4

Two hundred miles from home. As the train rumbled through the night, Sam Carstairs enjoyed the luxury of the railroad president’s private car: dark paneling, thick carpet, gold-accented lamps—all more expensive than what he had at home. Paintings of hunting scenes mixed with bold depictions of railroad engines racing along the tracks. The plush seat enveloped him with comfort. The steak dinner rivaled anything he had eaten in San Francisco.

He took one of the imported cigars offered by the ever-attentive valet, sniffed the sweet aroma, and rolled the cigar between his fingers. The outer leaf crinkled with promise. Sam drew the flame into the cigar, leaned back in the chair, and blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling. The ring floated upward before drifting apart like a cloud scattered by the breeze. He sipped a glass of the finest brandy he had ever tasted, rich and smooth as it slid down his throat.

He raised his glass to toast his reflection in the window. His trip to San Francisco had surpassed his wildest expectations. The railroads were starting to lay track again after five years of depression and had agreed to build a line to Riverbend. It would be completed in a year or so. The final deal had required more financial persuasion than he’d anticipated, but the rewards would be sweet. The town would grow, and so would his wealth and power. Track would be laid on land he owned. The station would be built on his land too, and businesses would grow around it. All those years of planning and plotting, negotiating with the railroad, buying every acre of land he could get his hands on—now it would finally pay off.

He stared past his reflection into the blackness. Ah, Ruthie, you’d be proud of me. If only you were here to enjoy it with me. He bowed his head and swallowed, a familiar sadness washing over him. Even after all these years, he missed his wife desperately.

The shrill whistle startled Sam back to the present as the train pulled into the station at Lassiter. His stop. He put out the cigar, took his bag from the valet, and descended the iron steps to the platform. Pools of lamplight washed the area with a soft glow that welcomed passengers and guided them through the chill night air.

Carstairs walked the short distance to the stage office and booked his passage on the next day’s noon stage to Culverton, where he would catch another coach to Riverbend. He examined the hotel across the street with a critical eye. He had stayed there many times before. It paled in comparison to the one he had built in Riverbend, not anywhere near as well built or as fancy, but it would be adequate for one night.

The skinny hotel clerk greeted him with a smile and a handshake. “Good evening, Mr. Carstairs.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “We’re glad to have you stay with us again. Did you have a good trip to Frisco this year?”

“It was all right.” Sadness enveloped Carstairs again. He was even less inclined to chitchat than usual.

The clerk handed him the key to the room he always booked, the closest thing the hotel had to a luxury suite. “Oh, by the way, I have a message for you. Someone came in this afternoon and left it with the day clerk.”

Sam took the plain white envelope with his name printed in block letters and shoved it into his coat pocket. He thanked the clerk and turned away.

When he got to the room, he dropped his bag on the bed and hung his coat on a peg behind the door. He shook his head at the water-stained paneling and flaking paint. The braided rug in the middle of the floor was threadbare, the wood floors deeply scratched. Maybe I should buy this place and show them how to run a hotel.

Sam stood at the table in the center of the room and opened the envelope. His heart pounded as the words on the single sheet of paper seared into his eyes. He dropped the letter onto the table, sank into one of the lumpy armchairs that flanked it, and covered his face.

He looked at the paper one more time. Clammy sweat broke out on his forehead. He read the letter again, hands shaking.

Carstairs,

Your debt is now due and it’s time to pay up. You’ll be contacted with arrangements for the final payment.

H.