Mercedes Lackey - The Fire Rose

She both dreaded the moment for the journey to end and longed for it. As the miles and the hours crept by and her fellow-passengers in their turn dozed off, she stared at her own reflection in the window, seeing only two dark holes for eyes in a ghostlike face which, because of her black clothing, seemed to hang suspended in the air, bodiless.

I am a spirit, wandering, without a home, and I shall wander bodiless forever... I shall become a ghost in Jason Cameron's manor, long before I am truly dead.

What would Jason Cameron really be like? What could she expect as his employee? The comfortable and stimulating experience his letter promised? Or something out of a Bronte novel: poverty of spirit, repression and despair?

Would she find herself bundled up into a tiny attic room, waiting like a drudge on a pair of monstrous, spoiled children? Would the promised wage remain only promises, so that she remained trapped here, where she knew no one and had no way to escape, a virtual slave? Would she find herself confined to the grounds of the house unless she was escorting the children on some outing?

Or would Jason Cameron keep his word? Of late, her experiences had not done much to convince her of anything but the perfidy of her fellow man.

She stared at her reflection, and asked it a silent question. Why had she agreed to this?

Her reflection stared back in equal silence, for it had no answer for her.

A squeal of brakes broke into her melancholy thoughts. The train was slowing down, but why?

It had slowed before, of course, to pass around curves and over bridges. It had even stopped on sidings to let other trains pass, going the opposite direction.

But she hadn't felt the slight change in direction that meant a siding, and if there had been a curve ahead, she surely should have felt it by now. Yet the train was still slowing, and there were no lights beside the track, no buildings, nor any sign of habitation, as there would be if they had reached San Francisco.

The train came to a complete stop. In the strange silence, the engine panted, and some canine creature howled in the far distance. A wolf? Or only a farm-dog? She sat up and peered out of the window on her side of the train, and still saw nothing. Where were they and why had they stopped?

Perhaps there is a blockage on the track? That would certainly be tiresome, adding more hours to the journey while they waited for the track to be cleared, even forcing them to get off and walk around it while their baggage was brought to a second train. During the course of the journey this had happened twice, both times in the mountains when land-slips had sent mud and gravel cascading down on the track. Those accidents had each added days to her trip, for it was no easy thing to get word ahead about the blockage and the need for a second train.

When she saw the conductor entering the car, she was sure he was going to tell them all that this was the case. But he did not disturb any of her drowsy fellow-passengers with a general announcement. He came straight to her, as she watched him in surprise.

"This is a special stop for you, Miss Rosalind," he said, when he saw that she was awake and aware of him. "We've already taken your trunk and bag off, if you'll just gather up your valise, we'll have you on your way in no time."

"On my way?" she asked, dazedly, as he picked up her valise from the seat beside her and offered her his hand to rise.

"Of course," he replied, as if this was a matter-of-fact occurrence to him. "Didn't Mr. Cameron tell you he was sending people to meet you at the Pacifica switch?"

"I-I believe so," she said, as he guided her to the end of the car and the stairs there. There's no station here-who is Jason Cameron that he can have trains stopped in the middle of nowhere to let off a single person?

The conductor handed her down as she gathered her skirts up in one hand for the jump to the ground. It was then that she saw what awaited her on the rails beyond a switch that joined a spur-line to the main track.

Lights cut through the darkness, from lanterns suspended on the rear of the vehicle ahead and from the headlights of both engines. The air was cold and damp, and she shivered as it penetrated her clothing. Overhead, the stars were not as huge and bright as they had seemed in the desert and on the open plains, but they were much more impressive than any stars seen from a city street. There were not many sounds besides the panting of the engines; a night-bird or two, some frogs or insects. Two men with lanterns and a hand-cart approached her from the odd vehicle on the tracks of the spur, and the wheels of the cart grated in the gravel of the right-of-way. Men from the baggage car met them, carrying her trunk and carpetbag. One of the two new men removed his soft cap deferentially and approached her.

"Are you Miss Rosalind Hawkins?" he asked.

"Yes, I am," she said, faintly, with one hand at her throat.

He looked relieved. "Good. Mister Cameron sent us to meet you, ma'am. We'll be taking you right to his door, practically." In the light from the carriage windows above her, and the lantern in his hand, the man smiled reassuringly. "Won't be long now, and you'll be all settled in."

He put his cap back on and offered her his arm. The other man loaded up his cart with all of her baggage, including the valise the conductor handed to him, and headed back to the odd vehicle without uttering a single word. Rose looked doubtfully at the conductor, who nodded and smiled, and made little shooing motions with his hands.

So she took the stranger's arm, and she was glad to have it. The railroad right-of-way was rough and uneven, and she couldn't see where she was putting her feet in the darkness. The conductor mounted back up to the platform of the carriage and signaled to the engineer with a lantern as soon as Rose and her escort were out of the way. Down at the end of the train, another lantern waved in the same signal from the caboose.

The engine, which had been "panting" slowly up at the head of the train chuffed out a great puff of steam as if sighing with impatience, and resumed its interrupted journey. The wheels rotated slowly, with a metallic screech, as the locomotive strained against the dead weight of the train, got it in motion, and gradually picked up speed. By the time Rose and her escort reached the spur, the red lantern on the back of the caboose was receding into the black distance, disappearing like a fading, falling star.

The vehicle they approached was like nothing Rose had ever seen before. A combination of two pieces, an engine and a passenger car, it was smaller than the locomotives that had brought her here, but quite large enough to be impressive. She could not see past the windows of the passenger section with their lowered, red shades trimmed in heavy gold fringe, and it was too dark to see the exterior of the car clearly, but the carved molding, glinting softly with a hint of gilding, implied luxury and opulence.

"This is Mister Cameron's private vehicle," the man said proudly, patting the side of the carriage with his free hand. "We use her to get in and out of Frisco. Useta be, when he had to travel down to Los Angeles, we'd hook the car in with the regular train. I reckon you'll be comfortable enough in her, ma'am." He handed her up into the carriage, doffed his cap again to her. "Mister Cameron says, make free of what you find."

"How long will it take us to reach-where we're going?" she asked, feeling anxious, as he started towards the cab of the engine.

"Well, we'll be a-goin' fairly slow, ma'am, so maybe a couple of hours," he replied, over his shoulder. "This spur's a twisty piece, and we wouldn't want to take any chances. You ought to go inside and make yourself to home."

Since he was reaching for the handhold to haul himself up into the cabin of the engine, she decided she probably ought to take his advice.