The Iron Dragon Never Sleeps (4 page)

Winnie saw two strangers walking past the storage sheds of railroad supplies.

“They were with us on the stagecoach from Omaha,” Jane explained. “They bragged a lot about how important they were to the railroad there—the Union Pacific.”

“Hey, Jane!”

A boy was calling to her.

Jane sighed. “That’s my brother, Johnny.”

Johnny ran headlong into the street—and was almost hit by a passing wagon. The driver, one of the railroad cooks, yelled at him in Chinese.

Johnny yelled back.

“Did you see that?” he asked Jane. “That old man almost ran me down.”

“You jumped out in front of him,” said Winnie. Johnny looked a lot like his sister, but with more freckles and sandy hair. He was about eight, she reckoned.

“No, I didn’t,” he said. “It was all his fault. If those Chinese opened their eyes wider, they would probably see better. And they should cut their hair, too.”

“They can’t help their hair,” said Winnie. “Their emperor makes them wear it that way.”

“What emperor?”

“The one back in China.” She explained about the emperor.

Johnny was not impressed. “I wouldn’t let any emperor make me look like a girl.” He stared at Winnie. “Who are you anyway?”

“Winnie Tucker.”

“Well, what are you defending the Chinese for? You don’t look Chinese.”

“I’m not.” Still, he was right. She had defended them. Winnie wasn’t sure why. In the past she had hardly thought about the Chinese. They were just the Celestials. But Lee was a real person. He got thirsty and made jokes. He worried about getting in trouble. Meeting him made her feel a little different.

“Where’s Mother?” Jane asked.

“In the general store. The train doesn’t leave for a while yet. Let’s play hide-and-seek.” He looked at Winnie. “She can play, too.”

“All right,” said Winnie.

Jane smiled. “Since it was your idea, Johnny, you can be It. Count to twenty. And remember, no peeking.

“All right. One … two … three …”

Jane motioned for Winnie to follow her. They darted across the street and ducked behind the stagecoach.

“Quick!” Jane whispered. “Get inside.”

Winnie opened the door, and they both climbed in. The stagecoach smelled of dirt and old leather.

“He’ll never think to look here,” Jane whispered.

“Shh. Someone’s coming.”

Some footsteps stopped outside.

“Did you have any luck?” said a man’s hoarse voice.

Winnie pressed back against the stagecoach seat. She could see the back of a man’s head outside the window.

“I talked to a few. I don’t think the Chinese trusted me.”

The hoarse man laughed. “I wouldn’t trust you myself. You haven’t changed your clothes in a week or bathed in a month.” He spit on the ground. “But they’ve got eyes, don’t they? Even if they are slanty. They see what’s going on. They have to pay for their own food. They don’t get promoted. And they get all the dangerous jobs to boot. I don’t think they’ll stand for it much longer.”

“I’ll drink to that. Come on. There must be some whiskey in this rathole of a town.”

They walked away up the street.

“Can you believe that?” said Jane. “Imagine talking with some Chinese.” She shuddered.

“I’ve met a Chinese boy who works for the railroad,” said Winnie. “He seems nice enough.”

“That’s hard to believe, Winnie. I mean, they’re so strange.”

“How do you know if you’ve never talked with one?”

Jane fidgeted with her frock. “Well, I just do, that’s all.”

“Jane! Johnny!”

Jane sighed. “Oh-oh, that’s Mother. I guess we’d better go.”

They climbed out of the stagecoach.

“I’ll have to help Mother find Johnny. He could be anywhere looking for us. Good-bye, Winnie. If you’re ever in Portland, look for me.”

“Good-bye, Jane. Hope you like the train ride!”

Winnie watched Jane and her mother head for the station. She wondered how many people thought about the Chinese the way Jane did.

“New friend?”

Winnie turned as Flap Jack came up beside her.

“Not exactly,” she said. “Just someone I met. She doesn’t much care for the Chinese.”

“She has lots of company,” said Flap Jack.

“And we heard these two men talking. They didn’t like the Chinese either. But they seemed to think the Chinese are important.”

“Well, they are—at least to the railroad. Bert’s told me the railroad has ten thousand Celestials on the payroll.”

“Well, these men were talking about the railroad
and the Celestials. They talked like the Chinese were being taken advantage of.”

Flap Jack frowned. “Who were these fellows?”

“Jane said they worked for the Union Pacific.”

“Hmm. That’s the company building the railroad west from Omaha. They’d like to see the Central Pacific have trouble with the Chinese. Truth is, the Chinese crews are the best the railroad has.”

“So if this Union Pacific caused trouble with the Chinese,” said Winnie, “that would slow the Central Pacific down a bit.”

“I expect so,” said Flap Jack.

Winnie was confused. “But wouldn’t that hurt the Union Pacific, too? I mean, wouldn’t the completion of the railroad be delayed?”

“Maybe,” said Flap Jack, “but it could be worth it. You see, Winnie, both companies are laying track in a kind of race. The Union Pacific is building west from Omaha. The Central Pacific is building east from Sacramento. Somewhere—in Utah or Nevada—the two railroads will meet.”

Winnie shook her head. “Why does it matter where they meet? When they’re done, it will still be only one railroad joined together.”

Flap Jack smiled. “Ah, that’s true—for the passengers. But there’s more at stake than that. The government gives land to a railroad for each mile of track it lays. The more track a railroad puts down,
the more land it collects. And someday that land will be worth plenty.”

Winnie nodded slowly.

“Well,” she said, “I guess building a railroad is more complicated than I thought.”

O
N
S
UNDAYS
the railroad workers were supposed to rest. They caught up on their sleep or played games or even cleaned their clothes. It was the one day Winnie expected to spend with her father.

But things did not work out that way. On the first Sunday her father was in bed with a cold. On the next two, he had ended up traveling on railroad business.

The fourth Sunday, though, dawned bright and clear. It was a perfect day for a picnic. The Tuckers piled into the buckboard right after breakfast and headed for Donner Lake.

They arrived there just in time for lunch. Mrs. Swanson had made them up a basket that would have fed them twice. There was fried chicken and deviled eggs and biscuits and two kinds of pie.

Winnie tried everything, including both pies. “It’s beautiful here,” she said. “I wish we could stay forever.”

Her mother laughed. “What about Sacramento, Winnie? Don’t you want to go back?”

“Well, I miss Rose and Julia, of course.” Winnie made a face. “But I’m not looking forward to school. Rose says we’re going to learn to dance—”

“Dance?” Her father gasped. “How horrible! Not with boys, I hope.”

Winnie folded her arms. “Not right away.”

Eli smiled and mopped his brow. “That’s a relief,” he said.

Marjorie looked out at the lake, brushing the pie crumbs from her skirt. The blue water was still, reflecting the mountains beyond them.

“It is beautiful here,” she said. “But a little sad, too.”

“Sad?” said Winnie.

Her mother nodded. “The country is changing fast, Winnie. I came through here in ’49 on a Conestoga wagon. It took six strong horses to pull it. The wagon was like a house on wheels. Everything we owned was in there. We lived in it for most of a year coming west from St. Louis.”

“But you made it safely.”

“We did. Not everyone was so lucky. Twenty
years ago people died of starvation right around here.”

Winnie gulped. “Died?”

“Donner Lake is named for the Donner Party,” her mother went on. “They were a group of immigrants traveling west. They got stuck up here for the winter of 1847. Many starved to death.”

Even in the bright June sunshine Winnie shivered.

“Well, we won’t starve,” said her father, patting his stomach. “Not today at any rate.” He stood up and stretched. “I have something for you in the buckboard, Winnie.”

“What is it?” Winnie asked.

Her father pulled back a blanket—and took out a kite. It was shaped like a diamond with a tail of red cloth.

Winnie beamed. “It’s wonderful! I’m going to try it out right now.”

She ran through the field, trailing the kite behind her. She imagined the wind lifting her kite high. It would soar past the clouds. It would dance with the sun.

Winnie turned. The kite was dragging along the ground. The wind was paying it no attention at all.

“Come on, kite,” said Winnie. “Do you hear me? Let’s go!”

Someone laughed behind her.

Winnie turned. It was Lee Cheng, the boy from the railroad.

Winnie was embarrassed. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

Lee shrugged. He was in a good mood. “I have cleaned my clothes. I am not needed to kill chickens and pigs. I like the lake. So here I am.”

“Well, I don’t need you laughing at me. Go away!”

Lee eyed the fallen kite. “I do not want to go away. I want to help.”

“I know what I’m doing,” said Winnie.

“A kite is like a bird,” said Lee. “You cannot pull it like a wagon. May I try?”

“I guess so,” said Winnie. It was hard to stay angry at someone who didn’t get angry back.

She handed over the kite.

“First, we must learn the wind,” he said.

Lee looped the string around his hand. Winnie had to admit he seemed to know what he was doing.

“Now we begin.”

Lee ran back and forth, shifting the kite with the breeze. In his hands it truly flew like a bird. He soon had the kite up above the trees.

Winnie ran to keep up with him. “Don’t you wish you could fly like that?” she asked.

“I can,” said Lee, “in my dreams.” He turned to Winnie. “Now it is your turn.”

He gave her back the kite and showed her how to keep pressure on the string. Then they stood silently, watching the kite dip and weave against the blue sky. They stirred only when a passing cloud blocked out the sun.

“Where did you learn to fly kites?” Winnie asked.

“From my father, many years ago.”

“I’m visiting my father this summer. He works for the railroad. My mother and I came out from Sacramento on the train.”

“I would like to ride the train someday,” said Lee. “It makes me think of a great iron dragon.”

Winnie laughed. “Why, that’s what I think, too. It eats fire and breathes steam.”

“My brother, Tom, once rode behind the engine,” said Lee. “He said it was very noisy.”

“A dragon is not a quiet beast,” said Winnie.

They watched the kite take a sudden dip.

“Can your parents take the train to visit you?” Winnie asked.

“No,” said Lee. “They are dead. A terrible sickness took them in San Francisco. It was long ago.”

“I’m sorry,” said Winnie.

Lee nodded. “Afterward my brother, Tom, and I lived in a miner’s house. I worked in the house. Tom worked in the mine.”

“How long were you there?” Winnie asked.

“Three years. It is where I learned English. When the mine closed, we had to leave.”

“Aren’t you young to work for the railroad?” asked Winnie.

“They do not look at us too closely,” said Lee. “And they were happy I spoke English. Tom is older. He works with miners.”

“So does my father,” said Winnie. “Maybe they know each other.”

Lee shrugged. “There is little time for meeting,” he said.

“My father’s sitting over there,” said Winnie. She pointed toward the water. “With my mother. Would you like to meet them? You could have some pie.”

Lee looked uncomfortable. “I like pie. But I do not think so. Things are happening …”

“Things?” Winnie frowned. “What things?” Suddenly she remembered the two men she had overheard in town.

“Many workers are not happy. We work hard, as hard as anyone. But we are not treated the same.”