CHAPTER 17

My boots burn. They’ve been close to fire or the heat of grinding gears. “Eustace,” I say, “how did you do that? How did you get me up? I thought I was going to die.”

I hear a voice that does not belong to Eustace say “¡Tontos!” and then a string of things I do not understand.

“Who’s there?” I ask. I try to sit up, but I just curl up on my side. “Who said that?” Whoever it is keeps talking, keeps repeating that word tontos, which doesn’t sound like a compliment.

“Eustace?” I say. My eyes are adjusting now, and I can see Eustace and Fob sitting up against the wall of the car, near the door where we flew in. Both their chests rise and fall in exaggerated breathing. I can see my Medicine Head resting there, too, safe and sound. There is a tall man standing close to them. He’s wearing a railroad worker’s uniform, a smart one with a black coat and white shirt. He’s the one talking.

“He’s calling us fools,” Eustace says, “and he wants to know what we’re doing here.” Fob makes a groaning sound, like he wants to know what we’re doing here, too.

I’m worried the man’s going to stop the train and kick us off. He’s pointing at Fob and shaking his head, then pointing at us and shaking his head some more. He’s flailing his arms and saying “Dios mio.”

“Is he Spanish?” I ask. I finally feel oriented enough to sit up, which I do. My head pounds. I put my hand to it and discover a huge bump near my hairline.

“He’s speaking Spanish, yes,” says Eustace.

“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish, Eustace,” I say.

“A little,” he says. “My ma speaks some. My old man was half Mexican.”

For a moment, I consider asking Eustace all the questions I ever wanted to know about his father, but then I decide this probably isn’t the right time. The tall man continues to rant, wave his arms, and slap one hand against the other like he’s a stern schoolmaster. I’m not scared of him, though. He doesn’t seem mean, only wound up by having two kids and a cowardly animal heaved up into his train car. With my objective, scientific mind, I am able to understand that this reaction is completely reasonable.

“Well,” I ask, “what else is he saying?” I peer at the man.

Eustace is scratching his head, trying to decipher it. “I think something about how crazy we are and how we almost got ourselves killed,” he says. “Plus something about the dog having more sense than both of us.”

“Well,” I say. “That’s not very nice.”

“Phew,” says Eustace. “That was close, Lu. Greeney was right on your tail. And you almost got sucked under.” The movement of the train grows louder and smoother. “This man saved your life.”

I shake my head. “You saved my life.”

“Some,” he says. “But I wouldn’t have been able to pull you up without him pulling me.”

I think about that for a few seconds. The man is still rambling. I understand one word: idiota. He walks back and forth in the train car. Then I understand another word. The man says “Greeney,” and then he says “muy malo” and draws his finger across his neck.

Seems like this man knows Captain Greeney. And even though he might be mad at us for hopping on this train, he seems like he might even help us. Sometimes I just get a good feeling from people, and I’ve got a good feeling about this man. I know that’s not a very scientific way of thinking, but you probably know what I mean anyway.

Mother used to call this type of phenomenon “women’s intuition.” She said that at the exact moment Father discovered Antarctica and she was in labor, she felt a freezing jolt lurch her body. She intuitively knew that Father had made the discovery. Priss probably has women’s intuition, too. She seems to know every time I’m up to something I don’t want her to know about. I wonder if that feeling is the same one I get before something is about to happen, like when I found the dead snake. I wonder if that means I’m developing women’s intuition.

“Idiota,” the man says again.

“I knew you were going to say that,” I say to him.

Then I close my eyes. I don’t care if he calls me an idiot for hours. I’m very tired. I just have to rest for a minute. I wrap my arms around my knees and place my head on them. I take in air and blow it out slowly as I replay all the events of the past two days: the cave, the Medicine Head, the fire, Captain Greeney, the articles, the letter, the train, Captain Greeney again. I wonder how dangerous this journey will be, since I almost just got myself killed and we aren’t even out of Tolerone yet. I wonder if Captain Greeney will be on the next train.

Of course he will.

Do you know what a theory is? Well, it’s an educated position based on facts. Based on all the facts I have so far, including the ones where Captain Greeney chased Father across the country, killed him, and came back to Tolerone again, I’d say it’s safe to theorize that Captain Greeney will be on my tail quick.

I sigh.

The Spanish-speaking man comes to me, kneels down, takes my hand, and pats it. Then he drops it, sits, and puts his head on his knees like me. I don’t know a thing in the world about him except that he saved my life and then called me an idiot, but somehow I feel safe around him. I don’t have a scientific explanation for how you can sometimes tell if a person is good or bad after only a couple of minutes, but I hypothesize that this man is a nice one.

I suppose now you’re wondering what a hypothesis is. One thing I try to remember is that not everyone, hardly anyone, was lucky enough to have a famous scientist for a father to teach him or her everything there is to know about the world. A hypothesis is an educated guess.

I smile at the man. He smiles back and shakes his head like he can’t believe his eyes. Then he puts his hands together, as though in prayer, and rests them against his cheek. He closes his eyes. He’s telling me to sleep.

After a while, I do.

When I wake, Eustace and the man are sitting on the edge of the car with their feet dangling over the side as the train moves. Eustace slices an apple and gives half to the man. They act chummy as old friends. They laugh together, and they take turns petting Fob. I watch them for a while, and I can see that the man is not as old as I first thought. He is maybe only eighteen or nineteen. He has fascinating hair, black, glossy, and curled over like a plowed furrow of earth. He has very dark brown eyes and thick eyebrows. He has excellent posture.

I sit up, and then I realize that sometime during the night he covered me with his wool coat. He is already providing me with lots of evidence to prove my hypothesis, and that makes me smile a little. I take the coat off and fold it over neatly.

“Well, look who finally decided to wake up,” says Eustace. The man stands up and makes a slight bow.

“Perdon, niña,” he says. “¿Cómo dormiste?”

“Huh?” I say. I look at Eustace.

“He wants to know if you slept OK?” Eustace translates.

“Sí,” says the man. He closes his eyes and pretends to rest his head on his pressed-together hands.

“Uh… uh,” I stammer. I look outside, at the land rushing past. I see cows in pastures, birds in the sky, huge full clouds against a blue sky. “I think so. How long have I been sleeping?”

“All night,” says Eustace. “And most of the morning.”

“Wow,” I say. “I was tired.”

“You were snoring,” says Eustace. He snorts like a snore. The man looks at him and smiles and then says something to me. I look at Eustace.

“He says you purr like raindrops when you sleep,” says Eustace.

I blush. “Are you sure you translated that correctly?” I ask.

“Not really,” says Eustace. “My Spanish is rusty.”

I hand the coat to the man, and I look deep into his eyes, which are quite pretty and fringed with very long black lashes. Even though they are very different in color, the mood they express reminds me of someone. Priss.

“What’s his name?” I say.

The man must understand because he answers, “Lopez de Santa Anna-Carson.” He takes his coat from me and bows again. It occurs to me that he is quite handsome and also debonair, not at all like most of the boys I know. I think I’d like for Priss to meet him someday.

For the rest of the ride, Eustace asks Lopez my questions and then tries to translate the answers back to me. Lopez asks me questions, too. I tell him all about New Bedford, Tolerone, and Priss. He asks lots of questions about Priss. I tell him about how boys sometimes try to come and ask her out for walks and sometimes even bring her flowers from the prairie. Lopez is very curious about this. He raises an eyebrow quizzically.

So I make Eustace act it out with me.

Eustace bends over, pretends to pick flowers from the train car floor. Then he pretends to arrange them in a bouquet. And I have to admit that Eustace is a very good thespian. Finally, he brings the pretend flowers over to me, bends down on one knee, and reaches them toward me. I put my hand on my chest and pretend I’m surprised, because that’s what Priss does. I open my eyes and mouth really wide. I say, “Oh, for me?” Then I pretend to take the flowers, clutch them to my chest, and raise the back of my hand to my forehead, as though I feel faint.

Lopez laughs and laughs. He applauds and says, “Bravo. Bravo!”

I don’t know what language that word is, but I know what it means.

I don’t understand anything Lopez says, but I like him a lot and decide I wouldn’t mind one bit if he came to court Priss someday. It turns out he’s a porter on the railroad, which is why he’s dressed in that dapper black coat and creased trousers. He’s in charge of the passengers’ baggage that doesn’t fit in the passenger cars.

Riding on a train makes my stomach lunge and lurch, flip and flop. Once in a while, despite how warm it is in the car, I break out in a cold sweat and think I might vomit. Most of the time, I sit with the Medicine Head’s crate on my lap and think. So it’s nice when Lopez takes a break from his work to talk with us. Sometimes, for a little while anyway, he helps me forget all the bad. But the bad always comes back.

Lopez points to my crate and asks Eustace a question. Eustace looks at me and shakes his head.

“What?” I ask. “What did he say?”

“He wants to know what’s in the crate,” says Eustace. He raises his palms. “What should I tell him?”

I hug the crate to me. “Don’t tell him anything,” I say. “Tell him nothing. Tell him it’s none of his business. In fact, tell him to mind his own business.”

Eustace doesn’t say any of that. He shakes his head at Lopez.

Lopez lifts his shoulders, gesturing Why?

I wag my finger back and forth. I wonder why Lopez is so interested. Does he know what’s in the crate already? Maybe he’s heard of the Medicine Head. Maybe he wants it for himself. Maybe he’s been hired by Captain Greeney to take it from me and is just pretending to be nice to us.

I point to the crate and use both my hands to simulate a great big explosion. I make a noise like Boom!

Lopez raises his eyebrows. “Boom?” he repeats.

“Big, big boom,” I say with a nod. Lopez looks at Eustace, who shrugs.

“OK, OK,” Lopez says. “Big boom.”