Train Wreck

[SweetAsSuga]

Closed for TheAntiRebel

Nebraska Territory – 1866

Soot covered the windows of the train as it clattered its way down the tracks. Speeding through the vast prairie land the train barreled ever forward, civilization having been left behind in its copious amounts of dust and soot. Josephine Howard sat at her writing desk, watching the countryside, once so mysterious and foreign to her, rush past. The pen in her hand held above the blank paper of her diary, hovering there as the young woman could not tear her eyes from the beauty before her. The plains beckoned her like a siren. The vast, open space so unlike Manhattan that it took her breath away.

When Jo’s father, Marcus Howard, had first informed his family of his impending trip to visit his railroad’s camp out West, Jo had known that this was the opportunity she had been waiting for. It had been six years since Nathan, her fiancé, had passed away and people still looked at her with the same pitying expressions. The whispers that continued to follow her every step were even more exhausting. Words like old maid and spinster were whispered behind the fluttering fans and opera gloves of society matrons. Their own daughters safely tucked away in advantageous marriages, the old women turned their wagging tongues to the fate of the “poor Howard girl.” It was all so trivial to Josephine. She didn’t care about what they said, let them talk. Jo was resigned to the life she’d chosen. Rather, she worried what the senseless prattling did to her mother, whose nerves were already frail from the loss of her only son during the war.

So, when her father had declared his intention to oversee some issues with the railroad, Josephine had begged him, repeatedly for three weeks, to let her accompany him. It had taken much to wear him down, but even Marcus could see the toll that remaining in the city was taking on his daughter.
Since Nathan’s death, Josephine had grown restless in Manhattan. It was always the same society luncheons and parties, the same faces over and over, and always the same idle chatter. In the early days of their engagement, Nathan would hold her close in the wee hours of the morning, before he had to sneak from her bedroom, and whisper his plans to take her west after their wedding. Despite his rising career in one of the city’s most prestigious law firms, Nathan had dreams of leaving New York and starting his own practice in the Wild West. Josephine had no doubts that visions of gunslingers and Indians danced in his head. It had been his infectious spirit that had first drawn Josephine to Nathan and now that he was gone she felt it was only fair to honor his memory and fulfill the dream he could not.

And so here she was, racing along the rails in the private train car that would be hers for the duration of their trip. Her father was in the next car, most likely bent over the massive ledgers of the railroads accounts and mileage. Tucked securely in her own car, Josephine thought she would be bored, but the vastness of the wild had so captured her attention that she could not even concentrate on writing in her diary, even though she had promised to chronicle the journey so she could look back on it and remember every detail when she returned to the oppressiveness of the city.

The shriek of the train’s whistle echoed through the air as the door of her cabin opened and Penny, her maid came in with Josephine’s lunch tray.

“We are nearly there, Miss Josephine.” Penny said as she laid the silver tray on the writing desk. “Conductor says another hour until we reach the end of the rail.”

Josephine smiled up at her maid as the woman poured steaming coffee into a cup, not a drop spilling despite the rattling of the car.

“Thank you, Penny.” Josephine took the porcelain cup and sipped the warm brew. Though it was it the middle of July and the summer sun was burning brightly, turning the train car into a sweat box, Josephine still relished her afternoon cup of coffee.

“Do you think we’ll see any Indians?” Jo asked eagerly, setting the cup down and picking through the fruit that Penny had laid out on the tray.

“I surely hope not, Miss.” Penny’s brow crinkled at the thought of Indians.

“It would be a shame to come all this way and not see one.” Josephine couldn’t stop the slight pout that pulled at her lips. “Nathan always talked of making friends with an Indian when we came out here. He always insisted that he was going to learn to hunt like an Indian and that I’d have to learn to skin and cook whatever he killed.” A sad laugh bubbled from her lips and Josephine closed her eyes, suddenly swept up in the memory. Sometimes, six years after his death, she swore she could still smell him. He had always smelled faintly of tabaco and soap. In the mornings that he would leave her bed, Josephine would curl up around his pillow and simply breathe in his scent until Penny insisted she get ready for the day.

A gentle hand rested on Josephine’s shoulder and she opened her eyes, tears glistening just beneath the surface of her gaze, and patted Penny’s hand reassuringly.

“I’m alright,” she said, her voice soft with memory. “Some days are a little harder than others that is all.”

“A love like you and Mr. Nathan had is not easily forgotten.” Penny replied. “When my Robert died there were days that I could not even get out of bed. Sometimes I can still feel his arms around me when I sleep.”

Silence, heavy with the memory of lost love, hung in the air. Drawing in a deep breath, Josephine squared her shoulders.

“Well let us not dwell on such things. We are on a new adventure and we shall embrace it with arms wide open. Indians and all.” Jo winked at Penny and returned her attention to the passing prairie. Soon they would reach the end of the line and, in doing so, Josephine had no doubt she would find the adventure that Nathan had once dreamed of for them.

 

[TheAntiRebel]

“<I love you.>”

“<I love you, too. See you tomorrow,>” he said to her.

Those had been their last words to one another. It had been a harmless romance between two 12-year-olds, but at that point in time, John Wolf was convinced that he would spend the rest of his life with her.

Back then, he had just been Mwaakaneew, and he was just a boy in the Sioux tribe. He and Kizis had spent the day together after their chores were done, playing in the tall grass, throwing stones and watching the clouds go by. Then, as the sun was setting and before they headed back to the village, he leaned over and kissed her. She softly touched his arm. Time seemed to stop. It was a perfect moment, one that had replayed in his mind a thousand times over since then.

That night, after they told each other they had loved each other, he went home to his parents tipi, dreaming of spending another day with her. Then they came. Christian Missionaries. White people. Looking for children to save from an eternity in Hell. Their guns kept the angry parents away. They abducted him and a few other children. Kizis was lucky enough not to be taken.

He was taken back to St. Louis, Missouri, where he had spent the rest of his childhood and teenage years living with a small-time banker and his wife (the daughter a protestant preacher) who couldn’t get pregnant on their own. They were kind enough to him, and gave him everything he wanted, but they still weren’t his parents. And he was a thousand miles from Kizis.

After graduating high school, he took a job with the Howard Railroad, as a local guide and translator. He could speak to Indian tribes in their own tongue, and they didn’t instantly shoot at him on sight. His job was to smooth things over with the Indian tribes, and help Howard build the first transcontinental railroad across the United States.

Now, he was at a crossroads. He sat on his horse, atop a ridge. To his left was the Blackfoot tribe, and their small village of assembled tipis. To his right, a few miles out, was the end of the line of the Howard railroad. The railroad had to pass through the Blackfoot’s village. There was no going around, they had to go through. And he was expected to make it happen.

It was the dichotomy of his life. He was stuck between his Indian past life and his current life of working for the wealthy white men from New York. Neither side accepted him. His fellow Indians thought he was a sell-out. They didn’t trust him, and they watched him with shifty eyes. The railroad workers thought he was just another dirty redskin who happened to speak pretty good English. They expected him to smoke a peace pipe and fix every problem with the Indians overnight.

John Wolf had negotiated with the Blackfoot tribe for ten days. The end of the railroad got closer and closer. Finally, the Blackfoot had agreed to move their village and sell the land to the Howard railroad, but they wanted 1 million dollars. It was an outrageous amount of money in 1866, even for the company financing 2,500 miles of railroad. John couldn’t promise that kind of money, so he told the construction boss. The construction boss sent word to the regional office in Chicago, who called New York, who sent word that the big boss, Mr. Howard himself, would have to come down and approve a deal of that size.

Personally, John was nervous. He didn’t know what Howard would be like. He didn’t know if he would be a reasonable man, or, like the construction foreman, an impatient one who wanted John to solve everything immediately.

“Yo! Johnny Wagonburner!”A crude voice with a thick Irish accent called out. Johnny Wagonburner was just one of the many (not so polite) nicknames the railroad workers had for him.

John looked over. “Yeah?” One of the workers had ridden up on a horse to get him.

“The big boss’s train has finally arrived from New York, the foreman wants you there to meet him right away,” the worker said, before turning his horse around and heading back to the end of the rail.

John spun his horse around and headed back to the rail himself. He slowed the horse as he trotted through the worksite carefully, before going up to where the boss’ train had stopped and getting off. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed as he watched the train door. He had to make a good first impression with Mr. Howard and quickly let him know the situation here in the West.

 

[SweetAsSuga]

Two things hit Josephine as she stepped out onto the train platform: the cacophony of noises and the smell. It was an odd sensation in truth. In front of her the town - if a place made of tents and a handful of crudely made buildings could be considered a town - was filled with the hustle and bustle of men going about their daily work. There was shouting and hammering and the general clamor of everyday life. The air was filled with voices in varied tongues, the accents ranging from the long drawl of Southern men to the brisk brogue of Irishmen. The smells varied as much as the men rushing to and fro. Wood smoke, freshly cut timber, the tangy scent of sweat from both man and beast, food bubbling over the various fires, and the pungent smell of refuse, it all mingled together in a heady mixture that nearly made Josephine gag.

Lifting her scented handkerchief to her nose, Josephine breathed in the fresh citrus scent. She had wanted to experience the west in all its untamed glory, but Jo had not been prepared for this chaos of the senses.

Oddly, the land behind her, just on the other side of the train tracks, was feral and untamed. It sat there, the grasses high and dancing in the gentle breeze, the only sounds in that native beauty were those that came naturally in the soft chirp of birds, the rustle of a rabbit or field mouse, and the gentle song of grasshoppers and crickets as they leaped from one blade of grass to the next. No doubt the only scents that would assail Josephine would be the fresh scent of dirt and grass.

Josephine could feel her heart, indeed her very soul, being tugged in the direction of that lush plain and its natural beauty, yet untouched by the rough hands of the railroad.

"Glorious, is it not?" Marcus Howard stood beside his daughter, surveying the town before them. It took Josephine a moment to realize that he found the town to be the glorious sight and not the pure innocence of the nature on their other side.

Thankfully, Josephine was saved from replying as a man bounded up the stairs of the platform to stand in front of Marcus.

"Mr. Howard, it is an honor to have you here, sir." The man said. Judging from the lines around his eyes and the hint of gray in his dark beard, which could have used a trim, Josephine placed him in his thirties. His skin was deeply tanned from the long days spent in the blistering sun, his body lean and well-muscled from hours spent working on the rails.

"The name's Caleb Reed, I'm the foreman here." He held his hand out for Marcus to shake. His voice held a Southern lilt, as if he were born down south but spent much time in the North.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Reed." Marcus Howard replied. He tilted his head towards Josephine, one hand going to the small of her back as if to mark his territory. "This is my daughter, Miss Josephine Howard. I thought I'd bring her along and let her see what keeps her in all those fancy dresses she loves."

Josephine frowned. She was twenty-four years old, hardly a child that needed to be indulged as her father insinuated. And the indication that she was anything other than a woman who knew her own mind made her rankle.

"Pleasure, Miss," Caleb Reed touched the brim of his hat and bowed his head politely.

Josephine tilted her head in acknowledgement, still biting her tongue to keep from reminding her father that she had been the one to ask to come along.

From the corner of her eye, Jo noticed a young man, not much older than herself, bounding up the stairs to join their small party. His bronzed skin caught the sunlight and Jo's breath caught in her throat.

"No need to worry, Miss Howard," Reed mistook her gasp for one of fear and placed a reassuring hand on her arm, "John Wolf is our Indian agent out here. He doesn't mean you any harm."

Harm was the last thing that came to Josephine's mind as she watched the native stalk across the platform towards them. The gracefulness of his movements were mesmerizing and Jo knew that even with all her dance lessons she would never be able to replicate such poise. Never had she thought she'd use the word to describe a man, but John Wolf was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. And, just for a moment, Josephine completely forgot about Nathan.

 

[TheAntiRebel]

John felt his breath leave his lungs as he watched Mr. Howard depart his train with a stunning young woman. There was something about her that immediately drew him to her. Her face and body were so beautiful, and she seemed so out of place in a cruel place like this. The construction camps had a cruel air about them. Men, far from home, working 12 hours a day with laborious hard work, then spending their nights drinking and gambling amongst themselves. John imagined a single flower in a desert when he stared at the young woman.

Howard put his hand on her as they got off the train. John wondered if she was a daughter… or a young lover, but the touch seemed fatherly in nature. He hoped the men wouldn’t give her a hard time. Most of the women they saw around here were prostitutes who rode in from the bigger cities on the supply trains. They usually serviced between 30 and 40 men per trip, and usually had a face and body that showed it. These men were used to seeing and interacting with these cheap prostitutes, and he hoped that once knowledge spread that this lovely young lady was the big boss’s daughter, they would spare her the comments, grabs and catcalls.

He headed across the temporary train platform to introduce himself to the new arrives. As he approached, he seemed to catch the eye of the lady and she seemed to jump. His heart dropped, as he imagined her being like the white women he grew up with in St. Louis, afraid of him, thinking he was a savage monster who couldn’t wait to be alone with them so he could rape them.

The construction foreman, Caleb Reed, managed to calm things down. “No need to worry, Miss Howard. John Wolf is our Indian agent out here. He doesn't mean you any harm.” Caleb and John had their professional disagreements, the foreman expected John to solve every issue, and he had the same racist connotations as the rest of the work crew, but he generally treated John well, and spared him the “redskin” and “wagonburner” nicknames.

John gave a smirk smile, “Yeah, they’ve got me broken in,” he said in flawless English. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Howard,” he turned to his daughter, “Ms. Howard”. He wanted to take her hand and kiss it like a proper gentleman, but was sure that would cause a scandal. Howard might shoot him on the spot. Instead, he offered a slight bow to her. He met her eyes lock with hers, and he looked at her as his mind raced for reasons to spend time with her during her trip here. He couldn’t think of any in that instant, which frustrated him, and turned back to her father, although he let his eyes linger with hers for as long as he could.

“Mr. Howard, I’ve informed the Blackfoot tribe that you’re coming. I can take you to their village whenever you want. They’ve insisted on a small ritual, nothing dramatic. Their Chief wants to smoke a herbal pipe with you,” John explained. The truth of the matter was, the Blackfoot people had no concept of corporations or Chief Executive Officers.

In a small tribe without money, it was hard to impart in their language what a business was, so John had explained that Howard was the “big chief” of the white people, and the one who could give them their $1 million they wanted (although how they knew that much money that was or why they wanted it still escaped John). The wife of the chief insisted they greet Mr. Howard as they would a chief of another Indian tribe, although the Blackfoot Chief himself had to be convinced.

“I’m afraid they haven’t come down on their price since our last telegram to New York, sir,” John explained to Mr. Howard, stealing a glance at his daughter when he thought the man wasn’t looking, “They still want one million American dollars to sell you the land and let you build the railroad through where their village is now..”

 

[SweetAsSuga]

"Imagine it, Jo. A little cabin by a lake, our closest neighbor miles away. The sounds of nature serenading us as we lay in bed. No people, no stupid society rules. Just you and me living off the land."

Curled up in Nathan's arms, his chest hair tickling her naked back, Josephine believed it was that simple. With the steady beat of his heart matching hers it felt like nothing could stand in their way.

"Sounds nice." Josephine smiled, pulling Nathan's arm tighter around her.

Nathan was a dreamer, always had been, and it was one of the many things Jo loved about him. His dreams had become hers and, nestled together in her bed, Jo's dark curls fanning out around them on the crisp white pillows, she could easily envision the future Nathan painted with his words. It sounded like a fantasy and Jo wanted to be a part of it.

"Just think," Nathan's hand snaked up her stomach, "we could do whatever want." His warm palm cupped her breast, kneading the soft flesh. "We could be whoever we wanted."

Josephine bit back a moan as he pinched her nipple, rolling the hard nub between his fingers.

"No parents to tell us what's wrong or right." Each word was punctuated by a kiss on her shoulder, his morning whiskers scratching against her pale, smooth skin.

Shivers ran down Josephine's spine as Nathan's tongue ran against the slender column of her neck. A low groan rumbled in her throat as Nathan's hand glided slowly from her breast down her stomach to rest in the tangle of hair between her legs. He nipped at her earlobe, eliciting a soft moan from his fiancee.

"And the best part," Nathan's breath was warm against her already heated skin, "is nobody will be able to hear us." His finger pressed inside her as he rolled Josephine onto her back, a devilish grin on his face.

*****​

"What do you think they are talking about in there?" Josephine peered towards her father's private car, her eyes alight with curiosity and her nose practically pressed against the cool glass.

After having greeted Mr. Reed and the Indian agent, Marcus Howard had taken to the two men into his car to further discuss the meeting with the Blackfoot tribe. Which left Josephine alone with nothing to do and an unbridled hunger to know what they were discussing.

"Come away from there, Miss Josephine." Penny moved tirelessly around the train car, a pile of dresses in her arms. "They're talking men talk, no need to worry your head about their matters."

Josephine fell onto the brand new settee, upholstered in a soft pink to match the floral wallpaper in the car, with arms crossed like a petulant child. If she thought she could get her way the same as she had when she was a child, her lip would have been jutted out in a sizeable pout. But there was no point in acting like a child when she knew Penny would just shake her head with a pointed tsk.

"Look at you, you have soot all over your nose."

Rubbing the tip of her nose absentmindedly Jo couldn't keep her thoughts from shifting between the past and present. If Nathan were here he would have included her in the meeting. He would have asked her opinion and actually listened to what she had to say. It had been his dream to come out west, but he had always wanted to know what Josephine's own dreams were for their future. They used to spend hours planning their home, working together to design everything from how large the porch would be to the color of the curtains.

Now, here she was so close to Nathan's dream and she was locked inside a train car with nothing to do but twiddle her thumbs. Marcus had given her strict instructions to remain in her car until he was able to chaperon her through the makeshift town.

With a sigh, Josephine turned back to the window, resting her chin on her arms that were folded along the top of the settee. This was not the grand adventure she had hoped for. She watched as John Wolf stepped down from Marcus's train car, shaking hands with her father who remained in his car with Mr. Reed - seemingly to discuss things further. As Wolf stalked away, Josephine glanced over her shoulder to see Penny had disappeared into the small bedroom. Taking a reckless and utterly impulsive chance, Josephine hurried as quietly as she could from the car.

"Mr. Wolf." Not daring to raise her voice lest her father or Penny hear her, Josephine's voice was barely above a whisper and she doubted that the Indian would hear her. She raced down the platform, her heels clicking against the fresh wood. "Mr. Wolf, wait." She called a bit louder, lifting her skirts above her ankles as she raced after the man.