Power in the Blood (83 page)

One evening, Omie asked Zoe if her analysis of recent events was correct, and when Zoe said no, Omie demanded to know what other reason there could be for the withdrawal of Papa from their house.

Zoe put down her book. Omie’s face was flushed with emotion; even the birthmark was darker than usual. It was time, Zoe decided, to tell Omie the little that she knew. The truth had come to her less than a week before, by way of the mail. The letter bore no return address, and was written with an awkward hand, unused to composition or the pen. The few lines contained references to an “absent husband” and his “dalliances” with a “scarlet hussy woman” by the name of Imogen Starr. Zoe had the very next day after receipt of the letter gone down to Glory Hole and knocked on the door of Leo’s town house. The maid who answered had refused to allow her in, although the effort required to withstand Zoe’s sudden rage had been considerable. The door having been shut in her face, Zoe retreated to the far side of the street and waited. Within minutes a figure appeared in an upper-story window, and Zoe knew the letter was truthful. The woman in the window was lovely, even at a distance, and it was clear why Leo had left instructions with the maid never to allow his wife inside. Against such beauty Zoe felt helpless. Even had she still possessed both arms, she could not have held Leo back from the woman displayed above her. Perhaps it was coincidence, but Imogen Starr had looked out the window at her rival while wearing a dress that revealed not only her creamy shoulders but the full extent of her shapely arms. Zoe had stood on the sidewalk, mesmerized by her own dismay, until her rival reached up and drew shut the curtains.

Omie’s sullen face demanded to be told, and Zoe did exactly that. When she was done, having encapsulated her betrayal in a few crisp sentences, she saw Omie’s expression soften with what Zoe recognized, surprisingly, as relief.

“Oh,” said Omie. “I thought it was the blue mark.”

“That’s a foolish thought.”

“Does Mr. Price live there with Papa and the lady?”

“I don’t know, but I doubt it.”

“He was always here when Papa was. Why wouldn’t he be there too?”

“Because Mr. Price is a business partner, or acquaintance, or some such, not a … friend, as this woman appears to be.”

“So we’re not Papa’s friends anymore?”

“Not for the moment. We may be again, at some later date. That is how these matters are sometimes resolved.”

“How long will it take, Mama?”

“That I cannot say. It may not happen at all. I tell you this because I hate to lie.”

“I know. Mama, can’t we go away from here until he comes home again?”

“Away?”

“To somewhere else, and when we come back he might be here again.”

“Where would you like to go?”

Omie thought hard for a moment, then ran to the globe that stood in the corner of the library and dragged it back to Zoe.

“There,” she said, stabbing a finger at the largest landmass she saw, and the furthest from America.

“That’s China, Omie. There is a great deal of disease and suffering there. I shouldn’t care to see it, so choose again.”

“I want to go on a sailing ship somewhere.”

“There are steamships now, that go much faster.”

“I want it to be one with big white sails, or I won’t go anywhere.”

“You still have not decided where it is we’re to go.”

Zoe found herself lifted from the leaden mood that had settled over her since she’d sighted Imogen Starr in the window of Leo’s love nest. Could Omie’s simple plan have been all she needed to shake off sorrow? Zoe was not averse to it, and with every passing minute was absorbing more of Omie’s intensity over the proposal. She had never been on the ocean, had never even seen it, and was as ignorant of foreign ports as her daughter.

“There,” said Omie, pointing again. Zoe looked closer.

“Zanzibar. I believe the weather is appallingly hot there, my darling.”

“Well, then, you pick where, Mama, only make sure it’s over the sea.”

“Very well.”

She stared at the globe. It began to spin, although no one was touching it. “Are you doing that?” Zoe asked.

“Yes … I haven’t done anything like it for such a long time. I wasn’t even trying to, Mama.…”

“Slow it down so I can see all the countries.”

The globe lurched to a clumsy stop and rocked a little on its polished wooden stand.

“I’ve always wanted to see England. Would that please you? The climate there is mild, and the people speak the same language as us.”

“It isn’t very far, though.”

“If you wanted to, we could go further, and see Europe.”

“Yes! Oh, Mama, when can we leave? Can we go tomorrow?”

“Not so soon as that, but as fast as we can. First we must go by train to New York, then book passage on a steamer for England.”

“No, a sailing ship!”

“Very well, a sailing ship if we can find one.”

“We can stay away till Papa misses us and says to come home.”

“Europe is further away than you might think. We would be gone for at least a year, or even longer.”

“I don’t care.”

Zoe realized that she did not care either.

The departure of mother and daughter from Glory Hole was sudden. Leo Brannan heard of it from his coachman, who had taken Zoe and Omie to the station. Paying his first call to Elk House in two weeks, Leo found a letter on the mantel shelf of his room, explaining in vague terms the itinerary the runaways intended following. Zoe made it clear she expected letters of credit to be made available for her to pick up in New York City prior to embarking for Liverpool. She allowed Leo a year or more in which to come to his senses. If he did not, she wrote, there would be an unseemly public dissolution of the marriage. Annoyed at the brusqueness of her tone, and the utterly unapologetic manner in which she had absented herself and Omie from his life, Leo tore the letter to pieces and flung it into the fireplace. He wondered, as he descended from Elk House, what Rowland Price and the Praetorians would have to say about it.

Traveling the broad valley between Leadville and Buena Vista, Zoe was aware of the staring directed at herself and Omie. She could not be sure if the passengers had recognized them as the wife and stepdaughter of Leo Brannan, and were confused to see such illustrious folk riding in a common car, or if they were simply unable to detach their eyes from the unusual sight of a one-armed woman and a blue-faced girl. Either way, it was an annoyance, but she revealed nothing of her feelings, preferring to stare right back at the starers until their gaze faltered and was turned away for several minutes, when curiosity brought about its return. Zoe had worn a heavy veil to guard against recognition, and saw now that it had been a waste of time.

In time, Zoe tired of matching looks with her neighbors, and sought distraction elsewhere. Omie seemed content to watch the country rolling by, but she had the advantage of the window seat. Zoe’s attention was drawn to the young man several seats away who had passed his eyes across them just once, then looked away, whether from politeness or sympathy she could not tell. The young man had recently shaved off his beard, the nose and cheeks being sunburned, the upper lip and chin pale. He appeared to be concentrating mightily on something in his thoughts, and his features changed subtly from moment to moment as he cogitated, granting him the look of a thinker. Zoe was convinced, simply by watching him, that the young man was both intelligent and troubled. She liked his face and form very much, and was reminded that her husband liked nothing about hers.

Closing her eyes, Zoe asked herself again if she was being bold or cowardly. If she had been asked for the truth at gunpoint, she would have admitted that her love for Leo had never been strong. It was not so much the loss of him that upset her, but his loss to a woman of such physical attraction. Zoe’s anger over Imogen Starr’s beauty was far more intense than her annoyance with Leo for having first neglected herself and Omie to concentrate on his shady doings with Rowland Price, and then abandoned them completely for the woman who paraded behind Zoe’s eyelids like a lovely ghost come to haunt her waking hours. She must hope that Leo would tire eventually of so exotic a companion and assume the duties of husband and stepfather in time for their return from Europe. If his lust was not played out by then, Zoe was fully prepared to divorce him and begin her life over again, as she had done before. With mysterious Omie by her side, she would not lack for the necessary strength.

The handsome young man was watching her as Zoe’s eyes opened, but his gaze was not intrusive. He smiled at her briefly, then looked out the window, his brow knitting as before. Zoe wished she could have sat beside him and talked of the things that caused him such an appearance of worry. Of course, she would do no such thing. Zoe allowed her eyes to close again. She was tired, having slept very little the night before their departure, and was looking forward to the arrival of night, so she might catch a little sleep in her seat. By morning they would be in Denver, where they would transfer to the Union Pacific line and continue east.

She opened her eyes again, fearful of nodding off and falling from her seat. The young man was gone. She looked around for him despite herself, but he was no longer in the car. The train was slowing down, but Zoe knew they were not yet anywhere near Buena Vista. Other passengers were becoming aware of the slowdown, and were craning their necks to see why.

“Mama, there are men on horses by the track.”

Now there was an undercurrent of murmured alarm inside the car as the brakes were applied and the train slid to a gradual stop. “The men are coming, Mama.” Zoe could see them herself, a half-dozen riders, all armed, their faces hidden by bandannas. “Robbers!” screeched a woman further down the car, and fainted dead away. The riders had dismounted and were boarding the train, two per car.

Zoe was in the lead car, immediately behind the baggage car attached to the tender and locomotive. One man stepped up onto the platform and came inside, but when he walked through the door from the platform, he was accompanied by another—the young man Zoe had so much admired. She thought at first he might have been a hostage to ensure the cooperation of the other passengers, but there was a pistol in his hand, and she felt a blow of disappointment to realize that it had been none other than he who had gone forward, probably over the roof of the baggage car, to point his weapon at the engineers and bring the train to a halt.

“Beg pardon, ladies and gents,” he said, “but we have to cause you a little delay this fine morning. I thank you in advance for your good sense in not reaching for concealed weapons, or otherwise risking life and limb. Reach instead, if you please, for valuables and cash, and when these have been collected to our satisfaction, we’ll be on our way. You first, sir, with that fine watch.”

The second man stood watch at the end of the car while his young partner worked his way along the aisle, cajoling jewelry and wallets from stone-faced passengers. Zoe was angry with herself for having misinterpreted his character so foolishly. When the young man smiled at her and proffered his hat, already brimming with loot, she glared frostily at him and said, “I have nothing of worth.”

“Oh, ma’am, that can’t be so. Think harder and I’ll bet you can recall a little something to surrender.”

“She won’t,” said Omie, and the young man was seen by others to become hesitant, presumably because he was unused to being defied in the course of a robbery by two such unusual females as these.

“Ma’am, come on now, I don’t have time to waste.”

“Your life is a waste,” Zoe told him.

“The ring, ma’am, it looks like gold from here.”

“Oh, you wish to steal my wedding band from me? That must certainly be easier than working for a living.”

“Ma’am, please …”

“Here, take it if you must.”

She thrust her left arm at him. The young man stared at the ring. Every other passenger who had lost rings had twisted them from their own fingers, but a one-armed woman obviously could not.

“Well?” Zoe challenged him.

Omie was staring at the Colt aimed at her mother, and nearby passengers observed that its muzzle began tilting upward in a series of tiny jerks. The young man was watching it himself, as if unable to understand why his own gun in his own hand should be doing such an unusual thing. Making a small sound of exasperation, he holstered his weapon and reached for Zoe’s ring.

“Shame,” muttered a woman nearby, and the young man stopped. It was then that Zoe noticed that the little finger was missing from his left hand.

“Get the hell moving, why don’t you,” said the man at the end of the car. “We ain’t got all day, goddammit.”

Drew backed away from his sister and niece with a smile and said, “Excuse me, ladies, I wasn’t thinking.”

He moved on to the next seat, and Zoe dropped her arm. Her heart was thudding in an alarming fashion, and she wished she could have hit the handsome young man with a cane or an umbrella for having disillusioned her with his fine and friendly eyes and beardless face. So great was her agitation, she was not aware when he left through the platform door at the far end of the car, and his companion turned and exited through the door he had guarded.

“They’re getting on their horses, Mama.”

Zoe looked through the window. Similar assaults on the other cars had been concluded, it seemed, and the robber gang was assembling to ride off with their takings. She searched for the young man, and thought she caught a glimpse of him behind a tall man with a feather in his hat, then the riders turned as one and set spurs to their horses, and were swallowed by dust as they rode for the western slope of the valley.

When Zoe and Omie reached New York they began looking through the newspapers for reports of the train robbery they had lived through, but found no mention of it. The Denver papers had included it in their evening editions before Zoe and Omie boarded a Union Pacific train and departed for the east. Apparently the story held little interest for New Yorkers, or else was already stale news, having occurred four days earlier. Instead, she found the front pages filled with news of the reward Leo had posted for the capture of the cannibal known only as Slade.