The Railwalkers

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2The dead body of Mr. Munts was gushing blood from his neck. The mystery woman was cleaning off her knife with Mr. Munts’ desk doily. “So.” She spat on the blade, giving it a final rub, before sheathing it on her belt. “What to do about this situation.”

Violet shook. It was like time had both sped up and stopped all together. Up was down, down was up. If Violet wasn’t careful, she’d get sick all over the floor. At the woman’s words, she could say nothing, but merely pressed her sweaty back against the door. The woman sighed and stepped forward. Violet flinched back immediately, but the stranger didn’t seem ready to kill her. She knelt down, her face serious. “He hurt you? Violate you?” she asked. Violet shook her head. “Good. Then do yourself a favor, child. Stay calm. Walk away. And if anyone asks, you found him like this.”

Violet’s mind, at first a steady hum of numbness, began to switch back on. “You…you killed—you murdered—!”

The woman stood back up. “Men like that don’t deserve to live. Don’t you think?”

“Oh God…oh God.” Violet clutched her head. She was gripped with panic she couldn’t explain, her eyes locked on Mr. Munts’ corpse. The woman stepped in front of her, blocking her view.

“Keep your head, girl.”

“You—you murdered—!” Violet jumped to unsteady feet, her back flat against the door. “You killed Mr. Munts! Killed him dead and—! Oh Christ, Lord God!”

“Listen to me…” The woman inched closer.

Violet lurched back, slamming open the door on accident. “No! You—you stay away from me! Help! Help me!” Without a second thought, Violet turned on her heel and ran down the stairs and out into the night. She didn’t think to see if she was being followed. All she could focus on was getting help. Throwing herself into the night air, she continued to scream. Townsfolk lit their lamps and opened their doors. “She killed him! She killed him!” Violet stood in the moonlight for all to see. Blood splattered her skirt and bodice. Her hair was tangled, and her clothes were torn. As her neighbors quickly approached, Violet was hysterical, her knees giving way beneath her.

“Violet? Is that Violet?” Her head snapped up as the worried voice of her mother caught her attention. Mrs. Donovan split the crowd and rushed towards her. With weak arms, Violet reached out, and Mrs. Donovan pulled her quickly to her breast. “Oh Violet! I was just out looking for you—! My sweet child, what’s wrong? What happened, baby?”

Nestled in her mother’s bosom, Violet sobbed freely. “She killed him!” Violet repeated.

“Who, darling? Who killed who?”

“Mr. Munts! He’s dead! And she killed him!”

* * * *

“Now, I know you’re tired, Miss Donovan, but I’d like to go over the facts one last time. You and Mr. Carpenter had a disagreement, and that’s when Mr. Munts escorted you to his shop. You were talking when all of the sudden, a Chinese woman came through his window and stabbed him through the neck.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, sheriff. I’m sure.”

Sheriff Anderson scratched his forehead beneath his hat, hand on his hip. It was late in the evening, and he, Violet, and Mrs. Donovan sat in the kitchen, speaking. The mortician had been called to clean up the mess in Mr. Munts’ loft, and the sheriff had escorted the Donovan women home. Sheriff Anderson was a good man; kind, but sternly spoken. His hair was graying from age, and he had a pot belly kept in place only by his hardy belt. A gun lay unused at his hip. As Violet sat and recounted her story, Mrs. Donovan kept a hand on her daughter’s, encouraging her to stay strong. Violet just wanted to go to bed.

“There is one thing we didn’t go over, Miss.” Sheriff Anderson gestured towards her dress. “Your clothes. Did this woman attack you, too?”

Violet grabbed her arms, ashamed of the broken stitches and seams. “No, sheriff,” she finally said.

“No? Then what happened?”

Violet hesitated, but after a moment of thought, began to speak. “It-it was Mr. Munts.”

“What?” Mrs. Donovan looked aghast at the information.

Finding it easier to talk to the floor, Violet stared at the kitchen tile and continued. “I…I was worried about Mary. Mr. Munts said she’s had a fever for three days. When I saw her, she was…” Violet shook her head. “She was horrible. Worse than horrible. Like someone did somethin’ to her. Earlier tonight, when we were talking, Mr. Munts told me to leave it alone. I asked why, and he wouldn’t tell me. Then he tried to…” Her voice quaked. “He tried to…” Her eyes burned and she quickly wiped them with the palm of her hand. “He said—he said he’d teach me the same thing he t-taught Mary—!” Violet dissolved into tears. Mrs. Donovan, white as a sheet, gently held her shoulders, while the sheriff sighed, removing his hat.

“Did he assault you, Miss Donovan?”

“H-he tried,” Violet sniffed. “That’s when…th-that’s when…”

“All right, take a deep breath now.” Violet took several in attempts to calm herself down. Slowly, she looked up. Her mother was close to tears herself, but held it together. “Thank you for telling me this,” said Sheriff Anderson. “I’m sure you’re in need of a good night’s rest.” He was just turning to leave when the back door swung open. Sheriff Anderson’s deputy, Fredrick Marsh, stepped inside. A scrawny fellow with a beak-like nose, Marsh took off his hat in the presence of Mrs. Donovan and Violet.

“Pardon the intrusion, ma’am,” he said to Mrs. Donovan. He turned to Sheriff Anderson. “The boys combed every inch of Redrock. No sign of this China woman you’re lookin’ for.”

“She’s gone?” said Violet helplessly. “Just like that?”

Sheriff Anderson approached Marsh calmly. “Call it off for now. We’ll search again in the morning. Maybe she left some tracks we can follow.” He turned to Mrs. Donovan, tipping his hat. “You two get some rest. Good night, ladies.” He then escorted Marsh from the kitchen, leaving Mrs. Donovan and Violet alone together. Violet couldn’t look her mother in the eye. Somehow, she felt shame in the whole ordeal. What would her mother think of her alone at night in a man’s home? But far from giving a lecture, Mrs. Donovan immediately pulled Violet into her arms.

“Oh baby…” Her mother’s voice trembled with worry. “Violet…Oh Violet…” She could feel hot tears in her hair as her mother held her. Breaking the embrace, Mrs. Donovan was in shambles. She clutched a handkerchief to her heart, all color drained from her face. “Are you sure you aren’t hurt, my darling? Did he—?”

“No, Mama.” Violet took her hand in earnest. “He didn’t do nothin’. Nothin’ to me, anyway.” She furiously wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “He…I can’t believe he did that to Mary. I can’t believe…he’s…”

“Shh, baby, shh…” Mrs. Donovan wiped Violet’s face with her handkerchief, letting her daughter calm down again.

A gentle knock came from the parlor door. Charlie poked her head through, her eyes red and swollen from crying herself. “Beg pardon, ma’am. I can take Miss Violet to bed.”

Mrs. Donovan turned. “Yes, please, Charlie—”

But Violet stood on her own. She kept her head low, her messy hair curtained around her face. “I can get myself to bed.” Eyes focused forward, Violet walked out of the kitchen and up to her bedroom. No lamps were lit, and a chill hung in the air. Violet looked at herself in the mirror. She barely recognized her reflection. Her hair was knotted and stuck to her face in dried sweat. A bruise sat at the base of her neck. Her nose was cherry red, and her cheeks were sallow and sunken. Deep bags hung beneath her eyes. She undressed and washed her face, her now ruined clothes piled in the corner of the bedroom.

It doesn’t seem real, came the thought. None of it…It’s like a nightmare. Lying in bed, she stared at the ceiling, now wide awake in spite of her heavy body. Perhaps, she reasoned, when I wake up tomorrow, it’ll all be the same as it was. Maybe this really is all a nightmare. Closing her eyes, she begged for sleep, in the slim hope that it would all have been a horrible, horrible dream.

Sleep never came. Violet watched as the darkness turned to a pallid, colorless gray outside. She heard birds stir beyond her bedroom window. Echoes of the Carpenters’ dairy cows joined them soon after. She could already hear Charlie getting up for the day and starting on breakfast. Violet had no appetite. The hours ticked on, but the skies didn’t brighten; the clouds stayed stationed overhead, leaving the world feeling lifeless and muddy.

Violet pulled herself out of bed before she was prompted to. Every inch off her body ached. Her head throbbed mercilessly. Dressing and washing for the day, she came downstairs to see Charlie cooking porridge. Charlie looked up, surprised.

“Oh—!” She turned, wiping her hands on her apron. “Good mornin’ Miss Violet. I was just gonna go check on you. How’re you feelin’ today?”

Violet sat at the table, hands in her lap. “I’m all right, Charlie. I don’t think I’m too hungry though. Just make enough for yourself and Mama.”

Charlie’s face twisted with worry. “You won’t eat nothin’?” Violet shook her head. With a sigh, Charlie turned back to the porridge, hands on her hips. “You should try. Just a bit.”

“No, thank you.”

Charlie hesitated before taking the pot off the stove. “Truth be told,” she said, “I ain’t hungry much, either.” She turned to the table and took the chair adjacent to Violet, taking her hand in comfort. She squeezed her fingers gently. “Poor child. Is there anything old Charlie can do for ya?”

With a smile, Violet squeezed her hand back. “This is enough,” she said.

“You should rest today, Miss Violet,” Charlie continued. “Maybe take Maple out for a ride. I can pack you a lunch.”

“That won’t be necessary, Charlie.” Violet turned to see Mrs. Donovan step into the kitchen, already dressed in her Sunday finery. She turned to her daughter. “We’ve got church today, after all.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Charlie, “but wouldn’t you think it’d be better for her to—?”

“I think a day of church is what we need after what happened,” Mrs. Donovan interrupted.

Charlie clearly wanted to argue otherwise, but Violet stood from the table. “I’ll go get dressed,” she said quietly. As she passed her mother, Mrs. Donovan gently took her wrist, stopping her at the door.

“Violet?” Violet hesitated before meeting her mother’s eyes. There seemed to be something on the tip of her tongue, but Violet pulled away gently before she could say it.

“I’m fine, Mama.” Violet walked upstairs and into her room, closing the door gently behind her.

The walk to church took longer that morning than it ever had in Violet’s memory. Usually, a church day meant smiles and waves and plans for the week. Neighbors would pass to say hello, and friends would often race to see who got to the churchyard first. Today, Violet’s feet felt heavy. Townsfolk stopped and stared at the pair of them. Violet tried to avoid their eyes, but felt utterly exposed in her bright blue Sunday dress. As she walked alongside her mother, she could hear whispers follow them. She felt burning stares press against her neck and her back, watching her every step. A few approached them to ask how Violet was doing. Mrs. Donovan answered for her.

“She’s doing well, thank you.” “Bit of a scare, but she’s fine now.” “Thank you for your concern.” Her mother’s answers were automatic and detached, but Violet was thankful for them. The faster she could be done with the day, the better.

By the time they arrived, most of the congregation was already inside. A steady mummer of voices trailed out of the open doors. The minute Violet stepped in, the voices stopped. Violet looked around the room. Everyone had turned in her direction.

A hot wash of embarrassment flooded her face. Violet bent her head down immediately and sat in one of the back pews. Her mother sat beside her. Conversations started up again, but Violet didn’t bother lifting her head. It wasn’t long before the pastor began to speak.