Train Wreck Chapter 12
The moaning and shrieking seemed to come from a far distance away. Then it seemed to be nearby. Artemus shifted his shoulders, the restraints holding him fast. He stopped his struggles and listened again, trying to make out what was being said. The voices were hurried, excited, and oddly familiar. If he could just hear what they were saying, he thought, he could determine where he was. His head was dizzy suddenly. I must have been drugged, he said to himself, trying to remember what he had eaten or drank last. He froze, listening again, as a groaning sound came from much closer. Is it Jim? His heart skipped a beat in his chest. He must be nearby. With a burst of strength, he twisted his shoulders and managed to get his right arm free. He sat up quickly and ripped of a blindfold covering his eyes.
"Oh," he sighed, his body suddenly weak with relief. He stretched what muscles he could and turned to watch his partner. Jim was next to him, snores interspersed with groans as he shifted his legs painfully in his sleep. Not wanting to awaken him, Artie slowly moved his feet out of the bed sheets and onto the floor. He sat for a few minutes, waiting for his head to clear. He held the head wrappings in his hand, wondering what the doctor would say. He hoped a dashing wink would save him from a scolding, but he wasn't sure if the trick would work with a female who was also a physician.
"Well, let's get going, lazy," he muttered to himself under his breath. He reached his right hand out to the wall and managed to gain his feet. He leaned his shoulder against the wall as the room spun around him. Shutting his eyes helped but it seemed to make the floor move. He opened his eyes again and took a careful step toward the door. Keeping one hand on the wall to steady himself, he slid along the plaster until he reached the door frame. He was almost to the door knob when he noticed his large carpet bag on the floor nearby. It was open and he could see his blue smoking jacket. Curious to see what else was inside, he slowly knelt to one knee.
"Good choices, James," he smiled, pulling out the jacket and a clean shirt. Rummaging around further, all he could find were night clothes. Glaring up at his friend, or at the brown hair on the top of Jim's head, which was all he could see at the moment, he muttered a bit louder this time, "Thanks for not bringing me pants, you son of a …" Jim groaned, turning onto his side. Artie immediately felt rotten and stood back up for a better view. Jim gasped a few times but seemed to still be asleep. "Probably having the same nightmare," he said, turning for the bathroom with a handful of oddly matched clothes.
Margaret burst through the door, her arms loaded with blankets. "Oh, "she said, stopping at the side of the bed just as Jim jumped to his feet in front of her. The noise in the hallway had started to awaken him and her slamming into the room brought him abruptly out of bed. "Oh, dear," she gasped again, as he stood in front of her blinking sleep from his eyes. His shirt hung open and he stood, barefoot, swaying slightly on sore knees. He reached up to push his hair out of his face.
"What?" he snapped, irritated at the abrupt awakening.
The nurse paused, and looked beyond him at Artemus, who was sitting in a chair on the far side of the room. "Oh, here," she said, pushing the blankets into Jim's arms. She turned and scurried from the room, not bothering to close the door.
"Wait," Jim protested, trying to follow her. After a few steps he stopped in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame. He watched the nurse hurry into the lager exam room. The door slammed shut.
"What's happening," Artemus said quietly from the back side of the room. He had been watching the sun rise out the windows, seeing the city come to life in the early morning. Recently, the voices shouting from the front of the clinic had become louder and more urgent; obviously something serious had been occurring. He eyed the blankets his partner was holding. "What did the nurse just give you?"
"I have no idea," Jim said, yawning, as he sat back on the edge of the bed. He stretched his right leg out, gritting his teeth. "I think she wrapped my knee too tight last night. I can't seem to bend it."
"Ya, ya," Artie said impatiently, eyes still on the blankets. He nodded, "check what you're holding before you toss those blankets on the floor."
"What?" Jim said, not understanding his partner's concern. He sighed and reached a hand up to unfold the wraps, and gasped, his hand frozen in midair as he stared into a tiny face. "It's a baby," he whispered, without looking at his friend. "Margaret handed me a baby."
"I thought she might have," Artie said. Curious, as usual, he slowly rose to his bare feet and walked back to the bed. He sat down next to Jim and looked into the blankets. "Look at that," he whispered, "only a few minutes old. I thought I heard a baby crying just now." He smiled at the baby as the little eyes looked back and forth between the stunned men. Little hands wiggled tiny fingers as the baby stretched and yawned.
"What's wrong with it, do you think?" Jim said, finally looking worriedly at Artie.
"What do you mean?" Artie said, leaning closer to studying the baby's face. "He, or she, looks fine, healthy." He waited while Jim waved a finger at the baby's face.
"Why is it all red and the skin is all wrinkled?" Jim stared at the baby again, shifting his arms slightly. "Do you think it's sick?" He turned to see his partner grinning at him. "What?" he snapped, trying to keep his voice down.
"All new babies look like that," Artie laughed. "Haven't you ever seen a brand new baby?" Jim grimaced and shook his head. "Give it time, this one will look normal to you very soon. "
"Well, you hold it," Jim said, passing the bundle to his partner.
"Wait, hold on," Artie protested. "I only have one arm, you know". He gathered the baby in his right arm and steadied the blankets with his left. "Why, you can't hold a baby?"
"I'm going to the bathroom, "Jim said, lurching back to his feet. "And getting dressed and getting out of here before something else happens." He staggered to the carpet bag and began pulling clothes out.
"Hey, by the way," Artie said, glaring at him, "You seemed to have forgotten my pants."
"You aren't going anywhere," Jim snapped, "So you don't need any." He chuckled at his own joke as he disappeared into the bathroom across the hall.
"Well," Artie said, talking to the baby. "I guess it's just you and me, precious. What is your Momma going to call you? Angel, maybe?" He cooed at the baby and the little face lit up in a smile. Jim reappeared, walking stiffly.
"What time is it?" Jim asked, "I wonder when those workmen will get there." He snatched up a piece of paper off the table and quickly scanned the script. "Ya, thanks, but I got all those. Good try though. Give it some more thought and maybe you can come up with the missing number twelve." He tossed it back onto the table and turned a worried face back to Artie. "Maybe number twelve was somewhere else on the train?" Artie silently shook his head. "Ya, I know," hating to admit that he had missed one. He walked to the end up the bed and picked up his boots. Just as he leaned over to stomp into them, Margaret reappeared.
"Oh, you can't leave now," she gasped, tears streaking down her face. "You just can't." She hurried to him and thrust a small glass bottle into his hand.
"Margaret," Jim said, grabbing her wrist firmly in his other hand. "What is going on? What do you expect me to do?"
"The baby needs a bottle, its dehydrated," she gasped, "and you're the only one here who can feed the poor little girl. The doctor and I are trying to save the mother."
Jim managed to interrupt her, "aren't there other nurses her besides you?"
"The other nurses won't be here for another hour. Clinic starts late today, its evening hours tonight," she pulled her wrist free of his grasp and wiped tears from her cheek, "I'm sorry, please stay," she begged and turned away, hurrying from the room.
Jim stood, hand still outstretched and stared at the bottle in his other hand. "This place is nuts," he said, "Never again. From now on we go to Dr. Lake's hospital."
"Oh, no, not for me," Artie said firmly. "I like it much better here."
"You grew up in a hen house," Jim said, "this is all crazy to me."
Artie laughed, "A Hen House?" He sat back further onto the bed. "My father is always there too. Just because I have sisters when you only have brothers."
"Four sisters," Jim said, putting the bottle on the side bed, "to my two brothers. Plus a very," he paused, winking now, "boisterous mother, equals Hen House in my book."
"Ya, well, you're still feeding a baby before you run off," Artie said, nodding toward the bottle.
"Oh, no," Jim said, grabbing for his boots again. "No way, I have no idea how to do that and I am not interested in learning. You can do it." He stomped in his foot down with a bang, the sore knees forgotten in his haste to escape.
"And just how do you expect me to do that with one arm?" Artie glared, no amusement flickering in his dark eyes now. "If the nurse said the baby is dehydrated, than the baby needs help. So sit your butt down and learn how to feed one." He nodded his forehead toward the bed and held his partner's stunned look until Jim, sighing with resignation, sat next to him. "Hold the baby again," Artie said, handing the bundle back over. He watched as Jim adjusted his arms. "Hold her head up straighter," he said as Jim moved slightly. "Ok, grab the bottle and stick it in her mouth."
Jim gingerly picked up the glass bottle and peered at the thin white liquid. "Is this milk? It looks thin."
"They may have added water," Artie said, also looking. "I am sure its fine."
Jim took a deep breath and held the bottle up, slowly putting the nipple in the baby's mouth. The infant immediately started sucking, wiggling its hands in the air. One tiny set of fingers grabbed Jim's thumb, holding tight. Jim relaxed and watched the baby, a slow smile creeping to his face.
"She is actually drinking," he whispered. He looked up at Artie, grinning, "Look, I am feeding a baby! " He turned back to watch again.
"You have never done this?" Artie said, shaking his head. "Your brothers all have children. Where was Uncle Jim? Hiding outside with his horse?"
"My brothers have wives to take care of the kids; besides my mother is crazier than yours when it comes to babies." He laughed, "thank God I don't have to provide grandchildren for her."
Artie snorted, leaning back and relaxing now, since Jim was doing such a fine job. "Maybe you will someday. You never know when some honey bunny will catch your eye for good." Jim glared at him and looked back at the baby.
"You shouldn't hang around this guy," Jim said, "He's crazy, just like his mother." The baby wiggled both hands toward his face as she continued drinking. Jim, mesmerized, forgot where he had been running to.
The excited man yelled again as Jim gripped the paper bag tighter under his arm. The man was pointing to the ceiling, apparently describing something important about the train. Jim nodded and smiled. "Yes, thank you," he said, raising his voice, though obviously the man could hear him. "I'm sorry, I don't understand." He shrugged and looked past the man down the hall to the living room of the varnish car. Men swarmed the room, chopping pieces of wood paneling, pulling down the wall paper, and breaking out glass from the broken windows. Jim leaned forward for a better view but had to jump back as a line of men hurried past with armloads of burnt pieces of train interior. The man in front of him yelled again, pointing now at the floor. Jim groaned to himself, wishing Artie was with him to speak to the workmen. "Gracias," Jim said, not sure what language the man was speaking but knowing it wasn't Spanish or English. His only other choice would be the American Indian dialects he knew. He nodded his thanks again and hurried outside. He had to step around a pile of burnt wood and broken furniture, avoiding a closer at his ruined possessions. He paused as Cobb hurried to him.
"Jim," Cobb said, "did you talk to them?"
"Well," Jim said, looking back at the train. The leader stood in the doorway still shouting excitedly at him. "In a way," he said, looking back at Cobb. "But I have no idea what he is saying."
Cobb nodded, his forehead wrinkled with concern. "I hope they know what they are doing. They cleared the furniture out and now they seem to be pulling walls down. That guy keeps pointing at the ceilings." He looked back at Jim. "Do you think Artemus could come speak to them?"
Jim shook his head firmly, "No, not even for a minute." He snorted, "You know Artie; he would be here all day and get them all talking. No one would get any work done." Cobb laughed, nodding in agreement. "Besides, whatever they tear apart, they can just fix again." He looked back at the varnish car as the sound of broken glass drifted out to them. The blue eyes narrowed, whispering to himself, "I just wish I found that last snare."
Steve walked up with Blackjack. The horse tossed his head, excitedly, and moved forward to his boss, pushing Steve and Cobb to the side. Jim reached out to pat the horse's neck as the soft nose rubbed his face. "Whoa, buddy," Jim said, relieved to see the horse. "Did you miss me?" In answer, the horse licked his hair. "Hey, stop that," Jim laughed. He shoved his bundle into the saddle bag and pulled himself up into the saddle, throwing his sore right leg over the horse. Gingerly, he put his right boot into the stirrup. He grimaced but settled into the saddle, sitting comfortably.
"Jer," he called down, "You and Steve swing by the Capital Hotel later. I'm going to ride around here. Someone must have seen something or someone. A delivery man of some kind had to have come to the train." He shook his head in disgust as he looked around the rail yard. Dozens of men moved around the area, working at various jobs. "If only I was on the other side of the car that morning. I could have seen what happened." His voice trailed off as he spoke to himself.
"Jim?" Cobb's voice brought him back and he turned to look down again from the horse. "If you could stop at the yard master's office. I know he'd appreciate it? He may have some information for you. I know he has been asking around. And," the man paused, turning to look behind him at the office, "his young boy was here when it happened. And, well, he seems really upset. I was hoping you could talk to him."
Jim nodded thanks, and, with a wave to the other agents, he rode across the yard to a small, brick building. He slid from the saddle and limped inside.
The office building was an old block shaped house of brick. The interior had low ceilings and was darkly shaded inside, with the only light coming in though dirty windows. Rays of sunlight illuminated dust in the air as Jim walked across the dirty stone floor. Drake, the yard master, stood up from behind a desk scattered with papers. Jim faintly remembered the man who had helped him into a carriage.
"West," the man exclaimed, hurrying forward to shake hands with the agent. "Let me get you a chair," he said, noticing Jim's limp. "Though you look much better than the last time I saw you."
"Yes, I'm much better," Jim said, grateful to sit. "And my partner is better also." Drake pulled his chair from around the desk to sit closer. "Cobb said you might have information about what happened?"
Drake sat back and crossed his arms. Taking a deep breath, "well, I have spoken to lots of men and no one can remember seeing any one in particular. Of course they are all busy workers and keep their nose to the grindstone, if you know what I mean. That doesn't mean someone didn't come by. But my son is real upset and won't say why. I am wondering if he saw something. He is very observant and is underfoot all the time. He is too young to do more than run messages at his age but that keeps him outside and in the area." Cobb stood and walked to an open window, calling out to his son.
Before Jim could speak a young boy burst in from the door. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Jim sitting with his father. "Hey, son, look who's here?" The father motioned to him to come closer. The boy walked up to the men slowly, staring and nervous looking.
Jim smiled, watching the boy. "I remember you," he said. "You ran for the carriage and then you held the door for me when I got inside." He reached out to squeeze the boys' shoulder. "Thanks for your help that day."
The boy looked to his father and then back at Jim, then his face turned red and he burst into tears. He covered his face with his hands and moved to lean on his father's shoulder. "Look, son," his father said quietly, "This is important. You need to speak up and say what's troubling you. Mr. West needs to know if you saw anything that morning."
The boy turned watering eyes to Jim and spoke in a hushed voice. "I was outside, bringing a telegram to my Pa." His father nodded, remembering, "And I stopped to watch the delivery wagon cross the yard. It was fancy and I aint' never seen one painted up like it before." He paused as Jim leaned closer. "I saw it stop and the man driving got down and walked up the steps to the back door of your train. He came back to the wagon right soon after and drove away."
Jim said softly, "did he deliver something?"
The boy held his hands out in front of him, moving them to help describe a small shape. "It was a box. It was brown and square, kinda smallish like." Jim looked at the child's hands and imitated with his own.
"About this size?" He said, holding his hands out. The boy nodded. "Did the delivery wagon have a name on the outside?" The boy shook his head no. Jim sighed, knowing commercial delivery vans were always marked. Could the boy be mistaken or lying to him? "What color was it painted?"
"It was mostly black," the boy said, obviously thinking hard now. "But it had lots of gold and red swirls." The boy moved his hand in the air. "And the driver had fancy clothes that matched too. He even had a hat that was black with gold and red trim".
Jim laughed at the boy's excitement. "You have a great eye, and a great memory, for detail. You might be the only person who saw anything that day." The boy looked at his feet at mumbled something. His father kept his arm around his shoulders as tears began pouring down his cheeks again. "What was that?" Jim asked, looking at the father now.
"He keeps saying it's his fault," the man said, "I don't know what he means."
The boy nodded and looked up at Jim. "It's my fault that you and your friend got hurt," he shouted.
Jim sat back, shocked. "What? Why? How could it be your fault?"
"Because when I saw the box in the man's hand," the boy cried out as if confessing the evil in his soul, "I wished that it was a bomb and how exciting it would be that it would blow up. And it did, just as I was thinking about it." He broke into great sobs, his little body shaking. He father held him tighter, kissing the top of his head and whispering to him.
Jim watched for a minute, unsure what to do. He finally, slowly, got onto his knees and put his arm around the boy, slowly taking his from the father. Speaking slowly, he said, "Listen to me. " The sobs turned into gasps, which were quieter, "we all think our lives are boring some days and we hope for something exciting to happen. Adults do this too, not just you youngsters; even I do it. And then when something exciting happens, it can be a bad excitement, something upsetting that happens and we feel guilty. But what we thinking about, inside our heads, didn't make it happen." He squeezed the kid again, "Now tell me, did you help make this bomb?" The boy shook his head no. "And you didn't know this guy was coming, right? If you did, I bet you would have warned us." The boy nodded vigorously. "All right then," Jim said, leaning back to see the boy's face. "The man who did this is a bad person and I am going to find him. And you just helped me more than anyone else has because you told me what you saw." The boy wiped his eyes and stepped back. "Can you describe the man to me? Was he tall or short, fat or skinny?"
The boy took a deep breath and tilted his head to one side, "He was really tall, taller than my Pa," Jim nodded, "and he had a long face and he was skinny. And," the boy pointed to his upper lip. "He had a fancy mustache!"
Jim thought for a minute, "like a handle bar mustache that curls at the ends?"
The boy shook his head no, "Long and straight out." Jim nodded again, understanding. "Is your friend going to be ok now?" the boy asked.
Jim nodded, "he is going to be fine. He is leaving the hospital today and moving into a nice hotel where he and I will live until the train is fixed."
"Can I visit him?" The boy asked. Jim nodded, and rubbed his hand gently on the boy's head. "And can I help the workmen?"
"Well best to stay back out of the way," Jim said. "And I don't' think they speak English so it's hard to talk to them."
"They speak Italian," the boy said, looking to his father. "I heard them. They sound like the old man Balzanelli at the ticket office. He could talk to them for you."
Jim looked at Drake, "Is this true? That would be a great help to Cobb."
Drake smiled down at the boy, "Son, you may have just saved the day twice." The boy's face lit up with a smile and he hugged Jim around the neck, almost choking him.
Jim entered the freight office, trying not to limp, and walked slowly around the room. He stopped to look at shipping containers, checking prices on a chart which hung on the end of the shelf, and move closer to an open door that lead to the back of the building. He had seen the delivery wagon on the streets of the city, black with swirls of red and gold, just as the boy had described. He had followed it to the freight company. The wagon had been driven into the back as he entered through the front. As he approached the back of the room, a man slide a large wooden door shut, cutting Jim off from the wagon and whatever activity was beyond the back wall.
Out of the corner of his eye he watched customers at a large counter on the far side of the room. Two men were paying a woman at a register. Jim walked slowly in that direction now, again pausing to look at packing material, as if shopping in the store. Finally the men left and he noticed the woman watching him. She was tall and thin, with brilliant red hair piled high on her head in tight coils. Jim turned on his left leg and walked, slowly to her. He could see her eyes move up and down his body as he approached.
"Good morning," he said, giving her his most dashing smile, as he leaned on the counter. They appeared to be alone in the large room but a mirror behind her seemed out of place. He wondered if it could be used as a window. He remembers Dr. Loveless using two way mirrors in the past.
The woman smiled as her dark brown eyes widened. "And what can I do for you, sir," she whispered. She was holding a pencil and put it between her teeth, biting it, as she leaned closer to him. Her eyes wandered to his hair as he took off his hat, and then back to his face, obviously approving of what she saw.
"I need to have a package taken care of," Jim said, whispering also. "Do you deliver to trains?" He smiled as her eyes darted back to his in surprise. She attempted to recover quickly.
"I could, if it was a private train," She said, pausing to suck on the pencil. "I have never delivered anywhere like that before. Sounds like fun."
Jim moved his gaze down her dress, noting the low cut of the front and the extra tight fit. He looked back at her, enjoying the game. "Would you come alone or do you bring help with you?"
"I always travel with friends," she sighed, "but they can stay outside. I can come inside and," she was obvious with her gaze moving down his body again, "talk prices. What time should I stop over?"
"Well my train is under construction right now," Jim said, now moving the end of an index finger around on her desk. "Maybe I could meet you back here when you get done work? We could talk, get better acquainted?" Her eyes closed now, pencil still between the red-painted lips, as he slid his finger up her other hand, pausing at her wrist. "I was wondering what kind of package you deliver."
"I can do anything," she said softly. Her brown eyes opened again to stare into his. "Come back at ten tonight. No one will be here then." Jim scooped up her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips, his tongue just touching her skin. Since she didn't pull away, he opened his mouth and pulled her fingertips in, gently sucking on them. He watched as her chest heaved with a deep, silent gasp. He released her hand and turned on his good leg and walked out.
