From Runaway To Pregnant Bride. Tatiana March
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“Sorry is not good enough.” The woman lifted her nose in the air and addressed the conductor. “I demand that you remove this young man from the train. He is a menace to the female passengers.”
Not bothering to investigate the accusation, nor giving Annabel a chance to defend her actions, the conductor merely caught her by the scruff of her neck and shoved her along. “Let’s be off with you, then.”
Stiffening her legs, Annabel braced her boots against the floor to halt their progress. The conductor swore and jerked her up in the air. Annabel kicked with her feet and flailed with her fists, but the burly man dangled her at a distance and her blows failed to connect.
By now, the train had rolled to a stop. Behind them, passengers were crowding to the end of the car, waiting to alight. A man carrying a suitcase pushed past them and swung the door open. The conductor stepped forward and without ceremony flung Annabel down to the station platform.
She landed on all fours. The impact jarred her bones, nearly tearing her shoulders from their sockets. The skin on her palms scraped raw against the rough concrete surface. Gritting her teeth, blinking back tears, Annabel fought the pain. Only vaguely was she aware of the stream of passengers filing past her.
Behind her, the train doors slammed shut. Her knees and hands throbbed, but the shock of the impact was slowly fading away. Annabel lifted her head. At least her flat cap remained securely in place, protecting her disguise.
Carefully, she rolled over to a sitting position and inspected the abrasions on her palms. Through the holes in her ripped trousers, she could see her skinned knees. Around her, people bustled about, boots thudding, skirts swishing, voices calling out greetings.
As her senses sharpened, Annabel could feel the hot afternoon sun baking down on her, could smell the scents of smoke and steam from the train. Gradually it dawned on her that something was missing...the weight that should be dangling from her shoulder. Her haversack, with all her possessions! With her money!
Panic seized her, making her forget the aches and pains. Frantic, Annabel scrambled to her feet and rushed over to the train and climbed up the iron steps and jerked the door open. The burly conductor stood waiting inside. Annabel tried to dart past him, but he lifted one booted foot and placed it against her chest and pushed, sending her toppling back down to the platform.
“Didn’t I tell you to get off?” he roared.
Sprawled on her rump, ignoring another wave of throbbing from the hard slam against the concrete platform, Annabel gave him an imploring look. “My bag... I must have dropped it when you threw me out...please...it is all I have...”
The conductor’s angry scowl eased. “What kind of bag?”
“A canvas haversack. Brown. This big.” She spread her hands wide.
“I’ll look.” He turned on his polished boots and strode out of sight into the corridor. Annabel waited. It was only a few steps back to where he had grabbed her. He’d find her haversack...unless one of the alighting passengers had taken it!
Alarmed by the idea, Annabel surveyed the platform. The crowd had thinned. She could see three disreputable-looking men—probably pickpockets—loitering against the wall of the station building. A shoeshine boy sat on a wooden box, and a woman in a gray dress was tidying up a display of fruit laid out on a trestle table.
The conductor reappeared at the door. “There’s no bag.”
“Please. Look again. Maybe it fell when I tried to help the lady. Maybe it is inside the convenience.”
Once more, the door to the railroad car flung shut. Annabel waited, too petrified to move, too petrified to do anything but stare at the closed door, her mind frozen in denial. The engine blew its whistle. A plume of steam rose in the air. The iron wheels screeched, and the train jerked into motion.
Desperation jolted Annabel back into life. She jumped to her feet and rushed over to the edge of the platform. She tried to grip the handrail by the steps, but the train was accelerating too fast for her to attempt boarding.
“My bag! My bag! Help!” Shouting, she ran alongside the train as it pulled away, leaving the station behind. Something appeared in an open window. A bundle of brown canvas. Her bag! She could see a pair of big hands clutching it in the air, the brass buttons at the end of the conductor’s sleeves glinting in the sun.
Relief poured through Annabel. She halted at the edge of the platform and watched as the conductor tossed her haversack out of the window. The bag fell onto the tracks, but the shoulder strap became tangled in the iron wheels. With each revolution, the bag flung up into the air and smashed down to the rails again.
Aghast, Annabel stared as the sturdy fabric tore into shreds. Clothing spilled out onto the tracks. Her food parcel unraveled, sending a loaf of bread rolling along. And then there was a flash of gold as a coin spun out...and another...and another...
Behind her, Annabel could hear the clatter of running feet. A man hurried past her and jumped down to the tracks. A second man followed, and then a third. The three ruffians who had been loitering by the station wall!
Annabel held her breath, hope and fear fighting within her as she watched the men race along the tracks, jumping from sleeper to sleeper. When they reached the remains of her scattered belongings they halted and began dipping down, in a rootling motion that resembled chickens pecking at the ground.
“Thank you,” Annabel shouted and waved her arms.
One of the men straightened to look at her. “How many?”
“Nineteen!” she called back.
The men resumed their search and then conferred, counting the coins in their open palms. Satisfied, they glanced back at her once more and waved a casual farewell before cutting across the tracks and running off into the fields. Annabel watched them shrink in her sights and finally vanish between the farm buildings in the distance.
“You was a fool to tell them how many.”
“What?” Stifling a sob, Annabel whirled toward the voice.
It was the shoeshine boy. Around twelve, thin and pale, he had wispy brown hair and alert gray eyes. He lifted his arm and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. In his other hand he carried a wooden box filled with brushes and polishes.
“You was stupid to tell them how many. If you said seventeen, they might have left a couple of coins behind. Now they kept looking until they had them all.”
Annabel sniffled and gave a forlorn nod, unable to fault the logic.
“Where was you going?” the boy asked.
“The Arizona Territory.”
“Blimey. That’s a fair piece away.” Curious, he studied her. “You got any money left?”
“Three dollars and change. It’s all I have left. I bought a ticket to New York City. And I bought some food.” A sob broke free. “The rest of the money was in my bag.”
“It was a fool thing to carry the money in your bag.”
“The gold eagles were heavy. I feared my pocket would tear.”
“Ain’t you got a poke?”
“A poke?”
“Like this.” The boy swept a glance up and down the platform to check for privacy, then pulled out a leather tube hanging on a cord around his neck. Quickly, he dropped the leather tube back inside his faded shirt.
“I only had a purse,” Annabel said. “And I couldn’t take it because—”
The boy snorted. “You’ll not fool no one. You walk like a girl, and you were yelling like a girl, and your hair is about to tumble down from beneath your cap.” He gave her another assessing look. “How old are you anyway?”
“Eighteen.”
The boy