The Virtuous Woman (8 page)

“Take us to the railroad station, driver,” he instructed weakly.

“You better get some stitches in that eyebrow first,” Ruby said to him. “Driver, take us to the nearest hospital instead.”

Key did not respond. It was all he could do to keep himself from crying out as the taxi bounced over the ruts of the vacant lot. As he felt the ride get smoother and the tires begin to hum
on pavement, he felt himself losing consciousness. It felt good to slip into the warm blackness and leave the pain behind.

****

“Well, you don’t have any broken ribs, but they’re pretty well bruised.”

Francis tried to take a deep breath and grimaced. “They feel broken, Doctor.”

“They’re going to hurt for a long time. The bandages will help, but every time you breathe, they’re going to give you some pain. My advice is to go to bed and stay there for a couple of weeks.”

“What about those stitches?” Ruby asked. She had been allowed to stay in the examining room, where she had watched the proceedings. The young doctor on duty seemed rather inexperienced. Thread dangled from the messy stitches in Key’s eyebrow and were covered by a goopy orange medication.

“They can come out in five or six days.”

“Thanks a lot, Doc. How much do I owe you?”

“Pay at the desk as you go out.”

Key carefully eased himself down off the table and caught himself as his feet hit the floor and jarred him.

“You’re not gonna get far like that,” Ruby said.

“Let’s go to the station.”

“You’ll pass out.”

“Well, put me in a wheelbarrow and drag me. We’ve got to get on that train. There’s nowhere else we can go.”

Ruby called a cab and got Francis into it, along with the luggage, and when they reached the train station, she got him inside and seated on a bench in the waiting area.

“What do we do now?” she said.

Key pulled out his billfold and handed her some cash. “Go buy two tickets to New York City. Get one sleeping compartment and one day coach. This ought to cover it.”

Ruby looked at the money. “I might run off with this.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” he said.

Ruby stared down at the man and shook her head. “You are a piece of work, Francis Key. Okay, I’ll get the tickets.”

****

Ruby looked at the door the porter had opened, then stepped inside. “Hey, this is classy,” she said.

“I’ll get your bags, miss, and put ’em right in here.”

“Keep mine in here if you will,” Key whispered to Ruby.

“Where are you goin’?”

“Day coach, two cars down.”

Ruby stared at him and nodded.

Key’s face was pale, and he was perspiring. “You keep the billfold. The porter here will show you to the dining car.” He shuffled painfully away.

“That ain’t your husband, miss?” the porter asked. “He don’t look too good.”

“He had an accident. And no, he’s not my husband.”

“He looks mighty poorly. Anyway, if you’d like something to eat, let me know. The dining car is the one up ahead.”

“All right.” Ruby stepped back and shut the door and then explored the tiny sleeping compartment, the first one she had ever seen. She had only ridden in day coaches when traveling with the Royal Shows. When she discovered the sink, she cried with delight and immediately stripped off her biker’s outfit and took a sponge bath. After drying off, she opened one of her bags and put on one of her two dresses.

Leaving the compartment, she went directly to the dining car, carrying Francis’s money in a small purse.

A white-coated server met her. “You’ll be dining alone, miss?”

“Yeah.”

“Here’s a nice seat right here by the window. Can’t see much right now, but when we pass through a town you can see the lights.”

Ruby sat down nervously, and the waiter put a menu before her.

“Can I bring you something to drink while you’re waiting?”

“Maybe some coffee, please.”

“Yes, miss.”

Ruby studied the menu and was amazed at the variety. She ordered lobster, which she had never had before, and when it was placed on the table, her eyes opened wide. “How do you get at this thing?”

The server’s white teeth flashed in sharp contrast to his shiny black face. “You use this nutcracker, miss, to crack the claws. Then you pull the meat out. You dip it in this melted butter here.”

Ruby found the lobster delicious and unlike anything she had ever eaten before. She ordered fresh strawberries and cream for dessert and had another cup of coffee. She sat there feeling full, and as the train sped through the night, she leaned her head back against the seat and thought about Francis Key. He had appeared from nowhere, and she had thought at first that he was a con artist. Some suspicion still lurked in her mind, but at least he had gotten her away from Hack Keller. She had planned to leave him soon anyway, for he was abusive and not a man any woman would stay with for long. He had been virile and tough enough to attract her attention, but now she felt almost dirty as she thought of the time she had spent with him.

She smoked a cigarette, then ground it out and got to her feet. The waiter was there immediately, and she said, “How do I pay for this?”

“You can pay me if you’d like, miss.”

Pulling out the roll of folded bills, she paid the tab and added a little extra for a tip. “It was real good,” she said.

“Thank you, miss. We have a good breakfast too. Anything you like.”

Ruby left and went back to her compartment and sat down. Wondering where she was supposed to sleep, she tried to figure out how the berth worked. By experimentation, she discovered there was an upper berth that could be pulled down.

A knock on the door startled her and she jumped up to open it.

“May I make up your bed, miss?” the porter asked.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

She stood back while the porter expertly made the seat into a lower berth and then said, “Good night, miss. I hope you sleep well.”

“Thanks.”

When the door closed, Ruby ran her hand across the clean white sheet. It smelled so fresh, and the pillow was fluffy and inviting. She started to undress but quickly changed her mind and left the compartment. She passed through one coach and entered the next, which was a day coach. She spotted Francis at once in the half-f car. He was halfway down, leaning his head against the window, holding his side. She moved down the aisle and stood over him. He was breathing in short breaths, and perspiration wet his shirt. “Francis,” she said, “are you all right?”

He opened his eyes and whispered yes.

“You don’t look all right. Those ribs are giving you a hard time.”

“I’ll be all right,” Key managed to grunt.

“This is silly. There are two beds in that compartment. Come on, you might as well use one of them.”

“Maybe I’d better not.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Ruby said impatiently. “You’re gonna pass out here. Come on, and don’t argue.”

She stepped back, and Key got to his feet painfully. He could not straighten up fully and moved like an arthritic old man as he made his way down to the sleeping compartment. Ruby followed him down the corridor, and when they reached the door, she opened it for him.

“I’ve discovered that there’s another bed up here,” she told him. She swung the upper berth down, which already had sheets and a pillow and a blanket.

“Okay, get your clothes off and get in that bottom bunk.”

Key was too woozy with pain medication to argue. He pulled off his coat, which was damp with sweat, and started unbuttoning his shirt. He looked at her and said, “That’s good.”

“No it’s not. You’ll be miserable. Go ahead and take your shoes and pants off.”

He sat down on the bunk and she removed his shoes. “That’s enough,” he managed to say as he carefully lay down on the sheet and finally relaxed. “That feels good,” he whispered. He felt her pull the blanket up over him, and he was out.

Ruby straightened up and looked down at the unconscious man.
That really is rich,
she thought with a smile.
Most guys are tryin’ to get me into bed, and here I’m puttin’ one into bed.
She undressed quickly and put on a white cotton gown, then climbed up into the bunk. She pulled the sheet and blanket up over her and lay still, listening to the
clickety-clack
of the wheels until she fell into a deep sleep.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Don’t You Like Women?”

Ruby sat across the table in the dining car, sipping coffee out of a fine china cup. They were nearing the end of their long trip across country, and Francis was feeling better. During the early part of the trip he had mostly slept, only staying awake long enough for Ruby to give him his pain pills, help him to the bathroom, or give him a little food.

“You’re lookin’ better. You got some color.” Ruby tipped her cigarette ashes into an ashtray, then settled back to study his face. He was finishing his meal, which was primarily vegetables. He had only nibbled at the glazed chicken but seemed to relish the asparagus. “You eat like a rabbit,” she said.

He managed a smile. “I guess I do. The food’s good, isn’t it?”

“Best I’ve ever had. You ever traveled on one of these things before?”

“Once or twice.”

The two sat there quietly and ate their dessert, Key taking small bites of his lemon meringue pie. He moved carefully when he reached for his water but did not show the agonizing discomfort he had experienced at first.

“Tell me more about these Winslows,” Ruby demanded. “I still think this is the nuttiest thing I ever heard of.”

“Strange things happen all the time,” he said. “You’d be surprised at how many babies get stolen. Just disappear.”

“Who takes them?”

“People who can’t have babies and want them, nuts,
psychos. I once worked on a case where I tried to help a young couple who’d had their first child taken. The baby was only two months old and someone just picked her up out of her buggy in the general store. When the woman turned around, she was gone.” The memory seemed to trouble Francis, and he shook his head. “That mother was in pretty bad shape.”

“You never found the baby?”

“Never did. Nothing to go on. Just like she disappeared off the face of the earth.”

Ruby sobered at the thought and quietly listened to the now-familiar rhythm of the train wheels. It was late now, and most of the passengers had already eaten. Only an older couple down the way and a young woman with a baby occupied the car. “What about these Winslows?” she asked again.

“All I know is that Phil Winslow is a professional painter—an artist. He grew up on a ranch out west, left and went to Europe to study, then came back and had a hard time making a living in New York. But now he’s famous. You can see his pictures in museums.”

“How much do painters make?”

Key grinned. “More than I do. Some of them don’t make anything. Others, like Mr. Winslow, get hundreds or more for every picture.”

Ruby thought about this for a while. “You say he’s got three kids?”

“Yes—they’re grown now. All in their early twenties. One of them is married and has three children.”

“Won’t they be happy to see little Grace,” she said sarcastically.

Key lifted his eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, I’m one of the family now. When Popsy kicks the bucket, I’ll get a fourth of all of it.”

Key shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“They won’t be happy to find out they have another sibling.
I can guarantee you that.” Ruby puffed on her cigarette. “You know anything about my brothers and sisters?”

“Only that there are two brothers and one sister.”

“So what are you going to do?” she said. “Just deliver me like a sack of groceries?”

He grinned. “Just about. That’s all I’m hired to do.”

Ruby studied him. She had been curious about Francis from the moment she had first seen him, and now their time together on the trip had heightened her curiosity. At first he had been so helpless from his injuries that she had felt the faint stirring of a maternal instinct. But now that he was feeling better, she kept expecting him to attempt some intimacy. Each night she stepped outside the compartment while he got undressed and into bed, and when she came in, he rolled over and faced the wall while she changed into her nightgown. His good manners had become a challenge to her, for she had never known a man who did not eventually try to take advantage of her. Now she considered the pale face of Francis Key and could not fathom him.

“You’re not a detective anymore? Is that right?”

“Just when I have to be.”

“What does that mean?”

“That means I want to be a writer. It takes all of my energy. I write until I’m broke, and then I go back to work to make some money so I can write again.”

“What kind of books do you want to write?”

“I’ve been working on a novel for some time now.”

“What kind of novel—a love story?”

“Most novels are love stories, but there’s more to my story than that.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I can’t do that,” he said quickly. When he saw her resentment, he added, “I’ve got a theory that you shouldn’t tell people what you’re writing. If you tell it, you wear it out and then it can’t come out when you’re trying to get it on paper. I’ll talk about anything else, though.”

“Do you expect to be rich someday?”

“I doubt it. Most writers aren’t.”

“Why are you doing it, then?” A puzzling expression crossed his face as he seemed to struggle with the answer. This surprised her, for he was usually an easy man to read.

“I guess it’s just something I think I should do.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not tellin’ me the truth.”

Key smiled. “That’s right. I’m not.”

“Why would you lie about a thing like a book?”

“It sounds silly when I say it. Or it would to you, I think.”

“Try me,” Ruby said, puffing on her cigarette and leaning back.

“Well, I hate to sound like a preacher, and I’m not. But God’s been good to me and I’d like to write a novel to show how God works great things in people’s lives.”