Dragonflies Chapter Eleven
Prudence Williams gave Callie a ride back to the saloon in her light, two-wheeled buggy
Prudence Williams gave Callie a ride back to the saloon in her light, two-wheeled buggy.
The beat of the horse’s cantering hooves and creaks of the old wheels turning over at speed meant that conversation was impossible. Callie closed her eyes and held on tight, enjoying the breeze as the buggy clattered along the dirt road.
Prudence wrote only for herself, she had insisted over a hearty soup of lentil and vegetables and honey-cornbread fresh from the oven. A nosey chicken pecked about the kitchen floor as they ate at the large scrubbed pine table. Callie was still ravenous from the day before, though she tried not to eat too impolitely fast. Prudence had never even intended Everett to see her stories, fearing that the practice of imagination was somehow ungodly. He had found her collection of notebooks hidden under the bed, and insisted a husband had a right to his wife's jottings.
‘He tried to persuade me to submit them to those competitions they run in magazines to find new scenarios for pictures,’ Prudence explained with a shudder.
Callie decided not to explain that most of those competitions were little more than scams for magazines to obtain several issues’ worth of material without paying for the privilege. Few of them had any actual contact with studios. ‘But I couldn’t think of anything more terrible. I — with no offence intended, miss, you seem like a very nice person — but it’s my belief that moving pictures are the work of the devil. It don’t make sense, sitting in the dark watching people move about who aren’t even there. They’re spirits, and we must beware what they could be communicating to us.’
Callie tried to explain the technology that allowed moving images to be projected from film. ‘It’s not magic at all, you see, but simply rather clever technology. There’s really nothing to be afraid of.’
‘It’s not godly to allow your image to be captured,’ Prudence said firmly, clearing the bowls away while Callie wondered if it would be terrible manners to take one more square of cornbread. ‘That’s your soul.’
As Prudence spoke, Callie caught sight of a side of roast beef cooling on the counter, with a few slices already cut from it. The sandwich Everett brought this morning, she thought in horror. Had he asked Prudence to make it?
‘We’re in the twentieth century now,’ Callie said. ‘It’s the age of technological wonders. Why, my friend Lillian’s parents own a machine that washes clothes all by itself, can you imagine? I think it’s simply marvellous.’
‘I would never have such a thing in my home.’
‘I suppose describing the picture I would write from your story wouldn’t persuade you?’ Callie said.
'Please,' Prudence said softly. 'I shouldn't be able to sleep at night at the thought — I shan't write any more stories. I should have known it was tempting something terrible to happen.'
Callie smiled sadly. 'I wish I could persuade you, but — it's your story.'
Callie wrote on a piece of notepaper a declaration to the effect that the original author of Montana Dreams expressly forbade any picture to be made from her story. Prudence nervously signed it in a flowery, girlish hand. It was hardly a legal document, but with Hildy and Mabel’s support, she thought she could use it to frighten any studio that Everett managed to make contact with.
As the saloon and convenience store came into view, Callie clutched the side of the seat as the wheels groaned and the buggy swayed alarmingly. She hadn’t yet told Prudence that Everett was considering running away to California.
On the one hand, she felt a duty to inform her that her husband was feckless. She would certainly hope a fellow woman would give her the dope if Fred was planning to abandon her. But on the other, Prudence was already hurt by his betrayal of having her story published behind her back — not to mention already spending all the money! Callie remembered with a flush of indignation — and Callie didn’t want to compound her hurt unnecessarily.
He hadn’t the money to go, after all, she reminded herself. They did say ignorance was bliss. Despite her hurt at his betrayal, Prudence seemed to be steadfastly loyal to Everett. Callie reluctantly concluded that she had no choice but to respect that.
‘I’ll wait while you collect your things and take you on to Butte,’ Prudence said as she gently tugged the reins to draw the horse to a halt. ‘If we hurry, you should make the five o’clock train. Just give me a moment to let the horse have a little water.’
‘That’s terribly kind of you.’
Callie hopped down from the buggy and hauled herself up from the railing onto the overleaf and through the window to the shadowy little room. She didn’t dare look in the dusty looking glass on the dresser, deciding that she would change into her other dress and fix herself up a bit once safely on board the train.
Prudence was an interesting character, she thought idly, so narrow in her outlook, and yet more firm in her convictions than anybody Callie had ever met. Perhaps there was a story about a woman who lived out here in the prairies like Prudence, who —
It was then that Callie noticed her knapsack had spilled open and her things were strewn all over the bed. She hadn’t left it like that, she thought, a chill stealing through her. With shaking hands, she picked up her spare dress, her toothbrush, her notebook, her purse — then sank to her knees in horror as she realised that her train ticket was missing.
‘Did he take your ticket?’ asked Prudence when Callie clambered back down to the ground.
There was a hard glint in the younger woman’s eye as Callie nodded.
‘Get in quickly,’ she said, ‘and hold on tight. I know where we can meet the train.’ She cracked the whip and the buggy jolted forwards as the horse took off at a gallop.
Callie could see the huge black train glinting in the sun as it snaked slowly through the countryside. The engine was capable of speeds of 80 miles per hour, she knew, but the tracks in the majority of the country were in such a state of disrepair that trains were forced to travel much slower. The buggy had flown straight past Butte and along a narrow, winding bend that eventually became too steep for its wheels. Then, Prudence had climbed down, untethered the horse, and they had both mounted him to trot up to a high clearing.
‘The train always stops just there,’ Prudence said, pointing to the track a little way below them. ‘It’s where tracks made by two different companies meet, so the crew must climb down to guide the engine by hand. You’ll have plenty of time to climb aboard.’
Callie nodded. ‘Thank you. If I see him, what shall I —‘
Prudence shook her head. ‘No message.’
‘I understand. If you ever change your mind about pictures — my home isn’t much, but I could put you up.’
Prudence laughed.
'Please keep writing your stories,' Callie added. 'Just for yourself. An imagination like yours should be allowed to flourish.'
Callie felt the vibrations of the train even before it rounded the corner. The whistle blew and thick black smoke swirled from the engine.
‘You’d better go. Good luck!’ Prudence squeezed her hand and was gone.
Callie carefully made her way down the scrubby verge to the sixth carriage, which was a third class carriage. The conductor would have checked the tickets of the passengers as they boarded and wouldn’t bother them again until Seattle. From there, she could wire Hildy for a $5 loan to get the rest of the way to Los Angeles. She could see people through the windows of the first two compartments she peeked into, but the third was empty.
Without a platform, the train seemed much higher from the ground than normal. Keeping a careful eye on the three men who were shifting the new track to meet the old, Callie flung her knapsack onto the step, then levered herself against the train wheel — flinching as she felt the hot metal through the sole of her boot. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself onto the step. She yanked open the door and collapsed gratefully onto the narrow floorboards of the compartment.
The train moved forward with a jerk, and Callie scrabbled onto the hard wooden bench with a sigh of relief. Her own ticket had been second class. There the seats were upholstered and soft and she was entitled to visit the dining car twice a day. However, the conductor was more likely to visit with the passengers in second class (though he wouldn’t give them nearly the consideration of those in first of course, who had the luxury of private bedrooms and were served their morning coffee in bed). He might just think to double check her ticket if he didn’t remember seeing her before. Everett would be taking his — her — evening meal in the dining car just about now, she thought.
She sat back and watched the barren countryside trundle by, as dusk began to fall. She pictured Prudence cantering back to her empty farmhouse to begin a new life alone. She wondered if Prudence had waited just until Callie was out of earshot before collapsing into heartbroken tears, or if she really was as stoic as she seemed. She wondered if Everett was feeling the sting of guilt as he tucked into the dining car’s offerings, or if he was simply enjoying his meal without a care in the world.
Callie closed her eyes, as the gentle rocking of the train lulled her towards slumber despite the uncomfortable bench. Just as she started to sink into a deep sleep, her brain sparked to life and she shot up, scrabbled frantically for her notebook. She had just thought of a million dollar idea.