Vaggie stared out the window, watching the occasional green saguaro cactus, the skeletal brown bushes and the rare bird and desert deer pass by them as the train continued to chug along, and felt the gentle swaying rhythm as it passed over track after track. Worrying brown eyes reflected back at her from the window. Her fingers played over the felt seat of the train tightly, her brow creased with anxiety. She gripped the hem of her grey fabric dress and pulled her light grey cotton over-shirt tighter around herself, nervously checking to make sure her throwing daggers and pistols were there were they normally were, and relaxed a little when she felt the familiar metal through the fabric of her over-shirt.
Across from her sat her mistress, Charlotte de Magne (or Charlie, for short), staring at her curiously through innocent sky-blue eyes, under long dark eyelashes. Vaggie was not blind to Charlie's beauty, the kind of beauty that frequently entranced men by reason of existing (though Charlie herself was quite unaware). She had a petite nose and playful red lips surrounded by white porcelain hued skin. Around her neck, she wore a long gold chain that held a simple small gold cross gifted to her by her late mother. Her fair figure boasted a shapely bosom. She had slender arms and hands that had delicate fingers which were always busy doing or holding something and long legs that found themselves stamping on the ground whenever she was frustrated (which was often).
Vaggie had grown up with Charlie. They had been born in the same year and shared the same birth month. As children, they had played hide-and-go-seek together around the large trees and various out-buildings of Magne manor and gone to sleep to the same bedtime stories. They had gone to school together and ate at the dinner table together. When they were older, they went out to pick out dresses and shoes with each other and confided in each other their hates and loves and fears and dreams with each other. Vaggie had been there by her side to comfort her when her mother died. And thus, Vaggie was Charlie's closest bodyguard, aide and after all these years, her only confidante and true friend.
Charlie fiddled with the metal fixtures on the large black leather purse in her gloved hands. She had been brought up by mostly her father and a never-ending array of various matrons after her mother's death, and he had the foresight to see to it that she received a quality college education in the arts and sciences. Charlie was the sole heir of the de Magne fortune, the apple of her father's eye and perfect to a fault.
"I just absolutely despise wearing hats!" declared Charlie (breaking Vaggie out of her reverie). Charlie pouted as she pulled off a large beige felt cowboy hat. Then, she impulsively pulled out her hair-pins as well, letting the pins fall to the wooden floor with a clatter and letting the neat bun fall in long golden waves that crashed down over her light-pink dressing shirt to the waist of her white silken dress. She held the mess of hair in her hands and looked at Vaggie sheepishly.
"Uhmmm…Vaggie?" she questioned. Vaggie couldn't blame her.
"Well, I remember that I was expressly ordered by both your father Mr. Lucas Magne and your tutor, Miss Katie to see to it that his daughter Charlotte de Magne was and is a prim and proper young lady!" said Vaggie, in a mockingly high, patronizing tone.
"Remember? You are a prim and proper young lady and…?"
Charlotte rolled her eyes and in a falsely high, lilting voice imitating said teacher:
"Prim and proper young ladies should know to be quiet and patient, remember their manners, always listen to their betters, and most of all, never ever let their hair down loose!" she exclaimed with a slightly British accent.
They stared at each other before breaking into fitful giggles and poorly suppressed laughter. Finally, facing the astonished glances and glares of the other proper ladies and gentlemen aboard the train, they collected themselves.
Vaggie slipped back into her thoughts. The one flaw her friend had was her extreme stubbornness that sometimes bordered on plain old recklessness. Charlie was stubborn to a point.
Normal ladies at her age would have started to think of fiancés and marriage and family and children. Normal young ladies at her age went to balls and dances and played polo on the weekends and drank tea on the weekdays. Charlie was just four months shy of her 22nd birthday, and she had no intention of being anywhere near "normal".
Charlie disliked dancing (she thought it was dull and boring) and spurned high society on the whole. Charlie loved to dedicate her time to thinking up various charitable schemes. Whether it was to build a hotel to rehabilitate criminals in Los Angeles, setting up a shelter for abandoned dogs and cats on the streets of San Francisco, or setting up housing for the homeless, Charlie was there. They rarely always worked out (Aggie still remembered how Charlie's vision for a mouse and rat rehabilitation center very nearly got her expelled from San Diego), but her father was willing to give her the freedom and the money to do it (in the spirit of the wishes of her late mother).
It was all because of Charlie. It was all because of her crazy, much too selfless plans that they were on this train in the first place. And this time, Vaggie had more than enough cause for worry.
She sighed and absentmindedly played with a curl of silvery-brunette hair as she mulled over her thoughts. They had done three very risky things this time. Number one. They had snuck out of her father's manor in California on a rescue mission without permission from her father and with no guards except Vaggie alone. Number two. They had nearly run into Valentino, the most powerful gangster south of the Rio Grande on said mission to rescue the girls from his clutches. Three. Four of these poor girls, their names being, Benita, Felicita, Francisca, and Juanita, were now sitting nearby on board the train, bound for El Paso, with Valentino's gang hot on their heels.
Charlie seemed to notice Aggie's pensive thoughts. She suddenly felt firm, gentle hands holding onto her shoulders, and found herself looking into Charlie's dazzling blue eyes that looked at her with slight concern.
"Don't worry Vaggie! We're only 30 miles from El Paso and almost home." Charlie smiled radiantly, as soft sunlight shone on her face.
Vaggie returned an encouraging nod and grin back, but could not get rid of the sinking feeling in her gut and the swirling anxiety in her head. She tried to remind herself that it would be fine. After all, they had made this run a two times before, and nothing had happened.
Yet, somewhere, somehow, that sickening feeling in the back of her mind whispered to her insistently that they might not outrun Valentino's gang, and when and if they got caught, then she could only pray to God that they'd survive.