The Reluctant Debutante (21 page)

Ginger sighed as she turned her gaze back to the scenery. Her eyes filled with unexpected tears, making the rainy countryside even harder to see. She knew Basil was right. He was an ass, and she was a fool.

After several hours, the train reached the town of Hermann, seventy-eight miles west of St. Louis. The train stopped while another railcar was connected to it, bringing the total to fifteen. Basil muttered something about wanting to watch the cars be coupled together, left his seat, and wavered down the aisle.

A company of uniformed soldiers and an additional group of musicians joined in the fun of the ride, filling up the final car. Strains of Johann Strauss’s “Radetzky March” filled the air as the band played patriotic tunes in honor of the troops. The commanding officers of the regiment moved through each car, introducing themselves. More champagne was poured and the festive atmosphere expanded. All the while, rain drenched the surrounding countryside, as the torrential downpour continued.

One of the officers, Lieutenant David Whitman, stopped at the car containing the Fitzpatrick family and Charles Gray. He had been told Mr. Gray was one of the primary backers of the Pacific Railroad and special consideration should be given him. But, in truth, he wanted to talk to the fetching young lady who sat by herself a few feet away. He straightened his spine even more than his regular military stance as he strode down the aisle of the railroad car.

“May I join you?” Lt. Whitman asked, hoping for a nod or some gesture from Ginger.

When she smiled up at him, he introduced himself and dropped into Basil’s empty seat. He removed his hat and his dark brown hair curled onto his forehead. His deep blue eyes sparkled as he took in Ginger’s comely shape.

“So, do you have some holdings with the railroad as well, Miss Fitzpatrick?”

Ginger’s glance moved over the fine uniform the tall man was wearing before she replied, “I am a huge supporter of the railroads, yes. I hold some stock in them, and I have been advising Mr. Gray with his portfolio. I think railroads are the key to settling the vast American West.”

David Whitman’s expression revealed his surprise. He had expected a refined East Coast lady, but her intelligence regarding the westward expansion of America was unexpected and welcomed. He grinned at her and made himself comfortable in the seat. He was going to enjoy this ride after all.

“I agree with you. But, until we get the Indian population under control, we won’t be able to claim the land as ours. They are fighting us mightily.”

Ginger bristled. “And why wouldn’t they? This is their land, after all. How can we Europeans just waltz in here and run them off? I’d fight you, too, if I were an Indian!”

David released a small, frustrated sigh. Trying to explain the Indians to an Easterner was like trying to advance the cause of slavery to a Northerner.

“Believe me, if there was any way Indians and whites could coexist, we would be more than willing to try it. But the Indians feel they can roam over any land and slaughter or steal any livestock they come upon. Nor do they like it when land gets fenced in — they don’t understand the concept of fences. They think all the land should be free to roam. You can see the problems their attitude would cause for a family trying to scratch out a living in this hard country.”

“I do understand the point of view of the families who come west trying to forge a new life for themselves, and I applaud their spirit. But I also can comprehend the Indians’ side of things — they have lived here for centuries. Unfortunately, that’s my problem in many arenas. I can see both sides of the coin.”

David smiled at the small, yet determined woman. “Well, we don’t have to solve all the problems of the world in one day. Why don’t you tell me about your life back East? I haven’t been there in years, and I long for news of home.”

“What part of the East Coast do you hail from?”

“I’m from Savannah, Georgia, and I do miss it.”

“Ah, yes, the South.”

David studied his seatmate. “Have you spent time in the South, Miss Fitzpatrick?”

“Unfortunately, no. I’ve never been farther south than Washington, but I’ve read about the southern lifestyle. Do you think you’ll return to the East when your commission expires, or will you settle out here?”

“Good question. I suppose the answer will depend on whether I could find a wife while I’m still on the frontier. I may be forced to go back East, for truly fine, upstanding women are a rate commodity in the West.” His gaze appraised her again and he smiled. “Now, tell me everything that’s been going on in the civilized part of the country.”

Ginger returned his gaze, letting her eyes wander over his face. With a twinkle in her eyes, she asked, “Have you ever heard of Amelia Bloomer?”

• • •

George Fitzpatrick watched Ginger and David, who were deep in conversation. Then he shifted his gaze to Charles. He had a grin on his face.

“It looks like our plan is working,” George said. “I haven’t seen Ginger this animated in months.”

“Yes, she does seem to be enjoying this train ride. Having a dashing young soldier hanging on her every word is an added bonus. I’m so glad she decided to come with us.”

“Yes, it was the right thing to do. She’s been nearly beside herself with excitement since we began planning this trip. She tried to hide her enthusiasm, but I know her too well.”

“Letting me convince her to come was the right call,” Charles said. “You do know how to handle the women in your life.”

“Well, Ginger is a lot like her mother, and I’ve had twenty-five years of experience learning Charlotte’s habits. With all the daughters in our family, I’ve been forced to learn how to get along with women. We Fitzpatrick men are outnumbered, aren’t we, Basil?”

Basil studied the older gentlemen. “Yes, we are, Father. I wish I had your adroitness and could figure out how to get back into Ginger’s good graces like you’ve done. It seems she’s going to be angry with me for the rest of our lives.”

“Give her some time. I’m confident you’ll work things out, sooner or later. But you have to understand her thinking, if you’re ever going to come to a resolution. A woman’s place in this country is changing, whether we men like it or not. Some women still enjoy being cared for and coddled by men, but Ginger isn’t one of them. I marvel every day at the way her mind works, and she’s been a vital reason why our bank is so successful. She needs a strong man beside her, to keep up with her and make her truly happy. And there was no man this past season who fit the bill.” He turned to the man seated next to him. “Sorry, Charles, I know your son was one of the men she spent time with.”

“Quite all right, George. I know Quentin is not a strong man — not yet, anyway. But with Jane Livingstone telling him what to do, he will have to develop a spine, just to keep her from rolling over him.”

George laughed softly as he lit his pipe. “Yes, I expect he will.”

Basil pulled a couple of cheroots out of his jacket pocket, and offered one to Mr. Gray. The men sat quietly in the car with the rain sloshing outside, enjoying their tobacco as they watched the countryside roll by slowly.

After several minutes, Basil asked, “It’s a shame, is it not, that the railroad provided dashing young officers for the ladies, but no dance hall girls for us gentlemen?”

Charles and George grinned in agreement. “Maybe they just expect the men to marvel at the mechanical construction of this machine,” Charles replied. “Would you two care to join me up toward the front of the train so we can look at it firsthand?”

“You and Basil go on ahead,” George said. “I’ll stay here and keep an eye on Ginger and her young man. Charlotte would have my head if she thought I left our daughter without a chaperone for even a minute of this adventure.”

Basil and Charles made their way through the passenger cars to the one nearest the coal car. They peered through the glass as two men atop a huge pile of coal, in the driving rain, shoveled at a rapid pace to keep the huge steam engine fed. Never one to be fascinated by mechanics, Basil quickly lost interest and began to retrace his steps back to the car where his father and Ginger sat. Charles stayed and joined in a discussion with the railroad officials and engineers.

One of the railroad officials said, “We have a scheduled stop coming up. When we were planning this trip, people expressed a desire to climb off the train at this portion of the route to see the massive bridge — it’s the reason construction of this leg of the route took so long. However, we’re woefully behind schedule, what with all the stops we’ve made along the way. And there are people waiting for us on the other end, in Jefferson City. What do you think, Mr. Gray? Should we stop for twenty minutes or so and give these fine folks an opportunity to get an up-close look at the 760-foot long bridge over the Gasconade River?”

Charles flicked his gaze over the people in the nearest car. They appeared to be engaged in the types of animated conversations that often happen after sipping too many glasses of champagne. He took in the finely coiffed hair of the ladies in their still-damp clothing, considered the rain outside, and shook his head.

“I don’t think you’ll have too many takers wanting to exit this warm car and go out into the rain, even if it is to see the latest marvel of technology.”

After further consideration — and some animated discussion between the bridge engineer and the railroad officials — the decision was made. They would merely slow the train as it crossed the bridge, giving the passengers ample time to be impressed by the view of the bridge and the river thirty-six feet below.

Ginger, George, and David were in the midst of a lively discussion with one of the railroad engineers about their preference for bridges over tunnels, as they and the other passengers in the car watched the front portion of the train follow the bend in the tracks to the bridge.

The first two cars rolled onto the bridge. Suddenly, a thunderous cracking broke their conversation. The huge wooden piers supporting the bridge structure collapsed. Compromised by the rain and the torrent of water roiling through the riverbed, the piers fell like dominoes under the weight of the train. The hideous sound of breaking timbers was quickly replaced by screams as the passengers in the rear of the train watched the first seven cars, along with the bridge structure, tumble into the water below.

Screams and the repetitive echoes of wood breaking apart and metal grating on metal filled the air.

People in the forward cars moaned. Ginger let out a piercing scream as their own railroad car suddenly lurched and jumped the track, flipping on its side. The car began a long slide down the steep embankment. David pushed Ginger down between the seats as he and George grabbed the rails on the seat backs. Ginger screamed in fright again and again when the railcar picked up speed as it plummeted down the hill.

People were tossed in all directions, and the sounds of bones breaking and bodies being thrown against hard objects filled the air. Ginger’s screams were part of a chorus of voices crying out in fright or in agony. After an endless few moments, the car finally lurched to a stop as the heavy clay-like muck from the river bottom halted the car’s forward progress.

After the cacophony of cracking timbers and grinding metal, the sudden silence was deafening as each railcar came to a halt, either in the river or in the mud alongside it. Ginger was lodged between two seats and struggled to right herself. Her skirt and petticoats were wrapped around her body. She pulled herself upright, with David’s help, and realized she was standing in the river. Glass from the shattered windows lay at her feet. All around her, people were struggling to upright themselves, screaming for their loved ones or lying about the car in pain.

“Papa, where are you?”

“I’m over here, Ginger. My arm is stuck in the railing. Where’s the lieutenant?”

“Right here, sir. Let me help you free your arm.”

Ginger and David crept slowly over seats, making their way to George’s side. They gently removed his arm from the space between the railing and the seat back. Ginger noticed immediately the bones of his lower arm protruded at an odd angle.

“It looks like your arm is broken, Papa.”

She wrapped his good arm around her shoulder and helped him to his feet.

“I’ll try to find a way out,” David said.

Ginger watched David pick his way down the side of the car, which now acted as a floor. The windows were broken and the railcar was filled with muck from the river bottom. David reached the door at the end of the car, now horizontal instead of vertical, and pushed against it. Another man helped David force the door open. Under their combined weight the door gave way, and the rain pelted passengers as they began a hasty exit from the car to the relative safety of the riverbank.

Together, George and Ginger made their way through the treacherous broken glass to the open door where David was assisting the other passengers out of the car.

Ginger handed her father off to David, who helped him through the opening. When it was Ginger’s turn, he held her arm tightly. “Are you injured?”

“No, just some bumps and bruises. I think all my petticoats buffeted me from the worst of the fall.”

“Good, because my men and I are going to need your help. I must apologize for giving orders. Are you sensitive to the sight of blood?”

Ginger shook her head.

“Once we get these people to shore, we’ll turn them over to you for medical treatment. Bandage them up as best you can, and apply tourniquets. We’ll move on to the other cars and free the rest of the passengers. We’ll just keep sending people to you on shore, okay?”

“But I must find Basil and Mr. Gray!”

“My men and I will see to the recovery operations. You’re too small to be of much help removing timbers. You’re much more valuable on shore, assisting the wounded. Don’t worry, Miss Fitzpatrick, I’ll get your brother and your friend out of this mess. It just may take some time.”

She was tempted to argue with him, but decided the man made sense. There was probably little she could do to free the passengers who were buried under the bridge structure. She could better serve as a nurse. She was fortunate she had met Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell last spring and learned her nursing techniques. Back then, it was just for a lark, something to do to give her mother fits of apoplexy. Ginger never thought she’d have to use any of what she had learned. But she was grateful for even the little bit of knowledge she had gleaned from the female doctor. Now was the time for the survivors to pull together as one. She nodded to the lieutenant and steeled herself for a long afternoon. What had been such a gay time moments before had turned into a nightmare, worse than anything she could ever have imagined.