With each breath, the stale air of the train and its malodorous passengers stuck in Belle Parish’s lungs. Am I doing the right thing? She turned from the window to Angelique, but one look at her friend’s peaceful slumber, Belle knew she would only make light of their rather frightening situation. Just remember every kind word Colt wrote in his letters. He shares your faith. How bad could a man be if he believes in the Lord? Sighing, Belle leaned back on the stiff seat and smoothed out the simple, pale pink skirt that Angelique had lent her for the journey to meet their future husbands for the first time. She tugged on the cream cuffs of her best and only shirtwaist and tried to calm herself by taking deep breaths, but the more air she gulped, the dryer her throat became.
If Angelique had not answered that advertisement in the paper on their behalf, Belle would not be here in the first place. But there was nothing left for her in Charleston. After Miss Fairfield had left, life had grown unbearable, and she had been forced to quit the only position she had ever known. What else could a maid without a job do in the Wild West but follow through with the plan and marry? She shifted in her seat and tried to breathe in the air from the small opening in the train window, but the sun was melting her under her borrowed dress, and unlike her beloved city, there wasn’t any dampness in the air to compensate for the heat. It was just plain hot.
Parched, Belle made her way down the swaying aisle to the communal bucket of water. Using the dipper, she trickled water into one of the tin cups and slowly made her way back to her seat, careful not spill her drink. She sniffed it, her nose wrinkling. Taking only a small sip of the musty water, she fought to keep herself from gagging, but her thirst was not satiated, so she held her breath and gulped a mouthful just as the sounds of gunshots split the air.
The passenger car erupted in screams as the train lurched, the wheels screeching and flinging Belle onto the floor of the cabin. She lifted herself on her elbow to rush to Angelique, but the elderly gentleman nearest her, pressed a hand to her shoulder.
“Stay down. They may fire into the car, Miss,” he whispered, his wrinkled hands shaking.
She crawled as quickly as she could in her long skirts to Angelique’s side, clutching her hand when the sound of the car door opening accompanied with the jingling of spurs chilled her to her core as a broad-shouldered man masked behind a scarlet bandana strode through the door, the barrel of his gun catching in the sunlight.
“Everyone keep your hands where I can see them. Your valuables are worth more to me than your life, so toss your jewels into my hat and we won’t have any trouble.”
And if one does not possess any valuables? What then? She swallowed, not wanting to know the answer.
The Harvey Girls Story Continues in Book Two of the Aprons & Veils Series, The Pursuit of Miss Parish By Grace Hitchcock.