Part 10. Train Wreck

Jim paused in the hallway, the wooden box held behind his knees, and listened at the closed door. He heard the usual snoring from his partner but no voices of the nurses. He stole another quick glance up toward the front of the clinic and saw a nurse move from one room to another, but she didn't look in his direction. Slowly turning the handle, he pushed the door open just enough to slide in and then silently closed it behind him. With a sigh of relief, he leaned back against the door, eyes closed for a few minutes. His knees throbbed from walking and climbing stairs and his throat burned again from the smoke of the scorched train. He walked slowly to the chair beside the bed and sat heavily, setting the box on the floor at his feet.

He looked his partner over, his eyes noticing the clean bandages. He stared at Artie's fingers on his injured left hand, leaning close to see if the cloth had been arranged differently on his fingertips. He suddenly realized the snoring had stopped. He leaned over further to peer at the one dark eye that was now open and staring back at him from under the edge of the white head wrappings.

"Artemus?" He reached a hand out to his friend's right arm, the only unbandaged area showing outside of the bed sheets. "Are you awake?" A humph was all he heard. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I was trying to sneak in and grab a nap myself." He squeezed Artie's wrist, "Hey, are you waking up or going back to sleep?"

The eye closed as Artie whispered, "Where did you go?" The eye opened again and stared, sleepily, at his friend.

Jim sat back and stretched. Yawning, he said, "I went to the train with Colonel Richmond and Jeremy. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. And Colonel says he will make sure there is money for the repairs."

"All repairs?" Artie stared hard at Jim, worry clear on his bandaged face.

Jim leaned closer again, speaking softly, "Ya, that's what he said. I told him about the boiler needing new seals and other repairs Cobb mentioned and he said to bring him the bill." He grunted, "Well, bring it to the financial office anyway." He shook his head slowly back and forth as he rubbed a hand over his forehead. The bandage on his palm had come loose and he stopped to poke the cloth back together.

Artie relaxed, smiling now, the one eye twinkling with amusement at his partner's obvious distress. "Oh, Charles will be so happy to see you."

Jim sat back again and sighed, "Ya, Charles and I will have a long, tortured conversation over a stack of financial forms. " He reached down to the box. "But," he said, his voice brightening, "You let me worry about the train. You should be worrying about you." He put the box on his knees. "And I brought you some friends to cheer you up."

Artie pushed himself up straighter with his right arm, his face twisting in effort. He watched as Jim opened the box and pulled out a white pigeon. The bird burst from his hand and fluttered around the room, banging into the wall above Artie's head. It flopped onto the bed at Artie's feet. "Always in a panic, aren't you, Arabella?" Artie laughed as the bird climbed to her feet and began walking up his legs. He whistled to it, "Come here, girl." The bird stopped to peck at the sheets on his legs, obviously ignoring him.

"Something is wrong with that bird," Jim muttered, as he pulled the second pigeon out. Henrietta hopped from his hand onto his shoulder and cooed into his ear. "You like me, don't you, girl?" The bird rubbed her face against his cheek, cooing louder. "I almost forgot about them, partner, but they were fine."

Artie rolled slowly onto his back, his head held up by a pile of pillows. He watched Arabella walk around on the sheets, then held his hand out to her. The bird leaped into the air and fluttered farther down by his feet again and returned to pecking at the folds of cloth. Looking more awake, he turned to Jim. "Buddy, I need to tell you something, as a friend before someone else mentions it." He paused, dramatically, looking at Jim's open shirt and then down at his pants. Jim stared back, waiting for the declaration he knew was coming, "You smell terrible. And you don't look much better."

Jim laughed, "Do I smell like smoke? It must be the clothes. My head is so full of smoke I can't smell anything else." He held his right sleeve to his nose and sniffed, grimacing. He turned his hands over to looks at his palms, the finger tips showing were dark with soot and the white cloth was grey and frayed. "I really need to catch that doctor for some clean bandages." Henrietta walked to his neck and began nibbling on his hair, snapping bits off.

"So how bad was the fire?" Artie asked. "Is it the entire car then?"

"Oh, no," Jim said, reaching up to stroke the bird's smooth feathers. "It's just the front room and part of the ceiling going into the galley. I think it's just the interior, and the windows, of course, and the doors. But we have plenty of spare glass and more doors in the storage room. I think just the walls and ceiling need to be rebuilt and painted." Artie nodded, lost in thought now. Jim watched him for a minute and then took a deep breath. "I did find something that I couldn't explain." Artie looked back to him. "I am hoping you will remember what you were doing when I tell you."

Artie shrugged and then grimaced, as the movement in his shoulders spiked pain. Gritting his teeth, he said, "try me but I make no promises."

Jim leaned closer and stared at him, "Scissors."

Artie stared back, waiting for more. When Jim stayed silent he asked, "What about them?"

Jim sighed, "The scissors were on the floor by the table." He paused again, obviously losing hope. "They were open, as if you had been cutting with them like a knife?" He moved his hand in a drawing motion. "Do you remember cutting anything with scissors?"

Artie shook his head slowly. "No."

"Oh, come on," Jim said, bursting out. "Throw me a bone, partner! Anything!"

"I don't remember!" Artie said, clearly frustrated. "Do you want me to make something up?" Both birds suddenly took flight, alarmed at the raised voices. The two men, glaring at each other, ignored them. "Was I cutting anything when you left the room?"

"No, you were writing reports and the table was covered with pens and stacks of papers," Jim said, "that's why I know something changed. You stopped what you were doing and started doing something else. The scissors were in the drawer when I left. You must have gotten them out and did something." Henrietta landed on his shoulder again as Arabella bounced against the closed door. "Well, maybe it will come to you eventually. But it would make it easier for me to figure out what happened."

Artie sighed too, obviously worried, twisting uncomfortably on the bed. "Hey," he said, pointing to a counter. "Grab me a couple more pillows, would you please, and stuff them behind my head? I need to sit up for a while." Jim stood and staggered to the counter. He grabbed pillows and staggered back to the bed. He paused, glaring down at his partner, who was now laughing.

"What?" Jim snapped.

Artie pointed up at him, "You're limping around with a bird on your shoulder. You just look like a pirate," he said, laughing again.

"Ya, funny," Jim said, leaning over to stuff the pillows behind Artie's back, twisting his body as he felt the bird's claws through the loose shirt as she walked down his spine. "Maybe I could get a hook for a hand, while I am at it." He stood slowly again, as Henrietta walked back up to his shoulder. "Or we could join the circus as the crazy guy with pet pigeons," he said to the bird, as she began rubbing his ear with her head. He sat slowly again in the chair, "so have you been out of this bed yet?"

Artie nodded, "I snuck over to the bathroom. I almost made it back without being caught." Jim laughed. "I hate bedpans."

"Especially ones brought by pretty nurses," Jim said, thinking back of times he was laid up with various wounds. "Eaten anything?"

Artie grimaced, "well, I ate something," he paused, "it was a hot liquid of some kind." He grimaced and shook, making a terrible face, at the memory.

Jim prodded, "soup? Tea?"

"Dish water," Artie said, nodding. "I think it was dish water." Jim laughed, knowing how particular his friend was about food. "I seemed to have survived it though."

Suddenly the door opened, sending Arabella into the air again from where she had settled in the floor at the base of the door. "Oh, no," Margaret said, ducking as she entered the room carrying a large pitcher and a covered tray. "I am so sorry. I must have left the window open and a pigeon flew in. Wait and I will open it again and send it out!"

"No!" Both men yelled at once, causing the nurse to spin around to stare at them in shock. Jim stood and turned to her, pointing to the second bird on his shoulder, "they are mine. Just leave the window closed, please, for now." He smiled as Margaret flushed and giggled, pointing at Henrietta, who was nervously hiding behind Jim's neck. The bird clung to his collar, causing his open shirt to twist down his shoulders. The bird's wings flapped as it tried to regain its perch, the wing tips smacking his cheeks and fluttering his hair. Jim grabbed at the shirt's front and pulled it back down over his chest and stomach. "This is Henrietta. She's a little shy."

"And that's Arabella," Artie said, as the second bird flew around the room, close to the ceiling, feathers fluttering down onto the people below. She settled on a high shelf, knocking rolls of bandages onto the floor below. "She's a little shy too."

Jim snorted, shaking his head at the bird, which was now settling down on the shelf.

"Well I guess they can stay here," Margaret said, "I don't think the doctor has ever had pets before but it would be good for patient moral."

Jim cleared his voice and tried to sound firm, "these are not pets, miss, they are carrier pigeons. It's how we communicate when working in the field. They just need to stay with us while our train is repaired."

"Train?" Margaret asked.

"Yes," Jim said, "haven't I mentioned that? We live on a train. It's parked at the train yard. That's how Artemus was injured."

"Oh," Margaret said, nodding and walking to Artemus. "I had no idea what happened to you but this explains it. We have had many people injured in train accidents though it's odd that I hadn't heard anything in the newspaper about a train crash." She turned away and Artie rolled his eyes at Jim behind her back. "I brought some sandwiches for you and a fresh pitcher of water. I am sure you are both hungry." She turned to the back of the room and set the tray and pitcher on the back shelf. "We are busy this afternoon but the doctor wants to change your bandages, Mr. West, this afternoon." She turned to leave, pausing again to look down at Artemus. "Are you sure you wouldn't want me to bring you some pain medication, sir? Just a weak dose before you eat?"

Artemus smiled but shook his head, refusing, and the nurse sighed and nodded defeat. She silently left the room, brushing white feathers from her nurse's dress as she closed the door.

Jim walked to the tray and removed the cover. "Well, partner, feel like eating lunch?" He walked slowly back to his chair and sat with the tray on his knees. Sandwiches were stacked neatly in piles. "This is fancy," Jim muttered, "white bread, no crusts, cut in triangles. I wonder if my mother is hiding in the kitchen."

Artie chuckled, "If she was, Jim, she would be out here clucking away with the nurses." Jim nodded, picking up a sandwich to examine the contents. "What are they?" Artie peered suspiciously at the sandwich.

Jim took a big bite and chewed, obviously thinking at the same time. He finally shrugged and handed a triangle to Artie. "No idea," he said, "you try it. "

Artie took the sandwich and looked at the contents more closely. "Grey something that doesn't even have a smell." He looked at his friend over the bread, "not that I can smell anything now that you're back." Jim just winked at him. He took a small bite and chewed slowly, looking like a man tasting a fine wine. "No idea," he finally agreed. "But not bad tasting. Definitely better than the dish soap I had earlier." With a burst of feathers, Arabella landed on his feet again and quickly hopped up his legs. "Oh, now you want to be friends, eh?" Artie put the sandwich on the sheet and held out a piece of the bread. The bird flew to his fingers and began pecking the bread to pieces.

Henrietta quickly joined the picnic on the bed, attacking the bits of bread. Amused, Artie watched them for a few minutes and then raised his sandwich again toward his mouth. Both birds jumped from the bed to his fingers, pecking now at the bread in his hand. "Hey," he said, shaking his hand. The birds only clung more firmly.

Jim stood, moving the tray to the nearby side table. He reached out and pulled them off his partner's hand, placing them back on the bed. "Here," he said, handing them more bread. "Eat yours and leave Artie alone." He sat back and reached for a second triangle. Both birds, noticing his movement now, flew to his hand, landing on his fingers just as he was taking a bite. He lowered his hand to his lap and watched as they pecked at the sandwich, bits of bread landing on his legs and onto the floor at his feet. "They're not eating, they're just attacking it."

"You did bring their bird food, didn't you," Artie asked, quickly eating his sandwich while the birds weren't looking in his direction.

Jim paused, "no, I'll be going back soon, I'll grab it then," he sighed, watching the birds. "Are you starving? Eat the bread, then, stop throwing it around." The birds ignored him and started pecking at the contents now. "Maybe it's a ground pigeon sandwich." He slowly picked up another triangle of sandwich with his other hand, rising slowly to his lips. Again, the birds noticed the movement and flew to his other hand, wings smacking his face, and began tearing the sandwich as he stubbornly took a bite. Growling, Jim lowered both hands now to his knees.

Just then a knock came to the closed door. Both men looked up as the door cracked open and Jeremy peeked in. "Hey, want some visitors?"

"Join the party, Jer," Jim said, still glaring at the birds that now each pecked at a sandwich in each of his hands.

Jeremy walked into the room followed by a much younger man. "Fellas, I would like you to meet Steve, my new partner," Jeremy said, smiling, obviously pleased. Jim and Artie looked up at him. He was tall and muscular, with blond hair cut short, and a smiling eager expression.

Artie nodded, "Hello and forgive me for not getting up." He chuckled, waving his good hand.

"Sir," Steve said, nodding, "yes, sir, I heard. I hope you are feeling better."

"I am, thank you," Artemus said, "But please call me Artemus, no sir needed among us."

Jim laughed and stood up, slowly placing the two sandwiches on the bed next to Artie's hip. He waited for the birds to hop back on the bed sheets and then turned, reaching a hand out. Steve stepped forward, quickly, to shake his hand. "Good to meet you, Steve," he said, releasing the strong grip. "We are all relieved that Jeremy has a partner." He caught Jeremy's stare as the older man looked at the pigeons on the bed. "What?" He asked, trying to look serious, "We have to feeding the girls," he said. Each bird stood on a triangular piece of sandwich now, bits of bread flying into the air. "You guys want a sandwich? Before they are all shredded to pieces?"

"No, thank you though, sir," Steve said, stealing a glance to Jeremy. He looked back to see Jim smiling.

"Call me Jim," he said, "and no sir, you make me feel old." He nodded to Jeremy, "You tell him to say that?"

"No," Jeremy said, "He was just brought up correctly." Artie and Jim laughed, "So I would appreciate it if you didn't ruin him immediately, if you don't mind?"

"Have a seat," Jim said, "Or are you off to tour the city?" Jim sat back down, slowly, stretching his right leg out. He leaned back and put his boots up on the bed, pushing his partner's leg out of the way. Artie glared at him but didn't protest.

"Actually we just came from Colonel Richmond," Jeremy said, "And we come bearing good news." Jim sighed, watching him, as he rubbed his hands on his sore knees. "President Grant has informed the Colonel that no expense will be spared for repairing the Wanderer and the work must start immediately. " Jim and Artie looked at each other, surprised. "And," Jeremy continued, "Colonel already has a crew starting first thing tomorrow morning."

"Crap," Jim sighed, leaning back in the chair again. His arms fell to his sides and his head tipped down to his chest. A weak groaning came from him as Artie chuckled nearby.

Alarmed, Jeremy reached a hand to his friend's shoulder. "Jim, I thought this would be good news to you." He glanced over to Artie. "Isn't it?" Artie nodded, obviously lost in thought now.

"It is, Jer," Jim said, slowly lifting his head. "It is. I am just thinking of what I need to move out of the train before they can work. We need clothes, at least, for a few days…or weeks even. And I need to move things into our rooms and then I can lock the doors."

Artie looked over to him, "All those tricks of ours need to be disengaged. If one of the workmen should trip something…"

"Ya," Jim said, nodding agreement. "We don't want anything exploding or anyone being shot, especially when they rip into the walls and ceilings." He held up his hands and began ticking off fingers. Pausing, he looked at Artie, "How many were we up to anyway? A dozen?"

"Yes, because you told me we couldn't have thirteen, it would be unlucky," Artie grinned, also holding up his unbandaged hand, counting on his fingers. "The spinning table with the two pistols; the wall that lowers with guns; the billiard balls that we still have…"

Jim continued, "The boat that turns over with the guns underneath," he caught Steve's bewildered look, and grinned up at him. "Want to help? I could use a tall person, for a change."

Steve stood slightly taller, nodding eagerly. "I have no idea what you are describing but it sounds very interesting." He looked at Jeremy, "Sir?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Jeremy," Jim snapped, winking at Artie, "you do have him saying sir!"