Chapter Seven
Under those circumstances, John Henry didn’t see how he could pretend to go on sleeping. He sat up straighter, opened his eyes all the way, and lifted a hand to thumb his hat back into its normal position. He turned his head to look at the woman sitting close beside him. Improperly close, some people would have said.
She was very attractive. Probably around twenty-three years old, he would have guessed, although like most men he was far from an expert at guessing a woman’s age. Lustrous brown hair was pulled back and up to form an elaborate arrangement of curls upon which sat a stylish hat that matched her traveling dress. Her eyes were a rich, warm shade of brown, too. Her face had a small beauty mark just to the right of her mouth that only added to her striking looks.
“Can you help me?” she said again. Her voice had a breathy, throaty quality about it, so that even if she hadn’t been whispering, the words would have sounded intimate.
“Help you to do what?” John Henry asked.
“There’s a man. . . . He’s bothering me.”
John Henry smiled. He might not be a sophisticated man of the world, but he had some experience. Any time a man was approached by a beautiful woman he didn’t know who claimed that she was being bothered by someone, it tended not to end well for the fella being approached. The mark, John Henry believed he was called.
But the train had emerged from the mountains, he saw as he glanced out the window, and while he could still see some peaks to the south, across the Rio Grande, the scenery back to the north was downright boring again.
“How long will it be before we get to El Paso?” he asked.
The question seemed to take her by surprise. She frowned—which didn’t make her any less pretty, he noted—and said, “What? How long to El Paso? I . . . I don’t know. Another hour or two, maybe.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. Figuring out exactly what sort of trick she was trying to pull on him would help pass the time. “I just got distracted for a second. What were you saying about needing my help?”
She looked relieved.
“There’s a man who’s been watching me ever since we left San Antonio,” she said. “He’s very bold about it, and he makes me uncomfortable. I moved from the car where I was sitting originally, but he followed me. And then he spoke to me.”
“I’m speaking to you,” John Henry pointed out. “It doesn’t seem so bad.”
“Yes, but he wanted to know if I was stopping in El Paso. He suggested that he and I . . . well, I don’t want to repeat what he suggested, but I found it very offensive!”
John Henry was sitting toward the front of the car, with only a couple of rows of seats between him and the vestibule. He turned his head to look behind him at the other passengers.
“Is he in this car?”
“I don’t know . . . I think he followed me. . . .” The young woman looked, too, then jerked her head around so she was facing forward again. “Yes! He’s back there. He’s a big man, with . . . with a large nose and a black mustache.”
John Henry looked again. There was an hombre several rows back who matched that description, all right, but he didn’t seem to be paying any attention to them.
Maybe that was just an act. Maybe he really had been harassing this young woman. John Henry didn’t think it was likely, but it was possible. He was enough of a gentleman that he thought he ought to give her the benefit of the doubt, despite his suspicions of her.
“Do you want me to go talk to him and ask him to leave you alone?” he asked.
She put a hand on his arm and squeezed gently.
“Could you?” she said, her voice again with that breathless quality.
“Of course. First, though, I’d like for you to tell me your name.”
“Is ... is that really necessary?”
“I think it is,” John Henry said.
“Very well. My name is Sophie. Sophie Clearwater.”
Clearwater sounded a little like an Indian name. John Henry knew it could just as easily be a white person’s name, though. She didn’t look the least bit Indian.
“All right, Miss Clearwater ... it is Miss Clearwater, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. I’m not married.”
“All right, I’ll go have a word with the gentleman.”
A little shudder ran through her.
“He’s not a gentleman,” she said. “He’s a brute.”
“I’ll talk to him nonetheless,” John Henry said as he got to his feet. “Why don’t you just scoot on over there by the window? Easier for me to get out that way.” She did as he suggested. He touched a finger to the brim of his hat and added, “I’ll be right back.”
He felt the motion of the train under his boots as he walked along the aisle. The man Sophie Clearwater claimed to be afraid of sat by himself on one of the benches, looking out the window. John Henry stopped beside him and said, “Excuse me, sir?”
The man looked around and said, “Yeah? What do you want?”
“I was wondering if I could have a word with you?”
“What about? I don’t know you, do I?”
“No, but it’s important.” John Henry gestured at the seat. “If I could ... ?”
The man grimaced and slid over with obvious reluctance. He made it plain he didn’t want any company.
“Now, here’s the situation,” John Henry said quietly when he had taken off his hat and sat down. “There’s a young woman up there ... you see her, brown hair, green hat? She’s not looking this way.”
“Yeah, I see her. What about it?”
“Are you acquainted with her?”
“Not that I know of. I can’t see her face, so I’m not sure. But as far as I know I’m not acquainted with anybody on this train.” He added pointedly, “That includes you, mister.”
“I neglected to introduce myself. My name’s John Henry Sixkiller, and yes, before you ask, I’m part Indian.”
“I don’t give a hoot about that. Get to the point, before I call the conductor.”
“Well, you see, that young woman claims that you’ve been bothering her. That you looked boldly at her, made improper suggestions, and followed her from another car to this one. Is there any truth to those charges?”
The man’s face had begun to flush with anger as John Henry spoke, and by the time he was finished the man looked like he was about to explode. He opened his mouth to say something, but John Henry held up a hand and said, “Quietly now. We don’t want to cause an unnecessary scene.”
“You’ve already done that,” the man grated out, “by coming back here and leveling these ridiculous accusations at me. I’d never bother any woman like that, and I don’t appreciate her saying that I did!”
“Is there any way you can prove that?” John Henry asked.
“I don’t have to prove anything!”
“Maybe not, but it would help me out if you did.”
The man continued to fume for several seconds, then said, “All right. My name is Harlan Phillips. I’m the pastor of a Baptist church in El Paso. I’m on my way back from San Antonio, where I attended a denominational meeting where I was cited for my work in the service of the Lord. I’m happily married and have five children. Is that enough proof for you, mister?”
“Am I supposed to take your word for it that you’re this Pastor Phillips?”
The man reached under his coat, and John Henry tensed. If that hand came out with a gun in it, he was going to throw a punch before the man could bring the weapon to bear.
Instead, Phillips, if that was his name, was holding an envelope. He showed it to John Henry, who saw that it was addressed to Harlan Phillips, Grace Baptist Church, El Paso, Texas.
“Just because you’ve got a letter addressed to this Pastor Phillips doesn’t mean you’re him.”
“Maybe not. Why don’t you bring the young woman back here and I’ll address her accusations directly.”
“I don’t believe that’ll be necessary,” John Henry said. “I’ll accept that you’re who you say you are, Brother Harlan, if you’ll do me a favor.”
“What sort of favor?”
“Don’t argue with me when I say what I’m about to say.”
Phillips looked confused. He started to say, “What—” but John Henry got to his feet, pointed his hat at him, and said in a loud voice, “And don’t you forget it!”
Then he clapped his hat on his head, gave Phillips a curt nod, and turned to stride back up the aisle to his seat.
A few of the other passengers had looked at him oddly when he spoke that last bit to Phillips, but most ignored him. Not Sophie Clearwater, though. She turned to watch him approach, and she started to move as if she intended to slide off the bench and let him reclaim his seat by the window.
John Henry moved too fast for her to do that. He sat down beside her instead and let his long legs extend casually in front of him, as much as they would in the space between benches. Sophie couldn’t get out now unless he let her out, short of climbing over the back of the bench.
“You don’t have anything else to worry about,” he told her as he glanced down and saw the corner of his carpetbag sticking out from under the seat. It hadn’t been like that when he left. “I gave the man a good talking to, and he won’t bother you anymore.”
“Thank you,” she said. “You’re a true gentleman. Now, I shouldn’t take up any more of your time—”
“I don’t have anything but time until we get to El Paso,” John Henry said, “and I’d be honored if you’d spend it talking with me, Miss Clearwater.”
She looked uncomfortable, sort of like a deer that wanted to bolt. She forced a smile and said, “Well, I suppose—”
“And the first thing we can talk about,” John Henry said, “is why you lied to me and told me that a fine, upstanding Baptist preacher with a wife and five children was making improper advances toward you.”