The grumpy passenger who’d demanded so much of Henry’s attention disembarked at Kearney Junction midmorning. From where Jane sat by Molly’s berth, all she could see of the train station was a dark smudge in a world of white. Moments after the train headed out, Molly began to toss and turn. The porter brought more tea with honey, insisting that the UP would have his head if he didn’t offer comfort for an ailing child. “So please, ma’am, let’s not have any more arguments about the matter,” he said, and Jane relented. When Molly grimaced with each swallow, Jane’s stomach clenched a little more.
A few minutes later Molly whimpered for Katie, and Jane produced the rumpled rag doll with growing concern. Molly had been going through an I’m-too-grown-up-for-dolls phase. They’d only stuffed the doll in her carpetbag at the last minute. Now Jane sighed, alternately grateful for the comfort the beloved doll could give and worried over just how sick Molly was going to get.
Moments later, when Jane handed Molly’s empty teacup over,
Henry said, “Next stop is Elm Creek. There’s not much there save the store and the railroad eating house. But we can wire ahead for you and have the doctor at Plum Creek meet us. We’ll pull in there about 1:30 this afternoon if the storm doesn’t cause any delays.”
Jane shook her head. “I haven’t any way to pay a doctor. Unless—” Did she dare presume on Mr. Huggins to wire money? She swallowed and looked into the porter’s kind, dark eyes. “Surely she’ll be feeling better by then.”
Henry nodded. “The young ones have a way of bouncing back. I’m sure the good Lord can be trusted to undertake for the little miss.”
How Jane longed to be as certain as the porter seemed to be of God’s taking notice of one child on an empty train. She settled back in her chair, newly aware of her throbbing knee as she fought her fear with prayer. I haven’t asked You for anything in a long while. But this—this is important. Please let Molly get better quickly. Let us find a doctor who won’t take advantage. And let Mr. Huggins understand. We need his help. Please let him see that. Let him care.
Molly coughed again. Jane began to hum, then to sing, directing the words of a favorite lullaby toward Molly, who opened her eyes for a moment and smiled. “I like that one,” she croaked, then closed her eyes.
Jane’s stomach roiled with hunger. Breaking off another crust of bread from the increasingly stale loaf in her bag, she chewed and washed it down with the rest of the lukewarm tea Henry had brought her when he brought Molly’s. She’d just reached for the copy of Little Women, thinking to calm her own nerves by reading ahead, when, with the screeching of metal on metal, the train ground to a halt.
Frowning, Jane set the book aside and leaned toward the window, looking first this way and then that. Seeing nothing but a wall of white, she rose and limped to the door. She’d only cracked it open when the roar of the wind and a blast of snow made her yank it shut. With a shiver, she rubbed her arms and sat back down, but not before pulling her coat down to use as a lap robe.
Molly stirred. “Are we there?” She lifted her head, frowning as she glanced at the window.
“It’s snowing even harder,” Jane said. “I think we must be at the next stop, but I can’t tell.”
“I’m c–cold.”
“I’ll see if I can get you another blanket.” Jane rose and hobbled toward the front of the car, searching the compartments overhead as she moved along. Finally she located a thick red-and-black-striped blanket. Shaking it out, she made her way back to Molly. She’d just tucked it around when someone stepped into the car—someone new, Jane thought. He was taller than the porter, his face obscured by a turned-up collar, a bushy mustache, and the flaps of his hat pulled down to cover his cheeks.
His black eyes glittered as he glanced to where Molly lay, peering at him above the edge of the blankets. He nodded at Molly, then turned to Jane. “S. C. Parr, ma’am. Henry’s readying a place for you and the little miss up in the dining car. Sorry to make you move again. Won’t be as comfortable up there, but we’ll do our best. Crew’s on its way to clear the tracks, but it could be awhile. Soon as the storm stops, I expect the stationmaster at Elm Creek will get word as to what to expect. Until then, we’ve enough food to get by for a few days. Fuel’s scarce, but we won’t freeze. Henry’ll be back to fetch you soon as we’re ready to hunker down.”
Jane frowned. She glanced out the window. “Hunker … down?”
“Yes, ma’am. We’ve hit a wall. Of snow, that is. Drifted up so high there’s no way through. At least not right now. As soon as the storm blows past, we’ll get out with our shovels and get to digging out. Crews will be heading our way from the west as well. I don’t imagine we’ll be stuck longer than a day or two. Hopefully not even that long.”
Jane’s heart began to pound. “But—my daughter—the porter was going to see about a doctor at Elm Creek.”
“I know, ma’am. And we’ll do what we can about that as soon as possible. In the meantime, you enjoy whatever accommodations the UP can provide—gratis.“
Jane thanked him, just as Henry stepped into the car with an armful of blankets. With a nod, the other man was gone.
“Got things set up for you,” he said, and handed Jane two more blankets. “Wrap yourself up good. Thermometer’s dropping faster than a frog falling down a well. Don’t you worry, though. We’ll be toasty up in the dining car.” He grinned. “Toasty and well fed. Mr. Parr said to use up whatever we want.” He scooped Molly up and headed for the door. “I’ll come back for your bags, ma’am. Soon as we get the little miss and you settled up by the best stove on the train—aside from the boiler, that is.” Before opening the door, he put a blanket over Molly’s head.
Jane hobbled after Henry as best she could. When the car door opened, snow blasted into the Pullman. The wind roared. Henry didn’t have to tell Jane to hold on tight. Even so, she felt compelled to lean against the wind whistling between the two stalled cars. Once in the dining car, she ventured another look outside, shivering at the thought of anyone caught out in the blizzard.
As promised, the dining car was warm and inviting. Henry stretched across a table to lay Molly as gently as possible on one of the cushioned benches. Jane thanked him and slid onto the opposite bench as Henry retreated to get their bags. It wasn’t quite noon yet, but as soon as Henry returned, he began to light the elegant brass lamps hanging overhead. The glow of lamplight did little to make it feel warmer. Jane pulled her own blanket around her shoulders, newly aware of her numb feet and fingers. How far had the thermometer dropped? How cold would it get? Molly whimpered, and Jane moved to her bench, doing her best to gather the child in her arms, all the while trying to ignore the frisson of fear that ran up her spine.
As the storm raged and Molly slept, Jane alternately worried and read. When the wind finally died down, she limped to the doorway and peered out, gasping at the realization that the train was virtually buried in a drift. It was impossible to see beyond the edge of the platform connecting the dining car to the coal car ahead.
The crew worked to dig them out, and as the afternoon wore on into evening, they managed to clear away the snow so that Jane and Molly could see out the windows on the north side of the car. Only an occasional shadow stained the white surface of the earth, albeit without giving a hint of what might lay beneath the drift. As the light faded, snow began to fall again.
Molly woke and croaked a request that Jane read to her, but as Jane opened the book, she cocked her head. “You hear that?” She sat up and swiped at the frosted window, peering outside.
Could it be? Jane slid over to the window on her side of the table and squinted into the distance.
Molly coughed even as she smiled. “Sleigh bells!”
A dark dot of something came into view, gliding across the snow like a low-hovering raven flying toward the stranded train. As Jane peered at the spot, it grew, transforming into the discernible outline of a sleigh pulled by a massive black horse. The driver could have been animal, vegetable, or mineral, so swathed was he—or she—in a fur coat and hat. It was hard to tell where the coat left off and the hat began, thanks to a wide gray scarf wrapped ‘round and ‘round the driver’s neck and head. Jane wondered at the driver’s ability to see much through the narrow slit at what Jane presumed to be eye level.
Molly waved as the sleigh slid past the dining car. A pile of blankets next to the driver moved, and one red-mittened hand returned the wave. Apparently the driver wasn’t alone.
The car door opened, and Henry stepped inside, followed by a woman with merry blue eyes shining above the scarf she was pulling down from her face as Henry spoke. “Looks like the good Lord has answered our prayers for the little one.” He nodded at the woman. “Mrs. Gruber’s son was at a neighbor’s when the storm hit. He saw the stranded train on his way home—”
“—and so,” the woman said as she plopped a basket on the table, “I bake.” She pulled a blue and white cloth aside to reveal three loaves of bread.
The driver—presumably Mrs. Gruber’s son—stomped in behind them, still swathed in the gray scarf.
“My son, Peter,” the woman said as she reached for the basket he was carrying. Relieved of his burden, the man said something to Henry about talking to the engineer and retreated back outside, leaving his mother to reveal the contents of the other basket—a pie of some kind and a plate of cookies. Pulling off one red mitten, the old woman reached for a cookie. She hesitated, looking to Jane for approval. “Is all right, ja?” She nodded at Molly.
Jane nodded. “Yes, of course.”
But Molly had already hunkered back down beneath her blankets. When Mrs. Gruber held the cookie out, Molly shook her head. “Thank you,” she coughed, “but I’m not hungry.”
The old woman tilted her head and stared down at Molly. Depositing the cookie back on the plate, she stepped closer and leaned down, putting her palm to Molly’s forehead. She turned back to Jane. “To the house you must come.” She paused. “Better I make the child. Ve haf tea. And herbs.” She pointed at the horizon to the north. “Just there. Is warm, Peter’s house. We bring you back when the train is ready.” She glanced at the porter. “The whistle you blow, and Peter brings back. Is gut, ja?”
Jane didn’t give Henry time to answer. “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Gruber, but we should stay with the train. We’ll be fine.” She nodded at the baskets of food. “Especially now that you’ve brought supper.” The aroma of whatever was in that pie was making her mouth water.
“Is nothing,” the old woman said with a wave. “Better I have at home.” She looked at Henry. “You should all come. Eat.” She went to the door and shouted for Peter. Her son reappeared, tugging at his gray scarf as Mrs. Gruber waved him into the train car. She babbled in German and gestured toward Molly and Jane.
The man’s voice rumbled through his scarf. “We don’t live far. Come where it’s warm, Mrs.—?”
“McClure,” Jane said. “Jane McClure.” She glanced at Molly. “And this is Molly.”
The man chuckled and glanced at his mother, who smiled and said, “Is good name, Molly.”
Mr. Gruber’s voice warmed with obvious pride as he said, “Mother’s brought several hundred children into this world. She’s an excellent nurse.” His dark eyes crinkled at the corners as he said to Jane, “She already has an onion plaster planned to break the fever. And there’s syrup for the cough.” He shrugged. “It tastes terrible. But it works.”
The old woman broke in. “When train whistles, Peter brings you back in sleigh.” She patted Molly on the head. “Your Molly will be better.”
Jane cleared her throat. “I … I don’t have …” She swallowed. Shook her head. “I can’t pay for medical care.”
The old woman put her palm to her chest. Sighed. Shook her head. “Not to pay.” She tucked gray curls back beneath her knit cap, then pulled her mittens back on as she appealed to Henry. “You must to say. Ja?”
Henry spoke up. “I’ve been riding these rails a few years now, ma’am. Porters hear things, just as a routine part of the job.” He smiled. “Mrs. Gruber has quite the reputation in Buffalo County. Healing hands, folks say.”
As if on cue, Molly coughed. And coughed. And coughed, whimpering with the effort and murmuring about a sore throat. Jane swallowed. Was it her imagination, or was her own throat a little sore as well? The woman smiled and nodded. And her son—what little of him Jane could see—he had kind eyes, at least. She relented with a nod. “All right then. Thank you.” When she reached for her coat, her knee twinged. With a soft grunt and a grimace, she shifted her weight.
Mrs. Gruber caught her hand. “Vas ist?”
“It’s nothing,” Jane lied. “I slipped on the ice at the train station.”
The old woman arched one eyebrow. “Also ve vill see to this ‘nothing.’” She spoke again to her son. Jane helped Molly don her coat and then shrugged into hers. While they gathered their things, Henry reassured Mrs. Gruber that the train crew would gather soon and enjoy the feast she’d provided before the pie got cold.
As Jane reached for their carpetbags, she twisted her knee just the wrong way. Pain shot up her thigh, and though she pressed her lips together to prevent it, Mrs. Gruber apparently heard her soft cry, for she said something to her son, and before Jane could utter a protest, the man had swept her off her feet and headed up the aisle of the train and out to the sleigh. Over his shoulder, Jane saw Henry scoop Molly up and follow in their wake. Mrs. Gruber trundled behind them with the two carpetbags.
In no time, Jane and Molly were settled behind the driver’s seat, swaddled in layers of fur hides and comforters. Mr. Gruber helped his mother aboard and then climbed up beside her, even as Henry called out reassurance from the platform between the train cars. “You rest well, ma’am. Soon as the snow stops, we’ll start digging out. There’s sure to be a crew on the way to help. You’ll be in Denver before you know it.”
Denver. Jane gazed back at the train as the sleigh glided across the snow to the rhythmic jangle of the sleigh bells attached to the black horse’s harness. She should have asked to send word to Mr. Huggins. Would the Union Pacific give notice to people coming to meet the train in Denver? Surely they would. Still, Jane wished she’d asked Henry about sending Mr. Huggins a telegram. Then again, telegrams cost money. And she had none.