The Green Lace Corset, стр. 7

He pulled her beside him on the seat next to the window, held open his jacket, and showed her the pistol resting in a holster on his hip.

Her shoulders slumped, and she looked down at her hands.

“Glad you see it my way.”

“Do I really have any choice?”

The train whistle sounded again. The locomotive creaked, its bottom scraped along the tracks, and it rumbled out of the station.

Fear rippled in her chest as she relived that horrible day for the hundredth time. She had just stepped into the bank as the guard shot a bandit, who fell to the ground with a blood-wrenching scream. This man—the man beside her now on the train, the man who’d laughed at her joke—blasted the guard, who also collapsed to the floor.

This man had seized her shoulders, held her tight, with his pistol to her chest, and yelled, as he pulled her backward toward the door, “Nobody move!”

God, please save me, she’d silently prayed.

And, as if in answer to her prayer, the man had released her and run out of the bank with that bag of money—a fortune, she later learned: $10,000.

The conductor entered the car and stood beside them. “Tickets, please.”

Sally Sue opened her mouth to speak. Cliff patted his jacket above the gun. “Yes, sir.” He handed the conductor his ticket. “Honey, give him yours.”

Her hands juddered while she searched through the basket. She handed it to the conductor, who didn’t notice as she tried to catch his eye.

He studied the ticket with a frown. “This was only good to the last town.”

Sally Sue tried to stand, but Cliff put an arm tightly around her shoulders, as if they were lovers. “You don’t say. See, here’s my ticket.”

The conductor inspected it. “Must be some kind of mistake. I apologize. Have a nice ride.” He left the car.

Cliff leaned back and closed his eyes. When he seemed to have nodded off, Sally Sue stealthily rose, gathered her things, and headed toward the corridor. He pulled her back down and grumbled, “You’re going nowhere without me, pretty lady.”

Was he making fun of her? “Pretty”—ha. “Wallflower” was more like it, her mother would have said. Sally Sue scowled back at him. “Why won’t you let me go?”

“You’ll tell the authorities where I am.”

“No, I won’t. I promise. I have to go to my aunt. She shouldn’t die alone.”

“All of us die alone sooner or later.”

Sally Sue cried, “Where’re you taking me?”

“West. Toward the Pacific.” He handed her a white handkerchief from his front pocket. “Better get used to the idea.”

“Isn’t it wild out there?” She dabbed at her tears.

“That’s why I want to go there.”

She just couldn’t look at him any longer, so she took her tatting from her basket, but she was shaking so hard, she couldn’t work the needles. She considered jabbing him with one and running away, but it would only poke him, and he’d shoot her for sure. She put the needles back in her basket and folded her arms across her chest.

Why would a man rob a bank? Did he have hungry children to feed, or a sick parent, or was he just greedy?

“Why’d you do it?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Rob that bank.”

“I had my reasons.”

“What could ever justify killing a man?”

“That was never part of the plan. I’ll say no more about it.”

She looked out the window. A line of five covered wagons crossed the desolate plain.

“Look at those prairie schooners,” Cliff said.

“What?”

“Those wagons seem like ships sailing out to sea.”

“Why don’t those people just take the train?”

“They’re moving all their possessions west. Now that trains go all the way across to the Pacific, we’ll probably see fewer prairie schooners.”

Up ahead, a dozen shaggy beasts roamed the tall grasses near the tracks, their horned heads bowed, as if in prayer. Their skinny legs didn’t look like they could hold up their immense bodies. As the train slowed with a squeal, the bison began to scatter.

“Peculiar-looking things,” Cliff said. “Used to be millions of them. I heard there are fewer than a thousand left now.”

“What happened to them?”

She’d heard stories of engines slowing down for hunters to shoot bison from open windows. “Did hunters really kill bison from trains?”

“Yes.”

“Why would anyone shoot them? They’re not hurting anything. Was it Indians?”

“No, they only kill what they planned to eat. White hunters mostly shot bison for sport. Sometimes railroad companies paid hunters to keep bison off the tracks.”

“Did you ever do it?”

“Do what?”

“Shoot bison from a train?”

He just stared at her and didn’t say a word.

She shivered. As the train continued along, she searched for peaceful animal sightings to dispel the gruesome image of bison shootings and counted each new group she saw: flocks of geese, rafters of wild turkey, herds of elk, bands of wild horses.

It began to grow dark. She took a shawl from her basket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Are you cold?” Cliff put an arm around her.

She pulled away. “Don’t touch me.” Memories of the robbery flowed into her senses.

“Sorry.” He closed his eyes.

Darkness fell. The train rumbled rhythmically beneath her. After a while, she heard Cliff’s soft breathing. Quietly, she picked up her basket and crept into the corridor again.

She heard Cliff’s gun cock against the small of her back.

“Like I said, you’re not going anywhere without me.”

She returned to the seat and stared out into the blackness. How would she ever get away from him? Wouldn’t he have killed her already if he was going to do so? Even though she was exhausted, she would never be able to sleep.

Cliff nudged Sally Sue’s shoulder. “Morning, glory.”

She opened her eyes, stretched, and yawned. She must have fallen asleep. The train continued to chug along the winding tracks. Outside the window, as the sun rose, a vast, sandy landscape glowed rose pink. The train passed lofty, flat mesas striped with bands of color. Maybe that was what the moon looked like.

Cliff handed her his canteen.

Her heart lurched as the realization of this nightmare journey flooded back into her.