The Trainmasters (30 page)

Kitty Lancaster was
quite
a lady! John thought to himself.

After Kitty and the others finished with their stories, John recounted his. As was his manner, John’s tale was painstakingly,
relentlessly thorough and complete. Perfectionism had made John a success in his profession though it could be an annoying
habit to his family and friends on occasion. Yet everyone listened intently to John’s detailed account of the tunnel rescue.
No one paid more rapt attention to the entire tale than Kitty. She was fascinated with every aspect of the disaster and John’s
discovery. But at only two points in its telling did she betray an emotion other than interest and concern. At the first mention
of Francis Stockton’s name, Kitty gave a start and subtly clasped her hands together. And then again, when John was speaking
about Stockton’s part in the ascent of the rapids, she shuddered ever so slightly. Both times, however, she quickly controlled
herself. She was sure, each time, that John had not noticed her.

John, in fact, did notice. But he said nothing.

Not long after all the stories had been told—even Alex and David recounted their breathtaking train ride—and all the questions
had been asked and answered, Francis Stockton himself arrived in the groggery, along with Egan O’Rahilly, who was staggering,
bleary-eyed, and hardly able to support himself unaided. But he walked directly across the floor toward his wife completely
on his own When he first appeared Deirdre simply stared at him. She could hardly believe what she saw, for Egan seemed hardly
more substantial than a ghost. But by the time he was actually halfway to her, Deirdre herself was on her feet, and she was
crying out again and again with joy, “Egan!… Egan! … Egan! Oh, my Jesus! My love! You’re here!”

And then they were in one another’s arms. And so, too, was Peg. The three of them held each other so closely and so powerfully
one wondered whether or not they could be separated.

While this was going on, Francis Stockton had made his way across the room to the place where Kitty Lancaster was sitting.

When he was standing beside her, he spoke to her in a low voice. But John Carlysle, who was sitting on the other side of Kitty,
could nonetheless hear them. Though very little was said, John would think rather frequently about this exchange during the
following days and weeks.

“Hello, Kitty,” Stockton said.

“Hello, Francis,” she replied. Her face did not tilt to look at him. She stared fixedly in front of her, apparently seeing
nothing.

“I heard you had arrived. And I was, of course, surprised,” he said.

“I should think you would be,” she said.

He smiled at that, a smile that was intended to show superiority and indifference. But it resembled instead a rictus of longing.

“I hope you are well, Kitty,” he said.

“I’m very well, thank you, Francis. And you?”

“Glorious,” he said, with some of his habitual sarcasm back in his voice. “I just couldn’t be better.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said. She took a deep breath, and resolutely rose. “I think I’ll go outside for some fresh air.”
Once she was on her feet, she offered her hand to John. “Would you care to join me?” she asked. “Excuse me, Francis,” she
added, without turning to look back at him.

Meanwhile, John took her hand, and together they walked out of the groggery. The hand was like iron. And more than once after
they were outside she leaned against him. Each time he very gently held her, and then, like the proper gentleman that he was,
he stepped away from her.

Once they were far from the groggery, the two of them wordlessly gazed up at the road that led from the camp over the ridge
and down to the western end of the tunnel. In silence they set out upon it toward the top of the ridge.

Back inside the groggery, Egan O’Rahilly for the first time noticed that his sister was in the room, though Deirdre had reminded
him a number of times that Teresa was here with her. In fact, Egan had not at first recognized her since he had not seen her
in months. The battle he had had with her over the life she chose to lead had closed his mind to her. He had never wanted
to see her again; he did not want to be related to
that
kind of woman. Yet the woman he saw today was a woman greatly transformed from the raw, young girl he had last seen. Teresa
was now a very impressive woman indeed.

When she became aware that her brother was staring at her, Teresa left Graham, who was half-asleep, crossed over to Egan,
and greeted him.

“Hello, Egan,” she said. “It’s been a long time.”

“Teresa,” he said coolly, inclining his head.

She was on the point of moving to embrace him, but when she saw that he would never accept that, she stopped herself.

“You’re looking well, Egan, considering what you’ve been through.”

“I could, but won’t, say the same for you,” he said.

She laughed. It was either that or anger. Egan could simply
never
give in, or give up.

But then, she was his sister. And that meant that she could no more give up on him than he could accept her.

She moved closer to him, close enough to touch him lightly on the shoulder. He flinched, wincing as though her fingers were
on fire.

“Can we sit down together and talk for a while, Egan?” she asked, her hand still lightly, but determinedly, on his shoulder.
“I came hundreds of miles to be with you.”

“I wish that you had stayed in Philadelphia, Teresa,” he said. “I don’t want you here.”

“Egan, you
are
a stubborn man,” Deirdre said. She had been hovering behind Egan, but now she decided to make her presence felt.

“My sister has made choices that I can’t accept,” he said. “I don’t want to be with her.”

“Egan.” It was Francis Stockton speaking now. The two men had struck up a friendship during their adventures. In the short
time they had known one another, Stockton had gotten to know Egan fairly well. And of course, it was not only as a friend
that Stockton was speaking, it was also, and more importantly, as a man. When Stockton addressed him, his voice was imperative,
commanding. “Egan O’Rahilly, climb down off of your white charger and calm down. She’s your sister, man, and she came to be
with you when she heard you were in trouble. Can’t you receive her now that you’re alive and safe? After all, she expected
to be praying over your grave.”

Egan, feeling a bit deflated, nodded, first toward Francis, and then to Teresa. But he still could not bring himself to speak
to her.

“Sit down, both of you,” Francis said, continuing with the commanding tones he had learned at West Point. “No, not across
from one another,” he went on when he saw where they intended to place themselves, “
next
to one another. Side by side, like brother and sister.”

Reluctantly, Egan accepted Teresa beside him. He had been sitting near the center of a long wooden bench. He moved over to
allow her to sit, although he did not look at all comfortable when she sat next to him. He was like a boy at his first dancing
class.

“There. Good. Well done,” Francis said. “A fine example of family love and loyalty.” He looked at Teresa. “And now you can
place your hand across his.” She lifted her hand but stopped, waiting for Egan to allow it. “No, don’t stop,” Francis said.
“Go ahead. Gently. Easily. That’s right—not like a lover, like a sister.” When Teresa’s hand was safely on Egan’s, and he
had not pulled his hand away, Francis smiled. “There, that wasn’t painful, was it?”

They stayed that way for a time, and then Teresa spoke.

“Egan?”

“Yes, Teresa.” He sighed.

“I want you to meet someone.”

“All right.”

“Graham?” she called. “I’d like you to meet my brother Egan O’Rahilly.”

After a few seconds, Graham opened his eyes, rose, and walked over. Egan stood up and offered his hand.

“Egan,” Teresa said, “this is Graham Carlysle.”

“I’m glad to meet you, Egan,” Graham said.

“Graham,” Egan said, shaking Graham’s hand. And then, “Carlysle, did you say?”

“That’s right,” Teresa said. “Graham Carlysle.”

“John Carlysle’s son?”

“That’s right,” Graham said.

“Jesus, Mary, Joseph,” Egan O’Rahilly said. “I not only sit down with my sister, I find out that she has taken up with the
son of John Carlysle.”

“There are indeed signs and wonders in these times,” Francis said in a mockery of a preacher’s portentous tones. “I wonder
what’s in the stars for me.” As he said that, he glanced at Teresa O’Rahilly. He found her a damnably attractive woman.

John and Kitty, by this time, had reached the crest of the ridge. The late afternoon was turning glorious. The rain had stopped,
the clouds that had persisted for the past two days had finally begun to break, and the sun now lit the moun-taintop with
liquid, golden light.

Kitty stood for a long time, holding John’s hand, her eyes closed, her face lifted up so it captured the light and heat of
the sun. Then, raising her other hand to shield her eyes, she began to speak.

“I’ve known Francis Stockton for quite some time,” she said. “We were very, very… close.” Her voice was unwavering, deep,
and resonant. But John Carlysle had no doubt that the admission she was making was coming painfully to her.

“I sensed something like that,” John said, “when we were inside.”

“But I broke with him. I want you to know that, John. I’ve had nothing else to do with him after that. I had almost forgotten
that he was here in Gallitzin.”

“You don’t have to tell me about this,” John said carefully and gallantly, although he wanted very much to hear her story
if she cared to talk about it.

“I’d like very much to tell you. It’s very important for me that you know.” And then she stopped, and, turning away from the
sun, she looked at John.

“We haven’t—you and I—known each other for very long,” she said. “But ever since you and I were in the carriage the other
day, I’ve felt that we were … or could be, at least… close.” She caught his eye, searching for acknowledgment.

He gave her a slow nod. “Yes,” he said, cautiously, “I think so. I think we could—”

“My husband and I,” she interrupted, her eyes still locked in his, “were not close. I’m sorry Charles died, but I’m not sorry
that he’s no longer in my life. Francis came after Charles… and I was not sorry for that. He’s a fascinating, vital, exciting
man.”

“Your father doesn’t like him,” John couldn’t resist saying. “He tells me Francis is undependable.”

“You’ve talked to Father, then, about Francis… and me?” There was a trace of alarm in her voice at that.

“No,” John said, assuring her. “Hardly. Your father hasn’t breathed a word about Francis and you. But he didn’t fail to give
me his opinions about Francis. He doesn’t have much use for him.

Now I’m beginning to understand why.”

“Father is protective.”

“He has a daughter worth protecting.”

She looked at him. “I’m grateful, of course, that he is protective,” she said, passing over John’s observation without acknowledging
it in words. But the look she gave him as she spoke showed her actual feelings. “But he has never accepted Francis for what
he is.”

“What is that?”

Her lips curled into a smile. “Lovable and impossible,” she said. “Father only saw his impossible side. And it was that same
side that made me realize I could never live with him.” At that her voice trailed away, and her eyes clouded. All the old
memories and painful moments seemed to flood her mind. “And then,” she added under her breath, “there was Boston…” She stopped
herself, realizing she had let slip out more than she wanted to.

“Boston?” he asked.

She caught his eyes again. “It was a very bad time.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

“Would you hate me,” she said earnestly, “if I don’t?”

“If you won’t hate me for being curious about it,” he said.

And then her fingers reached up to his face, and she touched him in exactly the same way he had touched her in the carriage
the other afternoon.

“Thank you, John,” she said. “Someday…” She did not finish that thought.

And before John could begin to collect himself, he became aware of the sounds of other people talking and laughing, climbing
up toward the place where he and Kitty were standing. He twisted around until he could see who was coming. And what he saw
strung out down the hillside was the entire company of those who were inside the groggery. In the lead were Alex and David,
rushing headlong, overwhelmingly delighted to be finally released from their confinement of the past two days. They were closely
followed by Peg O’Rahilly, who was gamely trying to keep up with the boys. Then Francis Stockton, solitary, preoccupied, taking
long, smooth, effortless strides. Then Teresa O’Rahilly and Graham Carlysle, who were smiling and chatting happily as they
approached. Graham moved carefully, now and again wincing with pain. But John was still gratified to see him up and about.
After Graham and Teresa came Egan and Deirdre O’Rahilly. And last, Tom Collins.