nose explained.

Lying in bed,
Aislynn decided that No Nose was right. She could not compete with the bakery,
restaurants, saloons and boarding houses. In the darkness, she developed a new
plan. With her remaining fresh meat and produce, she made three dozen large
pasties. She packed one each for Johnny and Tim and sent them off to work. The
remainders were stacked into baking pans.

“No Nose, hitch
up the wagon,” she ordered.

“What for?”

“We’re going to
sell our wares.”

“Johnny’s gonna
wanna know where we’d be goin’.”

“And what are
you going to tell him?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s the
right answer. Now go. Time’s a’wasting.”

North of camp,
on the flat, sage-spotted plain, the new city of Corrine sprouted to provide
various forms of sustenance and entertainment for the Union Pacific railroad
workers. The graders had had their stay and now the tracklayers were moving
through. The new town was scattered with canvas and board shanties. With the
exception of Sewell’s two-story hotel, only low buildings grew, supporting
large signs advertising their purposes.

Aislynn knew
there were three hundred whiskey shops between Promontory Summit and Brigham
City. Driving down Corrine’s main thoroughfare, she wondered if most sat right
here. As they rolled through, she also noticed that the “Silver King” problem
persisted in this town. Signs announcing meals for fifty cents stood
everywhere.

“Just drive on
through,” she commanded. “We won’t get any takers here.”

They rode for
nearly an hour. Up in the folds of the frozen hills, “Hell on Wheels” had set
up their tents and portable wooden shacks, unfurled their flags advertising
every manner of sin for sale and waited for takers on a muddy semblance of a
street. The people they encountered seemed dark and dirty. Aislynn could only
guess at the nature of their occupations. It was said that these men and women
would murder for five dollars and many had.

They rolled
through the street under suspicious eyes and the persistent sounds of building.
Toward the end of Main Street, they passed a shanty with a woman sitting in the
window. She was clad only in a short chemise. As they rolled by, she called to
No Nose, “Hey, ol’ man, come in and warm up!”

No Nose’s eyes
bulged, “Did you see that gal? She ain’t got clothes on.”

“Don’t even look
at her.” Aislynn turned away, but as the wagon veered and bounced over the ruts
in the road, she suspected that No Nose was still peeking.

Aislynn knew the
UP men were paid three dollars a day. She also knew they were fed plain beef
and bread. Sure her pasties would appeal to their Irish stomachs, she pushed No
Nose further down the rail to the attenuated work train.

The work train
was a modern miracle. It was designed and built to assist in achieving one of
the greatest feats of mankind, the Transcontinental Railroad. They passed
supply cars, baking and cooking cars. Next came lounge cars where the men ate.
Four “sow belly” sleeping cars followed, inside men bunked on three tiers of
berths or to escape the stifling interior, they pitched tents on the roofs and
slept in the frigid, fresh air. As they neared the head of the train, they came
upon a car with a forge for blacksmithing, a flat car with tools and more
boxcars bulging with supplies. The train moved forward on the new rail and
sustained the thousands of tracklayers, graders, teamsters, timber cutters,
bridge builders, carpenters, masons, and clerks. The activity and the hundreds
of potential customers excited Aislynn.

As they
approached the railhead, freight wagons were pulling alongside the boxcars and
men were unloading heavy iron rails, boxes of spikes and bolts. Ahead, like
ants on a hill, men swarmed. Aislynn and No Nose watched chaos become
precision. A wagon, loaded with rails, pulled up to a group of men. The
tracklayers began the process when two workers grabbed a rail and began to
slide it off the wagon. Two more men stepped behind and joined the effort,
until there was a line of ten, on both sides of the rail, rushing it to the end
of the laid line. With a shout from the boss, they dropped the rail into place.
The gaugers, spikers and bolters descended and the ring of iron hitting iron
resounded through the steady roar of men in motion. They drove four rails a
minute into a new era of transportation.

Aislynn and No
Nose drove up to a group of men idling on a hill watching the activity. She
smiled and offered her pasties. “They’re made with fresh meat, carrots,
turnips, onions and potatoes.”

A man on
horseback, charged at them, “What are you doin’? Get outa the way.”

“I’m not in the
way.”

“You gotta move
off, ‘fore Ol’ Jack Casement sees you.”

“I’m just
selling some freshly made pasties; would you like to buy one?”

“No, ma’am. You
better clear off UP land.” The man was agitated and looking around nervously.

Aislynn put her
hand on her hip, faced the man and spouted the knowledge she had learned from
Moran. “It’s not UP land until the tracks are approved, and the grant is
official.”

“Don’t give me
no lawyerin’ talk. You can’t do no trading with the UP ‘less you got a permit.”

“Where do I get
one?”

“UP office in
Corrine.”

“How much?”

“Fifty dollars.”

Exasperated,
Aislynn grumbled, “If I had that kind of money, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Well, no
permit, no tradin’. ‘Sides, can’t trade at the work site.”

Aislynn noticed
a cloud of dust farther up the graded line. “Fine, we’ll leave.” She directed
No Nose to drive west. They rattled away from the angry man. Aislynn waved when
they met a group of wagons returning to the work train. “Can I interest you men
in some fresh pasties?”

A small man with
a full red beard rode ramrod straight astride his horse at the head of the
wagons. General Jack Casement, the field boss driving the tracklayers, was
dressed in a fur-trimmed coat and a Cossack cap; he aimed his bullwhip at her.
He had thousands of men under his thumb and Aislynn in his way. “Young lady,
I’m buildin’ a railroad, not havin’ a tea party. Get away from my men.”

“I’m just
trying...”

Short on
patience, Casement shouted, “Did you hear me?”

Aislynn cowered,
“Yes. Girl can’t make a decent living,” she mumbled to No Nose.

“You talkin’
back?” he challenged.

“You can stop me
from trading, but you can’t stop me from grousing about it. In fact, I’m going
to write to the UP and complain.”

“Fine. Address
your letter to our boss, Dan Casement. He’s my brother.”

Hindered but not
defeated, Aislynn changed direction. Moran had said that the Central Pacific
had been grading parallel to the Union Pacific. Congress had failed to specify
a meeting place for the two lines and had not set a limit on how far each could
build, so both companies continued to press ahead. The UP pushed west and the
CP snaked east until the graders were actually passing each other.

“Coolies don’t
eat pasties.” No Nose declared.

“Not every
worker on the CP is Chinese. Besides, we can say we know Moran. Bet we’ll have
no trouble with them.”

They cut away
from the UP road and rolled north over the hills, through the rocks and
sagebrush, hoping to intersect the CP graders. From the top of a rise, they
could see the CP, not five hundred yards ahead. As they wheeled toward the
line, a blast sent sand, rocks and brush spewing into the clear, cold air. As
debris fell, the mules panicked. They bolted across the hill. The tilted
terrain and the obstructing rocks and sage caused the wagon to wobble on two
wheels before No Nose pulled the frenzied mules to a stop. Their collective
injuries included deep abrasions from the reins on No Nose’s partial hands and
splinters in Aislynn’s palms from gripping the wagon seat. The pies were
crushed or lost. Under the fading sun and No Nose’s admonishments, Aislynn
decided it was time to go home.

The lamps were
glowing in the cabin when Aislynn and No Nose pulled up. Tim was waiting with
worry and an interrogation.

“Been to Hell,”
No Nose announced. “Nearly died to tell ‘bout it.”

Johnny and Tim
were visibly shocked. “Where did you go?” Tim demanded.

“Hell on Wheels,
just like I said.” No Nose described their adventure.

“Good Lord, Aislynn,”
Tim’s anger flared. “What are you thinking? Will you do anything for two
hundred dollars? You could have been raped, killed!”

Aislynn withered
under Tim’s disapprobation, “I…I…”

Johnny tried to
mediate, “She’s doin’ the best she can with what she has.”

Tim continued,
“What’s next, Stella’s?”

If he had
slapped her, he could not have hurt her more. She wheeled around, slammed the
door behind her and stomped down the sidewalk struggling against the current of
Tim’s disapproval. Aislynn realized that pleasing Tim had become too difficult,
and perhaps, not what she wanted to do anymore.

Aislynn did not
know where she was going. She had never wandered down Main Street alone after
dark. It occurred to her that she was so tied to the restaurant and her cabin,
she rarely went beyond the general store, and when she did, she was accompanied
by one of her men. Brash light and vulgar sounds volleyed out of the dingy dens
where men sought their pleasures. This was the world that moved outside her
life: gritty, nervous and without restraint.

A hand came down
on her shoulder. She stopped in terror. “Put this on.” Tim shoved her coat at
her. “Button it. It’s cold.” He took her hand, and they picked their way
through the groups of men and piles of dirty snow. Their walk ended at the
bottom of Main Street where a pond had formed from mine water runoff.

Aislynn brushed
wet snow off a log and sat down while Tim threw stones at the skim ice. In the
moonlight, Aislynn watched the stones hit the fragile surface and skid away
while cracks snapped through the ice. Her father had been wrong, she thought;
she had had her own dream. It was a fantastic idea of Tim, imagined by a young
girl who wanted security, approval and love. When she was younger, in a
different place, she fed her fancy without the interference of reality. It had
become a habit. She had not noticed the transformation. Now, her dream drifted
and diminished.

“What’s happened
to us?” she searched.

“You grew up.”
Tim stopped throwing stones and sat beside her.

“Sorry.”

“No, I’m the one
who’s sorry. I’m still trying to make you into my idea of who you should be,
and I’m missing the woman you’ve become. I’m like the parent who wants his
child to grow up and move out without leaving home.”

Aislynn smiled,
“What do we do?”

“Well, we don’t
get married,” he joked. “You just stay the way you are. Johnny always says,
‘Just give her time; she always does the right thing.’ ”

“I guess you can
take credit for that.”

Tim stood up and
looked down at her. “I tried like hell.”

“Tim!” Aislynn
admonished his bad language.

He picked up a
hand full of rocks and started throwing them again. “You know, one day, when
you were about six or seven, we were out front, and I hit you hard for doing
something I thought was wrong. I sent you up to your room bawling. Mr.
Rattawitz sat me down on the stoop and asked, ‘You trying to hurt her or teach
her?’ Of course, I said ‘Teach her.’ But I understood his message. Then, he
went on in his way; you remember how he talked.” Tim attempted to imitate Rattawitz,
“ ‘Who is the von person in the vorld who makes you angrier than any other?’
Well, I knew that answer without thinking. I said, ‘Aislynn.’ So he asked, ‘Do
you know vhy?’ I shook my head. He said, ‘Because you care so very much about
her.’ ” Tim paused for a minute, took his place next to her and swept his arm
around her shoulders, “Frankly, I don’t think anything is ever going to change
that.”