The Rail Queen

By B J Scott

                                                       THE RAIL QUEEN

 

WINNER - 2015 BEVERLY HILLS BOOK AWARDS; HISTORICAL FICTION

BRONZE MEDALIST - 2015 WILL ROGERS MEDALLION AWARDS; WESTERN ROMANCE

FINALIST - 2015 NATIONAL INDIE EXCELLENCE AWARDS, HISTORICAL FICTION

 

Missoula, Montana, 1884

It was a time of vanishing cultures and rising empires, a time when there was much that needed to be done - much that could be done, and in the end, it didn't matter who did it.

The Rail Queen weaves through the awakening of the American railroad as it knits together the strands of empire from Atlantic to Pacific even as every new mile of track speeds the vanishing of the frontier it seeks to exploit. It was a brief age when anything was possible, even for a young schoolgirl with an extraordinary dream.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amazon KDP
• Release date: Dec 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9798201586256

Book preview

THE DREAM

1

Missoula, Montana Northern PacificRailwayYards

1884

Get off this train, girl!

A small figure in a heavy winter coat flew out the doorway of the freight car and landed with a thump on a pile of dirty snow beside the tracks. The yard bull glared down like an angry bear, teeth flashing behind his thick beard, brow furrowed and barrel chest heaving.

The figure scrambled to her feet and thumbed her nose at him.

Then she whirled and ran into the winter darkness.

I know you! the bull yelled after her. You’re that Sundstrom girl. You tell that dumb Swede pa o’ yours I see you here again he’s out of a job!

The girl ran twenty steps into the cold darkness before she finally slowed to wipe away tears with her long brown braids. The cold night air stung her wet cheeks. Breathing hard, she looked back at the locomotive. Even at rest, the great iron beast seemed to pulsate with life, its big drive wheels glowing softly with reflected light from a trackside lantern. Smoke curled lazily from the locomotive's stack, a ghost of the energy waiting to be unleashed by

a full firebox, sending flame exploding through the stack. The beast pulled at her.

Looking up, she could see the rosy glow from the firebox that suffused the cab. The cozy warmth looked like an island of refuge on the cold winter night. The cab was left untended, and this was where she had been headed, longing to see close-up what made the engine go. The yard bull had chased her in and out of three boxcars before cornering her just behind the coal tender. I done told you before you don’t belong here, he snarled. Don’t you see them 'No Trespassing' signs? Then he had thrown her out of the boxcar onto the snow.

Now Ryka stood, teary-eyed, staring at the locomotive and the stolid figure of the bull, glaring at her. You think I don’t belong there, she thought, defiance swelling within her. But the day will come when no one will throw me off a train ever again. She turned to go, her boots crunching over the two-day old snow toward home.

Ryka’s father did not find out that night where she had been, though he questioned her pointedly about why it took so long to bring back the sack of flour from the small grocery store. But by the next night he knew, courtesy of his boss. He was waiting the moment she came home from school. So, you vas down at the tracks again, eh? he said, his face like an approaching thundercloud. His Swedish accent was pronounced when he was angry. I tell you no, but you t’ink you can do whatever you like. Now my boss is mad at me. Suppose I was to lose my job because of you? How would that be? Well, I tell you, my girl, I will not let that happen. He reached for the thick leather strap he kept hanging from a support post in the middle of the little shack Ryka and her family called home. Then he sat down on the edge of a bed. Come here.

Ryka hesitated. She could still taste in her mind the sting of the last time he had used the strap. But she also knew if she didn’t comply, he would reach for her and pull her to him, and it would go worse. On wooden legs she moved forward.

Now you learn the lesson this time, girl, he said, bending her over his knee. I don’t hear of you down at the yard no more. The strap smacked hard into Ryka’s bottom. She flinched and bit her lip

to keep silent, determined not to cry. He raised the strap to strike once more. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Lars, you hit that girl again and there’s going to be trouble sure.

Her mother’s voice hung in the sudden silence, like a hammer poised to fall. She had come in from outside. Ryka bit her lip in relief. Though her father, blustery and tough as he was, seemed like the boss in the household, it was her mother, Anna, who wielded the ultimate power, and didn't hesitate to use it when she thought it was necessary. Since she and Lars had moved west, following the rails, she had threatened to leave him several times. You listen, she would say in her Swedish-accented English when she had had enough, more of this and I go back to Minnesota. I got family there, you know. This trip’s not brought us nothin’. Now you stop this nonsense or I’ll be packin’ my bags sure as I stand here.

Lars would always glare at her as if he could still win, but he knew when he was beat. The one thing he didn’t want was to be without a wife, and the cushion she provided to pad him from the harsh frontier life.

He held the strap poised over Ryka. His hand trembled for a few seconds, but then he threw the strap across the room. Ryka sprang up and away from him. I don’t raise a girl to be no boy, he said, fuming. Girls don’t belong at the tracks.

And where is this written down, Mr. Know-It-All? Anna retorted. Show me.

He rose and waved at her in disgust. It’s just the way of t’ings, that’s all. In the Old Country—

You hush now, Anna replied. We’re not in the Old Country no more. Maybe we find a new way of things here.

More’s the pity, Lars said, winding down now. The old ways was fine.

Anna let it go. Disgusted as she sometimes was with his pig- headedness, she knew how keenly he felt the loss of the homeland and its familiarity. He seemed to have forgotten the hardships that had driven them to America. Anna had thought that settling into the large Swedish immigrant community in Minnesota would help him adjust. But it had not worked the magic she had hoped for. Lars had

worked hard in the New Land, but had very little to show for it, and his only remaining child's unusual interests were a thorn in his side.

They ate a simple meal in silence. Afterward, Lars stoked the fire and then retired to bed. The winter days, short on sunshine but long on labor, sapped his strength. A good night’s sleep was one of the few blessings he had on the harsh frontier. Anna was wise enough not to begrudge him that.

Ryka helped her mother wash the dishes and silverware. Anna beamed down at her daughter as they stood side by side at the washbasin. "You will alvays be my little svenska flicka,"¹ she said. But I t’ink sometimes you are a most unusual one.

Ryka said nothing, drying the plates in silence.

Don’t you t’ink your father is right, Ryka? It’s not proper for a girl to be playing around those big locomotives.

I wasn’t playing, Ryka said, a strong hint of stubbornness in her voice.

And what was it then?

I wanted to know, Ryka replied as she polished a dish a bit too hard. I wanted to know what makes the engine go.

Anna drew the last plate out of the rinse water and set it down on the counter. She dried her hands, took Ryka’s hands in her own and led her over to the bed, where they sat on the edge. Anna put on her best mother’s smile. And why would a young girl vant to learn such things, daughter? Almost from the beginning, you vas different. If you vas more like other little girls, we wouldn’t have such headaches as we do. We would know what to expect, how to—to plan t’ings out. Soon you will be interested in boys, you know. They might not like to be around a girl with such strange habits.

Ryka stuck out her lower lip. Boys are stupid. They get in my way and tease me.

Anna sighed. "You vill not t'ink so for much longer. Boys your age are interested in girls now, Ryka, girls that dress like a girl should, girls who are, vell, girls, and not trying to be boys."

Ryka turned slightly away from her mother and lowered her head.

1  Swedish girl

Anna put a hand under Ryka’s chin and lifted her daughter’s head slightly. I t’ink you will be a pretty young woman, Ryka. When the time comes, you will have no trouble attracting a fine man for a husband.

And so I get married, and then what? I am happy? Ryka retorted harshly. She could feel her mother stiffen ever so slightly and knew she had said the wrong thing.

Anna sat back, her hands suddenly gripping Ryka’s too hard. For a long moment, she was silent. Then she abruptly withdrew and rose to her feet. Just t’ink about what I have said, she replied, weariness evident in her voice.

Ryka remained on the bed as her mother shuffled off to the kitchen area. She could sense the disappointment and regret her mother carried with her always, like an invisible cloak on her shoulders, heavy yet without warmth. In a private moment, Ryka’s mother had once shared her girlhood dream with her daughter. Do you know, Ryka, she had said one day as they sat together on a hill looking at the mountains surrounding them, when I was a girl I wanted to be a newspaper reporter. I wanted to write for a big city paper. I wanted to see my name above a fine piece about life in the west.

Why didn’t you, Mama? Ryka inquired.

I met your father, she said, the dreamy tone of her voice deflating into a cold distance. With that, she had gotten up and walked away. She never talked of it again.

Anna had met Lars Sundstrom at age 18. Her girlfriends were either already married, or firmly on the marriage trail. He was handsome, and talked of leaving Minnesota and going west in search of adventure. So she had married him, eyes agleam with passion for both him and her dream. They would go west and she would write.

But with marriage came children. First there was Ryka’s older brother Eric, two years her senior. When he suddenly died of pneumonia at age 15 in 1881, Lars had seemed lost for a while, and changed. Then he had gotten on with the Northern Pacific. The job didn’t pay much or lead to anything better, and the adventure westward became a struggle for survival.

For Anna, the duties of a wife and mother demanded nearly all the time she could muster. Sunday afternoons were the only time she had to herself. She would retreat to a quiet spot and write in her diary, quietly pleased to hear the scratch of pen on paper, to take small joy in the elegance of forming her letters. Of her dream, it was all she had left. For somewhere along the way west Anna, the young woman with a dream, had disappeared, and Anna, the wife and mother with too many responsibilities, had taken her place.

i

The day after her father had put the strap to Ryka was the last school day of the week. She was up just after dawn as usual, shivering in the kitchen while the morning fire in the Franklin stove took hold. The small shack would finally heat up just as she headed out the door. Finishing her lunch preparation, she turned to help her mother, who was making a hot breakfast for Lars. It was something he would need to get through another cold day in the rail yard.

When they were done, Ryka gave her mother a quick hug and headed for the door.

Ryka, you stay away from those trains now, Anna called. Your father could get into trouble.

Ryka smiled reassuringly, but said nothing.

The cozy warmth of the schoolhouse was something Ryka looked forward to. She knew her teacher had been there before dawn, stoking the fire in the central stove of the one-room school, so that when her students arrived heat would be abundant and lessons could be concentrated on.

The teacher in the multi-grade schoolhouse was a thirtyish woman named Edna Thayer. Edna was, if not beautiful, a handsome woman with warm eyes, dark hair and a slender figure. Under normal circumstances, she would not lack for suitors. But few circumstances on the western frontier were normal. Widowed on her way west to Seattle when her husband, a brakeman, was crushed between two freight cars, she found herself alone in the barren stretches of Montana, with only a widow’s pension and no direction. She had paused to teach school in Missoula until she could, as she put it, gather her life. You wait and see, she told Ryka more than

once. I’ll make it to Seattle someday. Just you wait and see if I don’t.

At that remark, Ryka had once noticed a glint of tears in Edna’s eyes, and wondered if her teacher was trying to convince herself more than her student. But Edna was supportive and encouraging, and Ryka had come to trust her for truthful answers to things that puzzled her.

This day Ryka was distracted and distant in class, occasionally glancing out a window that provided a view of the rail yard, stroking her long brown braids.

Edna noticed, but said nothing.

When classes ended for the day, Ryka stayed behind to sweep the floor around the Franklin stove, as was her task on Fridays. She swung the straw broom forward and back, devoid of the usual small talk she engaged in when alone with her teacher. She had just about finished when Edna called to her from across the room.

Ryka, Put down the broom. Come to me for a few minutes.

Ryka leaned the broom against a front-row desk and walked slowly over to her teacher.

Edna patted the bench beside her, and Ryka sat, head down.

Ryka, Edna said softly, your mind wasn’t on your lessons today. You seemed somewhere else. Can you tell me why?"

Ryka said nothing for long seconds. Then in a barely audible voice: My Papa punished me. She told Edna about the strap, and why he had used it.

Ah, Edna said. She put her arm around Ryka. "So much turmoil for a girl so young. This is what you yearn for, then? To stand in a locomotive cab and see what makes it go, flashing over the rails?

Ryka nodded silently.

Do you think this is unusual for a young girl?

Ryka flinched, fear sweeping across her face. Would her teacher be devoid of sympathy too? Papa thinks the ways of the old world are best. He thinks I should be doing girlish things.

Edna could feel her tense up beneath her arm. Well, I don’t think you are unusual, Ryka, she said. "This is a new land, with no rules for women! For instance, there is much that needs doing in Seattle, and few to do it. No one cares if a woman does it, as long as

she can. She put her face down close to Ryka’s. Do you believe me, Ryka?"

I want to, Ryka mumbled, raising her deep blue eyes to look at Edna for a moment. But —there is Papa.

We must respect your father’s beliefs, Edna said. Still, perhaps there is a way we can please you both. Let me think on it a bit. With a warm hug, Edna let her go and stood up. Now, you must go. It will be dark soon, and your parents will wonder where you are.

Ryka put on her winter coat and went out without further ado. Edna went to the window and watched her trudge off down the snowy street. There are great things waiting for me in Seattle, no doubt, she whispered to herself. Just you wait and see.

Edna said nothing on the subject over the next week. She hoped Ryka’s concentration on her studies would return to form, but it did not. Ryka continued to seem distracted at times, and finally Edna caught her doodling in her lesson book when she should have been practicing her cursive writing.

Ryka turned the page as Edna approached. Edna was not fooled, and reached down to gently pick up the lesson book. She turned the page back and looked at Ryka’s work—and her face twisted in surprise.

The page was full of drawings of wheels—locomotive wheels. They were drawn in various sizes. Some seemed to be flying through the air with the aid of small wings, some had vines wrapped around their spokes, yet others were set on tracks, but with no accompanying locomotive. Edna turned another page back, and found more of the same. The drawings were very good. She looked at Ryka with the faintest of smiles and handed the book back to her, then walked away.

During lunchtime Friday, Edna quietly took Ryka aside. See what you think, she said. The yardmaster owes me a favor. As the widow of a brakeman killed on the job, Edna was certain the railroad owed her all sorts of favors. I asked him if you might ride in a locomotive cab to the next station and back. I said you could not only learn the controls, but see them in action.

Ryka was intrigued. What did he say? she said tentatively, barely daring to breathe.

He said 'No, it is too dangerous in the cab’, imitating the yardmaster's gruff voice. 'The railroad does not want to be responsible for your safety.'"

Ryka deflated, her hope dashed as quickly as it had come.

Edna smiled reassuringly. But I had expected this, so I was prepared. I asked him if instead of you sneaking around the rail yard and maybe getting hurt, could you be escorted up into the cab of one of the locomotives while it sits in the yard with steam up, and could the engineer kindly show you the controls? He said this was a hard decision and he would think on it. Your father would have to approve, of course.

That would be harder still, Ryka thought.

What do you say? Edna said. Are you willing to talk to your father about this?

Ryka nodded. But only if you come with me. Edna smiled.

Edna had met Ryka’s parents before, at the annual open house prior to the start of the school year. She had immediately warmed to Ryka’s mother, but Lars was another matter. He was formal, and seemed distracted, interested only in that Ryka should be taught the traditional things a girl should learn. More did not claim his interest; he paced around the school room for most of the open house time.

Anna took Edna aside toward the end of the evening. I should explain something, she said quietly. Three years ago we lost our first child, Eric, to pneumonia. He was 15, soon to be a man. I was numb for a while, but then I turned to duty; I had a young girl to take care of. For Lars, it seemed he had only work and the empty space where his son should be. So much of his hope had been in Eric. The boy made all the hardships we went through in coming to America seem worthwhile. Lars expected Eric would be the one to make a name for the Sundstrom family in the New World, to grow and prosper in the American way, to become a leader, perhaps, of some great company—and one day, to take care of Lars and myself in our old age. After Eric was born, every hoist of a rail, every swing of a hammer, was for him—and the dream Lars was too old for, but that Eric could achieve.

Tears were glistening in Edna’s eyes as Anna continued. When Eric died, Lars was changed forever. He quit work and drank a lot. He seemed to have no direction, no interest in the future. He barely spoke to Ryka. She paused, voice choking. Fighting back a sob, she continued softly. When he quit drinking and went back to work, he told me he wanted me to have another child. I felt I was too old to be trying that in this hard life, but he insisted, so I gave in. I had a miscarriage. Then another. After that I said no more trying. So we were left with Ryka. He had barely spoken to her since Eric’s death, and I made sure she was not alone with him as much as I could. He was in such a state I wasn’t sure what he might do with a daughter that was a constant reminder of the son she was not. Anna paused, looking weary. And now you know. I will do my best to help with Ryka’s schoolwork. I will be happy to talk with you about her lessons. But do not expect Lars to have any interest, except to make sure Ryka is learning what is proper for girls.

Edna was moved by Anna’s story, but after the tragedy she had suffered with her husband, it didn’t surprise her. The rapidly- growing country that was America could be capricious to immigrant dreams. In a land where opportunity abounded, some families were struck by the lightning of good fortune, while others were crushed beneath the wheel of an indifferent juggernaut. But it did set her to worry about Ryka. Lars’ dream was a common one: his job was to get the family to America; it would be his son’s to make the family prosperous. And now that son was gone. Edna knew Lars had no vision for Ryka, other than for her to marry well.

These thoughts were on her mind as she walked down the street the next Monday night to the Sundstrom home, her confident stride masking her underlying nervousness. As she approached, she thought that to call it a home was a great generosity. In truth, it was a shack with pretensions, elevated in status only by the fact that it offered room for a family. Out farther west where the rails were still new, rail worker housing was still for single men only; thus rare was the rail worker who had a family, and rarer still one whose family was with him.

Edna knocked on the door and Anna opened it, smiling graciously and beckoning her in. Edna knew Anna would have genuine interest in Ryka’s schoolwork; Lars was the unknown. He

got up when Edna entered, but only nodded curtly and sat back down. Anna considered it a privilege to have a personal visit from Ryka’s teacher, and bade Edna take a chair as Ryka sat shyly in a corner.

Edna tried to maintain her best reassuring smile as she went through Ryka’s schoolwork. At last she came to the subject of her visit. It is clear, she said, that Ryka has a talent for art, as you can see by these drawings. She turned to the page with the locomotive wheels in Ryka’s study book, watching the two carefully. Anna was clearly amazed. Lars said nothing but his eyes took on a steely look and she saw the muscles in his jaw tighten. This shows real ability, she continued, and I thought that if—

So, Lars interrupted, glaring at her. This is what Ryka spends her time on in school? She draws locomotive wheels, and you praise her? You meddlesome creature! He rose from the table and began to pace the room. This is not vat a girl should be learning. I t’ink maybe Ryka should not be in school at all.

Please hear me out, Edna quickly interjected. I know Ryka has been down in the yards, where it is dangerous to be. But her interest is genuine. I thought that if she could get permission to see a locomotive cab up close, and see how the controls work, she would be satisfied and not go on her own. I have spoken to the yardmaster and he has promised to consider it. Your approval would probably be enough for him. Edna had spoken in a rush, desperate to get her message out, but still she felt as if she was talking to a brick wall. Lars turned his face to her and she knew she was right.

So this is what you really came for, he said, features a steely mask of anger. To show me how you are helping my daughter to be interested in such boyish things. This is not what I vant!

Anna broke in, struggling to remain calm. This is America, Lars. If you hoped for your son to have new paths to follow, why would you not want the same for your daughter?

Lars froze, breathing heavily. His head was down, but when he raised it Anna was chilled to the core, and would recall later she had never seen him look like that. My son, he murmured, then suddenly bolted across the room, nearly tore the front door off its hinges, and stalked out into the snowy darkness.

Frozen in shock, the women inside could hear him yelling into the black night.

Where is my son? he shouted. My son is dead! Where is my dream? It is dead. All has been taken from me in this accursed new world. I have nothing left. He sank to his knees, his face slowly falling into the snow. Nothing, he said to no one, his body shaking with sobs. I will be forgotten now.

Anna, shaken by the depth of his sorrow, started to go to him, but he suddenly rose and walked off. She could not find the courage to call to him, and turned back into the shack. I’m sorry your visit brought about such grief, she told Edna. I know you had good intentions. I think you had better go now; I vill talk to you soon about Ryka’s drawings.

Grim-faced, Edna nodded and hurriedly left.

Lars did not come home that night. Anna roamed the area near the tracks, looking for him and making discreet inquiries that turned up nothing. When she went out early the next morning and then returned home, she found him sitting at the table. He turned to look at her, a malevolent look still on his face. At Anna’s entrance, he got up and stretched out on the bed, his back to her. Thank God Ryka is away at a friend’s house, Anna thought. Her eyes moistened to see the man she had once loved in such a rage, but her patience was gone. She stood in the middle of the room. You shame your daughter, she said coldly.

The girl has too much spirit, Lars replied in a muffled voice. She needs to learn her proper place in the world.

And you would break her spirit, Anna shot back. Who knows what her place will be in this new world? It is for her to decide, not you. Turning into the kitchen, she retrieved a meat cleaver from a cutting board and strode over to the bed, grabbing Lars' shoulder hard enough to turn him to her. Now you listen, you stubborn Swede, she said, cleaver gripped firmly in her right hand. "Coming to America, I had a dream too. I dreamed that if we had a daughter she would find new things she could be here. Different things than the old country offered—like maid, caretaker, seamstress, or farmer’s wife. New things I could never do. And I have seen these things. If you are not excited about Ryka’s future

here, you remember I am. She raised her fist. Now I am telling you, listen good! If you ever lay a hand on Ryka again, you vill feel this blade at your neck. Her voice had risen almost to a shout. She started to turn away but stopped, looking at him coldly. From now on I sleep with one eye open." She walked away into the kitchen and tried to busy herself. Tears trickled down her cheeks. She knew their marriage had just ended. They would remain husband and wife, for how long she did not know, but in name only. The spirit of their union was dead.

Ryka was slow to get over the horrible scene she had witnessed at her teacher’s visit to her home. There would be no invitation to climb into a locomotive cab, moving or otherwise. There would be no relaxation of the rules forbidding her from the rail yard. There had been no expression of forgiveness from her father. She did her schoolwork listlessly, and not well. Edna tried to spend extra personal time with her, but found she could not reach the dark corner Ryka had retreated to. Even so, she sensed a hunger in Ryka, a flame as hot as that from a locomotive stack at full throttle.

i

By springtime, little had improved in the Sundstrom household. An uneasy truce was underlain with Lars’s continuing disappointment with his daughter, which he sometimes did little to hide. She was not his son, and that was all that mattered to him. Anna maintained a wary peace, but it was a daily struggle.

Ryka had been forbidden to go out after dark. She had kept her promise to stay away from the tracks. But with the improving weather, she could malinger on the way home from school. Sometimes this was near the massive Northern Pacific maintenance building. She had observed from a distance on her path home a hole in the wall she thought she could look through, unseen. It took her several trips past the spot—an opening hidden behind a stack of ties where two bricks were missing—before she dared try it.

Looking in one day, she was alive with curiosity as she watched the huge locomotives, mechanics swarming around them. She stopped a few more times as spring progressed and, as far as she

knew, was not observed from within. Whenever she heard footsteps approaching, she beat a hasty retreat to her accustomed path.

But one day, as she watched one of the mechanics working on a big 4-8-2, he paused, and as if sensing her presence, turned from his duties to look in her direction. To her dismay he began to come toward her. Ryka shrank back out of sight and walked quickly away. Daring a look behind her, she broke into a run when she saw he had come to the doorway and was staring at her.

After that, it took two weeks before she had the courage to stop again, during which she suffered her father’s suspicions about what she was doing with her extra time coming home.

i

Ryka’s last year of school was drawing to a close, and her opportunities to linger at the maintenance building were diminishing. She stopped one day, seeing the massive roundhouse doors open as she approached, inviting her return. Approaching tentatively and quietly to her hidden observation place, she peered in as her eyes adjusted to the light in the smoky interior. After a few minutes, she thought she spied the mechanic who had approached her the last time. He was polishing the great glass box around a locomotive’s headlight. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched, fearful that he would somehow detect her presence again. But after a few minutes he walked around to the other side of the 4-6-0 he was working on and out of her view.

She watched for a few more minutes then turned to go—and found the mechanic looking at her from five feet away. Surprisingly, he was a boy who appeared not much older than herself. There was an expression of merry amusement on his face. Ryka’s eyes went wide. She gasped and turned to run, stumbled over a railroad tie partially sunk in the ground, and fell flat on her back.

The boy stepped forward and reached out a hand as Ryka scrambled away from him. She was just getting her legs under her when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her up.

She twisted in his grip, frantic to escape, but he held her fast. Let me go! she cried,