Ford At Valverde, Page 2

  squander it away

  The train was pushing fluid motion that rumbled and complained around the jagged edges of rock, while it blew steam through its open nostrils. Unlike the roundabouts in the city, the scenery was changing with every slope of mountain he wished he had climbed. Outside the window was a whole other world, like the view from a looking glass into a mystical place, where natives danced to tribal songs. Peaceful, still and undisturbed by modern man, with the exception of a cabin concealed behind the thickness of trees, or the occasional homestead in the remote lying lands. There was evidence of that which was unseen, that only a knowing eye could reason, like the magic that one played with child-like faith and brought things to pass; so were the branches that loomed heavy with ice, breeching the ground as though almost dead. If it were not for the clouds shifting north, so that the summer winds could rise, the faintest upset of the climate might impose a detrimental threat.

  About the day was a hand wishers well, and he looked upon it with anticipation. In between the ties of civilization, where the train would stop and reload, were the hours that lulled him to sleep, braced against the padded brown leather backing that met the vibrating wall. All the walls vibrated, and the panes of glass rattled against the pounding waves of wind. Weathered limbs would sometimes dance about the scurrying leaves that wisped across the broken ice, and the snow was bountiful in its beauty. He would capture the memory of it all, and record it among his thinking. For in his minds eye was a visual of the place to come as well, and with it a new fate, one of stepping into. There would be no other way of measuring the journey, for it was the only way of remembering its path.

  With every shift of the air would come a new reliance, and he would learn to live off the land and earn his keep the hard way. Before there were uncertainties about his life that didn’t make sense, but now that he was on board the train, it seemed he was going somewhere. Perhaps change was his biggest asset, because he felt vigorously enamored by every object within his compartment. There would be no more dilly dallying in areas of compromise, for he was charting his own course, and as a result everything seemed significant.

  So he made a mental note of details he wouldn’t otherwise notice and held them in his thinking, before he let his thoughts dismiss. It was important to learn from the details and to not forget in case it might come in useful later. Only a measly sum would get him there, and the rest would rely upon substance. As the wheels churned with a tacking pace southward, so did his thoughts.

  It was a state in which he could make his plans. If mental preparedness was the key, he had a houseful of many. Of all of the useable items he found around him were only two, an exit sign above a door and a metal bar that was used to keep it closed. If he needed to get out quickly, both might come in handy. Again there were things he wasn’t prepared for, but the obvious was for sure. If he wanted to stay in charge of the situation, he would need to find a deterrent for his greed. So he tried to appear humble, even though he gave allusive glances to those passing by. If trouble was on the band wagon he was the drummer with a snare. If danger slid in like a knife, he would be slipping out as quickly. There was no room for error and no place for a losing sport. It was decadent to believe him so lofty a behavior, but unnoticed just the same. For there were two kinds of beggars, those whole stole and those who gave in order to steal. He would take what he needed and give back the rest. At least that would outweigh his decisions for now. The fact that he wanted to blend meant that he should take care of his notions. He was beginning to feel a charge of unsteadiness settle in, so he took out a metal tin from beneath his jacket and took a swig. The taste burned his tongue in a way that was familiar comfort. It warmed him up and must have fueled the air, because a man beside him seemed perturbed.

  “Pardon me, Miss,” the overweight man said to a woman across the aisle. “Is this man obliging himself in the middle of the day an offense? If so, I will ask him to keep his flask inside his coat while in the company of a lady.”

  The lady, whimsical in her tune, wasn’t at all offended and replied, “Oh, no. Don’t bother to disagree on my account. Why I’ve been known to have a drink or two during the day as well.” She smiled to Daniel in a way that said she was vicarious by nature, and he tipped the bill of his hat in her direction.

  Then he turned to the plump fellow beside him said, “If life is a gift, I am foolishly relishing it. So if you want to make what’s best of yours, I suggest you move elsewhere.”

  At that the man turned to him with his bottom lip quipped, but buried beneath a bushy mustache, and agreed. “Perhaps it would be best if I sat back there,” he replied before he got up and walked to a distant seat near the rear of the cabin.

  The lady turned to Daniel squarely, “Why there are other ways of getting rid of unwanted guests.”

  He gave a grin in her direction, “If so, then do tell. I’m all ears for the ridding of rats and their asses.”

  She giggled in long whimsical strands and she got up and crossed the aisle to sit down next to him.

  “Don’t mind if I do?” she smiled through berry stained lips, as if there wasn’t any question at all.

  “Don’t mind at all,” obliged Daniel as his eyes shifted up and down the bodice of her dress until they met her bouncy blue eyes.

  Her hair was blonde and dangled beneath her hat in curly strands like ribbons on a present. She had a fine white glove on the hand that she stretched out to greet him and had a sweet rasp to her voice when she said, “I am Nettie Mae Chambers, of Memphis, Tennessee.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he cupped her fingers into his hand and smiled before releasing them.

  They exchanged cordialities for a few moments, until he didn’t quite know what else to say. Then he assumed the previous position of resting his back against the seat, while she waved a silk hand fan back and forth.

  It was a place of indifference and he wished that he was better with words, but he didn’t want her to know too much about him. So he pretended that he was tired, as he stretched out somewhat and adjusted his hat slightly down over his eyebrows.

  However, unguarded by his ways was the mischievously obscured glances of Nettie Mae. She didn’t seem like the kind of lady in waiting that was in need of comfort, or anything else for that matter. Among her parts were diamonds and rubies that lit with the passages of light that flickered throughout the narrow compartment. Her dress was of deep paisley silk with the dark colors of winter and black lace that trimmed the crevice of her small breasts. Her companion was sound asleep across the aisle, and she cleared her throat and said, “A person could die of pure boredom on a long ride like this.”

  Daniel sat up and adjusted his hat. “I didn’t mean to be rude, but it has been a long journey so far,” even though he felt anticipation for the moment.

  She didn’t pry at all, instead she talked to him for the next two hours about the visit with her cousin from Perryville, Missouri and the record temperatures they had endured.

  All the while, Daniel thought about how he would have a woman like that one day, adorned with the jewels that the would buy. Although she clearly belonged to another, the older man that was her senior by at least twenty years, the image of her was on his mind until they reached the Depot in Tennessee. Then she was escorted from the train, being urged slightly from behind with the end of a garment bag.

  Without a hitch she was gone, and in her place was a proud young man in his early twenties, with distant eyes and matted red hair with an uneven beard. He took the seat across from Daniel and stuffed a wad of tobacco into his mouth. The tenacity to overfill his bottom lip was a right in its own, but he tried not to notice the large red pustules on his face. Daniel had since grown amused with the observation of others, and reveled in the thought that it was probably the union of inbreeding. The man garbled over the chew and talked with a flat wisp and a thick drawl.

  “I’m going’ to Tupel
o,” he said.

  Daniel, somewhat repulsed and yet glad for some more conversation, replied that he was headed further west.

  “Jones,” he added, as he spat a glob of the black juice into a cup, as a string of it lingered on his bushy chin.

  Daniel gave a dry cough as he pointed toward the mans’ chin, as though giving some direction. Then he answered, “Stone,” content to leave it on a last name basis.

  Jones wiped his chin with the shirt sleeve and then sat there for a moment eyeing him peculiarly. The train was pressing forward again, and the sound of his voice was somewhat muddled over the clambering of the wheels.

  “I’m goin’ to Tupelo,” he stated again, as if they were the only two on board.

  “So, what’s in Tupelo?” Daniel replied with a stir of non-committal emotion.

  “My brother’s there,” he said. “We’re gonna go where the fightin’ is!”

  Daniel replied cynically, “I’d tip my hat, but I can’t recall the last time Uncle Sam did shit for me.”

  The man stared at him crossly with unease and emptied the remaining contents from his mouth. The words hadn’t settled right in his thinking and he unintentionally spat at him when he continued.

  “Me either, but I’m aimin’ to get my share. Hell, ain’t nobody gonna tell me what I can or can’t do on my own land!” he demanded.

  Daniel took his glasses off and wiped the lenses on his pants leg, asking him if he had his own land already.

  “Not yet,” the man replied. “But I will have when the war is over. I got it all in print. All I got to do is whip some yeller bellied Yankee’s first!”

  Then he asked Daniel where he was from, not recognizing the accent, and already considering him being on the opposing side.

  He avoided a direct answer, but replied, “A few states up. Frankly though, I couldn’t give a damn either way. I’ve got other plans.”

  Jones chuckled and studied Daniel as he sized him up in the moment.

  “You ain’t yeller, are ya, Stone?” he asked defiantly, as he gaped forward for a response.

  Daniel straightened his back and made his defense. “Oh, hell no! I’d just as soon go belly up while digging for gold, then floating down some cold ass river because some general told me to shoot! I’ll choose my own day to die!”

  Then he eased in closer. There was an undefined stability that rose in his voice as he placed his right hand inside his coat pocket and added, “But I’ll tell you something.., you call me that again, and Tupelo will be missing the pleasure of your company.”

  Jones didn’t counteract his aggressive tone, as he would have otherwise. He was hell bent on reaching camp before the next day’s deadline. So he chose to remain civil instead, even though he was furious and steaming beneath his breath. Both fists were clenched and ready for action, but he decided to back down anyway.

  “I suppose that’ll do for now,” he thought about it insightfully. “As long as we don’t meet on the battlefield. Right?”

  Daniel agreed with a half-cocked, but challenged grin. Then he withdrew his hand from his pocket, where sandwiched between his sweaty palm was a deck of playing cards. He eyed the fellow squarely and shuffled them as he made his wager.

  “So what do you say there, Jones? You ain’t yeller now are ya?” he teased in a mock southern drawl that pushed the limits of his game.

  “Oh, I’ll beat the ever livin’ shit out of ya!” Jones gave an intimidating growl. “I’m not aimin’ to lose on any hand. That’s for damn sure!”

  Daniel folded the cards and slapped the deck into his hand.

  Jones felt the need to rival the emotion needed to fuel the game. “Don’t squander it away now. You just might be needin’ it later.”

  “Okay then, you deal,” he replied. “I do believe in playing fair.”

  Jones gave a thirsty scoff as he began to shuffle. Some extra cash would go a long ways.

  There were about thirty or so others within the extended black caboose. A lot of soon to be soldiers had filled the empty cargoes to capacity, some even sharing their space with livestock. It was noisy overall, with most of the travelers idle in their own conversations. Few regarded his intentions above anyone else's on board, as they all had their reasons for the trip. However, one thing became obvious, he would need to keep his plans under wrap the rest of the way. Should he run into anymore hostility, he would keep his opinions to himself and lie whenever necessary.

  Once the evening had been spent, neither had turned up any wealthier for their efforts. Daniel had watched the oversized brunt fall asleep, as well as the other passengers. Then he took another swig of whiskey and removed a folded parchment of a map from his vest and creased it open, as he angled it towards the dim light of the lantern that was mounted on the wall above him. He studied the map in hindsight, fingering a trail across the red curvy lie that led to Santa Fe, New Mexico.

  Outside the window, the thick layer of darkness only heightened his diminishing awareness that all was still well with the world. The night was as contrary as its medicine.