The Railwalkers

Chapter 1-3

Violet opened her mouth to say more, but Charlie hurried away before she could. Mrs. Donovan turned a concerned eye to her. “Is everything all right, Violet?” she asked.

But Violet ignored her mother’s question. “Why can’t Charlie eat with us? What’s wrong about that?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’? She eats with us at Christmas and sometimes Sundays—”

“But why not every day?”

“Violet.”

“She lives here, don’t she? She’s part of our family, ain’t she?”

“That’s enough now.” Mrs. Donovan was starting to get angry. “I don’t know what brought this on, but I’ll hear no more about it.”

“Mama, I love Charlie. Don’t you?”

“Of course I do. She’s good help, and she’s always made you happy, sugar. But listen to me. Not everybody in this life is worth the same.”

Violet felt her heart plummet. “How-how can you say that, Mama?”

“It ain’t a bad thing,” Mrs. Donovan defended. “It’s like…it’s like you and Maple, honey. You love Maple, right? She loves you? That’s all well and good, but you wouldn’t want Maple to eat at the table with us, would you? Because there’s a difference there.”

“Charlie ain’t a horse!”

“You keep your voice down when talking to me, girl! Now you have been gettin’ on my last nerve lately, and I won’t tolerate much more of it.” Frustrated and angry, Violet stood up and threw her napkin down to the table. “You sit your hind end right back in that chair, or God help me I’ll make it so sore you won’t sit for a week! You ain’t too old for that!”

Violet ignored her. She stomped away, throwing open the front door and slamming it shut. Mrs. Donovan came running after her, but Violet picked up the pace. Racing out into the town, she didn’t have to look back to know that her mother had stopped at the front porch. Once she was far enough away, Violet slowed to a halt and leaned up against the side of a building to catch her breath. It was dark now, with only the stars and the lit windows around her to provide light. Taking in her surroundings, she found herself past the saloon and closer to the churchyard. Immediately, she spotted the Humphrey household. There was a light on inside, so Violet approached.

After straightening out her dress, she knocked. There was the sound of rustling inside before it opened. Mrs. Humphrey blinked in surprise. She was a frail woman, whose thin hair was constantly pinned up behind her head. “Violet?”

“Hello, Mrs. Humphrey,” she said. “I came by to check on Mary. I hope I’m not interrupting supper.”

Mrs. Humphrey’s face drooped. A sudden sadness struck her eyes, and Violet worried that she’d said something wrong. Mrs. Humphrey spoke again. “Mary…Mary isn’t well, Violet. Perhaps you can come another time?”

Violet inched closer. “I can’t see her? Not at all?”

Mrs. Humphrey paused with indecision. Finally, she nodded and stepped away. Violet noticed that a place had been set for Mary at the dinner table, but Mary wasn’t there. Now even more worried, Violet went to Mary’s door and gently knocked. “Mary?” she called. There was no answer at first. “Mary, it’s me, Violet. I came to see how you were.” Violet heard nothing. She had just begun to turn the doorknob when the door itself finally cracked open. Behind it stood Mary Humphrey.

Violet and Mary had grown up together, even though Violet was a little older. Mary had always been a sweet, quiet type, with curly blonde hair and blue eyes. She never liked playing in the dirt, like Violet did, and much preferred to read or sew in her leisure time. Mary was a bright, beautiful girl. Which was why, upon seeing her, Violet barely recognized her. There was no color on her face. Bags under her eyes insisted that she hadn’t been sleeping well. Her hair was a mess, and there was dirt under her fingernails.

“Mary…?”

“Hello, Violet,” she whispered, almost as though she was afraid to be heard.

“Mary, what…? I came over cause Mr. Munts said you were ill…”

Mary visibly flinched at the name and retreated further into her room. “Yes,” she said, her voice even quieter. “Quite ill.”

“Is there anything I can-?”

Mary shook her head. “No, Violet. Nothing.”

“Mary…”

Saying nothing else, Mary closed the door between them and Violet heard a click of the lock. She stood there, unsure of what to do. She lifted her hand to knock again, but lowered it soon after. Turning, Violet saw Mrs. Humphrey in the kitchen, hunched into a handkerchief, crying softly. Violet approached with caution. “Mrs. Humphrey? What happened to Mary?” Mrs. Humphrey gave no answer, and instead wiped her eyes and gestured to the door.

“Please. Please just…”

Violet stood, helplessly. Her heart, she felt, could sink no lower. She could only imagine what had truly happened to Mary. Perhaps she would ask Mr. Munts about it when she saw him next. With no word of goodbye, Violet left the house and stepped into the dark street. She turned one last time, opening her mouth to say something else, but Mrs. Humphrey had shut the door. Violet stared at the windows. She saw Mrs. Humphrey draw the curtains and snuff out the gas lamps. Violet began to head for home. Mind in the clouds, she walked slowly through the dark. Occasionally, she looked up to the stars, as though they would supply her with comfort. They blinked silently on.

She had just about reached the Dewdrop Saloon when she felt something bump into her leg. Blinking, she looked down. A boy, no older than nine, stared up at her. Now, Violet had spent the last ten years of her life memorizing the names and faces of the people of Redrock; this boy was a complete stranger. He had vibrant red hair and a face spattered with freckles. His clothes were dingy and his boots were barely laced.

“Oh,” said Violet automatically. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

The boy shook his head. “Naw.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before, boy. What’s your name?”

He frowned and put his hands on his hips. “I don’t tell no strangers my name.”

That caught Violet by surprise. “Oh? Why not?”

“They don’t gots to know.”

“I see. Well, what are you doing in Redrock?”

“They don’t gots to know that, either.”

Violet folded her arms. “Well, there must be some reason a strange boy shows up in the middle of the night. Where are your parents? Or do I not get to know that, either?” He remained tight lipped. Violet, too drawn in by curiosity, looked around to try and find some semblance of the boy’s parents. Her hand, by default, rested beside her pocket, when she felt something. Reaching inside, Violet pulled out the butterscotch candy Mr. Munts had given her that day.

“Would you tell me for a candy?” The boy’s eyes honed in on it. Clearly, he had hit an impasse.

“What do I gots to say?”

“What’s your name and whatchya doin’ here in Redrock?” She lowered the candy, but pulled it back when he swiped for it. “You promise to tell me?” He nodded feverishly. Violet turned the candy over, and he quickly popped it into his mouth. “Now. Start with your name.”

“Rory,” he said without hesitation. “Name’s Rory McNab.”

“Well. Pleasure to meet you, Rory McNab. I’m Violet Donovan. See? Easy enough. Now why’re you here?”

Rory seemed less thrilled to say that part. “I, er…I’m tryin’ to find somebody.”

“Your parents?”

“Naw,” said Rory. “A fella. A bad fella.”

This piqued Violet’s interest. She leaned over, curiously. “What kind of bad fella?”

But Rory shook his head. “Can’t tell you more’n that. It’ll get me in trouble.”

A noise from the saloon pulled Violet’s attention away. She looked up to see Eustace and the Hainsworth twins laughing at the front door. It was early in the evening and already their faces were flush with drink. Violet turned back to Rory, but he’d already gone.

“Violet!” Eustace shouted towards her, waving stupidly. Violet scowled and started walking back towards her house. Eustace rushed to block her path, Peter and Paul grinning from the porch. “Hey now, Violet! Why you goin’ off so soon?” His callused hands took her shoulders roughly, pulling her close. “You decided to come out anyway, didn’tchya? Well, we can show you a good ol’ night, can’t we, boys?”

“You betchya!” yelled Paul. “C’mon inside and have a drink with us!”

“We promise to get you to church tomorra!” yelled Peter.

Violet squirmed her way out of Eustace’s hands. “No thank you,” she said pointedly. As she tried to sidestep Eustace, he continued to block her way. In no mood for games, Violet boiled. “Please move.”

“Not till I get me a kiss,” slobbered Eustace.

Violet pulled back in disgust. “You are a vile, i***t boy, Eustace Carpenter.”

“And you’re the perdiest girl in Arkansas.” He now grabbed her waist, jerking her further in. “Gimme one lil’ kiss, darlin’.”

“Not on your life!” Violet pushed and struggled, feeling his heavy hands tug on her dress. She could hear a few seams burst under his fingers. “Let me-let me go, Eustace!”

“Gimme one kiss!” Eustace shouted. “Just gimme one, Violet!”

“Mr. Carpenter!” A voice rattled them both, and Eustace looked over his shoulder. For the second time that day, Mr. Munts had come to the rescue. He was glaring sternly at Eustace. “Let Miss Donovan go.”

Eustace snarled. “Vamoose ya old buzzard!”

“I said, let Miss Donovan go.” Mr. Munts stepped closer. “Or should I call the sheriff to deal with you?”

Even soused, Eustace understood the threat. Slowly, he released Violet’s waist, and she tore from his arms quickly. Mr. Munts walked swiftly forward. “Come along, Miss Donovan.” Violet needed no further prompting. She hurried and followed Mr. Munts towards his general store.

“Want me to escort you straight home?” he asked. “Or would you mind if we stopped in my shop a moment? I only stepped out for a quick spill.”

Violet nodded. “Of course, Mr. Munts.” She followed him inside; better than walking home alone with a drunk Eustace following her. The general store was eerie at night, the floorboards creaking under their feet as they made their way upstairs. Violet had never seen Mr. Munts’ loft. When he opened the door, she took a good look inside. It was a one-bedroom area, barely the size of the store floor below. A simple bed sat in the corner next to a small tower of books. A dresser sat unopened at the foot of the mattress. There was a desk for writing, and oil lamps all along the room’s walls.

“Shouldn’t be too long now,” said Mr. Munts. “I just need to finish something. Please, have a seat, Miss Donovan.” Violet pulled out the desk chair and sat herself down, hands folded in her lap. Mr. Munts began to flip through a few books, scribbling something in pencil. “Now…I distinctly recall you rejecting Mr. Carpenter’s invitation for tonight.” He looked over his glasses. “Did you have a change of heart?”

“Oh no,” said Violet. “I was just um…” She thought back to the fight with her mother. “I was checkin’ in on Mary.” Reminded of her friend, Violet’s face fell. “Mr. Munts? Do you know what happened to her?”

Mr. Munts had gone back to his books. “Happened?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Violet. “She looks ragged somethin’ awful. Would barely talk to me, and her poor mother’s a mess, too. It looks like…well I don’t know, myself. I wondered if maybe you’d know a thing or two about it?”

The inquiry hung in the air as Mr. Munts finished up his log. “I can’t say that I do,” he finally replied. “Mary got sick about three days ago now. Her mother mentioned she might be out till next week.”