Friends and Enemies (12 page)

“Then she's an Orangeman, not truly Irish. I won't mention that fact to Riagan, either. He gets quite grumpy when you mention the Orange.”

Jamie Sue let out a deep sigh. Perspiration drops cooled her forehead. “Mrs. Moraine, you must come over for tea so we can discuss this.”
Lord, I have never in my life been accused of bigotry.

“I don't know if Mr. Moraine would allow it.”

“Do you mean he would judge us without any of us ever being given a chance to prove ourselves?”

“Riagan doesn't change his mind very easily.”

“Mrs. Moraine, please ask him about you coming for tea. I'd certainly like to visit with you more. It is a very helpless feeling to be found guilty of something we didn't do.”

“Mind you, I don't feel as strongly as Mr. Moraine, but I must support him. He is my husband.” Meggie's narrow, pointed chin hung in resignation.

Jamie Sue rubbed the palm of her hand as if trying to remove an unseen blemish. “Mrs. Moraine, you mentioned you don't have many good friends yet in Deadwood.”

“I haven't had time to socialize much.” Meggie took a deep breath. “Actually, I'm shy when meeting new people.”

“You and I have children the same age and live in the same neighborhood. Meggie, would you be my friend?”

“But how can that be? I told you I'm Irish . . .”

Jamie Sue reached over and rested her hand on Meggie's beige linen jacket-covered arm. The woman flinched. “Are you saying that Irish women refuse to make friends with anyone except other Irish women?”
Lord, I can't believe I'm having this conversation. Has one of the Deadwood Fortunes actually insulted the Irish?

“No . . . you're right. We should at least have tea. I will ask Mr. Moraine. But I might need to wait for an appropriate time.”

“I understand that, and I trust all of this doesn't interfere with our boys playing baseball. Little Frank says your Eachan is a very good pitcher.”

Both women began to stroll down the aisle to the back of the store.

“And your son is quite the hitter. My Riagan is a great fan of baseball. He says your Little Frank is a natural at the sport.” Meggie paused in front of a display of cracker tins. “But it might be best if your son did not mention his name is Fortune when Mr. Moraine is at home.”

Jamie Sue stopped. Her racing heart throbbed at her temples. “But . . . but . . . I can't tell my children to be ashamed of who they are. I will not ask him to hide his identity.”

“Perhaps the boys should not play ball at our house until we have tea.”

Jamie Sue kneaded her temple trying to get relief from the expanding headache. “Then let's get together soon.”

“All of this must sound very parochial to you,” Mrs. Moraine admitted.

“Yes, it does. If you hear where the shop foreman came up with such information, perhaps that would help us explain the misunderstanding.”

“I hope it is merely a mistake,” Mrs. Moraine added as she fidgeted with the gold ring on her finger. “I like how blunt and honest you are with me. I would like us to be friends.”

“How about tea tomorrow?”

“I will think about it. Now, I must gather my order and get home. I left the babies with Kiara.”

“Is Kiara your daughter?” Jamie Sue glanced around the room but couldn't spot Patricia.

“Yes, she is eleven.”

“How many children do you have, Mrs. Moraine?”

“Five, so far. And you?”

“Just three. Little Frank and identical twin daughters.” Jamie Sue glanced back over her shoulder at the empty aisle. “One of whom came in with me but seems to have disappeared.”

“The twins? You are their mother?”

“Yes.”

“And Little Frank's their brother?”

“Eh, yes. Did he tell you otherwise?”

Mrs. Moraine started to laugh. “My Eachan is quite smitten with one of them and told Little Frank all about it. I think he was trying to get your son interested in the other twin. And that Little Frank never once admitted to being their brother.”

Jamie Sue laughed. “He's convinced that the boys get so interested in the twins that he gets shoved out of the picture.”

“He might be right. Eachan certainly talks about that one.”

“Just which one of them does he like?”

“The one with the dimples . . . I think her name is Patricia Veronica.”

“One is named Patricia, and the other is Veronica. They both have dimples.”

“I'd say that's the one that interests him.” Mrs. Moraine pointed across the store to where Eachan and Patricia huddled behind a butcher's block next to a full wheel of yellow cheese.

Patricia giggled and bounced her way down the sidewalk in front of her mother. “Eachan thought my name was Patricia Veronica. Isn't that funny?”

“I'm surprised he spoke to you, what with you not wearing the rose dress.”

Patricia pulled off her straw hat and twirled it around by the chin ribbon. “Mother! He didn't care what dress I was wearing.”

“Now that's a good lesson to learn, isn't it?”

Both ladies paused and waited for a gust of dirt to blow past them. Jamie Sue shaded her eyes. “Is that a pig crossing the street?”

“Either that or it's a fat, hairless pink dog with an ugly face,” Patricia giggled.

“Someone obviously left a gate open.”

“Aunt Dacee June and Uncle Carty had a pig named Clarence.”

“We ate Clarence last Christmas. Remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Patricia gagged, then resumed the trek. There was a dance in her step. “I can't wait to tell 'Nica.”

As they approached the dress shop, Veronica rushed out the door, her satin dress swishing. “Guess who I just saw in the street?”

Patricia glanced up at her mother, then back at her sister. “A pig?” she gulped.

“No . . . it was Curly Mac!”

“Who?” Jamie Sue probed.

“You remember . . . the boy on the train with the blond hair who was in the carriage with the woman with the dance hall dress?” Veronica danced on one foot and then the other. “He was in a buckboard with a man who looked a hundred and fifty years old.”

“Did you talk to him?” Patricia asked.

“The old man?”

“No, Curly Mac.”

“He just said ‘Hi, Veronica Patricia . . .' Isn't that funny? He thought my name was Veronica Patricia?”

“Sounds like Eachan . . .” Patricia mumbled.

Veronica scooted over until the twins' arms were touching. “What do you mean by that?”

Patricia put her hat back on her head and began tying the ribbon under her chin. “Nothing.”

“Tricia Fortune, did you see Eachan Moraine?”

Her nose turned high, Patricia batted her eyelashes. “Sort of.”

Veronica grabbed her sister's hand. “What do you mean, sort of?”

Patricia burst out giggling. “I talked with him behind the potato bin at Morgan's for over ten minutes.”

“You did not!”

Patricia spun around toward her mother. “I did too. Didn't I, Mama?”

“I believe you did.” Jamie glanced across the street at the bakery as she smelled fresh-baked bread.

“That isn't fair!” Veronica pouted. “I had on the rose dress and everything!”

“You got Curly Mac to wave at you. I didn't even get to see him.”

Veronica dropped her chin. “He was probably waving at Amber. She was standing next to me.”

A young barefoot boy in coveralls ran up the boardwalk. “Have you seen Romeo?” he panted.

“Who?”

“My pet pig, Romeo. Has he come this way?”

“He crossed the street toward the bank,” Patricia explained.

“If he went down to the Piedmont Saloon again, he's in real trouble,” the little boy added.

The boy sprinted down the street.

“Eh, come on girls . . . let's go see what Aunt Abby has for us.”

“Where is Amber?” Patricia asked.

“I'm up here!”

Jamie Sue and daughters shaded their eyes and looked up at the second-story window of the brick building. The girl leaning out had the shape of a twenty-year-old, but her face was definitely sixteen. “I've got to clean this apartment before mother rents it out again. 'Nica and Tricia, do you want to help me? Then we all can go horseback riding up to Central City.”

“To see Curly Mac? Oh, Mother, may we?” Patricia pleaded.

“Yes, go help Amber. I need to talk to Abby. But Veronica can't go horseback riding in that rose satin dress.”

Veronica tugged at her mother's arm. “Oh, Mother! I have to go! Please!”

Jamie Sue patted her hand. “Not in that dress.”

“I wish I had never worn this dress!” Veronica announced.

“Well, I believe this has been a very educational afternoon.”

“But . . . but . . . it's not fair! Everything is against me today!” Veronica moaned.

Patricia scooted beside her sister. “'Nica, if you can't go riding, then I won't go either.”

Veronica slipped her arm around her sister's waist. “Really? You'd do that for me?”

Patricia chewed on her lower lip. “Sure, that's what twin sisters are for.”

“In that case, dear sister, how would you like to trade dresses?” Veronica asked.

“You mean I'd wear the rose one?”

“Yes, then I could wear yours and go horseback riding with Amber.”

Robert Fortune sat on the right-hand backseat of the railroad car. Taite and Holter lounged on the bench seat facing him, their backs to the passengers. Unrolled maps were sprawled across their knees.

Fortune tapped the map with his finger. “Ninety-nine out of a hundred runs will be routine. The toughest thing we'll face is staying awake and alert. I won't tolerate sleeping on the job. I consider it grounds for dismissal. So make sure you get plenty of rest before you come on duty. I'm not telling you what to do with your time off, but hurrahing the night away isn't going to work for this job.”

Guthrie Holter leaned forward, his elbow on his knee. “You reckon the most trouble will come from folks on the inside . . . or those jumping the train from the outside?”

Robert looked up the aisle at the crowded passenger car. Muted conversations bounced in rhythm to the rumble of the train. “No telling. We should prepare for both. I've marked key areas on the map where someone might try to board the train. I want us to assume something will happen at every point.”

“Especially when we're haulin' payrolls or gold,” Taite added.

Holter lowered his voice. “Are we going to know about the rich shipments?”

“I told the railroad supervisor not to inform us unless he thought it absolutely necessary.”

“So we never know when the big shipments are on board? Isn't that a little dangerous?” Stillman Taite probed.

Fortune studied the man's narrow eyes.
Why are you so concerned?
“It's a safety precaution. If we don't know when the shipment is valuable, we'll have to protect every train like it was special. I don't want us to relax just because the cargo is less valuable.”

“And if we don't know the shipment, we can't be the thieves,” Holter's declaration turned into a sly grin.

“You think we're the type to rob a train?” Taite huffed.

“Still, here's a basic rule in the business,” Fortune explained. “Assume every person on this train is capable of robbing it. It's a basic theological position.”

“Theological?”

“It's called the doctrine of the sinfulness of man. Anyone is capable of anything.”

“Even you?”

“Even me,” Fortune added. “Evil should never, ever surprise you. Righteousness is the big surprise.”

Stillman Taite glanced back over his shoulders. “Should we be studying the passengers?”

“Yes, but do it discreetly. I'd just as soon no one knows who we are when we ride the train. Keep your badge on the inside of your coat, a newspaper or book in your hand. Wander down through the cars and pick out any likely looking sneak thieves or train robbers, then keep an eye on them. Like I said . . . most times it's going to be just a train ride.”

Holter looked straight at Fortune. “Speakin' of passengers, did you spot that gordo hombre in the second row with the dirty red bandanna?”

Fortune continued to study the map on his lap. “The one with the .44 half-cocked in his holster?”

“What?” Taite spun around to look toward the front of the train.

“Don't stare,” Robert cautioned.

“He has a bulge in his boot top. I reckon it's either a sneak gun or a Bowie knife,” Holter added.

“You saw all of that when we boarded?” Taite pressed.

“I spied him on the platform back in Rapid City. He was at the Yellow Dog Cafe this morning braggin' about how he was goin' up to Deadwood to get rich. He don't exactly look like he works for a livin'. I thought maybe he was a gambler, but his fingernails was too dirty. Never did know a gambler that had dirty fingernails.”

“Looks like he's headin' this way, boys.” Robert leaned back and tugged his hat low across his forehead.

“There ain't no empty seats, except that one behind us,” Taite said.

“Holter, you lean back and pull your hat down like you're sleeping. See if you can pick up any conversations. Taite, lean forward and study this map. I'll keep an eye on him.”

Similar to a jack-o-lantern, the man's big round head was defined by chin whiskers and round mouth. His eyes were framed by dark bags, his lips puffy. He meandered down the center aisle very slowly, as if measuring each passenger. Finally, he plopped down next to a thin man with a black silk suit in the row behind Holter and Taite. Robert Fortune couldn't hear the mumbled conversation but could tell by the thin man's expression that he was not in favor of whatever the other man was demanding. The thin man stood as if to leave, but the other man blocked his way and shoved him back into the seat.