Page 14 of My Darling Clementine

He got no further. Kizzy raised her hand, palm out. “I’m not lonely, and do not wish company. Leave me alone.”

This man sneered, eyes turning mean, and sat down anyway. “Don’t be that way, honey,” he drawled.

Kizzy jumped up, grabbed her suitcase and bag, and headed back through the railroad cars toward the dining room. She didn’t look over her shoulder, but heard someone following her, and sped up.

Several times, her suitcase banged against the corridor along the private rooms, struggling against the rhythm of the rails and the erratic beating of her heart. Her steps quickened as she pulled on the door to the dining car, hearing a private compartment open behind her.

Darting through, she slammed it shut and hurried to an open table in the back. She watched the door. It started to slide open, then shut again with a bang and didn’t open again. After several long moments, she relaxed.

“The dining room closed at ten, Miss,” said the same man who served her earlier. “The cook’s off duty and cleaning the kitchen.”

“Oh,” she said, looking around at the cleared tables, the few diners almost finished with their meals. “Can I have a glass of milk, maybe?” She wouldn’t admit she didn’t want to go back to sitting alone among the men. “I was hoping for a snack to help me sleep.”

The waiter looked her over with an appreciative eye, then winked. “I shouldn’t do it… but a glass of milk and slice of pie, coming right up.” He left for the kitchen as the door to the private car opened.

Kizzy’s eyes darted up, expecting to see the man with the mean eyes. Instead, she saw the businessman who opened the door for her earlier, then followed her until turning into his private room. Deep-set light brown eyes met hers across the dining car, as if looking for her. A flicker of interest rose between them, which Kizzy shut down immediately, hooding her eyes and shifting her gaze, confused and wary.

He strolled through the dining car, stopping to speak to one man sitting alone. He looked her way and nodded toward Kizzy.

She froze, racking her brain for what to do. Her heartbeat raced, watching the businessman continue up the aisle toward her, closer and closer. He reached out… for the door right behind her she hadn’t noticed, slid it open, and without another glance her way stepped through, letting it slide shut.

Kizzy turned to look after him, seeing the words Saloon Car printed on the heavy pane of glass. She took a deep breath of relief, surprised by a shadow of disappointment.

What in the world? She liked women. She’d always liked women, that’s what got her into trouble the first time, and the last. To feel even a slight attraction to a man, Kizzy must be exhausted.

The rest of the diners finished their meals, and when the man he’d spoken to rose and followed the businessman into the saloon car, she was the only one left, eating a generous slice of peach pie, lingering over the milk. She wouldn’t go back to sitting alone among single men, but she couldn’t go into the saloon car. Could she? She would never have entered the Rocheport Hotel and Bar before needing a place to sleep last night.

Just as she was considering the idea, Fred Shultz strolled through the closed dining car. Seeing her, he slowed down, giving her a quizzical look.

“What’re you doing in here, Miss Walker?” He looked from her to the Saloon and back again.

An idea occurred to her. “Would Mrs. Shultz like some company while you’re,” Kizzy looked at the door, “busy?”

“She might at that,” he agreed. He smiled and showed her to their car, where small family groups lay scattered among the open benches.

Kizzy grabbed her bag and followed, correct in assuming their presence would end the unwanted attention from the bachelors.

After explaining the situation, Ethel nodded in sympathy. “Men are like that, dearie. And believe you me, they’re not all bachelors, no matter what they tell you. They don’t know respectable from otherwise. To their minds, a pretty young woman like you, traveling without a chaperone, is fair game.” She smiled. “Stay in here near us to be safe.”

Kizzy hadn’t taken that into consideration. Being a woman alone among men might not have been the smartest idea, but that’s what she was. So how was she going to deal with it?

Fred left them to return to the saloon car. “Got a hot table waitin’,” he explained before shambling off.

“Card game,” interpreted Ethel. “He loves his poker.”

They spent an hour swapping recipes, then Kizzy made herself a little nest on the bench across the aisle from Mrs. Shultz. Not wanting to look like a child but in need of comfort, she left Dollie in her suitcase, but clutched the whole thing to her chest. Pillowing her head as best she could, she curled up on the bare wood to while away the hours of darkness.

As the train rocked on its trestles, and she tried to figure out what to do, the wheels raced down the tracks repeating an endless refrain. On your own. On your own. On your own.

Restless, unable to focus her thoughts, she tossed and turned on the hard bench until just before dawn, when she drifted off for a bit. Her eyes sprang open, and she sat straight up when a hand touched her ankle. Ethel Shultz was looking at her while fastening a day bonnet on her head.

“The mister and me are going to breakfast, dearie. Would you like to come along?”

She shook her head no. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” she said with a yawn, lying back down on the bench. “I’ll see you when you get back.” She waved the pleasant couple off.

As soon as they were gone, she opened her suitcase, rummaging through the items she’d gathered. Among the clothing she located a pair of stockings. Tucked in one were the twenty-six dollar bills she’d saved up, and deep in the other lay her piggy bank, heavy with coins, which she’d have to break open as soon as possible. She had no idea how much money it held. She’d been feeding coins to the clay piggy as long as she could remember. Maybe another twenty, or even thirty dollars, she figured. That gave her at least a hundred and seventy-five dollars not counting Mama’s money.

She went through her suitcase with care, finding her mother had tucked in a neat stack of menstrual rags, a pair of warm slippers, a packet of recipe cards in both her mother’s and grandmother’s handwriting, a jar of rhubarb and strawberry preserves Kizzy helped put up last spring, ribbons and combs for her long hair, an extra sunbonnet, and the bible she’d taken to every church service since she turned twelve.