“Louisiana, or Texas?”
“Texas, Mister. The great state of Texas,” the man replied with inordinate pride.
“Thank you,” Tom said.
“Been traveling long?” the man asked.
“Yes, this is my sixth day.”
“Where are you headed?”
“I don’t have any particular destination in mind.”
“Ha, that’s funny. I don’t know as I’ve ever met anyone who was travelin’ and didn’t even know where they was goin’.”
“When I find a place that fits my fancy, I’ll stop,” Tom said.
“Well, Mister, I’ll tell you true, you ain’t goin’ to fine any place better than Texas. And any place in Texas you decide to stop is better than any place else.”
“Thank you,” Tom said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
In the week since he had left Boston, Tom had shared the train with hundreds of others, none of whom had continued their journey with him. He had managed to strike up a conversation with some of them, but in every case, they were only brief acquaintances, then they moved on. He thought of the passage from Longfellow.
Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other
in passing,
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the
darkness;
So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one
another,
Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a
silence.
With a series of jerks as the train took up the slack between the cars, it pulled away from the station, eventually smoothing out and picking up speed. Once the train settled in to its gentle rocking and rhythmic clacking forward progress, Tom leaned his head against the seat back and went to sleep.
Once Rebecca boarded, found her seat, and the train got underway, she reached into her purse to take out the letter. She had picked the letter up at the post office shortly before she left Fort Worth to come visit her Aunt Mildred. The letter, which was addressed to her and not to her father, had come as a complete surprise. Her father knew nothing about it, nor did she show it to her Aunt Mildred. The letter was from her real mother, and it was the first time in Rebecca’s life that she had ever heard from her.
Her first instinct had been to tear it up and throw it away, unread. After all, if her mother cared so little about her that she could abandon her when Rebecca was still a baby, why should Rebecca care what she had to say now?
But curiosity got the best of her, so she read the letter. Now, sitting in the train going back home, Rebecca read the letter again.
Dear Becca,
This letter is going to come as a shock to you, but I am your real mother. I am very sorry that I left you when you were a baby, and I am even more sorry that I have never attempted to contact you. I want you to know, however, that my not contacting you is not because you mean nothing to me. I have kept up with your life as best I can, and I know that you have grown to be a very beautiful and very wonderful young woman.
That is exactly what I expected to happen when I left you with your father. I did that, and I have stayed out of your life because I thought that best. Certainly there was no way I could have given you the kind of life your father has been able to provide for you. But it would fulfill a life-time desire if I could see you just once. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, and to grant this wish, you will find me in Dodge City, Kansas. I am married to the owner of the Lucky Chance Saloon.
Your mother,
Janie Davenport
Rebecca knew about her mother; she had been told a long time ago that Julia was her stepmother. But she didn’t know anything about her real mother, and on the few times she had asked, she had always been given the same answer.
“Your mother was a troubled soul, and things didn’t work out for her. I’m sure that she believed, when she left you, that she was doing the right thing,” Big Ben had said.
“Have you ever heard from her again?” Rebecca wanted to know.
“No, I haven’t, and I don’t expect that I will. To tell you the truth, darlin’, I’m not even sure she is still alive.”
That had satisfied Rebecca, and she had asked no more questions until, unexpectedly, she had received this letter.
From the moment Rebecca had received the letter, she had been debating with herself as to whether or not she should go to Dodge. And if so, should she ask her father for permission to go? Or should she just go? She was twenty-one years old, certainly old enough to make her own decision.
She just didn’t know what that decision should be.
She read the letter one more time, then folded it, put it back in her reticule, and settled in for the three and one-half hour train trip.
Fort Worth, Texas
The train had arrived in the middle of the night, and when Tom Whitman got off, he wondered if he should stay here or get back on the train and keep going. Six and one-half days earlier he had boarded a train in Boston with no particular destination in mind. His only goal at the time was to be somewhere other than Boston.
Now, as he stood alongside the train, he became aware of a disturbance at the other end of the platform. A young woman was being bothered by two men. Looking in her direction, Tom saw that it was the same young woman he had seen board the train back in Marshall.
“Please,” she was saying to the two men. “Leave me alone.”
“Here now, you pretty little thing, you know you don’t mean that,” one of the two men said. “Why, you wouldn’t be standin’ out here all alone in the middle of the night, if you wasn’t lookin’ for a little fun, would you now? And me ’n Pete here are just the men to show you how to have some fun. Right, Pete?”
“You got that right,” Pete said.
“What do you say, honey? Do you want to have a little fun with us?”
“No! Please, go away!” the young woman said.
“I know what it is, Dutch,” Pete said. “We ain’t offered her no money yet.”
“Is that it?” Dutch asked. “You’re waitin’ for us to offer you some money? How about two dollars? A dollar from me and one from Pete. Of course, that means you are going to have to be nice to both of us.”
“I asked you to go away. If you don’t, I will scream.”
Pete took off his bandana and wadded it into a ball. “It’s goin’ to be hard for you to scream with this bandana in your mouth,” he said.
Tom walked down to the scene of the ruckus. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I do believe I heard the lady ask you to leave her alone,” he said.
Tom was six feet two inches tall, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Ordinarily his size alone would be intimidating, but the way he was dressed made him appear almost foppish. He was wearing a brown tweed suit, complete with vest, tie, and collar. He was also wearing a bowler hat, and he was obviously unarmed. He could not have advertised himself as more of a stranger to the West if he had a sign hanging around his neck proclaiming the same.
The two men, itinerant cowboys, were wearing denim trousers and stained shirts. Both were wearing Stetson hats, and both had pistols hanging at their sides. When they saw Tom, they laughed.
“Well now, tell me, Dutch, have you ever seen a prettier boy than this Eastern dude?” Pete asked. He slurred the word ‘Eastern’.