“Just a few miles north of the house,” Rosalie said. “Every train heading east and west stops there to take on water and wood.”
“Is there a town?”
“No. The station is on Triple C land. It was a deal Jacob made with the railroad years ago.”
The small amount of information she had about the Triple C was from the letters Anna had written over the years. “Jacob Callaway? Max and Gabe’s father?”
“Yes. When the railroad approached Jacob about selling property to them, he made an arrangement instead.”
“What sort of arrangement?”
“I don’t know all the details,” Rosalie said. “You’d have to ask Gabe. But we are 140 miles west of Hays and 180 east of Colorado Springs, with not a whole lot in between. The railroad needed us, and we needed it. Especially back then.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked as they started down the stairway that led back down to the kitchen.
“Traveling through this country even as few as ten years ago wasn’t as safe as it is today. The army fort, which is now deserted, was the only thing out in this area, other than Indians and the Triple C. Going on about fifteen years ago, there was a family traveling through that a band of Southern Cheyenne attacked. They killed the parents and three older children, but they took the four younger ones, all girls, as captives.”
Janette had heard many such tales. Stories like that were the reason she and Anna and their mother remained in Kansas City while her father lived in several of the army forts scattered throughout Kansas over the years.
“Did they ever discover what became of the girls?” she asked, assuming they were never found. That was how most of the stories ended.
“The two younger ones were just five and seven and come winter, the Cheyenne abandoned them in northern Texas. When the soldiers found them, they figured they’d been alone for over six weeks. They also found the other two girls and negotiated their releases. All four girls were reunited and sent back to family in the east somewhere.”
“That’s remarkable,” Janette said as they arrived in the kitchen. None of her father’s stories ever had happy endings. Or as happy as they could be.
“Yes, it was,” Rosalie said. “The railroad came through not long after that, and we’ve been supplying the locomotives with water and wood ever since. Of course, they also haul cattle in and out of here for us, as well as any other supplies we need.”
Janette merely nodded. Anna had mentioned a train station near the ranch, but the stage depot in Texas hadn’t heard of it, so she was glad to know it was still in operation. The last stage driver they’d had seemed kinder than some of the others, but there hadn’t been time to question him. Another passenger had been curt enough about them stopping at the crossroad, which was an unscheduled stop, he’d rudely pointed out. A train ride to Kansas City would be much more comfortable than the stagecoaches had been and not nearly as long. Her trip to Texas had started on a train, but few trains went north and south, therefore most of that trip had been by coaches, as well. She would be glad to be done with them. It had been close to a month since she’d received the notice of Anna’s and Max’s deaths and left Kansas City.
“I’ll get your things off the line,” Rosalie said. “And put them up in your room.”
“I’ll get them,” Janette said, walking toward the door.
“Gabe’s waiting on you in the parlor,” Rosalie said.
“I know,” Janette answered. “And I’ll join him as soon as I get the things off the line.” She pushed open the door and stepped onto the back porch. “And put them away.”
It wasn’t like her to be obstinate, but she hadn’t had to follow orders for years now. It had been ten years since their mother had died and five since Anna had left home. A woman does a lot of learning between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five, and a good portion of it has to do with men.
She’d learned plenty before then even. Her father had died only a year before Mother, but being an army man had meant he’d rarely been home. She had several memories of him, but most of them included how her mother would beg for him to allow them all to go with him and how he’d refused. He always claimed it wasn’t safe, and, being the dutiful daughter, she’d agreed with him.
Being younger, Anna hadn’t remembered their father’s absence in the same way, and had always dreamed of marrying and having a large family. Janette hadn’t. She would love having Ruby live with her and would take very good care of her, but that would be all the family she ever needed. She’d seen how years of waiting for a man to return took its toll on a woman, and she’d never be that woman.
The wind fought her as she removed the clothes from the line. However, Janette discovered the unrelenting wind was good for something. It had whipped the clothes so hard there was barely a wrinkle in their garments. She folded each garment before setting them in the basket, including the tapestry traveling bags that Rosalie had also washed, and then carried the lot inside and upstairs. Sunlight still shone in through the windows, so she packed everything except for the clothing she and Ruby would need for tomorrow, which would need a mere touch of ironing.
Then, drawing in a deep breath, she started for the doorway. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she paused to check her appearance and flinched. The skin was still tender, so she hadn’t forgotten about the poison ivy, but with so much on her mind, she had forgotten how she looked. Her neck and chin were still red and blotchy, making her look like some sort of leper. A closer examination said a few of the blisters were weeping.
How could Gabe take her seriously when she looked like this? Spinning away from the mirror, she walked back to the table where she’d left her bag and dug out a handkerchief. He made her nervous enough. She certainly didn’t need to look like something that would make dogs cower.
Back at the mirror, she blotted each blister. Twice. But it was of little use. She still looked awful. Dreadful. Frightful.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered. “What does it matter? I’m not here to impress Gabe Callaway in any way.”
She set the handkerchief on the dresser, took a deep breath and walked out the door.
The front staircase led to the foyer, and she took a deep breath while holding on to the newel post before taking the final step off the steps and turning toward the parlor. He was in there, sitting in one of the leather upholstered wing-backed chairs flanking the fireplace that took up a good portion of the inside wall.
With her head held high, she entered the room. The glint in his eyes as he glanced up was easy to read. So be it. A few minutes of waiting didn’t cause any damage. Other than in his attitude toward her, which had been as black as a thunderhead since she’d arrived.
Slow and meticulously, he folded the newspaper he’d been reading and set it on the table beside his chair.
She waited, but when it was clear he wasn’t going to invite her to take a seat, she crossed the room and sat on the sofa that faced the fireplace and his chair.
The borrowed dress she wore was made of common cotton and dyed a pale blue and fitted her well enough, but she certainly would have been more comfortable in one of her own creations. She took pride in
