California Woman (Daughters of the Whirlwind Book 1) (60 page)

"Not yet. Let us sustain the
mystery—as well as the slight element of danger."

"Goddamn, you are one hell of a
woman! Got to say that."

She finished loosening the second set of
buttons, hesitated, looked away, then lifted his erect member through the gaps
in his clothing. "I'll take my hat off when—we are, in the midst of
it."

"Suit yourself."

She summoned up a devilish laugh,
wondering for a moment how firmly he was locked onto the railing.
Too strong
to risk pushing him
, she thought.
I must begin it, loathsome as it is.
Be
patient and calm.

She put one foot up outside his on the
rung, then, both hands gripping the top bar, carefully swung the other foot up
into place. She forced herself to laugh. "There. I did it!"

She eased down, the skirts of her dress
spilling over his legs, and immediately felt that he had grown limp. "Oh,
dear."

"Havin' a bit of a problem, am
I?" He smiled sheepishly.

"Wait." The pounding in her
chest and neck had reached a crescendo again. She took a deep breath.
"Here, let me reach up and grasp the overhang so I can get down easily.
Then I will… bring it to life."

"Go ahead."

Carefully releasing one hand from the
railing, she extended her right arm upward toward the spot where she had wedged
the derringer. She felt along the opening in the roof skirt all the way to the
wall of the car and gasped as a mountaintop to the west suddenly blocked out
the light of the waning sun.

"What's the matter?" he asked
evenly, his face hardened by the dark shadow cast by the mountain behind the
train.

Wondering whether the gun had been jarred
loose and fallen off the platform miles back, she didn't notice the slight
change in Mosby's voice. "I… I can't seem to get a grip." Terrified
now, she looked up to make sure she was not mistaken.

Mosby shoved her backward onto the floor
of the platform, then didn't even bother to get down as he reached into his
jacket pocket and pulled out her husband's derringer.

"You lookin for this?" He
laughed and tossed the gun over his right shoulder. Stunned, Esther watched it
arc in the air, bounce once beside the single set of tracks, and disappear down
the sheer face of the mountain.

She got up on her knees, screaming.
"
You filthy bastard! You rotten, filthy scum!
" Pushing herself
up, she rushed for the door. His fingers were on the handle when she reached
it. "
Murderer! Bastard!
"

"Got beat at your own game, did
you?" He jerked her around by one arm and pulled her against his chest and
legs.

"Let
go
of me!" She
tried to kick him.

"Let's see what the fuck you look
like!" He let go and ripped her hat off. For a fleeting moment there was a
trace of vague recollection in his eyes.

"
Scum! Filthy… murdering…. scum!
"
she screamed, punching at him with her fists.

He grabbed her wrist, pinned it behind
her back, then took hold of her other arm. "Least you can say Todd's got
good taste in mistresses."

"
I'll kill you, you sickening…
vile… beast!
"

"Now, how you gonna do that?"

Pressed against him, she felt the holster
inside his jacket. "Let go of me! Let go of me!
Please!
"

"Now it's please, huh? Not on your
life, you connivin' little bitch! You think I didn't know who you were, what
you might be up to? You think I don't know—now that I've seen your pretty
face—that you were Barnett's woman before you started layin' down with the
judge?" He spun her around and bent her out over the railing.

Panting, she stared in horror at the tops
of the evergreens hundreds of feet below her.

"Take a good look, 'cause that's
where you're headin'." He pulled her back. "But not before I take a
little of what you were offerin', you snaky little whore."

He let go of one arm again as he spun her
around. As soon as it was free, she shoved her hand inside his jacket and
clawed at his holster.

"Wrong again!" he barked,
slapping her across the face and shoving her backward toward the other side of
the platform. As she fell, she struck her head just over her right ear on one
of the rungs. She felt blood begin to trickle down through her hair as she
looked up, dazed, and saw him pull his derringer from his jacket pocket.

"Get up!" he shouted.

Solana
had
heard her screaming. As Mosby took a step toward Esther, he did not see the
Indian woman come quickly down the ladder, swing to her right, and throw
herself over the rear railing, looping the ice hammer in the same motion.

The cylinder of the blade struck him at
the muscled base of his neck just before
Solana
crashed into his pelvis and legs,
knocking him down and stunning him as he crashed against the wall of the car.
Ignoring the incredible pain in both her kneecaps, she rose quickly, lifted the
ice hammer, swung, and gaffed the point deep in over his left collarbone.

Mosby shrieked in pain. Then, as she bent
over to free the pick, he lashed out at her face with the gun still clutched in
his right hand.

She staggered backward, blood pouring out
of a gash over one eye, then threw herself on him. Scream
ing
in rage, he blocked her arms and took
hold of the fabric of her dress with his teeth. Maddened by the pain in his
shoulder, blood pumping out around the buried pick-blade, he lifted, then
carried her bodily, spinning and driving her against the wall of the car.

They were locked together now, as Esther
rose groggily, unsteadily to her feet and staggered toward them. His teeth were
snapped shut on the bodice of Solana's dress, his left hand wedged against her
right arm, the pistol between them, suspended in his right hand, held there by
their bodies and the fingers
Solana
had
wrapped around his wrist.

Esther saw no way to get at either the
gun or the pick still lodged in Mosby's shoulder.
Solana
pushed forward and bit hard at Mosby's
face. Spinning as Mosby howled, Esther pushed into the car, ran to the bed, and
found the kitchen knife. She heard the shot just as she got back to the rear
door.

Outside, Mosby and
Solana,
still clutching one another, had revolved
to a position on the outside railing.
Solana
had slipped down until her shoulders were
against the upper bar. Weaving, Mosby raised the butt of the derringer over her
head.

Lifting the knife to waist-level and
gripping it with both hands, Esther staggered two steps forward and plunged the
blade into his back.

Mosby groaned. He let go of the derringer
in mid-swing, watched it arc away, then began to turn.

She pulled the knife out and pushed it
into him again.

"Bastard…"

And again.

"Murderer…!"

And again.

"
Rapist…!
"

She was crying now, as she tried to spin
him around so she could slash at his face. She saw Solana's arms clasped around
his upper back. Then, aware again of the Indian woman, she stared over Mosby's
shoulder into Solana's glazed eyes.

"Solana!
Oh,
God.
Solana!"

Mosby began to slide downward. As he did,
Esther saw the broad expanse of blood darkening the black fabric under the
gold, heart-shaped amulet
Solana
was
wearing.

The Indian woman closed her eyes, then
opened them again. Her arms relaxed slightly.

Enraged, Esther pulled Mosby partially
away from her and pushed his face up. His eyes were still half-open. "
Look
at me! Murderer! Do you know who I am?
"

Mosby stared blankly at her, listening
numbly as the life ebbed out of him.

"
I am Elizabeth Purdy Todd! Do
you remember?
"

His head slumped forward.

She grabbed his hair and jerked it up
again. "
Do you remember? In the snow, in the mountains, after you
killed Seeswash?
" She saw his pupils begin to roll upward and yanked
violently at his hair. "
The baby and the woman? Do… you… remember?
"

His eyes widened slightly as he realized
who she was.

"
I am that woman!
" She
raised the knife again, this time in one hand, ready to drive it into his
chest.

"No."

Esther turned to
Solana,
the knife high in the air.

"Throw the knife away. Give me the
pick."

She hesitated.

"Give me the pick. You owe this to
me."

Startled, confused, she lowered the knife
and dropped it to the platform. It skittered and fell over the side onto the
receding gravel beside the track.

"He is almost gone,"
Solana
said wearily. "Help me to be standing."

Esther let go of Mosby, and he fell
against the Indian woman. Together, they managed to bring her to a standing
position with Mosby leaning against her, his head slumped on one shoulder, his
eyes half-closed.

"The pick."

Esther circled Mosby and saw that the
tool had worked loose and fallen to the platform. She lifted it up and turned
back to
Solana.

"Give it to me!"
Solana
extended her left hand and took the ice
hammer from Esther. She hefted it as blood began to trickle from one corner of
her mouth.

"Lift his head."

Esther took hold of his hair again and
pulled back.

"For Miwokan… and my son,"
Solana
murmured. Then, raising the pick and
measuring, she snapped her wrist sharply and drove the point deep into Mosby's
ear.

Esther stared at them, dumbfounded, as
Solana
choked and tightened her grip on the ice
hammer.

"Tie my other wrist to his with your
scarf."

Esther obeyed her. When she finished, she
looked at
Solana
again.
The Indian woman smiled. "You are my sunsister, and you will do what I
say."

Esther nodded, suddenly aware that her
legs were terribly weak.

"Stay strong until it is done."

"Is there no way I can help
you?" She moved to do something about Solana's wound, but the Indian woman
slowly shook her head.

"I will be gone soon. It is what I
want."

"Oh, God,
please
! Don't say
that!"

"It is the truth. I am glad the
blood is filling me."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Wash the blood off the iron after
it is done."

"What is done?"

"After you throw us from the
train."

Esther fought for breath. "
No!
I won't do that!" she sobbed. "Please don't ask me to do that to
you!"

Solana
turned
her head and looked forward, along the side of the train. "When it is
right, you will do it. For me. You will do what I ask."

Esther was suddenly aware that they had
left the face of the mountain behind. Green conifers whipped past in a smear of
color. "I
can't!
"

"You can and you will. Not here. But
when it is right. If I am not gone, it will stop the pain. If
I
am, it will still be better. For me,
and for you, later."

Esther stared at her, tears streaming
down her face. Suddenly she felt faint.

"Hold on to my arm,"
Solana
whispered. "Then, when you are not
dizzy, do it. If they find us, they will think nothing about you. Do it… Do it
for me… Do it for—" Her head fell forward onto Mosby's shoulder.

"Miwokan…" Esther sobbed.

She
waited, holding onto them tightly, until the train began crossing the long
trestle just west of the pass. Scarcely aware of what she was doing, she ripped
"Uncle" Billy Graves's antique watch from Mosby's vest and slipped it
into a pocket of her dress. Almost at the center of the span, she got behind
Mosby, slipped her arms beneath
Solanas
legs, lifted and sent them toppling over
the railing. Leaning over, staring back, she watched as
Solana,
still clutching the handle of the ice
hammer, and Mosby slowly cartwheeled together through space, hit a piling, and
continued downward until they struck the surface of the bubbling stream.
Desolate, leaden in body, she covered her face with her hands, unaware that the
slender ribbon of water flowed southward through a labyrinth of gullies,
canyons, and gorges; not knowing that it would carry Mosby's blood past the
site of the lean-to, then farther, through a ravine a mile east of the place
where John Alexander had died; before it snaked past Lucifer Peak and spilled
into the waters of the South Fork.

***

Only the rapping on the front door of the
parlor car stopped her from immediately lying down on the bed. Numb, she took a
bucket from the lavatory, filled it with water, and washed down the floor of
the rear platform. Back inside she hesitated for a moment; then, steadying
herself on the chairs, she walked forward and pulled the shade aside. Sutter
was pounding on the door now. Disconnectedly, she decided she had better let
him in before someone heard the noise. Unlocking the door, she stepped back,
watched him turn into a blur when he came in, then toppled unconscious into his
arms.

Sutter carried her to the bed. When he
searched her bag for a handkerchief to clean the superficial gash above her
ear, he noticed the journal. As he turned, he saw the two glasses containing
sherry. He left the journal in the valise until he saw that an inordinate
amount of blood discolored the unexplained water on the rear platform. He went
back and checked Esther's pulse and breathing, lay the cool handkerchief over
her forehead after cleaning her wound again, then quickly washed down the
outside metal floor. He put the bottle of bourbon he found on the bed back into
the open pantry closet. Washing out the two sherry glasses, he placed them back
on the tray.

Sutter didn't tell her he had the journal
when she came to and asked that Alex take her back to Sacramento. Nor did he
mention it to Alex or the conductor when he went forward, searching for a
doctor, and told them Esther had accidentally fallen while standing on the
observation deck. When she awoke with all of them hovering over her bed, he
insisted that she was too weak to talk, and that she had already told him what
had happened before  she passed  out  again.

The journal was in his valise when the
yardmen uncoupled the parlor car in Reno and he said goodbye to Alex, Esther,
and the disappointed boy. A month later, when Sutter received word that she had
recovered, he drove downriver to bring her a gift. It was the gold wedding band
he had slipped off her hand two-dozen years earlier, just before Marsh had
removed her fingers at the fort. He did not mention Mosby's name during the
dinner they shared, and neither did she. He left the journal, wrapped in brown
paper, beside the well-worn, pearl-backed comb and brush set in her bathroom.
Then he rode home in the weak but sufficient light of the setting moon.