The Black Train Part 29

"We'se finally back. Five years'a hard work'n for the last four I ain't been back home but once a month. To top it off me'n some of the boys've been workin' up the house past few days, diggin' and such. I need me some relaxation." He peers closer. "You ain't even been workin' fer Bella a year, have ya?"

"About that, sir." You take his roughened hand and lead him through the crimson curtains to the hallway. You immediately notice that his hands are gritty with earth.

"And that's a mighty fine a.s.s on ya."

You can't think of any reply. One of his hands claws your bottom when you lead him into your room. A short, scruffy beard makes his face indescribable, but you notice...something- Maybe it's just the way the light is in the room, but his eyes look yellow, like a p.i.s.s stain on a white bedsheet.

Even before the door closes, his hands are up your dress yanking down your linens. Fingers like file stones tweeze the tender folds between your legs.

"Yeah, that's real nice, too..."

Finally you speak, as he's bending you over the daybed: "Puh-pardon me, sir, you gotta-you gotta tell me what'cha want'n then pay me first-"

A ten-dollar gold piece hits the floor, spins like a top, and lands tails. Part of you could squeal with delight-you've never been paid that much for just one go with a man, but then your belly continues to sink because you know that this man Morris will make you earn it. You can't help but notice the very long knife and scabbard on his hip.

"Sir, thank you-"

A knuckled fist hits you in the back of the head. "Shut up," he says, and continues to fiddle with your s.e.x like a baker working dough. His pants are already down...

You can't even think about the thing he does to you. Oh, G.o.d, please, you beg over and over. Let him be done soon...

A half hour later, you fall back on the floor.

"There, that weren't so bad, was it, sugar?"

You look up through misting eyes and see him sitting on the couch, his trousers still unfastened. The taste in your mouth combines with the smell coming off your lips. It's so foul it seems evil, and just as bad is the malodor wafting off his exposed groin. On the couch arm lay a pretty cotton smock you've been sewing; it's about half complete. You could howl when he picks it up and wipes himself off with it, then drops it to the floor. He winks at you, and lights a long, thin cigar that smells like burning garbage.

"Come on up here, pretty girl. I need my money's worth."

You remember the ten-dollar piece, and tell yourself that this will be worth it.

"I ain't got much more time," he says rather distantly now.

You reluctantly sit next to him. "Pardon me, sir?"

His yellow eyes stare into s.p.a.ce, but then he smiles again. "Gotta get back to the house a right quick. One more thing I gotta do fer Mr. Gast. He's already gone, but he trusts me'n a few others to do what he wants."

"He's left town again? I heard he just got back..."

"See, only important men are invited to do his bidding. Men like me." His yellow gaze slowly turns to you. "Do you believe that? Do you believe that I am an important man?"

He sounds so strange now. You know you must ingratiate him. "Oh, yes, sir, I do, very much so. I understand that you are one of Mr. Gast's most important foremen."

"Yes..." He nods. "Yes, that is true." Then his eyes focus. "Do you like me? What I mean is, do you enjoy my company?"

You s.h.i.+ver. "Oh, yes, sir. You're a very handsome and rugged gentleman."

"Now, I realize that I just put you through the wringer a mite hard. So you've probably had enough. Right?"

You're not sure how to figure him. You don't know what to say. You know he's very, very violent. "Only if you feel you've had your money's worth, sir..."

He blinks. "Hmm. Yes. And I suppose I have. But...you just said that you enjoy my company..."

It's getting too strange. You don't like it at all.

"So...I'll tell you what. I'll leave it up to you. If you'd like me to stay a bit longer, then I will. Or'n if you'd rather I leave now, then I'll leave."

He's plotting something, you can feel it. You know that your next response is very, very important. If I ask him to leave, then I just know he'll beat me'n take the ten-dollar piece with him...

"Well, sir, I would like it if you stayed...a bit longer..."

The man shrugs, then grins. "Whatever you say, honey." And then- smack!

-the web of his hand catches your throat and slams you off the couch to the floor. He moves in a blur and pins you down. He's got one knee across your throat and the other on your belly.

"I'm always one to oblige the request of a lady," he says, and then he laughs so hard and dark that you think it's more like a caterwaul from h.e.l.l. "Don't'cha move, now," he warns, "less'n I might have to break your windpipe." So you lie perfectly still, breathing fiercely through your nose as the pressure of his knee on your throat increases. Then- swis.h.!.+

He slides that long knife out of the scabbard. "I skinned me a lotta women with this, and cut off a lotta ears'n t.i.ts. Mostly Injuns'n creek people. You work hard as me, you need some sport." The tip of the blade tickles up your thigh. "Does this scare you?"

"Yes, it does, sir." You choke out the words.

"I like a honest gal," he says, then laughs and puts the knife back in the scabbard. "Don't'cha worry none-you're too pretty to cut. But I'll be cuttin' on someone else with it real soon. Now...Let's see this apple-dumplin' cart," he says and jacks down the top of your ruffled blouse. The terror makes your b.r.e.a.s.t.s quiver. His hand plays with one; then his fingers begin to pinch the nipple. You look up through slits for eyes and see his cigar smoke ringing his head like an unholy aura.

"Let me put a little spark in your day, huh, pretty girl?" His forefinger and thumb begin to vise the tip of your nipple until it hurts. Then, "What we got here-ahh, perfect," but you can't see what he's reaching for, and then, "Look it. Think this'll liven ya up?"

With his other hand, you see now, he'd taken a long sewing needle out of the pincus.h.i.+on on the end table.

"Oh, my G.o.d, please, Mr. Morris, I'm beggin' you not to-"

He sticks the needle directly into the tweezed tip of your nipple, and the sound that comes out of your throat is like an animal's shriek. Your body bucks beneath his weight as you watch the entire two-inch-plus needle disappear into your breast.

The shriek reels out of your throat like ribbon. "What?" he asks. "Does that hurt? Awwwwwwwww...I'm sorry."

He removes the needle, and your body goes limp.

"See, some gals like a little spark...but I guess you ain't one of 'em."

You're breathing so fast you can barely understand him. His face looks blurred through your tears.

"Guess I'll be on my way. I done told ya. Got a ch.o.r.e or two up the house..."

Please, leave! Please, please, please!

But if he's leaving...why does he still have the end of your nipple pinched between his fingers?

One last grin and he says, "Honey, aren't ya glad ya asked me to stay?" And then he puts the lit end of the cigar to your nipple and begins to puff.

You drown in the instantaneous wave of pain, and then your mind turns black.

The room is darker when you wake up. Your left nipple burns in a slow, thudding pain. It doesn't take you long to remember what happened.

"At least he's gone," you whisper in relief.

The end of your nipple is inflamed beneath a scab. You carefully re-cover your b.r.e.a.s.t.s and collect yourself, then crawl around the couch to where he'd dropped your ten-dollar gold piece.

It's not there now.

You bolt out of the room. You haven't felt this enraged since the time the German man sold your baby. When you storm into the parlor, Bella looks up surprised from a plate of chocolates.

"Why...Harriet! What-"

"That s.h.i.+tty man burned my nipple and stole my money!" you wail. "Do you have a gun I can borrow?"

"Calm down, dear! My, oh my, you ain't gonna be shootin' no one. Now just you sit down and-"

"No! I'm gettin' my money!"

"Harriet? Honey? Listen now. You just have to accept that these things happen to a gal in this line sometimes. Sometimes we get took advantage of-"

"I earned that money and I'm going to get it!" you bark.

"Settle down! You just leave that Mr. Morris alone, girl! He's crazy! Lotta them rail men are awful rough with the girls, but he's the worst. He'll kill ya-"

"He can try!" you scream and tromp out of the house.

Bella calls after you but you don't listen. You're running up the hill...

To the Gast House.

Your rage sends you running up but then you begin to slow down and eventually stop, because that's when you notice the man hanging by his neck from the biggest tree in the front yard.

The rope creaks as the well-dressed corpse turns very slowly. You see that it's Mr. Gast.

My...G.o.d...

You keep stepping back, because it almost seems like the corpse turned by a will of its own, to look at you. Mr. Gast's face is pressed with a dead grin, and you can see yellow in the slits of his eyelids. The scariest thought sends a chill up your back: that those yellow eyes will fly open and he'll begin to laugh...

The lowering sun covers the yard with dark molten light. You hear a snuffling and notice several stray dogs nosing through some bushes. A brief shadow crosses your face and you look up, still stepping backward, and see a lone raven gliding silently overhead.

"Ohhh!" you yelp, and turn just before you'd fall. You'd been stepping back farther from the corpse, and now you see what you'd almost fallen in: a hole.

A deep trench had been dug into the yard, six feet long and probably six deep. A grave? you wonder. But you know the hole was recently dug because the turned earth is fresh, and several shovels are lying around. You remember the fresh dirt on Mr. Morris's hands and his reference to "diggin'." Could he have been the one who'd dug the hole?

"Jumpin' Jesus!" a voice cracks like a pistol shot. "Mr. Gast has up'n hung hisself!"

"Oh, my holy shee-it!" booms another.

"Looks like he's been hangin' a few days..."

Several townsmen are running for the house, and you see that one is the marshal. He glares at you and points. "You! You see what happened here?"

"Nuh-no, sir..."

"What's that hole dug there?"

"I don't rightly know, Marshal Braden..."

Something like recognition flashes. "You one'a Bella's wh.o.r.es, ain't ya?"

"Yes, sir," you speak right up. "And I come up here 'cos a man inside owes me money."

"Forget about your money and come help us!" he orders, so you do as you're told.

You follow the two men into the house. "Ain't no one seen his wife or kids for several days. Girl, you check upstairs, and we'll check-" But the other man was already groaning.

"Marshal, in here. You ain't gonna believe this..."

In the study two men are sitting in bra.s.s-studded armchairs. They're both grinning but not moving.

"It's Mr. Morris," you gasp.

In his hand is the long knife you saw at Bella's, and it's clear what he'd used it for: to cut his own throat from ear to ear. A gush of blood had run down his chest to pool on the floor.

The other man is older, and has a long mustache. Half the side of his head is gone. A pistol dangles from his fingers.

"What in G.o.d's name happened here?" the marshal mutters.

"Looks like they both kilt themselves, like Mr. Gast..."

"We gotta find Mrs. Gast and them two kids'a theirs. And where's that d.a.m.n maid?" The marshal points to you again. "Upstairs! Give a shout if ya find anything," he says, and then both men stomp through the room toward the back of the house.

But you stay to stare at Mr. Morris. Part of you wants to rummage through his pockets to retrieve your money but you know you can't do that. You know that if you did, he'd reach up and grab you.

So you scurry back to the foyer and go up the stairs. The first thing you notice are dirt tracks going up. On the landing you falter-your heart is pattering-because there's something about the silence that terrifies you even worse than when you watched the Indians killing your mother.

The tracks lead to a door in the middle of the stair hall. You try the k.n.o.b but it's locked.

Maybe this one. The door clicks when you turn the k.n.o.b.

You don't scream. Instead a pressure jolts in your chest and your heart stops for a moment, but you steel yourself to remain composed. Another of Mr. Gast's rail men lay dead. You don't know his name but you've seen him at Bella's. It's a bath closet that you've entered, a fancy one that even has a wooden commode.

A hip bath sits on a heavy wooden table, water still in it. You notice that the dead man's hair and face are sopping wet, but only after you see his trousers open, and there's a big splotch of dried blood there.

Something in your mind that's not really your will makes you lift the wooden lid on the commode cabinet. You look in and see the man's thing floating in the chamber pot water.

You back out of the room. You pa.s.s the locked door and move to the one next to it.

When you open it, you're knocked down.