Sarah's Playmates (7 page)

We had indulged ourselves for hours, taking a
bath afterwards, washing away the evidence of our debauchery. By
morning, the three of us were the best of friends, dressing
together, laughing, and packing as quickly as we could. The trunks
were taken down and transported to the train station.

Edmund waited at the foot of the stairs,
looking fresh and dapper in a knee-length topcoat with a velvet
collar. “Ladies, the train won’t wait for us.”

“I know, brother dear,” trilled Isabelle.
“We’re coming!”

Edmund took my hand, kissing my glove. “You
look ravishing, my love. You’ve got color on your cheeks.”

“Thank you.”
And how did you come by that
color, Sarah? Well, I spent the night with my face buried between a
woman’s thighs, that’s how
. “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”
If only you knew what I had done to your
sister…repeatedly.

“A lovely day to begin a journey.”

“Look at the time. Haste! Haste!” called
Isabelle, heading out the door. “Make haste!”

We rushed to the station, fighting our way
through the traffic. Skyscrapers were all the rage; the building
boom was in full swing. Workmen on scaffolding labored over
heavy-looking masonry. Chicago was hemmed in by the lake and the
rail yards; therefore, the only way to grow was up. The station was
awash with businessmen, families with children, and porters.
Piercing whistles announced the imminent arrival of another
locomotive. Whitish steam from various chimneys filled the air. We
settled in a well-appointed parlor car, relaxing in the over-sized
seats. Edmund ordered a brandy, and I had lemonade with the ladies.
As the train jerked forward, the screech of the wheels was
deafening.

Once we were on our way, Edmund asked, “What
did you do last night?” I nearly choked on the lemonade.

“We had a marvelous time together.” Isabelle
winked at me. “Didn’t we, Sarah?”

“Oh, most certainly.”

“Doing what exactly?”

“Listening to the music box.”

“It’s a miracle it still works. It’s been
dropped more times than I can count.”

“It works just fine. Every note was in
tune.”

As we engaged in small talk, my mind
wandered, thinking about Isabelle dressed in men’s clothing and
pretending to be a train robber. Then I recalled the actual
robbery, and how handsome the bandit had been. I replayed every
second of the encounter, my stomach fluttering and trembling with
pleasure.

An hour later, Millie handed me a newspaper.
“This might interest you.”

“Thank you.”

The headline read
: The Corbett Gang
Strikes Again! On the morning of July 2, 1880, the gang, consisting
of Brack Corbett, Buck Bass, and Jimmy McCarty, set its sights on
the B&O Railroad. After boarding the train in Willard, Ohio,
the gentlemen robbers were brash and bold, taking more then twelve
thousand dollars in cash and jewelry. The only injury reported was
the train’s brakeman, Clint Aldridge, who was wounded in the arm by
a stray bullet. U.S. Marshall Robert Blain has—”

“What are you reading, my dear?”

I glanced at Edmund, seeing a man with a
slightly impassive expression. “My train robbery.”

“Why trouble yourself with bad memories? I’ll
buy you another engagement ring. You won’t be without one for
long.”

That had been the last thing on my mind.
“Thank you, Edmund. That’s very kind of you.”

“Think nothing of it, sweetness.” His
attention returned to a book he was reading.

Ever since our engagement, he had become curt
and standoffish. It wasn’t that long ago that he had stopped the
carriage in the middle of a thoroughfare, dashed into a flower
shop, and returned with a bushel of roses. He had been wildly
romantic and delightfully impulsive, although he had never kissed
me properly. He would hold my hand under the table at dinner and
write me love notes. That had all changed the night he had gotten
down on one knee and proposed. It was almost as if the effort it
took to win me had exhausted him. The quest was over, and now there
was nothing to do but wait for the wedding.

After dinner, Millie, Isabelle, and I changed
into our dressing gowns and settled in the sleeping car. Edmund had
joined the men for drinks in the dining car. I sat on the bed, with
one leg tucked under, braiding my hair.

“Where do you think you’ll go on your
honeymoon?” asked Isabelle.

“San Francisco.”

“Oh, marvelous. I’ve been there before. The
bay is gorgeous.”

“Maybe we’ll settle there.”

“I would. Being near the ocean is wonderful.
Please don’t stay in Sacramento.”

“My parents have a farm with horses. My
father breeds them.” It had been oppressively hot today, and the
upper portions of the windows were open. Something suddenly whizzed
over our heads, embedding in the wood paneling on the other side of
the wall with a loud thunk. “What was that?” It looked like an
arrow with black and white feathers on the end.

“Oh, my God!” screamed Isabelle.
“Indians!”

“Don’t panic!” said Millie. “Get down. Sit on
the floor.”

“Are we under attack?”

“They shoot at trains often,” said Isabelle.
“They hate us for being here. We’ve taken so much of their
land.”

“Should I be worried?”

Isabelle touched my shoulder. “It’s a stray
arrow. It happens from time to time.”

The whistle began to sound, blaring over and
over, the lights flickering, and then the floor shuddered
violently, throwing us to the other side of the car. The sound of
steel grating and wood popping roared through my consciousness. I
reached for Millie, who had begun screaming.

“We’re bloody going to die! It’s
crashing!”

I grabbed the steel post of the bed. “Hold
on!” The sleeping car began to shift, tilting precariously to the
left. The sound of glass shattering forced my head down, and I
squeezed my eyes shut to protect them. Something nicked my forehead
and wetness trickled down my cheek.

“Mother of God!” screamed Isabelle. “Grab
something!”

“Millie!”

“I’m fine! Hold on! Don’t let go!”

The car was off its track, careening forward
and angling to the left. It smelled like a bonfire; wood was
burning, but not in our car. An enormous blast shook us, and the
remaining windows imploded, shooting out shards of glass. Isabelle
screamed, and I joined her, knowing my life was about to end. I
gripped the bottom of the bed, the metal shaking precariously. If
the pole came loose, I would be tossed around like a sack of
potatoes. The feeling of falling suddenly brought a fresh wave of
terror. The entire car shifted, keeling, ready to hit the
ground.

“The saints preserve us!” shouted Millie.
“Our Lord, our father! Our Lord in heaven! Our Lord—”

A gigantic boom registered, followed by
violent shuddering, as the car hit the ground and continued to
move, the force of motion propelling it forward in a straight line.
The sounds of screams echoed, as fellow passengers dealt with the
disaster. Dirt and grime hit my face, the aroma of grass and weeds
filling my lungs. The landing had jarred me, wrenching my arm. Pain
throbbed from my elbow to my wrist.

“Sarah!” It was Millie’s voice.

“I’m here!” We continued to move, a fresh
spray of dirt flying at me. Smoke filled the car, hindering
visibility.

“Isabelle?”

“Goddammit!”

I smiled. She was just fine. “Is everyone all
right?”

“When is this damn thing stopping?” asked
Isabelle. “I’ve had enough now!”

Another loud boom was followed by a cacophony
of screams. The passengers were suffering in the derailment, and
many lives would be lost. Where was Edmund? He’d been in the dining
car in the middle of the train. Our car was towards the rear. Then
I heard something that sent a chill down my spine. There were a
series of shrieks and whoops that had nothing to do with the
passengers or the train derailing. The sound reverberated on all
sides, punctuated by the continuing roar of splintering wood,
shattering glass, and metal grating. When the car finally skidded
to a halt, I let go of the bottom of the bed and held my arm,
wincing. It throbbed unpleasantly, the feeling centered near my
wrist. I prayed it wasn’t broken.

“Millie!”

“I’m here. Can you stand?”

“Y-yes.”

“Let’s find a way out.” Her hands were on my
shoulders. “Up with you.”

“I’m not wearing shoes.”

“I’m not either. It doesn’t matter.”

“Shit!” spat Isabelle. “Shit! Shit!
Shit!”

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

“Shit on all of this! Goddamn shit on a
stick!”

“I think she’s fine,” I muttered. Once the
smoke had cleared, it was easier to see, but fires burned in
another part of the train.

“Let’s get out on the end,” said Millie.
“We’ve separated from the other car.”

I stepped on something sharp. “Ouch!”

“Be careful. There’s glass everywhere.”

“Those Goddamned Indians did this!” hissed
Isabelle. “They crashed the train! Now we’ll be kidnapped and
raped.”

“Let’s deal with one thing at a time,” said
Millie. She grabbed me. “Lord, girl. Your face is a mess.”

“Glass got me.” She held my arm. “Ouch!”

“Is it broken?”

“I don’t know.” I sounded miserable.

We made our way towards the opening in the
back of the car, as strange whoops and shrieks froze my blood.
Hollow sounding thunks and pomphs pinged around us, as arrows
lodged in the wood.

“Oh, great. The goddamned Indians,” muttered
Isabelle.

We managed to climb down from the wreckage.
Rocks dug into the bottoms of my feet. Gazing towards the front
portion of the train, I knew I would never forget this disaster.
The cars had landed haphazardly on their sides; some had piled up
on one another. Plumes of smoke filled the sky, with intermittent
fireballs blazing with red and yellow flames. It looked like a
scene from Dante’s
Inferno
. There were bodies scattered
around us; some had burned, while others had fallen victim to
arrows lodged in their chests, protruding grotesquely. This was
indeed hell.

Something viselike grabbed the back of my
head, tangling in my hair, and forcing my gaze upwards. In those
breathless and unbelievable seconds, I saw the face of a man, his
dark eyes flashing with hunger, lust, and triumph. I had just met
the devil. I was in his clutches…and then I saw nothing, as my
overwrought senses succumbed to merciful blackness.

I don’t know how long I had been slung over
the backside of a horse, but when I began to realize my situation,
it was still the dead of night, and I was most assuredly in the
clutches of a devil Indian. I wore my nightgown and nothing else,
my hair falling in my face. The sound of female crying forced my
head up. Millie sat on the next horse; her rider was fearsome to
behold, wearing only a breechcloth and fringed leggings. My
kidnapper wore the same type of leather over his legs. There were
no stirrups and no saddles, only rope for a bridal.

I struggled to move, because I ached in this
position. Sensing that I had woken, my kidnapper reached for me
with impossible strength, dragging me to him. I straddled the
horse, the abundance of material on my nightgown allowing for this,
but now the bottom portion of my legs were bare. I was able to see
what was happening around me. Isabelle and Millie were on other
horses, in the clutches of dark skinned and determined Indians.
Glancing back, I caught sight of smoke, the evidence of the train
wreck we had left behind.

Then I made the mistake of looking at the man
who held me. My long, blonde hair lashed us both, yet his was
equally long and braided on each side. His face was clean-shaven,
his cheekbones implausibly high, his nose gracefully straight, and
those eyes…

…oh, dear…

They seemed to burn through me, leaving a
scorching hole on the other side of my head. I’d never been this
close to a man before, and I could feel the heat of his naked chest
through the sheer cotton gown. His arms tightened around me, and I
grimaced. My arm throbbed, reminding me of the horrors of the train
wreck and how we should have all died. He seemed to sense my
discomfort, lessening his grip. We rode for another hour, until the
horses slowed, trotting side by side.

The Indians spoke, the language sounding
bizarre and guttural. It seemed as if they were deciding on
something, and there was a slight disagreement. My rider tensed,
his anger evident in the clipped tones he uttered. The second rider
capitulated, slowing even more. We stopped a short while later. My
kidnapper dismounted, reaching for me. I glanced at Millie. Her
face was smudged with coal.

“Glad you’re finally awake, Sarah.”

“And what a wonderful thing to wake up to,” I
grumbled.

“Oh, honey. You better brace yourself. If you
can get your soul to leave your body, I’d do it now.”

What had she meant by
that?

I slid from the horse and straight into the
heathen’s arms, moaning in pain. “Ouch.” He held my arm, although I
tried to snatch it back. His fingers pressed into my wrist, working
their way to my elbow. It hurt where he touched me, but it wasn’t
unbearable. He seemed to be ascertaining the extent of my injury,
and, when he had assured himself it was nothing significant, he let
me go.

“Don’t touch me!” Isabelle smacked her rider,
hitting him across the face. He seemed stunned by her behavior,
stepping back a foot.

My rider laughed then, the sound deep and
rumbling. I glanced at him, glowering and wishing him dead. His
humor continued as he stared at me, taking in the unruly mess of
hair, my bloodstained face, and God only knows what. How was I
supposed to know what this Indian was thinking? Then he shocked
me.