Love's Story (2 page)

“Have you been west before?” she asked her traveling escort.

“Mm-hmm. Once.”

The fifty-year-old photographer had an attitude that reminded Meredith of a crusty old schoolmaster she'd once had, who rapped his students across the knuckles with a stick when they became too rambunctious.

She hunched close. “Did you like it?”

He slowly lowered his book to his lap. “I never decided.”

“I think I shall like it.”

“Why?”

“I hear it's a vast land with plenty of room to prove some things.”

He did not reply, but raised his book until the only part of his face visible was his smooth bald forehead.

She patted his arm. “Don't be so stuffy, Jonah.” He flinched, and when she saw that she would not get any more out of him, she set her mind to work. Within moments, she had come up with a way to pass the time. She reached down by her feet for her brown leather portfolio. It was full of writing materials, and while most women carried parasols, this portfolio accompanied Meredith wherever she went.

“Excuse me, please.”

“Where are you going?” Small, stern eyes peered over his book.

“I've come up with an idea for a great story. Asa will love it.”

“But where are you going?”

She stepped over him. “To interview the passengers.” Meredith kept her back to Jonah, sensing his wary eyes upon her.
He'll soon get tired of doing that.
She worked her way to a vacant seat and fine prospect. “May I join you a moment?”

A woman with a tiny baby in her arms and another child playing at her ankles considered her peculiar request.

“Of course. It's my son's seat, but he's inclined to play right now.”

Meredith looked at the fuzzy-haired boy whose pudgy hands were exploring the fabric seams of the train's seat.

“He seems an intelligent, inquisitive lad to say the least. My name is Meredith S. Mears. I'm a reporter. I'm doing a story on the people who take the Overland Limited. Would you mind telling me about your travels?”

“Going to Chicago to visit some relatives.”

“Traveling alone with children. What a brave soul you are.”

“Thank you.”

Meredith caressed the baby's dimpled cheek. “Have a good trip.”

Next she worked her way toward an interesting subject, a square-faced woman who wore a diamond brooch and traveled with a servant. There were no empty seats, so Meredith merely hovered over the woman as she introduced herself and her intentions.

“I think not.” The woman placed her hand over her ample bosom and turned her angular face toward the passing landscape.

Meredith straightened her torso. A reporter never gives up, so she cast a quick look about the train to see whom she should interview next. But the tracks made a sharp curve, and the sudden sway of the train sent her reeling across the aisle in utter helplessness.

Some hands reached out to steady her. She bumped her elbow hard on one of the seats. Her paper flew up and her pen rolled away, down the aisle. It took several helpful gentlemen to get everything straightened out. With a gush of apologies, she stumbled back down the aisle, across Jonah's legs, and collapsed into her seat. She did not look at him as she rubbed her throbbing elbow.

“Have you proven anything yet?” Jonah asked from behind his book.

Meredith did not reply. Before long, the pain in her arm subsided, and she eased back into the corner of her seat and closed her eyes.

Meredith awoke to the sound of the train's shrill whistle and the conductor's call, “Chicago Station.”

It took about an hour to detrain, check on their luggage, find something to eat, and board their next train. This one would take them to their destination. It was long and full of Pullman sleeping cars, dining cars, smoking cars, plush seats, and every convenience known to travelers.

“Perhaps you'd like the aisle this time?” Jonah asked.

“Yes, please.” Meredith set down her portfolio and straightened the pins in her hair.

At last the train wheels turned; the floor rumbled at Meredith's feet. City buildings passed in and out of view, making Meredith dizzy until they had picked up speed and entered the greener countryside. When the slight discomfort of head and stomach subsided, Meredith reverted to scrutinizing the other passengers, still intent on continuing her interviews.

One man, in particular, who occupied a window seat just across the aisle, caught her interest. His melancholy gaze was fixed on the passing scenery. Meredith sensed a hurt or regret of some sort in those soft brown eyes and wondered about his life. It only seemed natural to ease into the seat next to him.

“Hello.”

Thatcher Talbot jerked his gaze from the window and stared in disbelief at the forward woman, her autumn-colored eyes sympathetic yet gently probing. There was a dusting of ginger across her nose and cheeks. A multitude of thoughts rushed through his mind.
I noticed her when she boarded the train.
He remembered feeling a bit envious of the balding man that accompanied her.

“I'm Meredith S. Mears, New York reporter. Doing a story on the people who travel the Overland Limited.”

He stared at her extended hand, and the urge to press it to his lips left him with a voice of warning.
Reporter. She'll expose you.

After a considerable pause, the woman dropped her hand. Her voice took on a professional tone. “May I ask you a few questions?”

See!
The warning voice gloated. He frowned. “No, I was about to get some much-needed rest.” Then he stretched his legs, cocked his hat to block out the world with its nosey reporters, and slouched in his seat.

From beneath his hidey-hole, his face burned when he heard the passenger one seat behind him offer, “You can interview me.”

Meredith felt a prick of hurt and turned from the uncooperative passenger to the voice beckoning her. Once Meredith accumulated enough material for her story, she started back toward her seat, careful to watch for the quirks of the train. A keen desire to steal another glance across the aisle at the man with the melancholy expression could not be suppressed.

He was gone.

Three days later, a wilted and wrinkled Meredith stepped down from the train that had whisked her across a continent. She raised her arm to shade her eyes from the sun, gave a small cough to expel the dust from her lungs, and gazed at the new world that received her, San Francisco.

“I'll go get our baggage and be right back,” Jonah said. He removed his hat to wipe his brow, then replaced it on his smooth head.

“Thank you.” Meredith pointed with a gloved hand. “I'll wait over there, out of the way.”

“Good.”

Meredith had learned from experience that one of the best ways to encounter a new situation was to stand back and study how things were done. A welcome summer breeze ruffled her skirt, and she reached up to straighten her hat with one hand while the other clutched her brown leather portfolio.

Tall buildings on streets that ran straight toward the sky surrounded the depot. The tang of sea air and the aroma of food from nearby vendors mixed with the sooty foul smells from the trains. Soon her attention settled onto some familiar faces from the trip. “Good luck to you,” she called out to a fellow passenger, giving him a wave.

The woman with the large diamond brooch strutted by with a small group of people. Meredith caught the words “new woman.” The accusation hurt. That was the name going around for the progressive women who were stepping out of social boundaries with the turn of the new century. Meredith, however, did not consider herself a part of that radical group. She had nothing to prove to the world about being a woman. She only needed to prove to her father… well, she certainly would not think about that today.

A trickle of sweat ran down her brow, and an unfeminine wetness beneath her arms caused discomfort. She noticed a line of horse-drawn hackneys and wondered if she should secure one, when Jonah's thin but sturdy figure appeared with a porter. She fell into step with them as they made their way to a hackney. The driver stood by his rig.

“We need a hotel close to a cable car and a post office, and we'll be needing to get some supplies. We're heading north into the wilderness,” Meredith said.

The driver glanced at Jonah, saw his nod, then replied, “I know just the place, ma'am.”

Meredith smiled and stepped up into the hackney with Jonah close behind her.

“Was your equipment all right?”

Her traveling partner smiled. “All intact.”

“My typewriter?”

“Fine.”

“Good.” When the coach took off, her head snapped back, and she reached up to secure her hat.

The Old Mission Hotel, a low adobe structure with a wide veranda across the front, hugged a small hill and provided a contrast to the more common Victorian inns they had passed. Two rooms were secured. After they inspected their rooms and tucked away their belongings, Meredith met Jonah in the hotel lobby to discuss their plans.

“I thought we might find the closest land office and do some inquiring,” she said.