Ellen stood at the window staring at the Laramie Mountains. The altering landscape seemed a good reminder that change, like God’s love, was one of life’s only constants. She’d expected a change, moving west, but meeting Nash had shifted things around inside her. Her fingers fluttered to her lips.
Stella tapped her elbow. “Didn’t you hear the supper call?”
She shook her head. “Woolgathering, I fear. Shall we go?”
Nash had remained in the lounge with the men the rest of the afternoon. Ellen had helped the womenfolk dig through cushions and inspect the spittoons for Mrs. Ridley’s necklace until Gabe awoke from a nap, when she taught him more Morse code. Her mind, however, had fixed on Nash. Would they dine alone again tonight?
Oh, she hoped not. He’d apologized, so he regretted kissing her. Even if she didn’t. Her chin and cheek still felt enflamed, as if he’d branded her. He’d surely read it on her face, and then he’d feel bad. She should skip supper—
Stella guided her through the threshold, directly into Nash’s line of vision. “There they are.”
No turning back now. At least they were sitting at tables of four tonight. Act normal, silly. If she simpered or refused to look at him, he’d know how much the kiss meant to her.
She met every gaze. “I’m famished.”
“More cold ham.” Clifford poked at his plate.
“And lima beans. That’s new. At least they’re soft.” Nash took a hearty forkful and grinned—at Ellen.
If he grinned like that, then he couldn’t be totally put off by her. She returned his smile and shoveled a scoop of lima beans. And almost spat them out.
“They’re soft. But saltier than Lot’s wife.”
The Howells chuckled, but Nash leaned back in his chair. “Reminds me of when I first came west. My cooking was so bad, I was about to give up. Until I found this.”
As he reached into the pouch at his belt, Ellen clutched her napkin. What was he doing, showing off his quartz? Not just showing—passing it around.
Clifford and Stella. The Fishers. Then Gabe, who smeared butter on it before his father took it. Did Nash want it stolen? She kicked him under the table.
Not hard. But enough that he glanced at her and mouthed ow.
“You oughtta liquidate that. Make a few cents,” Ridley insisted. “What’re interest rates now, Mr. Dewey?”
Lincoln started. “Oh, you know.”
“Three percent? Four?”
“Yessir.” Lincoln passed the quartz to Primrose.
When every eye had seen the gold and the dinner plates cleared, Nash stood. “I’m putting this back in my satchel, Ellen, but would you share some coffee with me when I return?”
She nodded, waiting while the Howells and almost everyone else left the dining area to prepare for bed. Darkness had long fallen, and though she strained, she saw nothing but her blurred reflection in the window.
Nash slipped back into his chair. “No game tonight.”
“Oh, yes, there is. The who-will-steal-your-quartz game.”
“I’ll get it back. Don’t fret.”
“You keep telling me that.” She pushed back her cold mug. “A hunk of gold is tempting bait, but it’s risky. It’s possible to pass off Mrs. Ridley’s missing necklace as her being neglectful, but if something else goes missing, everyone will know there’s a thief on the train.”
“But we could catch them in the act.” Nash sipped his coffee. “It’s worth it to me.”
“But it’s your special quartz.”
He shrugged. “What it represents is still with me, and that’s more valuable than the gold inside it.”
“You’ve lost a lot.” She sighed. “I’d hate for you to lose more.”
Nash leaned forward. “You lost plenty to make this trip.”
Maybe it was the hush in the dining car—everyone else was gone. Maybe it was the way their images reflected off the windows, blurry against the darkness outside, like this was a dream. Maybe it was his kiss, and the knowledge they’d soon part ways. But Ellen wanted to tell him.
“I had a fiancé.” She fiddled with her cup. “Ambrose, my father’s protégé whilst I went to college. Once my father died, he broke it off. Telegraphy was not as interesting to him as politics, and he’d require a spouse more comfortable with society than I. He chose a girl I tutored in multiplication nine years ago when she was a third grader.”
“So you’re going to California because of Ambrose?”
“I almost stayed home because of Ambrose. He substituted at the telegraph office while I handled Father’s funeral arrangements. He took the telegram offering me this job and said he placed it on my desk, but I found it in the dustbin a few days ago.”
His jaw gaped. “What did you do?”
“Confronted him. He said he’d no idea what happened. Laziness or contempt, I don’t know. But I put my foot down. It might have landed on his toes.” It was hard not to giggle. Funny how the thought of Ambrose didn’t hurt much tonight. “I’m glad now. He wasn’t the man for me.”
“No, he wasn’t.” Nash’s strong fingers played with his cup.
A charged silence stretched between them. Then Nash stirred.
“I saw my sons once when I received a few weeks’ leave.” His Adam’s apple jerked. “That autumn, Leora packed them in the back of the wagon and went to town. Storm came up. The wagon overturned.”
How tragic, to lose his wife and babies at once. Her hand started to touch his, thenfell. “I’m sure that ache never goes away.”
“It doesn’t. But it changes. I’ve changed. I’m not the same fellow who kissed Leora goodbye and marched off to war in ’61.”
Ellen understood why he shared this. He wanted her to know she’d heal, too.
So she went ahead and touched his hand. It was brazen, foolish, and unwise, considering the way it tingled to her bones.
But he took hold. And smiled. And Ellen held back, fixed in the moment. She’d pull out the memory, like Nash with his quartz, on the cold, quiet nights ahead when she was alone, and she’d remember the sweetness of this moment.
The sun was bright the next morning when Nash rubbed his growling midsection. “I haven’t had trout for breakfast in a good while.”
“I haven’t had it for breakfast ever.” Ellen took a knife to the last bite of fish on her plate. A midnight stop at Green River, Wyoming, had provided fresh supplies, the trout, and the news of a storm to the west. Now the train rolled to a stop. Nash hadn’t recalled a scheduled stop at this hour.
“Washout in Utah,” the conductor announced. Primrose groaned.
“Can I help dig?” Nash sat up straighter.
The conductor shook his head. “Men working on it now. We’ll wait here in Evanston until we hear it’s clear. You can get off the train, folks, till you hear the whistle.”
Ellen patted her lips with her napkin. “Are you trying to ruin every shirt you packed?”
Nash laughed and took Ellen’s arm. It fit just right in his. “Walk? We won’t go far.”
“I imagine we’ll keep the train in view.”
“Yep.” They hopped down and walked a short distance. “The Howells are still on the train.”
“I know. I wish they weren’t.” She sighed.
Gabe barreled into them, his cheek bulging like a chipmunk’s. “Pa got me a jawbreaker at the general store.”
“So I see.” Nash puffed out his cheek.
“Can’t catch me, Miss Ellen.”
“No chasing with that in your mouth. You could choke.”
Gabe gripped her purple skirt. “Chase me.”
Nash wrapped an arm around the boy. “C’mon, let’s go sit on the bench until you’ve swallowed that thing—”
Gabe twisted away, swatting Ellen’s legs. Nash scooped Gabe in his arms. Enough was enough, and if the boy’s pa wasn’t going to do anything, Nash didn’t have a choice. “Gabe, you can’t go hitting folks.”
Ellen hastened alongside as he marched to a bench by the depot. “He’s tired, Nash, and misses his mother. This is taking a toll on him.”
“True enough, but that’s no excuse.”
“Mama!” Gabe sobbed. The jawbreaker slid from his mouth to the dirt, setting off a new round of cries. Nash waved his arm at Jerome Prewett, who reluctantly shuffled over.
Mrs. Ridley’s hand fisted on her hip. “A child shouldn’t have been allowed on thistrain. It’s ruining my honeymoon!”
“I would imagine the tough biscuits and bone-rattling speed might have accomplished the same,” Ellen said. “Leave the boy be.”
In all the commotion, Nash forgot to watch the train. The Howells strolled close, clearly off the train now. Was his quartz missing yet?
With Gabe ensconced on Ellen’s lap, Nash pulled Jerome Prewett aside. “Your boy needs you. This trip is hard on him.”
“He’s fine with Miss Blanchard.” Prewett made to step away.
“She’s not his parent.” Nash’s arms folded. “Wherever Gabe’s ma is, he misses her. He’s tired and uncertain, and he needs more than candy from you.”
“It’s none of your business.” Prewett stomped off, but at least he took Gabe from Ellen.
She ambled to Nash, shaking her head.
“You hurt?”
“No, just fearing for Gabe. Once he’s returned to his mother, will he ever see his father again? Should he?”
Nash didn’t have an answer. He squeezed Ellen’s elbow. “I’ll be right back.”
Back aboard the train, all was quiet except for a porter cleaning the spittoons. “Excuse me, has anyone else reboarded the train?”
“I just started. No one here but me.”
“Thanks.” Nash reached under the sofa he and Ellen shared, unlaced his satchel, and reached in. No evidence of the stone’s rough exterior touched his fingertips. His heart hammering, he raced off the train. Ellen rushed to his side, her brows lifted in query. At his nod, she sighed.
Clifford and Stella came over at his beckoning. Nash tipped his head. “Walk this way?”
“Sure.” Clifford’s shoulders tensed.
Stella’s fingers twisted at her waist. “It does us all good to stretch our legs—”
“I noticed you two stayed on the train. Now my quartz is missing, just like Mrs. Ridley’s necklace.” Nash stopped walking, bringing them all to a halt. “You know anything about that?”
“Not at all.” Stella was a lousy actress. Her gaze darted left, and her tone held a forced lightness.
“Sorry to hear it’s missing, Nash, but maybe you shouldn’t have flaunted it like that.” Clifford’s smile seemed strained.
“Enough.” Nash’s arms folded. “The bank robberies in New York? The newspapers said the duo would board a train three days’ back. The Express is perfect for someone hurrying out of town. The female robber has a penchant for other folks’ jewelry, and Ellen and I have both seen enough to make us more than suspicious. So should we handle this with local law enforcement, or should Ellen march back to the depot and telegraph New York?”
Stella teared up.
“If you do that, it’ll ruin everything.” Clifford stiffened, shifting to block Ellen.
If he dared touch her, he’d be in a world of hurt. Nash’s arms tensed.
“It isn’t what you think,” Stella whispered.
“Stella.” Clifford glared at his wife.
“What are we to think?” Ellen’s brow furrowed. “You’re in everyone’s bags. Are you even newlyweds?”
Stella’s chest heaved. “We’re on official business for Pinkerton.”
“Pinkerton agents?” Nash exchanged looks with Ellen.
“Not Stella. Just me.” Clifford ran a hand through his hair. “And Stella, you can’t tell everyone—”
“They aren’t who you’re looking for, Cliff. They just met. Nash’s hair is too long.”
Still, Clifford scowled. “Doesn’t matter. This is my job, Stella.”
Nash held up a hand. “So you’re investigating what?”
“The bank robberies. We learned the criminals were getting on the Express, not just any train—we kept that detail from the papers. I had to act fast.” Clifford sighed and pulled papers from his vest pocket. Nash and Ellen read together. Looked legitimate. Nash passed them back.
“He couldn’t come on a honeymoon train without a wife.” Stella’s chin tilted a notch. “We’re not newlyweds, but I wanted to come, though I’ve been more hindrance than help. It’s not like it’s my nature to search ladies’ bags.”
Clifford’s expression softened. “You didn’t have to do that. All you had to do was be here.”
“I’m so weary of you being gone.” Tears streaked her cheeks. She took Ellen’s lacy handkerchief.
It all made sense now. The tension. The snooping. Even Stella’s sadness over Gabe, if she’d had no children of her own.
None of them moved when the train whistle blasted.
“We’ll keep quiet.” Nash nudged Ellen with his shoulder.
Clifford nodded his thanks. “But we’re no closer to discovering their identities. Tomorrow afternoon, we’ll be in San Francisco.”
Nash watched the folks reboarding the train. Which pair was responsible? If they didn’t figure it out soon—well, God would see justice done. But Nash would like to have a hand in it.
“We’ll do what we can with the time we have left.” Ellen took Stella’s free hand. “In the meantime, you can help us with another mystery. It’s about Gabe.”
Nash and Clifford followed the ladies as Ellen enlightened them to the probability Gabe was taken from his mother. Onboard, the men congregated in the lounge, but after crossing into Utah, with eight hundred miles to go before Sacramento, Nash returned to the hotel car.
Ellen tucked a coat over a sleeping Gabe, a soft smile on her face. “Ellen?”
She spun. “I didn’t expect to see—I mean, you learned something?”
“No.” He memorized her features. “I thought maybe we could sit together. Watch the scenery.”
Not talk about the robbers. Or anything at all. Just look out at the red cliffs and stone spires.
She seemed to read it in his eyes. After a moment, she nodded. “I’d like that.”
They sat together through the sagebrush of Utah, past a Shoshone village, into Nevada. They pointed out things to Gabe and read to him when he woke up from his nap. Chatted with Primrose and Stella and whoever came by. Watched for anyone pokinginto others’ bags. Ate their lukewarm supper. But they didn’t part company. They sat in the dining area until midnight when the resounding blast of cannon outside announced they’d crossed yet another state line.
Nash took her hand. “Welcome to California.”
Ellen’s delicate fingers curled around his. “We’re almost to the end.”
He let go of her hand. It felt like he was letting go forever. But what else could he do? She had a job waiting for her. So did he, and a life she didn’t fit into. “Tomorrow’s a big day. You should get some sleep.”
She nodded. “You, too.” But as she reached the threshold, she looked back over her shoulder. “Welcome home.”
It was home. The place where he felt most himself. But he’d never imagined he’d feel so sad to have reached the end of the line.