Thunder on the Plains (4 page)

Colt kept the cigarette between his lips. “No, thanks. You can have your fancy life. Me and cities and wealth don't mix very well.”

Her smile faded slightly.
Of
course
not
, she thought. How strange that she felt almost embarrassed about her wealth. “My father and his father before him worked very hard for what we have today, Colt.” Suddenly she felt she had to explain. “You might think we live in the lap of luxury and lie around all day, but it isn't that way. I travel everywhere with Daddy. I've seen how hard he works. It isn't easy running several big companies, and when you have sons who don't help the way they should, well, it's even harder. My brothers have disappointed my father in a lot of ways. I'm the only one who understands him, the only one who knows how he hurts inside sometimes. I'm as excited about building this railroad as he is, and I pray every night that it will come to be.”

Colt smoked the last of his cigarette, snuffing it out against the side of his canteen before throwing the stub into the tall spring grass. “That turned into quite a speech. I wasn't saying there's anything wrong with the way you live, Sunny. I was just saying some people aren't cut out to live that way. What the heck? It takes all kinds, right? If there weren't people like me, then people like you couldn't travel out here safely.”

She smiled then, the warm smile that always made him want to see how her full lips might feel against his mouth. “Yes. Please do watch after Daddy. He thinks I'm the one to be looked after, but he is as important to me as I am to him. It frightens me sometimes to think of what it might be like to be without him. My brother Vince would—” She stopped, slowing her horse then. “I'd better go back now, like you said. I'll see you at supper tonight.”

He tipped his hat, and she turned her horse and rode off. Colt watched after her, his smile fading. He was amazed at the loneliness she conveyed. He gathered from comments her brother had made and from her own that her family was very divided. There did not seem to be much love among them, except between Sunny and her father.

He turned his horse forward again and rode at a gentle lope, reminding himself that the Landers family problems, Sunny's in particular, were none of his affair.

***

Men hovered guardedly around the blanketed-off area where Sunny bathed in a tub of water that had been heated first over a campfire. Near one of the wagons the nightly ritual of setting up a table, by laying a wide, flat board on top of barrels, was completed. Colt never ceased to be astonished at the formality of the Landerses' nightly feast. The two cooks spread a tablecloth over the board and began setting out real china and silverware.

Over the past two weeks Colt had noticed Bo Landers's men jumped at his every command. Everyone worked with a kind of rhythm, no one questioning an order. Not one man gave an extra look to Sunny, and Colt figured they had learned it was better not to. Miss Sunny Landers was meant for something better than the likes of anyone who worked for her father. Even Sunny's brother Stuart marched to his father's tune. The man seemed decent enough, however. Stuart treated Sunny kindly, and he had written several letters to his wife, Violet, back in Chicago, although so far they had not passed by anyone who could carry the letters back for him. Stuart also talked often about his one-year-old daughter, Diana. It was obvious the man missed his family.

The scent of food drifted over from a second campfire, and a few items were hanging out to dry over a makeshift clothesline. The day had ended with a rough river crossing that had gotten people and belongings wet. It had been the first dangerous encounter of the trip. The Platte was high and deep this time of year, and it was always difficult to find a place to cross, but they had no choice if they wanted to avoid a lot of extra miles by having to circle around swampy ground.

For safety, Colt had taken Sunny across on his own horse, and he was still trying to forget the feel of her against him. He had changed into denim pants and a cotton shirt for supper, and at the moment he was wishing he had never agreed to sit and eat with these people. Slim camped farther ahead, preferring his own beans and coffee, and his own company.

“Come and have a seat,” Bo called out. “I have some fine cigars here, Colt!”

Reluctantly, Colt walked over and sat down on a barrel, but he refused the cigar, preferring to roll his own smokes. “I might get too accustomed to that fine tobacco and not be able to smoke my own anymore,” he told Bo.

Landers laughed. “Well, son, a man does get used to the finer things once he has them. I must say, this trip is a far cry from the trips I've taken to Washington by train. Someday, though, people will be able to travel in style and comfort all the way to California! I can see it already.” He took a deep breath. “It's going to cost millions, but with the right backing I know we can convince the president and Congress to support us. Why, only two months ago I was talking with several senators who seem sold on the idea. It's not an easy thing to talk men who have no imagination into an idea they think is impossible. That's the trouble with most men, Colt. They don't think big enough. They give up too easily. I believe in a transcontinental railroad, and, by God, it's going to happen!” The man rose then, beaming. “Sunny! Come and sit. We'll eat soon.”

Sunny approached them, her hair still wet but pulled into a thick tail at the back of her neck. She was fresh and clean and beautiful, and Colt wanted to leave so he wouldn't have to look at her. She walked up and kissed her father's cheek, then sat down across from Colt, journal and pen in hand.

Men began cleaning up Sunny's bathing area, and Miss Putnam hurried to Sunny's side, setting a bottle of ink in front of her. Colt thought the woman looked a little frazzled. Apparently, it was Sunny who got to clean up and relax first. Miss Putnam wore the same dress she had on earlier in the day, and the hemline was still damp. She looked pale and unhappy, and Colt could have felt sorry for her if it were not for the strange looks she had been giving him the last few days, as though he were something detestable. She nodded to him curtly. “Mr. Travis, how nice that you can join us.” The words were spoken sarcastically, and her narrow gray eyes moved over him scathingly.

“Thank you,” Colt answered guardedly. He wondered how the bony Miss Putnam kept from blowing away in the wind, and what it took to make the woman smile. The only thing he had found likable about her was her apparent loyalty to Sunny. It was obvious the woman had not wanted to come along on this trip, and she had been physically ill the first few days, but she seemed to be better now. Her hair, a mousy brown streaked with gray, was escaping from its normally neat bun, and she had apparently not had a chance to rest or change since the river crossing; yet she continued to fuss over Sunny.

Stuart and Bo talked business for a while, and Colt had never felt more uncomfortable or out of place. The few times he had eaten with families of other wagon trains, the people had been ordinary and down to earth, people with whom he could carry on a normal conversation and with whom he could feel welcome. To go to so much trouble to set a proper table out in the wilderness seemed to him absurd, let alone listening to talk of stocks and bonds and banking investments. He could not help staring when one of the cooks placed a candelabrum in the center of the table and lit the candles.

“Isn't this nice, Daddy,” Sunny said. “Why didn't we use the candles before?”

“We would have if it weren't always so windy out here. This is the first evening that it's been still enough to light them.”

Colt struggled not to laugh, realizing that Sunny actually thought this was absolutely wonderful. The food was served at the makeshift table first, after which the rest of Landers's men were fed. The others also ate from china plates, just like those at the table, but they and the cooks sat in their own little group. Only Bo and Stuart Landers, Sunny, Miss Putnam, and Colt sat at the table, and Colt found himself hoping they did not expect him to sit here every night. Father and son were friendly enough, but between bites they continued to talk about politics and investments. Colt ate quietly while Bo talked about his friends who had already agreed to back his idea for the railroad, men who were willing to put up thousands of dollars, more money in a single contribution, Colt figured, than he would ever make in his whole life.

“We can't get Congress to vote on a railroad bill until we show we have backing of our own first,” the man told Colt. “I'll say one thing, the more I see of this land, the more I am convinced this railroad can be built. A bridge here and there to keep us on the solid side of the river, or to avoid having to clear a lot of trees. Yes, yes, it can be done. And so far you have more than proved your worth, Colt, keeping us out of quagmires and such. Tell me, what in your estimation is the best way to get across the Rockies?”

Colt swallowed a piece of steak and gathered his thoughts while one of the cooks poured him some wine. “The only way I can see is through the South Pass, up in Wyoming country—same route the wagon trains take. If you want to take a more direct route, you'll have to do a lot of tunneling, and I don't see how any amount of men or equipment could tunnel straight through the Rockies.”

Sunny was rapidly writing. When Colt stopped to sip his wine, she glanced at him with a look of admiration. “You know so much about the wilderness,” she told him. “Some people in Congress call it the Great American Desert. They say it isn't worth anything, that there is no sense building a railroad because no one would want to go there.”

Colt set down his wineglass, feeling Miss Putnam's eyes drilling into him again. He looked at Bo, who was also eyeing him strangely. In one tiny moment something had changed, and he wasn't quite sure if it was something he had said. “Oh, I think plenty of people will want to go,” he answered. “After all, the Mormons certainly like it. Little towns are springing up all over, and look at the thousands of people who have gone to California. Now there are rumors of gold in the Rockies, around the Pikes Peak area. You know what that will mean. Personally, I'm not too crazy about the West being settled, and I can guarantee the Indians won't like it. But I can see already that things are bound to change.”

“Like they changed for the Cherokee when they were sent to Indian Territory?” Miss Putnam put in. “That must have been very hard on your people.”

Colt met her eyes, not sure why she had made the comment. Was she trying to drive home the point that he was part Indian? “I was pretty small. I don't remember most of it, but I was told enough stories to know how rough it was. A lot of my own relatives died.”

“Oh, how sad,” Sunny added. “I never thought to ask you about that part of your life. You must tell me about the Cherokee, Colt. What happened before they were sent to Indian Territory? Did they live like real wild Indians, in tipis and such?”

Colt told himself not to be angry with her natural curiosity and ignorance about Indians. “The Cherokee never lived in tipis. But that's beside the point. By the time they were kicked out of Georgia and Tennessee, they had become quite civilized, with brick homes and their own schools and—”

“Sunny! It's time for eating, not writing.” Miss Putnam spoke the words softly but sternly, her interruption very obviously deliberate.

“Yes, yes, child, you'll need your strength,” Bo put in. “Finish your food. Colt isn't here to talk about the tragic past of his ancestors. Besides, you've been through some rough times today and you got your clothes wet. I want you to eat and go straight to bed. God knows I can't have you getting sick on me.”

Sunny looked a little disappointed. She set her journal aside and poked at some potatoes, and Colt finished his steak, feeling more awkward than ever, eager now for this meal to be over. This whole thing was making him even more aware of how different his world was from the Landerses'.

“Sunny tends to get a little carried away,” Miss Putnam said then. “She is quite a good writer. Do you write, Mr. Travis?”

Colt wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, setting it aside then and meeting the woman's eyes boldly, understanding the intended insult. “Yes, ma'am, I know how to write. My father worked for a surveyor those last few years, but he was a missionary and a teacher at heart, and he taught me well.” He glanced at Sunny and could see she was slightly hurt and embarrassed by Miss Putnam's remark. He gave her a light smile and turned to her father. “Stuart says you did some hunting and trapping in your own day,” he said, deciding to change the subject and get the attention away from himself.

Bo brightened, a man who always enjoyed talking about himself. He bellowed about how his grandfather had settled at Fort Dearborn and started a trading business; and how he and his own father had survived the Pottawatomie massacre, but that his mother, a sister, and a brother had been murdered. He beamed about his shipping and railroad empire, about what a growing city Chicago was, and how, once the railroad was built across the country, there would be other cities as big or bigger. Colt glanced a time or two at Sunny, noticing how proudly she watched and listened to her father.

By the time the man finished talking, the meal was done and Landers was lighting another cigar. “You'd better get to sleep, Sunny,” he said then. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“But I want to sit here and listen,” she objected.

“There will be many other opportunities,” Miss Putnam put in. “Come, child.”

A pouting Sunny picked up her journal, glancing at Colt. “I want to hear more about the Cherokee, Colt; and more about your other adventures, like how many Indians you have killed, people you have rescued. Have you ever been wounded yourself?”

“A couple of times.”

“You have? Where? How badly?”