The Railroad War

by Jesse Taylor Croft

Genres: American Romance; Historical Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

Croft presents the second exciting book in this magnificent saga about the men and women who built America's railroad empire during the tumultuous Civil War years. "A superior historical adventure--and a thundering good read".--W.E.B. Griffin, author of The Brotherhood of War.

Release date: September 26, 2009

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 396

Sample

“I am trying to speak to you, Miss Miranda Kemble,” Ariel Kemble, eighteen, said to her sister, who was three years her junior. “I have spoken to you four times,
Miranda,” Ariel went on more insistently, “and you didn’t even look at me once, much less answer me.” Then with a louder voice:
“Miranda! Miranda!” But Miranda kept her face turned to the open window. Her gaze had been unwavering since the moment the
train had left New York City. Though Ariel was less cross with Miranda than exasperated, she feigned serious anger because
her sister’s attention was in fact important to her.


The sisters, together with their father, Pierce, and their uncle Ashbel were journeying on the Hudson line to Garrison’s Landing,
the hamlet that served as the station stop for West Point, which was across the river. The United States Military Academy
was located at West Point, and their brother, Lamar, was graduating this week from that illustrious institution. Ariel, Miranda,
and their father had traveled all the way from Georgia to participate in the ceremonies. Uncle Ashbel had joined them in New
York City.


The two men were seated just ahead of the girls. Unlike Ariel and Miranda, they were engaged in vigorous conversation. Pierce
Kemble was usually excited and voluble, his head nodding with energy and enthusiasm, his face flushed as he spoke. Ashbel
was atypically the listener.


Pierce’s excitement had much justification. He was more than $350,000 richer than he had been only a week before, although
much of that $350,000 was already spoken for since Pierce Kemble had incurred substantial long-term debts. Nevertheless, $350,000
was a vast sum, and it was his.


The train was only a few miles from Garrison’s Landing. Ariel needed to speak to Miranda soon if she were to get her business
over with before the excitement of their arrival. It was, however, a delicate situation.


“Miranda!” Ariel repeated, for what she was sure was the millionth time. Then she reached over and shook her sister’s shoulder.

After a long moment, Miranda, lazily turning her gaze from the window and the rugged, lovely landscape beyond it, fixed her
eyes on Ariel, who was in the aisle seat next to her. Ariel’s lips were pressed tight, her brow was rigid, and her eyelids
were lowered to a most ominous half-mast. Seeing this, Miranda let her own face brighten into her most radiant, most charming,
most winning smile.


“You were saying something, dear?” she said sweetly.

“I’ve been trying to say something to you for hours,” Ariel said. “And you have pretended not to hear me.”


“Oh, that can’t be true, Ariel. We’ve not been on the train for hours, and I’ve only been admiring the view for a short while.”

“Must you be so literal?” Ariel said, her exasperation growing. She hated when Miranda played the innocent. In Ariel’s opinion,
her sister was never, never innocent. For Miranda, tricks and mischief came more naturally than sleep, especially when Ariel was the target. Which was
the main reason why Ariel wanted to conclude her business with Miranda before they left the train. In the restricted setting
of a passenger car, Miranda was on her best behavior. Heaven only knew what deviltry she’d find to wallow in once the ferry
brought them to West Point, with its dozens of unattached young men for an audience.


“Isn’t the river beautiful?” Miranda was exclaiming, changing the conversation to her liking. As she spoke, she lifted her
hands high above her lap, where they had been resting, and opened her palms reverently to the scene outside the window. “The
hills, and cliffs, and bluffs… I’ve never seen anything so achingly lovely, have you, dearest?”


The train was passing through one of the most delightful scenes on the river. Just north of Peekskill, near Bear Mountain,
the river narrowed into a rocky gorge. Rough, bouldered hills strained against one another, then tumbled down sheer flanks
to the river edge.


“It’s so fierce looking out there,” Miranda continued, attempting, Ariel was convinced, to use the beauties of the landscape
to avoid hearing what her sister had to say. “And yet it all seems to be moving—almost to flow. And we seem to be standing
still.”


Ariel glanced sourly out of the open window. It was the noise and the jolting discomfort of the train and the grit and ashes
drifting inexorably in more than the scenery that excited her attention. And distaste. The train’s rattles, creaks, and metallic
cracks and bangs made the trip feel to Ariel more like a punishment than a purposeful and speedy progress toward a destination.
Even the breeze from outside was no pleasure to her. It destroyed her hair. And infinitely worse, it grimed her gorgeous new
clothes, which were a small portion of the glorious abundance of new things their father had during the past week bought for
them at the most fashionable clothing emporia of New York. Their luggage was all but overflowing with the newest New York
and Paris fashions.


Miranda, contrarily, indifferent to the dirt, adored the breeze; she reveled in the wind rushing against her face and through
her sherry-colored hair, lifting it, making it fly.


“If the train weren’t lurching and jostling,” Ariel grumbled, “and if it weren’t so filthy, and if I weren’t so uncomfortable
in it, I could perhaps look with pleasure at the countryside.” As she spoke, she dabbed with her handkerchief at the soot
on her face.


Miranda gave her a sharp stare, followed shortly by a darling smile. She didn’t like her sister to contradict her when she
was off on one of her imaginative flights, but since at the moment she was playing innocent, she decided she shouldn’t step
out of character.


And then the train plunged into a tunnel.

“Oh!” she yelped.

“It’s only a tunnel,” Ariel explained without either concern or patience.

A moment later they were out of it, and Miranda was smiling again. “You were saying?” she said, as if it were her sister and
not Miranda herself who was keeping Ariel from getting on with her urgent business.


“I want you to do something for me,” Ariel said, catching her sister’s eye. Miranda’s irises were a devious yet penetrating
green, with yellow catlike flecks.


“Just tell me what it is,” Miranda said guilelessly.

Ariel gave her a long look. “While we’re at the Academy,” she said finally, carefully, “I’d like it that…” She turned her
eyes away for a second. And then: “It’s about my engagement to Ben Edge.”


Ariel was scheduled to marry Ben Edge of Virginia early in September. He was a fine, and very wealthy, young man. It was a
good match, as Ariel well knew.


“Your engagement?” Miranda repeated, urging Ariel to continue, her mouth slipping into a somewhat less innocent smile. Miranda
could guess what was on her sister’s mind.


“That’s right,” Ariel said. She looked into Miranda’s eyes again. “I think it might be best if we… kept the knowledge of it
out of…”


“You don’t want the boys at West Point to know you are about to be married?” Miranda said.

“That’s right, Miranda,” Ariel sighed, relieved she didn’t have to actually say the words, for she was in fact a bit ashamed
of herself. She did love Ben Edge, but she was not going to deprive herself of a few pleasant days with other handsome young men.


“Oh, my,” Miranda said innocently, “I don’t know if I could do that!”

“Why not?” Ariel said in a rush.

“Well,” Miranda said, “what about Father and Uncle? And what about Lam?” Lam was their brother Lamar’s nickname.

“I’ve already talked to Father and Uncle Ashbel, and I can deal with Lamar.”

“You’ve already talked to Father? And he is going along with your”—she smiled sweetly—“lies?”

“Oh, come,” Ariel said. “It’s no lie. It’s simply a”—she searched for the word—“a little piece of ‘practical diplomacy,’ as
Daddy himself calls it.”


“That’s what he said when you told him?”

“That’s right.”

“Sounds like him,” Miranda said with a shake of her head.

“And then he said, ‘We aren’t lying when we don’t report the truth fully. We’re just being smart. Only a fool tells the whole
truth.’ “


“And what if Lam has already told all the other men at the Academy?”

“I told you that I would deal with Lam later. Now I’m dealing with you.”

“All right,” Miranda said with a quick, decisive nod.

“What do you mean, ‘All right’?” Ariel blurted. “Do you really mean yes, you’ll do it?” She was astonished that Miranda might
have been won over without a longer fight.


“Of course I’ll do it for you, darling. There’s no harm done in something like that”—she lifted her head and glanced sideways
at Ariel—“is there?” When she finished these words, Miranda leaned over and kissed her sister on the cheek.


“Thank you,” Ariel said, returning the kiss. “Thank you so much. That will be such a relief to me. I just want to make my stay at the Academy… uncomplicated.”


“I’m sure you do,” Miranda said. Then she laughed. “And what did Uncle Ashbel tell you when you told him what you wanted to
do?”


“Uncle Ashbel? Oh, you know him,” Ariel said, giggling nervously.

Uncle Ashbel could be counted on to have a witty, sophisticated opinion on every subject under the sun. Unlike most sons of
the South, he was a traveler. He’d journeyed everywhere, from Shanghai to Cape Town, from Patagonia to Vladivostok, and up
every river that the girls had ever heard of.


He was full of shocking and delicious tales about the nearly naked and very willing girls of the South Pacific and the equally
willing and even more naked girls of West Africa. He told them about the golden idols of Peru, the elegant and amusing thieves
in Morocco, the ruthless British opium traders in Hong Kong, and the jungle-shrouded pyramids in the Yucatan. The two nieces
only half believed his outlandish claims.


Their skepticism was in fact mostly justified, although there was more than a grain of truth in Ashbel’s tales. He was an
international trader who owned enough ships to make him quite wealthy and allow him to travel to exotic ports.


Besides, it wasn’t the truth of Uncle Ashbel’s stories that counted, it was his style.

Then Ashbel Kemble himself, craning over the seat back ahead of the girls, was facing Ariel and Miranda. “I heard my name
spoken in vain,” he said with a warm look. He liked his two nieces very much.


“We’d never speak your name in vain, Uncle,” Ariel said.


He laughed. “I suppose not,” he said. “At least not when I can hear you. You both want too much from me.”

“Uncle!” they both said as one.

“Well,” he said, “I did hear my name. What do you hungry tigresses want now?”

“Nothing at all, Uncle,” Ariel said.

Miranda, grinning, looked at him and then at Ariel. “She was just explaining to me,” Miranda said, “that she intends to put
her engagement out of sight during her time at West Point. And,” Miranda’s eyes flashed, “I am sort of curious to hear what
your reaction was to her plans.”


“Me?” he said, laughing. “What’s so fascinating about my opinions of a young lady’s deceptions?”

“Uncle, please,” Ariel said, her face flushing bright rose, “can we talk about something else?”

He looked at Miranda. “You know I can’t say no to a girl so lovely as you, especially when she is my niece.”

“Uncle Ashbel!” Ariel said, blushing even more. Then turning toward the aisle, she covered her face with her hands. “Please!
Don’t embarrass me any more!”


“Few things give me greater pleasure than embarrassing you, dear child,” he said. “Shame becomes you.”

Suddenly Miranda screamed—a long, wailing cry of pain and terror.

Ariel instantly jerked around to see what was the matter, for with her eyes covered, she hadn’t seen what had happened to
her sister.


Miranda cried out again, and her hands were brushing at her breast. It was smoking!

“Oh, my Lord!” Ariel said to herself with a heavy shudder. She was otherwise frozen with shock. Flames and smoke swelled out
of a patch of Miranda’s blouse. The patch was not large, covering only the space over her heart, but she was on fire nonetheless.


A plum-sized ember from the locomotive had been sucked through the open window onto Miranda’s breast. Miranda had by this
time managed to shake it off, and now the horrid-looking thing was still glowing on the floor of the train. As soon as Ariel
was able, she ground the flame under her shoe.


Miranda screamed again. “My blouse!” she cried. “My new blouse!” Now Ariel used her shawl to smother the place where the cinder
had landed. When she stopped and pulled back, Ashbel, with no thought of decency, ripped away the front of Miranda’s blouse.
Ariel hardly noticed that he was cursing like a sailor all the while. “Jesus Christ! Goddamn! Bastard railroads! Goddamned
pine burners!”


Pierce Kemble looked on, standing with a pained but helpless expression on his face. Ariel knew better than to count on her
father in a crisis.


The train conductor was by this time present in the aisle next to Ariel, and several of the passengers had joined him. A pair
of elderly woman who occupied the seat behind the girls were now bent over Miranda and Ariel in order to get the best possible
view. The conductor drew a gold watch from its pocket and worriedly flipped it open, as if he feared that the incident might
delay his schedule.


“Is she all right? Can I be of assistance?” he said.

“For God’s sake, just move back,” Ashbel shouted, “and give the girl room!” The conductor and the passengers obeyed, all except
the elderly women, who looked more eager to see the spectacle than the rest.


What they saw on the girl’s breast was a flame-blackened piece of undergarment framing a blistered and raw-looking coin of
flesh.


“Do something about those two women,” Ashbel said to Ariel in a commanding voice. Ariel did as she was told. She placed a
palm on each old lady’s shoulder and forcibly shoved them back into their seat. They started to protest, but Ashbel wouldn’t
let them finish. “Close your mouths, ladies, and keep quiet,” he shouted. “And don’t either of you make a move. The world
would be a better place minus you two.” And then to Miranda, much more softly, “How do you feel, darlin’?”


She groaned. “Dizzy,” she managed to say. “Hard to breathe. It’s ruined, isn’t it? The lace? The embroidery?” And then she
looked at Ariel, her eyes wide with apprehension. “And… Mother! she whispered hoarsely. “She will be at the hotel! She’ll kill me for ruining my new…”


“You’re right, I’m afraid,” Ashbel said. “You won’t be wearing that blouse again, darlin’, I’m sorry to say. But I don’t think
you should be concerned about your mother.” As he said that, he looked at Ariel. Her expression confirmed that he was right.
The girls’ mother wouldn’t be unhappy if all the new things Pierce Kemble had purchased for them had burned. The marriage
of Pierce Kemble and Fanny Kemble—now once again Fanny Shaw—had been dissolved ten years earlier in a famous and acrimonious
divorce. Time had not healed the bitterness.


Then Ashbel spoke to Ariel. “I don’t want this girl going into shock. Let’s make her more comfortable.” And stretching out
his hand, he began to unfasten the buttons of the high collar of her blouse. He also very gently plucked away the scorched
undergarment from around the burn.


“I don’t think that is proper,” Ariel said, putting her hand up to restrain him.

“You may have noticed, or you may not have,” he said, ignoring her hand, “but the girl is already showing a fair portion of
naked breast. Not that anyone would bother to notice the shame of it, not in the condition it’s in right now.”


“Oh!” Ariel cried, realizing he was right, for Miranda’s left breast was almost entirely exposed. Hastily Ariel draped her
shawl over it.


Miranda moaned deeply when she did it.

“Idiot!” Ashbel said. “She hurts! Don’t let anything touch that!” And he flung the shawl aside. Then he unfastened several more of the blouse buttons. “Can
you breathe better now, darlin’?” he said to her. “What about your waist? Is that too tight, too? Damn women’s clothes. I
don’t know who decided to bind up so ferociously a machine God wanted to make loose for dropping babies.”


“Uncle Ashbel!” Ariel protested, shocked.

“Yes, Uncle, I can breathe better,” Miranda was saying. “It hurts, though. Mightily.”

“Of course it does.” He gave a hard look at the charred and blackened flesh. “It’s ugly,” he said, “but maybe not as bad as
it looks.” Then he raised his head and looked around. “Where’s that damned conductor?” He turned to his brother. “Well, Pierce,
move. Quick. Go to the conductor and make him give you some cold, clean water. I’m going to clean her up.”


“Do you think you’d better?” Pierce Kemble said. It was his first contribution to the incident. “Don’t you think there will
be a qualified doctor at West Point? Shouldn’t she be greased or something?”


“You go do what I told you, Pierce, and we’ll argue later about further treatment.”

Pierce did as he was told. Soon he returned with a pitcher of water. While he was away, Ashbel tore Ariel’s shawl into strips,
and then he asked Ariel if she would wash the wound, which she did—gently, lovingly.


Even so, Miranda cried out a number of times. Ariel soothed her as best she could. While Ariel was cleansing the wound, Ashbel
offered Miranda some whiskey from his hip flask. She refused it.


When Ariel was done, she and her uncle both carefully inspected the result. “You’ll live,” he announced, “though you might
end up with some kind of a scar. But don’t worry, girl,” he smiled. “It’ll give you a story for your husband. In fact, if
I were you, I’d work up more than just one story about it.” His smile broadened, and he once more surveyed the burned spot.
Then with an amused roll of his eyes, he said, “You could have picked a lot worse place to have a scar.”


“Uncle!” Ariel admonished.

But Miranda, lowering her gaze, giggled a little. Then she raised her face and sought first her uncle’s and then her sister’s
eyes. After that she touched each of them lightly on the cheek. Without speaking, she reached across Ariel’s lap to where
her shawl was lying, and, arranging it carefully so it wouldn’t touch her wound, she drew it over her nakedness.


There was a bustling, noisy crush of people on the South Dock at West Point after the ferry from Garrison’s Landing arrived:
the train from New York had carried a large number of those who planned to attend tomorrow’s commencement. There were, additionally,
officers in blue and cadets in gray who had come down to the dock to greet families and guests, and a number of army enlisted
men who had been called in to act as porters.


Over the dock, festive pennants and streamers had been strung on lines connecting lamp poles, and on taller poles flew the
national ensign and the flag of the Academy. Off to one side, on shore, a small band played snappy tunes. Beyond the band,
on the wide graveled lot that flanked the dock, carriages and wagons waited to take the arriving guests and their baggage
up the hill to the Academy. To make everything perfect, there was a blue sky and warm sun.


The Kembles were among the last to alight from the ferry, in order not to cause Miranda any additional strain.

When the two girls appeared at the head of the gangway and started to cross, there were quick, concerned glances from those
passengers who had already reached the dock. And the glances were followed by whispered comments and explanations. No one
who’d been on the train, of course, was ignorant of the accident the young beauty from Georgia had suffered, but the West
Point officers and cadets on the dock needed to be informed. Then there came a shout from someone near the end of the gangway,
and a moment later the crowd parted so a way could be made for the stricken girl.


Though her chest still pained her, Miranda was not displeased with her sudden celebrity. In fact, she was delighted by it.

And so she lifted her head high, and with straight back, steady step, and resolute bearing moved through the crowd toward
the other end of the dock, where her brother Lam waited for her with two other cadets. She was followed by her sister, her
uncle, and her father, and she achieved the effect of a royal procession: she was a princess followed by attending lesser
nobility.


As she walked, various people on either side of her remarked on her courage, beauty, and grace under adversity, and she tried
to give to each of these kind and friendly souls an inclination of her head to acknowledge how grateful she was for their
attention. This slowed her progress toward her brother and the two cadets who were with him, one of whom, she had not failed
to note, was especially tall and good-looking.


And then, about halfway between the gangway and the landward end of the dock, her progress was brought to an abrupt halt.
A plump woman with a bright smile took Miranda momentarily by the hand and drew her to her ample bosom. “How brave you are,
you dear girl,” the woman said. “How perfectly lovely and adorable. I hope that I’ll get a chance to see you at the ball tonight.
I trust you won’t be completely indisposed.” She glanced behind her, and Miranda noticed a short and slightly less plump version
of the woman who held her hand. “Freddy,” the woman said, “wouldn’t you like the first dance with this bravest of girls?”


“I’d be most pleased,” the cadet said.

Miranda drew back, searching vainly for an excuse to pull herself away from this woman and her son. He had a face that would
sink ships, but she was too nice a girl to do anything so impolite as to let him know that.


A moment later, however, she was saved. “I’m sure she’d love a dance with Freddy,” said a loud male voice. “But I’m afraid
she’s already promised the first dance to me.” The man, Uncle Ashbel, of course, had moved up beside her. He then contrived
to slip her away from the grip of the woman. “Come on, my dear,” he continued. “We must bring you to the hotel. It’s a warm,
close day, and with your recent wound, you might feel suddenly faint.” He looked meaningfully at the plump lady, all the while
dragging Miranda toward her brother.


“I hate to disturb your moment of glory, precious, but we really should move on,” he said softly but imperatively, once they
were out of earshot of the lady and her son.


“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she dissembled with high, arched brows. “I’m sure I wasn’t…”

“It’s a great pleasure to be noticed,” he interrupted. “But life is short.” Then he pulled her to a swifter pace. “You’d like
to be all day promenading down the dock, but I have better things to do. And so, I hope, will you.”


Momentarily serious, she said, “Well, thank you anyhow, Uncle dear, for saving me from the woman back there—and her son.”
After the word “son,” she made a grunting sound deep in her throat.


Ashbel laughed, and then Lam rushed up to them, trailed by his two cadet friends.

“Miranda! Uncle Ash! Ariel! Father!” Lam was shouting joyfully and expansively. In one smooth and dramatic movement, he pumped
Ashbe’s hand and kissed Miranda many times on the cheek, for Ashbel had managed to hurriedly warn him about embracing her.
Then he kissed and embraced Ariel and flung his arms around his father. All the while a stream of greetings issued from his
lips.


Her brother was an excitable young man, but Miranda had never seen him so ecstatic. Still, she could understand his excitement.
He was nearly at the moment of his greatest glory: he was about to become a second lieutenant.


Uncle Ashbel, meanwhile, was busy introducing himself to the two other cadets, who had held themselves apart from the family
ceremonies.


“Oh, my!” Lam laughed. “I’m completely forgetting my duties as host. These are my roommates and friends. I should be making
proper introductions.”


In a flash Lam was standing next to the shorter of the two cadets. The boy was eight or nine inches taller than Miranda, who
was then a shade over five feet. He was a fleshy young man, though not unattractively overweight. His fleshiness was boyish,
leftover baby fat, and indeed, Miranda realized, he was still smooth faced. There wasn’t yet the shadow of a beard on him,
but he had a great curly nimbus of dark hair on his head, which gave the boy considerable presence, even if it did not change
the fact that he was scarcely older than Miranda herself. “This young officer and gentleman…” Lam said, his hand resting on
the boy’s curls. Then he laughed, “Correction: future officer, but as a gentleman, hopeless.”


The other young man threw a playful punch which grazed Lam’s arm.

“Anyhow,” Lam continued, dancing away, “this young man is a fellow Georgian from Atlanta, and his name is Noah Ballard. He’s
from the railroad Ballards.” The older men bowed and the girls curtsied and spoke the proper introductory phrases. Then the
men glanced knowingly at one another. They both knew of Noah’s father, John Ballard, the president of the Atlanta and Western
Railroad.


Miranda glanced at her father. His mind was working hard, she could see. And she could see what he was thinking: The boy’s
from Georgia. His name is Ballard. He’s from a good family, and he has a future.


The boy, she saw when she returned her attention to him, did not seem as young looking as she had at first imagined. He had
a steady, penetrating expression which was becomingly military, she thought.


Then Lam moved to the other cadet, the tall, especially good-looking one, whom Miranda had noticed earlier. “This other…”
Lam paused significantly, after which he cleared his throat as conspicuously as he could manage. Finally, he allowed, in a
stagy whisper, “…man.” More laughter, more punches. “No,” he went on, “I’m being much too generous. This beast has a name.
It was called Sam Houston Hawken by the poor wanderer who found this thing as a young child, living with a pack of coyotes on
the wild Texas plains.”


More bows, curtsies, and nice phrases followed.

His hair is long and shaggy; he does look a little wild, Miranda thought to herself as she made her curtsy. I like that.

“Lam is actually right about one thing,” Hawken said after the preliminaries were complete, “I’m truly from Texas.”

“A Texan, imagine,” Ariel said, as though Texas were as exotic as Kashmir.

“As your name demonstrates,” Ashbel said.

“Yes, it does,” the young Texan said with a shy smile. “

I sense a tale in that,” Ashbel said.

Hawken kept smiling modestly without replying. For an instant his eye caught Miranda’s, and the smile grew wider.

“And you, you little enchantress,” Lam said, approaching Miranda. “You’ve had a misfortune. You must tell me all about it.”


“Well I…” she said.

But her father interrupted. “You’ll hear all about it, I’m sure, soon enough. But first we have luggage.” He pointed to a
pile of baggage that had been deposited on the dock. “That,” he announced, “is what two young ladies require in order to survive
for five days in the wilds of the Hudson Valley. What I myself