and buggies and wagons, making a muted noise quite unlike that of a New York street. Saddle horses were lined up along the hitch racks, resting their rumps on one tipped-back hoof. The reek of slurry was strong, drifting over the town from the nearby stock pens, and it mixed oddly with food smells and the hot bodies of people and animals. Confused, Caroline’s stomach did not know whether to rumble or recoil. Men sauntered by with pistols strapped to their hips, their shirts untied at the throat, and Caroline stared at them in amazement, as if they had walked straight out of legend. Her heart beat hard with nervous energy and her throat was dry. For one instant, she almost missed Bathilda’s indomitable presence at her side; missed having the barricade of her respectability to hide behind. Ashamed, she straightened her shoulders and reread the menu card.
The restaurant was busy with the lunch crowd, but a crisp girl in a neat uniform soon served her; bringing out consommé with vermicelli, and poached eggs, and coffee.
“Are you travelling far, miss?” a man asked her. He was sitting two seats away along the table, and he smiled and leaned toward her, so that she colored, shocked to be spoken to so casually. The man was unshaven and his coat cuffs were shiny.
“To Woodward,” she said, unsure whether she should introduce herself before speaking, or indeed if she should speak to him at all.
“Woodward? Well, you’ve not too far to go now, I guess, considering how far you’ve come already—New York, if I can tell by your accent?” He smiled again, wider now. Caroline nodded quickly and concentrated on her eggs. “You got family there you visiting? In Woodward I mean?”
“My husband,” Caroline replied.
“Your husband! Now that’s a crying shame. Still, lucky this place has opened up now, isn’t it? The Fred Harvey place before this was in a boxcar on stilts! Did you ever see such a thing back east?” he exclaimed loudly, and Caroline tried to smile politely.
“Ah, leave the girl alone, Doon. Can’t you see she wants to eat her lunch in peace?” This was another man, sitting next to the first. He had an ill-tempered look, deep creases around his eyes. He had combed his hair fiercely to one side and there it remained, held fixed by some substance or other. Caroline hardly dared look at him. Her cheeks blazed.
“Beg pardon, missus,” the first man mumbled. Caroline ate with unseemly haste and returned to the train with her hands tucked into her fox-fur muffler, in spite of the warmth of the weather.
The country after Dodge City was wide and sparsely punctuated. Mile after gently featureless mile of prairie rolled by as the train now turned southward on the Santa Fe line. Caroline slouched in her seat and longed to loosen her stays. Too tired to keep a ladylike posture, and since she was alone in the compartment, she tipped her head against the glass and stared into the endless, eggshell sky. The horizon had never been as wide, as flat, as far away. Gradually, the mighty span of it began to give her a slippery feeling like vertigo. She had expected to see snow-capped mountains, emerald fields of farmland, and quick rivers running. But the earth looked hot and exhausted, just as she felt. She took her copy of The Virginian from her bag instead and fancied herself like Molly Wood, fearlessly cutting her home ties, boldly heading to a new life in an unknown land. After a while, though, she stopped feeling like Molly Wood and started to feel afraid again, so she thought of her husband, waiting for her at Woodward, and while this seemed to slow the train and prolong the interminable journey, it did at least reassure her.
The train arrived at Woodward late in the day, as the sun began to set smeared and orange against the dusty window glass. Caroline had been dozing when the conductor strode past her compartment.
“Woodward! Woodward the next stop!” His shout woke her, sent her heart skittering. She
The restaurant was busy with the lunch crowd, but a crisp girl in a neat uniform soon served her; bringing out consommé with vermicelli, and poached eggs, and coffee.
“Are you travelling far, miss?” a man asked her. He was sitting two seats away along the table, and he smiled and leaned toward her, so that she colored, shocked to be spoken to so casually. The man was unshaven and his coat cuffs were shiny.
“To Woodward,” she said, unsure whether she should introduce herself before speaking, or indeed if she should speak to him at all.
“Woodward? Well, you’ve not too far to go now, I guess, considering how far you’ve come already—New York, if I can tell by your accent?” He smiled again, wider now. Caroline nodded quickly and concentrated on her eggs. “You got family there you visiting? In Woodward I mean?”
“My husband,” Caroline replied.
“Your husband! Now that’s a crying shame. Still, lucky this place has opened up now, isn’t it? The Fred Harvey place before this was in a boxcar on stilts! Did you ever see such a thing back east?” he exclaimed loudly, and Caroline tried to smile politely.
“Ah, leave the girl alone, Doon. Can’t you see she wants to eat her lunch in peace?” This was another man, sitting next to the first. He had an ill-tempered look, deep creases around his eyes. He had combed his hair fiercely to one side and there it remained, held fixed by some substance or other. Caroline hardly dared look at him. Her cheeks blazed.
“Beg pardon, missus,” the first man mumbled. Caroline ate with unseemly haste and returned to the train with her hands tucked into her fox-fur muffler, in spite of the warmth of the weather.
The country after Dodge City was wide and sparsely punctuated. Mile after gently featureless mile of prairie rolled by as the train now turned southward on the Santa Fe line. Caroline slouched in her seat and longed to loosen her stays. Too tired to keep a ladylike posture, and since she was alone in the compartment, she tipped her head against the glass and stared into the endless, eggshell sky. The horizon had never been as wide, as flat, as far away. Gradually, the mighty span of it began to give her a slippery feeling like vertigo. She had expected to see snow-capped mountains, emerald fields of farmland, and quick rivers running. But the earth looked hot and exhausted, just as she felt. She took her copy of The Virginian from her bag instead and fancied herself like Molly Wood, fearlessly cutting her home ties, boldly heading to a new life in an unknown land. After a while, though, she stopped feeling like Molly Wood and started to feel afraid again, so she thought of her husband, waiting for her at Woodward, and while this seemed to slow the train and prolong the interminable journey, it did at least reassure her.
The train arrived at Woodward late in the day, as the sun began to set smeared and orange against the dusty window glass. Caroline had been dozing when the conductor strode past her compartment.
“Woodward! Woodward the next stop!” His shout woke her, sent her heart skittering. She
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