Death at Pullman (22 page)

“The detective recovered the sticks before he was shot. They are in the storeroom at the relief station, under lock and key. One of your soldiers is guarding the door.”

“The relief station. I suppose it was Miss Cabot who put them there? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to have such material in the town? Who took it? Was it that ARU fellow they are all complaining about . . . what's his name . . . LeClerc is it?”

“You will have to ask Detective Whitbread, when he is recovered.”

“Yes, I'll bet it was that LeClerc. He's quite the ladies' man from what I hear. They'll all go out of their way to protect him. But, if I find out he has been plotting to wreak havoc, I promise you he will hang. There will be no bombs while I am in charge here, Doctor, and no dynamite. Giles, send someone over to the relief station, right away. There's dynamite in the storeroom. I want it found and brought back double time. Take an armed escort. Dynamite! Not while I'm in charge. And bring that Miss Cabot back, too.”

“No, Colonel, Miss Cabot knew nothing about it. I took the sticks from the men who had been with Whitbread. They've gone back to town now.”

“Gone back to town. A likely story. If my men come back with the dynamite, I'll let it go, Doctor, but if there is any trouble, you can plan to stay here in Pullman until it is resolved. Giles, take the doctor with you and if you don't find that dynamite, bring him back and hold him. Do you understand?”

I felt the heat rising in my throat. I had to grit my teeth to keep from exclaiming. Now they would hold Stephen Chapman, but would allow Stark to roam free. And the doctor did not know that Raoul was still out there with a single stick of dynamite. What retribution would he bring down on all of our heads if he used it? How could I stop him?

I stopped rocking. No one had noticed me on the porch. There was never anyone there, so they did not expect to see anyone. Nonetheless, I held my breath as the doctor came out the door with Corporal Giles and they stopped at the top of the stairs. It occurred to me that if they did by any chance look around, and if they did spot me, I would have to change my plans. I felt the doctor's presence palpably myself and wondered that he did not sense me there, behind him. The corporal started down the steps, calling out for more of his men and the doctor to follow. But Stephen only stared into the darkness, as if looking for my retreating back, then ran down the stairs and out towards the town and the clinic, as if he had seen a trace of me.

Meanwhile, I rose quickly. I had seen Stark leave before him, heading south. I felt the heavy weight of the pistol in my pocket. I had to find Raoul LeClerc. But first I had to deal with Stark.

It was easier than I ever would have expected to follow Stark. At first, he was heading south through the town of Pullman, past the Arcade, and the stables. He dallied. Perhaps he wanted to resist the colonel's order, or perhaps it was just to be ornery. The night was dark, without a moon. There was a slight breeze that caused the trees and bushes to sigh a little, rustling with their heavy load of summer greenery.

At the stables he went in to get a lantern to take with him. I could see him talking to a man inside, smoking a cigar with him. Eventually he came out, still smoking. I could follow the scent, even if I couldn't see him. When we got south of the town, he started to walk along the tracks. If I were seen, it would have been cause for remark, a woman walking alone there. Occasionally the yards of houses backed on to the tracks. They were small workers' houses, with fences to partition off the sound and dirt of the trains. Usually though, banks of gravel rose on both sides of the tracks. Four or five multiple lines ran parallel to each other, and every now and then there was a switch box.

There was no one to see me, and it turned out that, on the two occasions when there was another person on guard, I was warned by Stark himself. Meeting one of them was reason for him to stop and pass the time of day, maligning the military with curses and foul-mouthed jokes, so loud it was easy for me to slip by and get ahead of them while they were talking. I waited for him further south and followed after he passed again.

He paid no attention to the colonel's instruction to stay off the tracks. He walked along the outside track—which I assumed must be the extra one, not used by the Diamond Special, which was due to pass on its way to St. Louis. I stayed above the bank of gravel. It was harder walking, as there were unpruned and thorny bushes all along the way. I found it was all too easy to get to the edge and send a spurt of gravel flying down. One time Stark looked back when he heard that, but I expect he thought it was a rabbit or some other small animal.

I assumed that he had gotten to the part of the track he was to patrol when he stopped and used the end of his cigar to light his lantern. Before that, he had found his way by starlight. It was a clear night, even if there was no moon. He used the lantern to do a thorough examination now, as he walked along. I thought to myself that he was afraid of Colonel Turner. Afraid of what he might do if the Diamond Special was wrecked along Stark's part of the track. He was much more attentive to his task than he ever would have let other men know he would be. I followed him for a mile or more before I was confident that no one else could hear us. I was about to confront him when suddenly his lantern went out. He had shuttered it.

I stopped and heard what had caught his attention. There was the sound of scraping and digging. The track carried occasional echoes. Someone was up ahead. Suddenly the light flashed back on. I hurried as quietly as I could and found myself behind the silhouette of Stark, his gun drawn and pointed at Raoul LeClerc, who was crouched beside the tracks. Here several sets of tracks ran in parallel. Raoul was on the second set in. I realized this must be for the Diamond Special as there was the faint sound of a whistle off to the north of us. The train was coming and Raoul was placing the stick of dynamite under the track. He had a spool of fuse long enough to give him time to get away.

“Get away from there,” Stark growled.

Raoul finished placing the stick and his face was devilish, in the harsh illumination of the lantern, as he edged away from it. I heard the shriek of a whistle in the distance and the irregular hum that comes from an approaching train.

“Hah, dynamite, is it?” Stark sounded pleased. “Well, isn't that something. The ARU is gonna blow us up. Guess the colonel won't like that a bit. Move away from it . . . over here . . . that's it. Guess I'll be a hero when that blows and I bring you in for it. Just bring that fuse over here a ways, like you was planning.”

“No, you can't let it blow up,” I said.

Stark pointed his gun at LeClerc, who was still crouched near the ground, but off the tracks now. “Oh, it's you is it,” Stark said to me. “Guess you was helping him, wasn't you? Guess that'll teach the colonel about listening to complaints from ladies from the city, won't it. Oh, yes. That'll make me the one with the complaint this time.”

“What are you doing?” I could hear the rumble of the train faint in the distance, but getting stronger. “You have to get the dynamite out of there.” I started to move towards it, but there was a shot from Stark's gun and the dirt at my feet sprayed up in my face.

“You just stay where you are, missy.” He wanted it to explode.

“The train is coming, you can't let it blow.”

“Watch me.”

“Raoul, how could you? This won't do anything except make Stark look good, don't you see? You'll destroy everything. You'll ruin the strike!”

The light from the train was a pinprick in the distance as the crouching man looked warily back and forth between me and the man with the gun. “It's over. Debs in jail, the army taking over. They won't even remember us without this.”

“No.” The ground began to shake with the approach of the train and the whistle shrieked much closer now, as the light came towards us.

“That's right, they'll remember,” Stark sneered. If they remembered the explosion they would overlook his crimes. “Now, light it.”

Raoul bent to do that, striking a match.

“No.” I took a step forward, and Stark swung around to aim at me, as Raoul scrambled up the gravel bank to get away. Stark swung back to fire towards him and began to follow. Just then a doubled-over figure slid down the side and rushed behind Stark as the light from the train grew larger and larger, blinding me for a minute. It was Joe O'Malley. He stamped out the flame of the fuse and jumped towards the dynamite to get it out from under the track. Raoul had gotten away, disappearing into the darkness.

“Nooo . . . you . . . ” Stark slid back down the embankment to stop Joe, but I had Whitbread's heavy revolver out and cocked.

I yelled at him, “Stop or I'll . . . ” but he turned and lunged towards me instead. His face was contorted with rage as he loomed up at me. I've never experienced such a wave of hatred coming straight at me. He was screaming like a banshee, looked like he would tear me limb from limb. I fired, but he kept coming, like something inhuman, screaming with rage at me. He hated me. I fired again, and again. When he was only one foot away from me, a round black spot appeared on his forehead, and all the muscles in his face suddenly contorted. He dropped to the ground, writhing for a moment, then was silent.

The screech of the train whistle, and merciless clacking of the wheels pounding towards us, reached me through a fog. Joe O'Malley, with the dynamite in one hand, pulled me up the embankment. Before we could reach the top, the train was rushing past down below, and gravel was spitting out at us. Joe pushed me face down, and covered me to shield me from the flying stone. As the train rumbled by in a powerful rush I kept twitching as I pictured Stark coming at me again, in the dark. Like a nightmare, it was inescapable.

Finally, the train was gone and Joe stood up. “Quick, there's another train.” He pulled me up by the arm. I rose but suddenly my legs were gone, all sense of them gone, and they seemed to disappear from under me. He pulled and half-carried me over the top and just then there was another rumble of a huge powerful set of cars barreling through the night, only with no whistles or lights, like a ghost of the Diamond Special. Joe pulled me into a crouch and we looked down on it. “But Stark,” I said. Suddenly I realized this ghost train was on the second set of tracks, where he had fallen. “Stark.” I was appalled and started to get up, but Joe pulled me back down.

“No, come, we must get rid of this, we can't be found with it, don't you see?” He held up the dynamite with the fuse trailing from it. He slid down to the side of the track to retrieve Stark's lantern, then scampered back up and said, “Come.”

I looked around but there was no sign of Raoul LeClerc. He had abandoned us without a second thought. I was stunned by the callousness of his actions. Meanwhile, Joe took me by the forearm and hurried me away into the night. Fortunately, he knew this area like the back of his hand. I kept imagining Stark's enraged face and when I would see it, I would run from it. I might have had a hard time keeping up with Joe O'Malley, but I was so determined to get away from that scene on the tracks—to escape the crazed look on Stark's face—that I ran and ran, pausing only when forced to by Joe, who was watchful. He did not want us to be seen. At last we were racing across the mud flats, but in the warm, dry weather they were not muddy, only dusty and cracked. We ran quickly and easily, the warm air rushing past us like a curtain disturbed by the wind. We ran past the huge brick shed and down to the brink of Lake Calumet where Joe propped me on a large rock, half leaning, half sitting. I found myself shaking.

Searching around, he picked up a smaller rock and tied the stick of dynamite to it. Then he took a step back and stretched his arm back for the throw. Incongruously, he reminded me of an athletic figure on a Greek vase. He hurled the rock out into the night and we heard it plop and splash as it landed. Then he doubled over to get his breath.

I was still shaking. “Stark,” I said.

“He's gone. That second train is the one that's full of men with guns to protect the Diamond. It runs with no lights on the second track, it would have hit him but they wouldn't notice.”

“Oh, God.” I retched then. When I was done, he wet his handkerchief in the lake, then handed it to me to wipe my face. I was trembling.

“He killed Mooney,” Joe reminded me. “He shot the detective and would have killed Gracie if he could. He would have killed you and me, right there. If the train was wrecked from the blown-up tracks he would have gotten away with it all.”

I gulped air. “And Brian—he killed your brother.”

Joe straightened up and stepped away from me. “No, not that. 'Twas I killed Brian.”

I couldn't believe it, I wouldn't. “But I was sure Stark killed your brother. Brian must have found out he was a Pinkerton man. He was a traitor. He was working on the bomb plot. Surely your brother, Brian, found out and Stark killed him so he could not expose him as a spy and a traitor. He tried to make your brother look like the spy by hanging that sign on him. You told us about the bomb plot. You stopped it before Stark could make it explode. How could
you
have killed your brother?”

He stood in the light shed by the lantern, looking out at the glimmering waves on Lake Calumet. Then he hung his head as he began to speak. “It wasn't about the bomb plot. It was about Fiona. MacGregor and my da were best friends and we all grew up together. Fiona and Brian did love each other, but the difference in religion made it impossible for them to marry. We were used to harsh judgments from my father, and Brian would not cross him. Always one for the straight and narrow, our Brian. Da's death sealed his fate. He would never go against the command of our dead father, who had made him swear to it on his deathbed. He just wouldn't.” He sighed. “But Fiona would not accept it. She loved Brian and she tried to make him see it, only he rejected her. She followed him around, like a dog, but she got only insults for her pain. She was such a beautiful young woman with a full heart. How could my sympathy not be moved by the sight of her? I didn't agree with my father's strictness that had driven away his own daughter, or the way my brother was bound by his rules, even after our father's death. So I comforted her.”

He looked up, as if searching for my eyes in the dim light, and when I said nothing, he continued. “I always knew it was only in the disappointment of losing Brian that she had me. She never claimed to love me. She always loved Brian. But I was wild to have her, and wild to show her that, where Brian failed her, I could take care of her and love her. I seduced her and in her despair, she clung to me, even while she was whispering my brother's name in her dreams.” He looked back out towards the lake. “It was enough for me. I wanted her. But then she found she was with child. I don't know what got into her. She must have known that in his heart my brother still yearned for her. I wanted to marry her. I wasn't like Brian, I was willing to do what was forbidden. But, then, I was the lowest of the low, a brick maker. Not a carpenter, like Brian. Not a metalworker and team leader like her father. There would be no money to live on. She wept and cursed her luck and she refused to marry me. She still had hopes of Brian even then.”

He shook his head, continuing on as if he saw it all before him and I wasn't there at all. “She thought she could make him jealous. She knew how much he cared for her. She must have thought if he knew I was with her he would realize how much he wanted her for himself. She did not understand what a man like Brian would do in such a case. She had no idea. She was the one who let Brian discover that we would be in the brick shed together that day. I never thought she would do something so foolish. I think she bribed one of the children to tell him. She must have thought he would be angry enough to beat me up but jealous enough to take her into his arms and agree to marry her. I know Fiona. I know how she thinks. She couldn't be more wrong.

“He found us and he was mad with jealousy. He screamed. He called her whore and other terrible things. She cowered away from him. I stepped forward screaming back at him. I told him what I thought of him and our father. I blamed him for what happened to Gracie, for pushing Fiona away, for denying his heart. I told him he had no heart. He accused me of being a low-down seducer, told me never to come back to the house. He turned to Fiona. I was afraid he would strike her. I yelled at him that I was leaving anyway and that I was taking Fiona with me because she was going to have my child.”

In the dim light I could see tears streaming down Joe's face. I would have interrupted, but he was immersed in his story, as if he had to tell it to someone, and left me no chance to speak.

“He cursed her then and came at me.” Joe flinched as if he were picturing it all in his mind. “We fought. We were brothers, we were always fighting, we grew up fighting each other, but this was different. I knew, if he could, he would kill me and I fought back just as hard—hating him for what he had done to me and Fiona and Gracie.” Joe's hands were clenched, as if he would strike at something, but there was nothing out there in the darkness. He choked back a sob and turned to face me, his cheeks damp with tears. “Hating him like I did at that moment, I could see he was so much like our da. Still, I never meant to kill him. I never would have killed him. He never meant to kill me either, I know he didn't. But there was no time for thinking and there was only blind rage in that room and we fought and fought until he fell down against the corner of the workbench with a terrible crash. And then he didn't get up.” Joe covered his face with his hands for a moment, then he took a breath and looked at me. “I tried to wake him, but he just lay there. I knew then I could never be forgiven. I killed my own brother. I killed him.”

“Oh, Joe, how terrible. But why didn't you get help? Why didn't you tell someone? Why did you let him be found . . . like that?” I was thinking again of the body hanging from the rafters in the breeze of that brick shed. The body with the sign “SPY” around his neck. How could his own brother do that to him?

He wiped his tears with the back of his hand. “I would have gone for help, I would have turned myself in. How could I face Gracie and the little ones after what I'd done? But Fiona was hysterical. She yelled at me, she screamed and screamed. What about her? What about the child she was bearing? It was her idea to hang poor Brian's body and put the sign on him to make it seem he had been killed for spying for the company. I didn't want to do it. I tried to refuse, but she screamed at me, tore at my clothes and hair. She threatened to kill herself and the baby. She forced me to hang Brian's body, while she found a board and paint to make the sign. I was in tears. It was such a desecration, but she accused me of killing her as well as Brian. She said I ruined her, and I had to admit I had, so I did what she wanted.

“She pulled me away then and made me promise on the child in her womb that I would not do anything until Brian was found by others. She said her father was bringing visitors for lunch and she had to go and see to it, then she would return and pretend to find him and raise the alarm. She made me promise not to come until the shed was filled with others. So I did. For her, I pretended. For her and the unborn child, I let them all believe Brian was a spy.” He shook his head. “As if he would ever do such a thing. But I had to do it to protect her. I had to.”

It was a terrible, terrible story. I couldn't help wondering why Fiona had not married him. Were they waiting for things to blow over? Before I could think of a way to ask, he continued.

“She refused to marry me. After all that. She said it was a time worse than ever to be poor, that she would not bear a child, only to see it starve before her eyes. She avoided me. She wouldn't see me. I waited for her anger to subside. I thought I could protect her in the long run.”

I wondered if he even knew that she had aborted the baby. He was so sad, I thought he must know. “But why didn't you tell the truth when she refused to marry you?”

“I promised her. I couldn't go back on that, I couldn't hurt her. I thought I could clear Brian's name by finding out who the real spy was. Then I heard Stark was looking for men to sign up and he was paying well. It was easy to make him believe I was desperate enough to do anything. I didn't know he was a Pinkerton, but I got him to take me on for the bomb plot. But then I couldn't trust the police down here or the company to stop it. The company was behind it. I knew you and your brother could convince the detective to stop it. He wasn't in the pay of the company. At least Stark was exposed. But when I hid in the factory, I saw LeClerc take the sticks of dynamite. I followed him only to see Fiona come to him at his lodgings and stay with him.

“I thought she had refused to talk to me because of what had happened with Brian, but I could see it was because she had transferred her affections to LeClerc. I could see it all then. That was why she had tried to rouse jealousy in Brian. She had hoped to get him to marry her immediately, so when the baby came she could tell him it was his. I saw that now she was trying to do the same thing with LeClerc. Unlike me, he was a man her father admired. Most of the town admired him. She thought her child would never starve in front of her eyes with LeClerc as a father. But I knew he had the dynamite and I tried to warn her. I waylaid her the next day. I told her I understood if she was trying to give our child a better life by getting LeClerc to marry her, but I warned her about the dynamite. If he used it, he would go to jail for sure. She spurned me. She told me she would never ask a man like LeClerc to be the father of my child. He was going to help her get rid of it. She knew about the dynamite. She wanted him to use it. She wanted to help him blow up a train. She warned me that, if I told anyone, she would tell the police how I had killed my brother.

“You know the rest. I tried to stop them by telling you. But when the detective was shot and they got away with one of the sticks, I had to stop them myself. I couldn't find them, but I thought they would try for the Diamond Special. I saw you following Stark, so I thought you knew something. When I saw LeClerc planting the stick, I knew he was trying to destroy the track so the train would derail and it would be a disaster. I had to stop it. At least they couldn't make it seem the strikers had done it. He got away but at least he didn't leave that blame for all the others to shoulder.”

“Stark wanted him to blow up the tracks.”

“Yes, miss, and he would have killed you to make it happen. He would have killed us both. There's no blame in what you did.”

I looked up at his tear-stained face flickering in the lantern light and realized that my whole world had changed from the minute I had pulled the trigger on Detective Whitbread's gun. It would never be the same again.