Bay City Belle Read online

  Ronald withdrew his arm. “All the same, my brother’s a hero, I don’t care what you say.” Undaunted, he began chatting with Mrs. Hollister. “Have you ever been to the Tadich Grill? Best steaks in the world. You ought to try it sometime....”

  While the banker rambled on, Belle directed her attention to her dessert. She felt, rather than saw, Yancy’s gaze upon her and raised her eyes.

  He was giving her a long, searching look. “Are you surprised?”

  “That you fought on the Union side?” She paused to put her thoughts together. “Yes, but I shouldn’t be. I’m not in the South anymore. The trouble is where I come from, the Yankees are gone now, and we very much like it that way.”

  He sniffed appreciatively. “And you thought you’d never see another.”

  She tilted her chin. “I’m not sure about that, Mr. McLeish. All I know is, for me the war will never be over. Never.”

  If he took offense, he didn’t let it show, and instead simply gave a brief nod. “Understandable,” he said and returned his attention to his meal.

  * * * *

  At the end of dinner, the two ladies left first, the brothers gazing after them as they disappeared up the aisle. “Pretty little thing, isn’t she?” Ronald remarked.

  “Which one? Have you become smitten by the charms of Mrs. Hollister?”

  Ronald guffawed and reached for a cigar. “You know who I mean. Well put together, I must say. Pretty face. I don’t think she likes that you’re a Yankee, though.”

  “She’s from Savannah. How else would she feel?”

  Ronald sighed. “I’d like to see you married someday. So would Mother.”

  “I don’t need a wife, Ronald, so for God’s sake don’t try any matchmaking.”

  “Can’t blame me for trying, although I’ve got to admit there’s a certain merit in being single.” He thought a moment and quickly added, “Except for the children, of course. What would I do without them? Wait till you meet them.”

  Yancy replied with an agreeable nod and said no more. From what he’d gleaned thus far, Ronald didn’t have anything good to say about his wife, Bernice. He’d noticed that since they left Maine, her name hadn’t crossed his brother’s lips, although he’d heard plenty about his children, Richard and Beth. Plainly Ronald wasn’t happy in his marriage. Hard to figure why, but Yancy supposed he’d find out soon enough and wouldn’t pry. And in the meantime, he hoped Ronald would cease any further efforts to marry him off. In the future, he’d be more careful because somehow Ronald had sensed his attraction to Belle Ainsworth, even though he thought he’d concealed it pretty well.

  He’d only known her for an hour or so, but couldn’t stop thinking about her. So unlike him to have a woman on his mind, but the moment she sat across from him, something about her sent a jolt straight to his gut. He could hardly keep from staring at the delicate features of her face: those high cheekbones, full lips, perky up-tilted nose, the sweep of her lashes against her fair skin. She’d sat all ladylike and proper, dressed in the appropriate fashion, including that ridiculous feathered hat perched atop her head. But the severe cut of her suit hadn’t concealed her full breasts and small waist, and he could easily imagine those long legs hidden beneath her skirt. But wait. The trouble was, his hands would never be exploring the intimate parts of Miss Belle Ainsworth, not when she knew the whole truth about him. He allowed a wry laugh to escape his lips. Lord no!

  Chapter 5

  That night, Belle didn’t sleep well, and no wonder. Even though she could lower the seat back, it didn’t go all the way down. It was better than sitting up all night, but the hard pillow provided by the railroad did little to alleviate the discomfort of having to lie halfway horizontally on a thinly upholstered seat. She must have slept some, though, and when she opened her eyes in the morning, she found Mrs. Hollister already awake with her mouth pursed.

  “Good morning, Miss Ainsworth. I see you’ve survived the night, no thanks to those heartless millionaires who run the railroad. My rheumatism is killing me, but do they care? Now that they’re rich, they don’t give a fig we must practically sit up all night and end up with stiff necks and aching bones.”

  “Good morning.” This early in the day, Belle didn’t feel like arguing. She’d awakened in a good mood and wanted to keep it that way. “At least they gave us pillows.”

  “Ha! Who cares? Robber barons, all of them.”

  Belle chose not to answer, even though she was tempted to point out that judging from Mrs. Hollister’s remarks and those Tiffany jewels, she herself was one of those heartless millionaires she supposedly despised. Instead, she hastened to the tiny bathroom where she washed up as best she could, combed her hair, and resettled the ostrich-plumed hat atop her head. When she returned and peered over her seatmate to look out the window, she got a surprise. “Where did the prairie go? Look, we’re in the mountains. I’ve never seen such tall trees.”

  Mrs. Hollister didn’t appear the least impressed. “They’re only pine trees. At least we’ve left Nebraska behind. We’re in Wyoming Territory now.”

  The train soon stopped for water at a place called Pine Bluffs. When Mr. Parkhurst, the conductor, announced they could get off the train for twenty minutes, Belle jumped at the chance to move around and stretch. Mrs. Hollister chose to stay on the train, but when Belle stepped to the platform, she found most of her fellow passengers taking a break from the narrow confines of the cars. She was watching a little boy racing madly from one of the platform to the other when she heard a shout.

  “Good morning, Miss Ainsworth! Nice to see you again.”

  The banker’s voice. She looked to see Ronald McLeish and his brother standing not far away. She could hardly avoid them, nor did she wish to. She moved toward them, waving a greeting. “Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you slept well last night.”

  Ronald appreciated her humor and guffawed. “That’s a good one, Miss Ainsworth. Makes you appreciate your own bed, doesn’t it? But things may improve soon. I’ve heard there’s a fellow in Chicago named George Pullman who’s started a company that makes sleeper cars. Think of it. Your own private bed on a train.”

  “That sounds almost too good to be true.” She gazed around her. The small train station sat nestled amidst tall trees. She drew a deep breath, savoring the sharp scent of pine in the air. “So this is what the mountains are like.”

  Ronald started to answer, but suddenly his eyes lit. “Oh, say, I think I see someone I know.” He drifted away, leaving her standing with Yancy McLeish, who so far, other than a nod of greeting, hadn’t said a word.

  She hadn’t planned on having a conversation with this former member of the Union Army and therefore a hated Yankee. She could walk away, but again good manners intruded. “It’s a lovely morning, isn’t it, Mr. McLeish?”

  He surprised her by breaking into laughter. “You don’t have to be polite, Miss Ainsworth. Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. If you wish not to talk to me, I completely understand.”

  His honest answer caught her unprepared. What next? She could simply walk away, but if she did, she’d come across as incredibly rude, and she wasn’t raised that way. Better that she stayed. What would it hurt to exchange a few words with the man who played a part in her most enjoyable dinner last night? And besides all that, how nice to be standing in the sunshine, breathing in the delightfully sharp, pine-scented mountain air. At the moment, she couldn’t make herself hate anybody, even a Yankee. “It’s too nice of a day to argue, don’t you agree?”

  An easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I agree.”

  He was tall. Taller than she realized when she sat across from him last night. Unlike his portly brother, he had a lanky frame that appeared to be all hard, lean muscle. She liked the way he stood, not the least unsure of himself. Just like her father, he carried an imposing air of self-confidence that clearly announced he could han
dle himself well, no matter what, and nothing could rattle him. She could detect no flirtatious gleam in his eyes, but at least they were filled with interest and a bit of humor. “Have you taken this train before, Mr. McLeish?”

  “Never, nor will I ever take it again, other than to go back where I came from, and that’ll be soon.”

  “So your visit to San Francisco will be short?”

  “Just long enough to say goodbye to my mother. She’s dying.”

  “Oh.” His answer hit her hard. Agonizing memories came flooding back. “I am so sorry, Mr. McLeish. It’s never easy. I lost my mother back in ’63, and I’m not over it yet.”

  “During the war,” he said.

  “Yes, during the war.” She never thought she’d be talking like this, but something about this man caused her to open up in a way she’d never done before. “She died of typhoid during the blockade.”

  The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she hadn’t said them. Not like her at all. What was it about this man that made her cut through all her carefully constructed defenses and reveal her personal life? “I apologize, Mr. McLeish. That was uncalled for. I didn’t mean to burden you with my sorrows.”

  “You didn’t. I also apologize. I shouldn’t have mentioned my mother. It’s a personal matter.”

  “Well, it looks like we got off to a bad start, doesn’t it?”

  He smiled. “It’s nothing we can’t fix.” He gazed around him and pointed toward the train. “I was talking to the conductor. Did you know that’s a three-hundred-horsepower engine?”

  “Three-hundred-horsepower! My, my, fancy that.” She wasn’t the least interested in the power of a steam engine but gratefully welcomed the change of subject. They stood chatting of inconsequential things until a blast of the train whistle announced they would soon depart.

  “It was nice talking to you,” she said.

  “Likewise.” He sniffed the air. “I like your perfume.”

  Pleased, she answered, “It’s called Fleur de Bulgarie. Queen Victoria wears it.”

  “Does she now,” he said with a laugh. “I’m impressed.”

  They parted and climbed back on the train. When she got back to her seat, Mrs. Hollister remarked, “I was watching you and the thin Mr. McLeish out the window.” She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Do I see the start of a romance? You seem to be hitting it off pretty well, and I know he was taken with you. I noticed last night at dinner.”

  What did she mean by “taken with you”? Belle would love to ask, but what would be the point? Robert Romano was waiting for her in San Francisco, and she mustn’t forget that. Besides, how annoying. Could she not even talk to a man without this busybody jumping to conclusions? But then… Calm down and don’t be blaming Mrs. Hollister. She herself was at fault. She hadn’t revealed she was about to be married. Mr. Yancy McLeish might be extremely pleasant to talk to, but he was a Yankee, and she, loyal Southerner to the end, should have nothing further to do with him.

  * * * *

  The day passed slowly. Belle and Mrs. Hollister ate breakfast and lunch in the dining car but saw no sign of Yancy and his brother. The rest of the time, she helped a beleaguered mother, Mrs. Duffy, whose little boy, Billy, had begun to run wild up and down the aisle; and whose little girl, Alice, was driving the passengers wild with her nonstop whining. Belle welcomed the distraction and found pleasure in diverting their attention with simple entertainments such as cat’s cradle. She yearned for all the books she’d bought for her nieces and nephew but had to make do with a tattered copy of The Water Babies, which little Alice insisted upon hearing over and over again. While with the children, Belle stayed away from her own seat. Mrs. Hollister would have thrown a fit if she’d brought squirming Billy to sit on her lap. Only in the late afternoon, while the children were taking a nap, did she return to sit next to her cranky seatmate.

  “I don’t see how you do it,” Mrs. Hollister said. “If I hadn’t had a nanny for my three, I would have gone insane.”

  Belle hid her surprise. Mrs. Hollister was a mother? Her children must be long since grown, but you’d think she would at least have mentioned them. That’s what mothers did—talk about their children. Not her seatmate, though. “You have three children?” she asked to be polite.

  “I had three children. Two of them died.”

  The poor woman. What could be worse than losing a child? “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It was a long time ago. I still have my son, Malcolm, and his dear wife, Eugenia.”

  Belle wondered if she was mistaken or was there a snappish edge to her seatmate’s voice when she mentioned her son and his wife. Either way, she would intrude no further. She was looking for a change of subject when Mrs. Hollister cocked her head. “Why is the train slowing down? It’s not supposed to slow down here.”

  “Perhaps for water?”

  “No. It doesn’t stop for water here.”

  Belle leaned past her seatmate to peer out the window. Sure enough, the train was gliding to a halt on a straight stretch of track. They were still in the mountains, a thick growth of pine trees bordering each side. She couldn’t see much of the train, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. “That’s curious. Why would it stop? There’s nothing here.”

  Mrs. Hollister got a stoic look on her face. “It’s probably bandits. Somehow they got on board, and now they’re going to rob us and kill us all.”

  Belle started to laugh. “Oh, I hardly think—”

  From out the window she saw a man leap from one of the cars ahead, or possibly the engine, she couldn’t be sure. He stumbled and started to run, a desperate urgency in his movement as he headed toward the pine trees. Shots rang out, so many Belle couldn’t count. The man staggered and collapsed on the ground. A group of masked men on horseback emerged from the trees and milled about the still body. They all carried guns. As she watched, one aimed a pistol and fired a shot into the man’s head.

  “Oh, my God.” Belle fell back in her seat, hand pressed over her pounding heart. “You were right, Mrs. Hollister.”

  At the sound of the gunshots, pandemonium erupted in the car. Women screamed, children cried, men leaped from their seats. Some rushed from the car but soon returned. They could easily have stepped off the train, but the masked men aimed their pistols at them and stopped them cold. Nobody knew what to do. The men simply milled about the aisle until the arrival of Mr. Parkhurst, who’d been in one of the cars ahead. Looking cool and unperturbed, he held up both palms. “Calm down, everyone. Return to your seats.” He waited until all passengers had cleared the aisles and a semblance of order had been restored. “Stay in your seats, ladies and gentlemen. Remain calm. Chances are you’re safe here.”

  “What’s going on?” a man shouted.

  Someone shouted, “We’ve got robbers aboard!”

  More screams and gasps erupted. Mr. Parkhurst stood patiently waiting until he could continue. “Judging from the number of horses, there’s at least eight of ’em, maybe more. Looks like some of ’em sneaked aboard last time we stopped for water. They hid in the tender—that’s the coal car behind the engine—until we got here, the middle of nowhere. My guess is they broke into the engine, got the drop on the engineer and fireman, and ordered them to stop the train at this exact spot. The rest of the gang was already here, waiting with extra horses. It was all carefully planned, that’s for sure.”

  “Who was that man running away, the one who got shot?” asked a woman whose voice bordered on hysteria.

  “Can’t say for sure but looks like it was Tilton Evans, the fireman.” The conductor’s mouth set in a grim line. “A good man. Wife and five children.”

  “So what do we do now?” a man asked.

  “Nothing to do but wait, folks. I can’t get to the engine without getting off the train, and with all those masked men out there, I’d be wise not to try that. I ca
n’t tell you for sure what’s going on, but I can make a good guess. The Wells Fargo express car sits back of the tender. It’s got a safe that I know for a fact is carrying a big load of cash meant for payrolls up around the Sweetwater mines. I’d wager that’s what they’re after.”

  A panicked woman declared, “Then Wells Fargo needs to give them the cash so they’ll let us go.”

  “I agree that would be the simplest solution. The trouble is, Wells Fargo keeps those doors to the express car locked tight on both ends. I can’t get in there, and neither can anyone else. It’s up to the men inside. If they’re scared enough, or get tricked, they’ll let the bandits in. If someone gets brave, they’ll refuse to unlock the doors, and we could have a standoff for hours. I doubt it’ll last that long, though. From what I’ve seen of these train robbers, they get impatient. That’s when bullets start to fly.”

  Another passenger spoke up. “What if Wells Fargo lets them in? Will the bandits take the money and go, or will they rob us, too?”

  Mr. Parkhurst took a long moment to ponder. “From what I’ve seen so far, this looks like the work of the Cooper Brothers Gang. Can’t say for sure, though. If it’s the Coopers, they’ve been known to go through the train and rob the passengers.”

  “What’ll we do?” a woman wailed.

  “Calm yourself, madam. Some try to hide their valuables, some don’t. Whatever you decide, the best advice I can give you is if they come through the car, don’t argue with them. If any of you men are carrying guns, and I’m guessing some of you are, don’t think you’re going to make a hero of yourself by taking on one of the most ruthless gangs in the region. Hide your guns. Jasper Cooper himself is wanted for murder in three states, so you don’t want to tangle with him. He’s got nothing to lose and would just as soon kill you as look at you.”