Authors: Jodi Thomas,Linda Broday,Phyliss Miranda
A Texas Christmas (18 page)
When she found a free moment, she’d go to the baggage car. The clothes, shoes, and toys she’d bought for the orphanage would help make Christmas bright for the children traveling with Mrs. Abner.
But first she needed to check on Ira Powell.
Omie Powell, his gray-haired wife, met her halfway down the aisle. “Come quickly. Ira’s taken a turn for the worse.”
Mr. Powell’s breath was labored and shallow. He’d slipped into unconsciousness and burned with a high fever. Also, a strange sandpapery rash covered the right side of his neck. Tess’s breath got caught on the sizable lump in her throat. All were signs of deadly scarlet fever that was sweeping the country.
A sudden gust of wind battered the side of the train, rocking it back and forth. Bone-chilling cold seeped into Tess. She didn’t think she’d ever be warm again.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Omie clenched her hands together tightly until her blue veins stood out.
Tess was glad the woman had kept her voice low. The passengers didn’t know the extent of the illness, and Tess wanted to keep it that way. If they got wind of what she suspected, there’d be overwhelming panic.
Mrs. Abner, who was always looking for something to raise a ruckus over, would seize the opportunity to lash out.
“Yes, Mrs. Powell, your husband’s situation is very dire.” She put her arm around the old woman’s frail shoulders. “Just don’t give up hope. As long as there’s life, there’s hope. You must be strong.”
Omie straightened her five-foot frame. “I know what it is to wage a war with death. And often how futile it can be. I birthed six little ones and buried four of them before they were three years old.” Tears filled the woman’s brown eyes. The tragedy she’d suffered would’ve broken many a woman. “It’s just that Ira is my life. I don’t know how I’d make it without him.”
Tess kissed the woman’s wrinkled cheek. “Hopefully, you won’t have to find out for a long while to come.”
They needed a miracle—a Christmas miracle.
She laid a hand on Ira’s chest, wishing she didn’t feel so helpless.
A throat cleared behind her. She whirled and found herself face-to-face with the last person she wanted to see.
Sloan Sullivan thrust an armful of blankets at her. “Rollins said you needed these.”
“Thank you.” She wondered how long he’d been standing there as she accepted the load and promptly spread the blankets over Ira.
“What do you think he has?” Sullivan asked.
Tess pulled him out of earshot of the passengers. Her breath fogged in the air as she leaned close. “It looks to be scarlet fever, although I’m not certain. But for obvious reasons I don’t want the rest of the passengers to overhear.”
For once he’d appeared to put aside his ill feelings. “I agree. What can I do to help?”
“If you could get a fire going in the stove, we’d be in your debt. The children are freezing. I’m praying whatever Mr. Powell has won’t spread.”
“You were wise to keep him apart from the others as much as possible.”
“I just followed my instincts, Sullivan, same as you would. It’ll be a nightmare if this spreads to the others. It’ll be especially bad if Maryellen Langtry, the woman who’s in the family way, comes down with it.”
His wintry gray eyes stared into hers before they flicked away. “I’d best get to that fire before I head back home.”
“Sullivan?”
He’d shifted his weight and turned to go. He stopped. “Yes?”
“Maybe you’d better take a look out the window.”
Sloan bent over to peer out. A low oath squeezed from between his full lips. “Reckon I’m not going anywhere in this whiteout.”
Dismay settled like sour milk in Tess’s stomach.
This was just dandy!
Chapter 2
Sloan jerked up straight. He was stuck on the train.
Fine rescuer he’d turned out to be.
Forced to share tight quarters with Tess Whitgrove, of all people. There’d be no way to avoid her.
A few seconds before, he’d been mulling over a plan to bundle Mr. Powell up good and haul him into Kasota Springs to the doctor. But it looked like Mother Nature had other ideas.
And he didn’t dare set out for the ranch. He’d known of men who ventured out in a whiteout, lost their bearings, and ended up frozen stiff as a fireplace poker.
He gave Tess a wry grin. “Appears you won’t get rid of me today.”
“We have plenty of empty seats since most of the other passengers heard about the storm and got off in Farley Springs.” Her pale amber eyes clouded and her mouth drew in a tight line.
It was evident to Sloan that she was none too pleased to be saddled with him. Well, he’d try not to add to her headaches. Staying entirely out of her way would be impossible, though, given the limited space.
Sloan shifted and rubbed his leg. “Guess I’d best unhitch the horse from the sled and get him into the livestock car before he freezes to death.”
“I’m sure the animal would appreciate that.” Her silky golden hair that she’d tied back with a blue ribbon rippled down her back in curls as she turned to Mrs. Powell. “I can use your help seeing what kind of food Mr. Sullivan brought. Maybe we can find something for the children to nibble on.”
“All right, dear,” the older woman answered. “I need something to occupy myself with. Otherwise I’ll just sit and fret over things that are beyond my control.”
Sloan fidgeted. “Reckon I’d best see to my horse.”
He watched Tess give her patient a lingering pat before herding Ira Powell’s wife toward the supplies they’d unloaded in the front of the car. She seemed to care a lot about someone who was no kin. Could be an act for his benefit. Yet it appeared genuine enough. And there was Mrs. Abner and Mrs. Langtry, who could take on the chore of seeing what he’d brought and doling out some food, but they hadn’t stepped up to offer. Maybe those rumors about Tess Whitgrove were unfounded.
If she were truly the selfish overindulged woman he’d heard she was, she’d sit on her hands and expect to be waited on like the Queen of Sheba.
Yes, he was beginning to have a new admiration for the lovely banker’s daughter.
Prying his eyes off the gentle sway of her hips, he hurried to the woodstove that stood near the door of the passenger car. Someone had already piled a good stack of the wood he’d brought from the ranch beside it.
The train engineer knelt in front of the black iron stove and was busy laying a fire. The man looked up. “Go tend to your horse, Mr. Sullivan. I’ve got this.”
“It’s about time we got warm,” huffed a stout woman who perched stiffly in a nearby seat. With all the children huddled around her, she looked like a stuffed Mother Goose. Only with her disapproving frown and sour disposition, she more resembled a nasty-tempered banty rooster.
“I’m doing the best I can, Mrs. Abner,” Rollins answered.
Sloan shook his head at the irritating woman. Buttoning his coat and pulling on gloves, he limped out into the blizzard. He wasted no time in unhitching the horse and leading it into the livestock car out of the weather. Sloan even found some grain to feed the gelding. He checked on the other horse, a handsome dappled gray, and was satisfied it was in good shape. It must belong to the passenger Rollins had called Flynn in the shearling coat.
There was also a milk cow tied next to the horses. He saw that she had hay to eat. The milk would come in handy. He’d come back and milk her in a bit.
By the time Sloan made it back inside, a roaring fire greeted him. Glad to have gotten his horse out of the weather, he tugged off his gloves and backed up to the cast-iron stove to warm his bones.
His glance caught the children, who happily chewed on some of the jerky and hunks of cheese and bread he’d hauled from the ranch.
The woman who was clearly in the family way struggled from her seat and joined him. He caught the way the woman reached around to rub her back. As one who suffered his own pain, he knew her back was killing her.
And being a rancher and working with cows, he also knew her babe would arrive soon.
Heaven help them if they didn’t get the train out of the drifts in time.
Sloan looked around. Not counting himself or the sick man in the back, there were three of the train crew and the land agent Flynn on board. That wasn’t enough to dig out the huge locomotive even if Flynn hadn’t appeared yet to be introduced to the business end of a shovel. No, Tess Whitgrove was more likely to ply her hand to the task than that fellow.
If the blizzard moved on out by tomorrow, he could bundle up Mr. Powell and this pregnant woman and take them to town.
That was a big if.
“Hello. I’m Maryellen Langtry.” The woman offered a handshake. “We sure do appreciate you bringing supplies to us. Circumstances were getting pretty dire.”
Sloan gave her hand a brief shake. “Out here we all help each other. It’s the only way to survive.”
“All the same, we’re mighty grateful.” The woman pulled out a handkerchief that she’d tucked into her sleeve at the wrist and wiped her nose. “I can’t remember the last time I ate.” All of a sudden she grabbed his arm and sagged against him.
He quickly helped her to the nearest seat. “Let me see if I can find you a drink of water, ma’am.”
Problem was he didn’t see any. His gaze swept the passenger car, landing on Tess, who was back with Powell. She met his glance and must’ve sensed trouble because the skirts of her gray wool traveling dress snapped around her feet as she hurried toward him.
“What’s wrong, Sullivan?”
“It’s Mrs. Langtry. She’s feeling a mite faint. I think a drink of water would do her good.”
“There’s a bucket of melted snow and a cup next to the stove.”
Tess’s attention turned to Maryellen as Sloan went to fetch the water. “Maryellen, are you having pain?” she asked gently, laying her hand on the woman’s brow, relieved to find Maryellen didn’t have a fever.
“Only in my back. I just got a little dizzy.” Maryellen flashed a wan smile and raised herself up straighter. “I’m feeling better already. Don’t fret about me.”
“Now, who else is going to worry if I don’t?”
Maryellen’s brow wrinkled. “Well, there’s my husband Earl, who’s the worrier in the family. I’m sure he’s walking the floor, wondering where the train is. He must be beside himself.”
There probably were a lot of anxious families, her own included. Her mother and father would be out looking for the train as soon as the weather permitted. Others in Kasota Springs would be out also. One thing about it, when the chips were down everyone banded together.
Then there was the mayor, who’d commissioned Boston Iron Works to design and pour the Christmas bell that now rested in a huge crate in the freight car. All the citizens of Kasota Springs had donated money to purchase it. Now it appeared the weather would prevent them from ringing the bell on Christmas Day. Once again, the day of the Lord’s birth would be silent. And the newly erected bell tower would sit empty.
And Tess would have failed to show the townspeople once and for all she was something more than the pampered banker’s daughter.
Failed.
She shriveled into a ball inside.
She’d been desperate to prove herself. That’s why she’d volunteered to go after the bell and bring it home. She wanted to stop the jokes and gossip and innuendo.
“I wouldn’t have been traveling in my advanced state except that my mother was very ill in Saints Roost,” Maryellen said, tears filling her eyes. “I should’ve been home before this. And now . . .”
Tess patted Maryellen’s hand. “We’ll have you out of here and safely in your bed before you know it.”
Sloan returned just then with a cup of water that he handed to Maryellen.
“Thank you, Mr. Sullivan.” Maryellen took a deep drink.
All of a sudden a commotion at the rear of the train drew her attention. Tess’s heart stopped and her breath got stuck in her chest. Mrs. Abner was leaning over Ira Powell.
The secret was a secret no longer.
“Get him off this train!” Mrs. Abner waved her hands, motioning toward the door. “He’s going to kill us all. I won’t have him exposing what he’s got to me or my charges.”
Omie Powell wrung her hands, tears filling her eyes.
“What’s going on here?” asked Roe Rollins.
“I demand you put this man off this train at once.”
This was exactly what Tess had feared. Anger rose. The old biddy wouldn’t blink an eye at throwing Ira out into the snow.
“We’ll do no such thing. That’d be a death sentence. Even if you don’t mind that being on your conscience, Mrs. Abner, I’ll not have it on mine.” Rollins hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and squared his jaw.
Mrs. Abner sucked in air and glowered. “It’s not like he’s liable to live long nohow. If we don’t protect ourselves, he’s gonna pass what he’s got on to me and the children.”
Charles Flynn, the land agent on the way to Kasota Springs, stood and jerked his heavy shearling coat tighter around him. “Pass what on?”
“It’s a deadly case of the fever, or I’ll miss my guess,” crowed Mrs. Abner.
“Now, Mrs. Abner, you’re not a doctor. Goldarn it, you don’t know what’s making Mr. Powell sick. Go back to your seat and take care of those children and let us worry about this man.” Again, Rollins did his best to keep the peace.
“I say we don’t take any chances. I’m adding my vote to Mrs. Abner’s here,” said Charles Flynn.
Sloan held up his hands and raised his voice above the racket. “Now, calm down, everyone. No need to get your tailfeathers in a wad.”
Mrs. Abner pointed her finger at Sloan. “Don’t you tell me to calm down. I have my rights, and I say we get rid of the problem before we all regret it.”
Roe Rollins stood his ground. “Just wait a cotton-pickin’ minute. He ain’t going anywhere. This is my train, and I say who stays and who goes.”
“You’re being unreasonable, ma’am,” growled Sloan.
“Mark my words. If this man gives us scarlet fever, your goose is gonna be the one in the grease. I have—”
“Connections,” Rollins supplied for her. “Yes, I know. You’ve told me forty’leven times since you boarded.”
Tess thought the situation had been defused and was breathing easier when Charles Flynn reached inside his coat and whipped out a pistol. She gasped in alarm and clutched Sloan’s arm.
“This forty-five says you get that man off this train right now.” Flynn’s threat was as icy and hard as the frozen ground outside.
Glancing at Sloan, Tess saw a tic in the muscle of his jaw. Folks in town said he’d once been a lawman. They said he’d stood up to the Dooley Gang and single-handedly ended their reign of terror on the South Plains.
But he wasn’t wearing a fire iron. How could he hope to handle Flynn?
Sloan took a step toward the land agent. “What are you going to do, shoot us all? Better use your head. Want to swing for murder?”
“I’m not going to sit here and catch scarlet fever, no matter what I have to do.”
“And I’m not going to let you kill innocent people.”
“How do you propose stopping me? I don’t see a weapon on you. I don’t see one on any of you.”
“Just because you don’t see one doesn’t mean it’s not there.” Sloan’s voice was deceptively soft. Tension gripped the passenger car, enveloping Tess. She wondered what Sloan meant. Did he have a hidden pistol?
Sloan took another step closer to Flynn, who was beginning to sweat, probably thinking his demand wasn’t a good idea.
And rightly so, for Sloan didn’t appear to be in the mood to back down.
When it seemed she could cut the air with a knife, someone pounded on the door of the passenger car. Tess almost jumped out of her skin.
But the distraction caused Flynn to lower his Colt. Sloan seized the opportunity. He lunged, tackling the land agent, bringing the man to the floor in the narrow aisle and grabbing the revolver. In the scuffle, the gun discharged, lodging in the back of a seat. The projectile barely missed the oldest orphan boy.
Again, someone pounded on the door.
Both the engineer and the conductor rushed to let the person in.
With jangled nerves and weak knees, Tess hurried to check on her patient. This promised to be a day that would burn in her memory.
Ira Powell’s condition appeared unchanged. Dear precious Omie was caressing his hand.
“What was that noise?” Omie asked, her voice trembling.
Tess didn’t know if the woman referred to the gunshot or the stranger intent on barging into their midst. “It was nothing to worry your head about. Just put all your thoughts on your husband getting well. Ira can feel your presence, you know. He’ll draw on your strength.”
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