The Trainmasters (36 page)

One of the most prominent among those to be dismissed is Teresa O’Rahilly’s brother Egan.

This large-scale dismissal, mind you, comes on top of Collins’s recent imposition of ever more stringent and onerous work
rules—impossibly arduous regulations that have only brought the men to greater resistance and restlessness.

I have decided to turn to drastic, perhaps even shocking, tactics. I’ve decided that if I can’t put the fire out, then I will
add oil to it.

To be specific:

If all goes according to my hopes, I plan to first knock Mr. Collins off balance, then I hope to drive him into a state of
panic. Once he’s panicked, I believe he will lead us to the people who are giving him his orders.

In order to effect this plan, I must appear to place myself in his power. I must
seem
to strip away my objections and go along with him, even in his dismissal of the fifty odd men. He will then believe that
the railroad supports him and that I am weak and easy to manipulate.

And so, later this morning, I will talk to him. I’ll tell him that I’ve repented my past follies. This is a man who comprehends
repentance, as long as it is in other people! I’ll explain that I’ve consulted with my superiors by telegraph and that they
have made me see the light.

Meanwhile, Collins has posted notice. He is calling an assembly on Sunday afternoon of all the men who work for him. In that
meeting, he is going to publicly dismiss O’Rahilly and the others. What the workers do after that is anybody’s guess, though
it’s likely that most of them will go out on strike.

Collins, however, publicly maintains that they will not do that. He claims that construction work will in fact return to normal.
But I think there could be violence. In fact, Kitty, I’m counting on violence—or at least the near approach of violence—to
push Collins into the panic I need him to fall into.

We’ll see what happens then…

Naturally, I have kept your father informed about the situation that I’m facing. But I have purposefully kept him in the dark
about my own plans of dealing with it. I’ve decided that if things go wrong, I don’t want him to be blamed for my acts. If
there is violence, he should not be responsible.

Indeed, if violence does occur, I don’t know what I will do. But, paradoxically, the violence may be the only way to bring
us to the authors of the evil that besets us.

These are bad times, Kitty. Very bad times.

And yet I remain, warmly,

Yours,
John Carlysle

Four rocking chairs had been placed on the porch of the administration building at Gallitzin for the use of the engineers
and superintendents. John Carlysle was sitting in one of these when Tom Collins and Tom Henneberry came to see him. The noon
whistle had just finished its long and mournful blast when Collins mounted the steps that led to the porch. He was, as ever,
precisely punctual. It was one of the virtues he’d learned in the seminary, one of the few he had not shaken off.

As he climbed the step, he removed his hat. He gave John a wary smile.

John rose for him. And after as polite a greeting as he could manage, he motioned him to the rocking chair adjoining the one
he was using. Henneberry took the one beyond Collins’s.

Since it was the noon hour and a Saturday, any men not working on a shift were out and about. Those who passed by were curious
to see Collins and Carlysle together, for it was well known that they did not like one another.

“Mr. Carlysle,” Collins said carefully, once he was seated in his chair, “you asked to see me. What’s on your mind, then?”

John looked at him earnestly. He hoped his expression was full of innocence and naïveté.

“I’m a direct and open man,” he said. “I’m an engineering man and not a political man. When something breaks, I fix it. When
I can’t fix it, I replace it.” He spoke these words in a tone of sad resignation.

“Yes?” Collins said, still wary and careful.

“I treat machinery and equipment this way. But I treat myself the same way as well. When there’s something wrong in me, I
fix it. And if that doesn’t work, 1 replace it. Efficiently. Without sadness. Without regret. It’s easier than holding to
a faulty mechanism—or a faulty policy. Does that make sense to you, Collins?”

“I’ve never thought otherwise of you, Mr. Carlysle,” Collins replied with hooded eyes.

“I have to make my position on such things very clear to you in advance,” John continued, still sounding innocent and earnest,
“because I am about to tell you something that will surprise you.”

“Not much surprises me,” Collins said.

“I’m sure,” John said.

Collins waited expectantly, and John very discreetly sucked in his lower lip and then chewed nervously on it. When he was
sure that Collins had noticed that, he moved on. “After our last meeting, I gave considerable thought—
most
considerable thought—to the substance of our discussion. I tried to do my thinking dispassionately. I tried, in other words,
to ignore the anger that had so unfortunately colored the conversation.”

Collins nodded. “Good. Very good.” And then he smiled. He was beginning to taste the wind that was blowing in his direction
the way a farmer tastes the coming of rain.

“I also consulted by telegraph with my superiors in Philadelphia. And I now know their thoughts on the matter as well.”

“Their thoughts on what matter?” Collins asked softly.

“On the matter of…” John paused, as though embarrassed to articulate this thought. “On the matter,” he repeated, “of the proper
approach to the handling of your contract workers.”

“And what,” Collins asked, with a scarcely perceptible catch in his voice, “might that proper approach be?”

“They think you have been right all along, Mr. Collins.” John then let out a long breath. “And I have come to think that,
too.”

“You mean about the work rules?” He turned to face him. “
And
the dismissals?”

“Yes, all of that,” John said slowly.

“Hmmm,” Collins said. And then he straightened up in his chair. He had the look then of an inquisitor who has made a heretic
recant without having had to use the rack or the stake. “Well then,” he said, “I’m pleased. And I won’t say I’m not.”

“I was sure you would be,” John said.

Then Collins looked a little troubled, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he had heard. “So the railroad’s totally behind
me?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you’re with me, too?”

“All the way.”

“Does that mean you’ll be by my side tomorrow, when I speak to the men?”

“Would you like me there?”

Collins beamed. “I’d be much honored by your presence.”

“Then I’ll be there.” As he said that, John rose and indicated to Collins and Henneberry that the meeting was over.

“So I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow,” John said, once the other two men were standing.

Collins smiled. “And I’ll be pleased to see you,” he said, extending his hand. “So we’ll shake now … in friendship?”

John reached over and shook the man’s hand. “Good-bye, Mr. Collins,” he said. “Good-bye, Henneberry.”

The two men then descended the stairs. As soon as they were out of John’s earshot, they broke into animated conversation.
He didn’t strain to listen. He knew what they were talking about.

Next
, he thought,
I’ve got to talk to Egan O’Rahilly, Francis Stockton, and my son. And that conversation is going to be even more difficult
than this one has been
.

Later that same Saturday afternoon, John Carlysle went looking for Teresa O’Rahilly. Saturday afternoon was Teresa’s usual
time off from her duties with the children, and that is when she took care of her laundry, sewing, and other personal necessities.
Or else she spent the time with Deirdre O’Rahilly or some of the other women who were living in the camp.

John had a difficult time locating Teresa, for she was neither doing her errands nor visiting with friends. Neither did anyone
else know where to find Teresa.

As he walked through the little village that had grown up around the camp, many of the men avoided him, gave him a wide berth,
and muttered curses when he passed. John Carlysle and Tom Collins had become closely identified in their minds, not only because
both men were bosses, but also because it was by now known that John had reversed himself and was now backing Collins. It
hadn’t taken long for that word to get around. That actually pleased John, for it meant that Collins and Henneberry had worked
fast.

The men were turning ever more ugly, irritable, and restless.

John realized that it would not take much to push them to rebel. But they would not take that step without someone to ignite
them. And that was the reason John wanted to see Teresa. His inability to find her was now frustrating him.

At last, having exhausted all other possibilities, John tried the local groggery, which was not a place that Teresa frequented,
but, to his astonishment, that is where he found her.

She was sitting at a rough-hewn table that was wedged in a comer. To her right was John’s son Graham; and to her left, facing
Graham, was Francis Stockton. The two young men were playing a game of cards that John could not recognize. The two played
quickly and effortlessly, flicking discarded cards onto the table smoothly and easily.

Francis was elegant and erect, even when relaxed in his chair, while Graham was handsome and effervescent. His earlier troubles
had not made him lose his desire for games of skill and chance.

Graham, whose chair was facing the door, was the first to see his father enter the groggery. When he recognized who it was,
his face twisted into a parody of revulsion.

“You’ve seen a ghost?” Stockton asked with half a smile. Then he twisted around to see who had caused Graham’s reaction. The
smile grew wider when he recognized John. “Worse than a ghost,” he said, “a father.”

“Worse than a father,” Graham said. “The most hated man in Gallitzin… after Tom Collins.”

In fact, Graham was glad to see his father. He welcomed the chance to find out the truth behind all the rumors he had heard
in the camp.

As John approached the table where the three were sitting, the other men standing nearby moved out of his way with hostile
reluctance. Their anger was palpable; they saw him as one of those responsible for their recent distress.

John affected to ignore them, but to anyone who knew him, his seeming indifference only masked his frustration and anger.
He liked being here no more than the men in the room liked having him.

“Afternoon, Teresa,” John said, greeting the woman first. “Francis. Graham.” His voice was cold and brusque. And there was
an unusually abrupt snap to his movements.

Teresa rose to her feet, but the two men remained seated, intent on their cards. When he finished his play, however, Stockton
glanced up from his hand and gave John a brief but polite nod.

Graham, however, finally taking notice of his father, pretended not to know him. “I’m not acquainted with that man. Who is
he?” he asked Francis.

“That man behind you?” Francis asked. “The one who looks like your father?”

“Yes. That one. I don’t know him. And I don’t want to know him—not after hearing all the rumors about him.” At first, Graham
glanced sideways, teasingly and slyly, at his father. But as he continued, his expression changed to worry and concern.

“I’m a good man not to know,” John said, seriously.

“I’ve heard that you and Tom Collins have made a treaty,” Graham said.

John didn’t answer him for a long time. He couldn’t. He didn’t know what to risk saying in this place.

Finally he said, “Whatever you’ve heard isn’t true.”

“That’s more than a little provocative,” Francis said. “I’d be kind of interested in hearing what
is
true.”

“I can’t tell you that yet, Francis. I’m sorry.”

“Why not?” Graham asked.

“I can’t tell you that, either,” John said.

“Even though it might help us understand why the men out there,” he indicated with a nod to the others in the groggery, “want
to cut you into small pieces?”