Behind a Lady's Smile (7 page)

All around, passengers were settling in for a long trip, taking out books, knitting, crochet hooks, and, thank the gods, dominoes, a cribbage board, and playing cards. Mitch politely excused himself and wandered down the car to the salon area, where he was soon happily involved in a game of cribbage with a gentleman traveling with his wife to visit their children.

 

Four hours into their trip, they stopped at Truckee for a light lunch and a bit of a break from sitting. Boys had been around their car offering apples and cheese, but Genny was near starving when they stopped, likely because she hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast. She was quite recovered from her illness and ate nearly all of her sandwich of thickly sliced ham.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” she asked, looking around at the other passengers. “All these people, all heading to visit different places and family. Did you know Mr. and Mrs. Walsh don’t have any children? It was something they wanted above all things. It’s so sad. I never really gave having children a thought. But I suppose I will, in England, with my husband, the prince.”

Mitch lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re marrying a prince, are you?”

“Oh, yes, if I’d like. Apparently a duke is the next best thing and Mrs. Walsh said that if I wasn’t already married to you”—she gave him an impish smile—“I could have married a prince.”

“Instead of the bastard son of an actress,” Mitch said, without even a hint of bitterness. “You have surely scraped the bottom of the marital barrel with me.”

Genny gave him a face and pulled a small bit of crust from the remainder of her sandwich before delicately putting it in her mouth. “I’m certain you’ll make someone a good husband, Mitch. Perhaps I can visit you someday in New York with my prince husband and all our little princes and princesses.”

Mitch chuckled and shook his head. “And I can introduce you to my slovenly wife and ill-kempt children. A whole brood of them, barefoot and in need of a bath.”

“And I will bestow upon them the knowledge they need to care for themselves properly. Perhaps I’ll give your wife some of my old gowns. I daresay I shouldn’t have much use for them after I’ve worn them once.”

They laughed, thoroughly enjoying the banter, and Mrs. Walsh walked by at that moment and said, “Ah, young love.”

Mitch’s smile slipped a bit but he gave Genny a wink. “I do wish we hadn’t told them we are married,” Genny said softly, leaning forward. “I don’t like lying to Mrs. Walsh. She’s becoming a friend.”

“It’s necessary. Otherwise people would think badly of you, think you were the wrong sort of girl. An unmarried woman shouldn’t travel with an unmarried man who is not her relative. If Mrs. Walsh knew we weren’t married, she wouldn’t be your friend.”

Genny furrowed her brow. “I can’t believe that’s true. She’s so nice.”

“Because she thinks you’re a respectable young woman traveling with her husband.”

She grinned. “I’m not respectable?”

“Why does that thought make you smile?”

“I suppose I think it’s all so silly. I’m the same person she befriended. And you’re suggesting she wouldn’t be my friend if she knew the truth?”

Mitch drew back slightly. “I hope you’re not getting any ideas, Miss Hayes. You’ve been living in a cabin in the middle of nowhere for most of your life; you don’t know about society and how nasty it can be. Just take my word for it, this is a secret that’s best kept. Understood?”

Genny sighed. “Understood. But I do think Mrs. Walsh wouldn’t retract her friendship simply because I’m not a wife.”

“You’ll just have to take my word for it,” he repeated darkly.

 

Only six hours into their trip, Mitch could tell Genny was getting a bit stir crazy. Another niggling of worry struck him. Genny had grown up in a cabin, had foraged for food alongside her father, had chopped firewood and cooked on a stove made decades ago. As he looked around at the other women on the train, they were all occupied with various female activities they’d no doubt learned from their mamas. Even he knew women were always busy with something or other—cooking or mending or caring for children. Almost as if on cue, every woman on the train had pulled out some sort of project that involved a needle and gotten started. Heck, the whole time Genny had been talking to Mrs. Walsh, the older woman had been knitting in a frenzy, as if she were trying to get something completed before they pulled in to Omaha.

Genny let out a small sigh, leaned her head against the window, and watched the dry, rolling hills that dominated the landscape go by. There’d be plenty of sights to see later in the trip, but at the moment, there wasn’t much more than grass and scrub to occupy the imagination. He had to find something useful for her to do during their trip. He tapped her on the shoulder and she turned to him, a smile on her face, an unexpected bit of cheer that had him grateful she was such a good traveling companion. “Want me to teach you how to play poker?”

And that’s how they occupied their time until Chinese waiters, their braids slapping back and forth, served them a dinner of roasted oysters and beef.

As the sky darkened outside, the porter lit their oil lamps, giving the room a cozy feeling of intimacy. One of the passengers took out an accordion and at the first note, Genny moved toward the edge of her seat, flashing him another brilliant smile. Every time she gave him one of those, his gut hurt a little bit more. He was starting to wish she was a bit more ornery so he could relax. He felt on edge, as if he wanted to punch something—like the middle-aged man who kept leering at Genny. Didn’t he know she was married? Hell, even if she wasn’t really, Mitch still wanted to punch the bastard. What kind of man looked at another man’s wife like that? Mitch glared at him until the man’s focus shifted to Mitch and the older man started, immediately bringing his attention back to the accordion player.

“Oh, this is lovely, isn’t it, Mitch? And to think I was nervous about riding on a train. I barely remember our trip out West, but the time we were on the train was rather frightening. And dirty.” She wrinkled her nose at the memory. “I remember my face and hands were completely covered with black dust. And my father’s too. I hardly recognized him, and of course, I didn’t know it would all wash off.” She looked around the room as if she’d never seen anything so delightful in her life. “But this, this is like traveling in a moving hotel.”

“That’s the point of it. Here, let’s switch spots so you can see better.”

That grand idea turned out to be one of the worst mistakes Mitch could have made. For as the evening wore on and the accordion player switched to melancholy songs, Mitch could see Genny grow more and more sleepy, until she finally succumbed, her warm body slumping back against his chest. He shifted slightly, hoping to wake her, but she snuggled deeper against him, letting out a small sigh of pure contentment. Mitch was left with one hand awkwardly slung across the couch and the other dangling down. He could smell her pretty soap, that stupid indulgence he’d bought for her, which he now regretted with every fiber in his being. She smelled so damned good and was so soft and warm against him, he thought he would surely burst into flame.

She turned a bit, digging her head slightly into his chest, and put an arm around his waist.
Oh, Lord, help me
.

She started slowly falling and he knew if he didn’t put his arm around her, she’d drop to the floor. Part of him thought to let it happen, but he ended up putting both arms around her and pulling her even closer. Why not? Why not let himself enjoy holding her?

The car was quieting down as more and more people had the porter build their beds. The only sound above the clatter of the train was the creaking of the beds as they were pulled down, the gentle murmur of voices, and the occasional snap of a crisp sheet being pulled around the mattresses. One by one, the porter dimmed the lanterns. Mitch figured no one could see him now. Mr. and Mrs. Walsh had settled down a while ago, Mrs. Walsh giving him a smile as she took in the sleeping Genny. Mitch bent his head, pushing his nose into the soft luxury of Genny’s hair, and breathed in deeply, feeling his throat ache the same way it had the first time he’d seen the Grand Canyon. Something so beautiful it hurt his heart always seemed to affect him that way. He tightened his arms, just a bit, now afraid to awaken her. He might never get this chance again, to hold her in his arms. Soon enough, she’d be in England and he’d be waving good-bye. He pressed his lips against her head and closed his eyes, his chest burning with something that felt a hell of a lot like regret.

He’d probably be saying good-bye in four weeks. He could picture her, wearing some fancy dress, her hair all done up, grandparents standing smiling behind her. She’d hate to say good-bye, but she’d be smiling, ready for her new life. She’d be where she belonged. He knew that, he had to know that. But as he pictured himself turning away and heading back home, it all seemed so wrong. Funny, in that daydream, he hadn’t thought about how nice it would be to have full pockets.

“Sir, would you like me to make up your beds?”

Mitch opened his eyes to see a black man looking at him expectantly. “Yes, thank you.” Genny stirred and sat up drowsily.

“I fell asleep.”

“Like a log.”

She looked back over her shoulder, her blonde hair falling across her face, and gave him a sleepy smile. His gut churned again, because all he could think of at that moment was waking up every morning to see that beautiful face, that sleepy smile. The next four weeks were going to be pure hell.

Going to the necessary while the train was moving was always a bit of a challenge—and to be honest a bit nerve-racking. Just below the commode, the tracks flew by and Genny, even though she knew it was impossible, was afraid to fall through. Or have something jump up. She sat, her bottom feeling the breeze from the open hole, and as she did her business, she realized the train was slowing to a stop. Oh, goodness, she hadn’t realized they were so close to a station. It was bad form to go while in a station. Mortified, Genny quickly finished and peeked out the window, seeing nothing but yellowed grass and birch trees in the distance. Perhaps the station was on the other side of the train? Behind her, the car was strangely quiet. Usually when they pulled up into a station, there was a hubbub of activity. Something was wrong. It was the same feeling she would get out in the forest when all the birds went silent, and the hair on the back of her neck rose.

As quietly as possible, Genny unlatched the door, straining her ears for a sound. That’s when she heard a low, rough male voice say, “I’m not gonna hurt none of y’all if’n you politely hand me your wallets.”

Genny put a hand over her mouth, fearing the man might hear her breathing. If Mitch gave the man all their money, how would she get to England?

“That better be a wallet you’re reachin’ for, mister,” the man growled.

And Genny knew, she just
knew
, that Mitch had been reaching for his rifle. Most of the other passengers hadn’t been the sort to have a rifle, but Mitch had put his beneath their seat. Fear suddenly turned into something else Genny hadn’t felt since the day she’d found her father. It was a calmness, a sense of inevitability. She knew that if she didn’t do something, Mitch would die.

Silently, she pushed open the door, her eyes wide. She almost let out a sound of surprise, for not six feet in front of her she saw the broad back of a man, his greasy long hair touching the back of his dust-covered red shirt. He had a bandana covering his face and a battered old Cavalry hat jammed on his head. She looked past the man to see the frightened eyes of the passengers but quickly determined, at least in their car, the man was alone. He was standing, all wiry raw energy, with a rifle raised, pointing directly at Mitch.

One of the passengers spotted her, his eyes widening, and Genny shook her head and pressed a finger of warning against her lips. To her right was a cane leaning up against a seat, its owner an older woman who huddled fearfully against her husband. Moving slowly, fearing the outlaw might hear the soft rustling of her dress, Genny picked up the cane, quickly determining she wouldn’t have enough room to swing the thing to do much harm to the man. So she did the next best thing.

“Please drop your rifle, sir, I know how to shoot and I shall have no problem shooting you if you continue to frighten these good people.” She jammed the bottom of the cane against his back, praying he was too nervous to realize what he was feeling wasn’t a rifle.

The man stiffened and several passengers gasped.

“Now, sir. I don’t want to shoot you in the back, not very sporting of me, but I will. Drop your gun, if you please.”

Genny’s voice shook a bit, but she pressed the end of the cane harder against the man’s back.

The man raised his arms, but kept the rifle in one hand. “Now, little lady, you don’t want to do anything foolish.”

“I actually do. Shall I shoot him?” She asked the question politely of the passengers, as if she were really leaving it up to them to decide his fate.