Safe Passage

Long shadows danced with the flickering strips of light thrown out from the lantern that swung in his hand, an odd contrast to the stillness of the night and the looming, frozen shape of the freight train he walked alongside. Though the great machine was as still and silent as a brick building, the roar and rumble of it still rattled around in his mind from so many days traveled hence. The crunch of stones beneath his boots was a jarring enough sound that he began stepping only along the wooden ties, like was playing some children's game.

The task at hand was no game, however, and the lantern light gave a frightful cast to his grimace at the thought of what lay before him, had there been anyone to see it. Stowaways on the train crossing the barren flats were more common in the summer months, but there were a few in winter who, unable to afford a ticket on the passenger trains and seeking some hope of a better life on the far coast, would hop a freight car to make the journey. These vagabonds were unwelcome by the rail company generally, but the Driver of this particular train had a particularly vicious loathing for such riders. As such, he would wait until they had traveled half of their five hundred mile journey, and then while stopped at the siding for the passage of the eastbound train, order his Laborers to clear the cars of any vagabonds they found, to beat them senseless and leave them stranded with two hundred miles to the nearest town. It was a death sentence of which the Driver could absolve himself of any guilt, because it was the barren flats that did the actual killing.

But the man walking the train this night, billy club in one hand and lantern in the other, was neither Driver nor Laborer, and he wondered at what misstep had obligated him to such a distasteful task. Perhaps it was jealousy over the private railcar he was given on his passage, a stark contrast to the crowded quarters of the other men. Perhaps it was his position as a Merchant for the company, regarded with contempt by the freight men as a frivolous desk job. One might have guessed his broad shoulders and well-muscled frame would have given credence to his having worked his way up from the lowest rail man, swinging a heavy sledge. But the cruel Driver and cynical Laborers needed more proof, and knocking about a few poor freeloaders was apparently the best sort. Whatever the reason, he knew that the Driver had the authority over the train as a Captain over his ship. This merchant had little choice but to obey.

His walk slowed as he approached one of the empty, open-doored cars that was most likely to harbor a rider. Clenching his club in his teeth, he used his free hand to assist a quick step-leap into the car. Hoping the sudden bright light would give him a moment's advantage over someone attempting to resist, he lifted the lantern high and held his nightstick at the ready, poised for attack.

All the combative tension built up in him was met with a quiet that matched the vast empty night his back. A few pieces of straw, stirred by his sudden entrance, settled themselves back on the wooden floor of the train car. He nearly relaxed, when a pile of rags at the corner of the car stirred too. Setting the lantern down, he crossed the car in two quick strides and grabbed the huddled mass with one hand, picking it up with surprising ease to pin it against the wall, and raising his billy club in the other. He held the slight figure upright against the wall by a handful of shirt, and as he tightened his grip to ready himself for the first blow, the hood fell away. He froze at the fearful face of a young woman.

A few seconds looking into those terrified eyes felt like an eternity; all the resolve he had found to complete his grim task was washed away by this circumstance he was utterly unprepared for. She must have been particularly brave or particularly stupid, because train-hopping by women was vanishingly rare, and lone women, practically unheard of. His normally quick mind was stalled as the train as he tried to process what was behind those eyes, glittering with fear in the lantern light. The spell was broken when her gaze shifted from his face to the club, and she shut her eyes as if resigning herself to her fate. He dropped his arm but kept her pinned to the wall, as wave after wave of conflicting emotions washed over him. Fear at the thought of throwing her from the train. Wonder at finding this slight woman in the heart of such a dangerous place. Anger at the position he was put in - that she put him in - and resentment that this sudden predicament was his.

All the frustration of his decision manifested itself in a heaving snarl, as he jerked her away from the wall, dropped his club, and began tearing at her loose, overlarge layers of clothing. This sudden action finally animated the woman, and she yelped in protest and struggled against him. He succeeded in pulling the big hooded shirt over her head, grabbed her suddenly bare shoulders, and barked, "Stop!" then lowering his voice to a hiss, "Hold still and cooperate if you care to keep your life." This froze her once again, and she stared at the floor in shame as he roughly pulled at the waist of the dark, baggy trousers she had been wearing to disguise her gender to those who would have stopped her. He knelt down and grabbed her narrow ankle in one hand and her grubby boot in the other and yanked her foot out of the boot and pant leg in one quick motion that threw her off her balance and back on to the floor. Bits of straw scratched at her bare legs and poked through her thin linen underclothes as he repeated the operation with her other boot.

She reflexively pulled her legs and arms into a fetal position and waited for those rough hands to yank at her limbs again. When they did not, she looked up to see his broad shoulders disappearing from the door as he jumped down from the car, bundle of clothes in hand. The sounds of rocks scattering and the thud-thud-thud of a billy club connecting sharply with clothing and earth was convincing enough to her ears that she wondered if he hadn't discovered some other stowaway to whom he was delivering a sound beating.

All the frustration of the moment was being worked out by the merchant as he struck over and over again the pile of rags he had mounded over the dirt. He was having some difficulty squaring the nobility of his ruse - he was going to save her life, after all - with the particular feeling that twisted in his belly as he had undressed and tossed her about. His animal nature was at odds with his better self. Did she not owe him something for the risk he was taking? Ah, but it wasn't a risk she'd asked him to take. His arm was growing tired.

When he climbed up again, he picked up the lantern and extinguished it. As the darkness wrapped around her, he wrapped one arm even more tightly around her chest and under her arms, picking her up like a rag doll and carrying her out and down from the box car. The beating of her heart was quick as a frightened rabbit, but she did not struggle. When her feet touched the ground again, he moved his arm to clutch at her throat, and put his lips to her ear. "Don't make a sound."

Her bare feet made quick, short steps to keep with the pace he set, still holding her by the neck. He didn't expect her to trust him well enough to follow of her own volition. The crunch of the rock under his boots was a welcome sound now, as it covered up the patter of an extra set of feet and the frantic rush of both their breathing. He was silently impressed that she did not so much as whimper as she kept pace along the jagged stone and rough wood ties.

When they reached his sleeper car, he lifted her over the steel structure that tied the car to the one behind, up on to the narrow balcony-like structure at its rear. He quietly thanked his luck for having the last occupied car before the freight, but cursed the small lamp he'd left burning in his quarters, the light from which came through the rear window and threatened to reveal his captured bundle to any of the Laborers who might pass by to inspect the freight. He could only hope they were all still sleeping. Tossing his overcoat over her, he left her huddled on the cold metal platform, re-lit his lantern with a match from his breast pocket, and walked to the front of the train to make his report.

"Ho, there!" the merchant called to the window of the engine where the Driver and the few Laborers who were not sleeping had been playing a round of cards. Doubtless they'd heard the commotion from the back of the train, as several grinning faces appeared at the windows. "Ya got one after all, paper boy!" they hooted, "Hope he didn't rough yer up too bad now!" He ignored their commotion and addressed the silent, smirking Driver directly. Holding her boots up by the laces, he shouted, "I got you a fare for the passage thus far," and threw them through the window, turning on his heel and walking back to his car. The engine room erupted with laughter, the Laborers apparently delighted with the joke and the unexpected bit of cruelty from the merchant to force his stowaway to a death march barefoot. He hoped it was convincing enough.

He half expected her to be gone when he returned, especially as he was having trouble convincing himself that she even existed in the first place. But there she was, wrapped in his overcoat and trying to make herself small against the steel wall of the train car. Quickly, he grabbed the coat by the collar, opened the narrow door, and pushed her through it before locking the door behind him and drawing the shades over the small square windows.

Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she was stunned by the tiny box of refined civilization she had suddenly been thrust into. While not opulent by any means, the small desk and chair, rows of leather-bound books and ledgers, wash basin, and neatly made bed were a stark contrast to the dusty, hay-strewn box she'd been living in for countless days. It had the diminutive orderliness of a ship's hold, warm and trimmed in lustrous wood and brass. As she stared at his room, he stared at her, studying her face in the lamp light. Under a layer of grime and a mop of unkempt hair, doubtless made the worse for his rough treatment, there was a face of youth and beauty. He wondered what could have brought her here, but a pang of guilt at the sight of her grubby and battered bare feet under the hem of his coat brought him back to the moment.

"I will draw you a bath," he murmured, almost to no one, and immediately busied himself with the task of filling the wash basin - little more than an old wine barrel cut in half - with water hot from the boiler of the steam engine. He produced a bar of rough soap, a tortoiseshell comb, and a towel from a cupboard and laid them by the basin. Still she stood and stared, and he made as if to yank the coat from her shoulders, but decided against it and walked past her to the little desk. He sat in the chair with his back to her and opened the ledger laid there, and pretended to write something of import while he tried to decide whether the tears that made little white trails in the dirt on her cheeks were from fear or gratitude or something else.

Embarrassed by the lack of privacy, but overwhelmed at the prospect of such a simple luxury as a hot bath, she slipped the coat from her shoulders and removed her underclothes. After all, if he had meant to harm her, he would have left her for dead on the rails, and she wasn't precisely flush with other options at the moment. The stinging of the water on her various cuts and abrasions made her pull her breath in sharply through her teeth, but she stepped into the basin and slowly lowered herself into the water.

A plaintive whistle sounded as the engine coughed and growled its crescendo and a sudden lurch brought the train back to life. The merchant pulled a pocket watch from the desk drawer to observe the time, and caught her reflection in the silver lid as he flipped it open. He couldn't help himself a bit of surreptitious observation of this strange woman. Though she was slim, she was not frail, and her shoulders had enough muscle to give her a shapeliness between skin and bone. Her long fingers worked deftly alongside the comb to ease the tangles from her hair. As she stood from the water, skin bright and ruddy from the heat and scrubbing, she wrung out her hair and reached for the towel. The gnawing feeling in his belly roared up again at the sight of her, and he snapped his pocketwatch closed as if to clap a lid over his own desire.

Standing abruptly from his chair, he reached to another cupboard and pulled a long linen shirt from it. "Wear this," he spoke, the sharpness of his order contrasted with his outstretched arm and downcast gaze. He was having trouble distinguishing the nose of the train getting up to speed from the roar of the blood in his ears. When he looked up from the floorboards he was unnecessarily scrutinizing, she was sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at her feet.

Galvanized by a sudden thought, he turned to rifle through another cupboard, tossing things about until he produced a small, half-empty jar of a yellowish salve. He knelt down in front of her and grabbed her ankle, and though he was gentler now than he had been in the boxcar, she recoiled from the sudden touch and tried to pull away. He gripped her ankle tightly and looked up into her face with a threatening glance that immediately conveyed to her that she was in no position to protest what he was doing. She met his gaze with a look that was less the abject fear of their first encounter and more simple acquiescence, but her heart still raced like a trapped rabbit.

His grip was viselike as he gingerly applied salve to the cuts on her feet, as if each of his hands were channeling the warring parts of his nature towards her. After giving the same care to her other foot, he released her ankle and lidded the jar, setting it aside absently and staring at the floor a moment as if collecting his thoughts.

He leaned in and took her leg in his hands again, this time sliding one hand up her calf while his other hand lifted her ankle up to his face to place a kiss on the delicate bones. She gasped as the warm wetness of his mouth and a searching tongue that caressed her skin. The softness and curve of her under his hands was too fine to resist, nearly unreal in this place of unforgiving roughness. His touch and attention moved up to her thigh until it met the hem of his shirt, which clung to the shape of her body like a cover draped over some heirloom piece of furniture to keep it from dust. There he paused, drinking in the warmth and closeness of her, as her head swam with apprehension and the unexpected electricity of his touch that thrilled her even as she blushed with shame.

As he pushed the long shirt up over her hips, he glanced at her face. Eyes closed, her expression revealed nothing in her thoughts, while the flush in her cheeks was spreading down her neck. He allowed himself a small smile, running his tongue and fingertips along her inner thigh before hungrily closing his mouth around her, tongue seeking out the delicate nub at the source of her pleasure. That action was met with a yelp, and he couldn't discern if it was surprise, protest, or delight. Regardless, he needed her silence, and he pushed himself away and stood up. The look on her face was fear again, knowing her transgression but it was tempered by the feeling she was not wholly to blame.

Brusquely as he had treated her in the beginning, he yanked the shirt up over her head and threw it to the floor. He then scooped her from her seated position on the bed and tossed her, laying, back on it. Kneeling beside her on the bed, he clasped a broad hand over her mouth and leaned down to resume his attentions. The noises she made into his hand quickly subsided as a new feeling washed over her. His tongue caressed, probed, and moved in hungry circles that drove her to distraction. The hand that had been covering her mouth slipped down to touch her breasts, gently tweaking her nipples as she bit her lip to stay silent.

This was not the touch of the boys she'd romanced in her school days. Nor was it the hand of the old drunkard she'd been married off to in order to pay her father's debt, the house and memory of whom she'd been fleeing. The merchant was firm and hungry but had in him still some restraint, and caused her no pain. Strange to her was his apparent joy in giving her pleasure, as evidenced by the straining seam of his rough cotton pants.

As the strokes of his tongue became firmer and faster, she felt herself nearing the edge, and sat up, unsure that she wanted him to continue. Barely pausing for breath, he gave her an animal look and curled his fingers around her neck, pushing her forcefully back down to the bed. The surge of adrenalin was too much for her to handle as he resumed the hungry flickering of his tongue. A shudder in her legs was his cue to move his hand from her neck to her mouth once again, in time to muffle the gasping moan of her climax.

Her eyes were shut as he withdrew his hand and unbuttoned his pants. He shifted to kneel between her legs and stroked himself, almost thoughtfully, studying her body. As he lowered himself down on top of her, she opened her eyes. The tip of him was resting gently at the folds of her, and his hesitation after all he'd done and taken was surprising. There was a tremor in his breathing from the force of his restraint, and his look was through her. She lifted her head and placed a delicate kiss on that rough cheek, a few days in need of a shave,an acknowledgement that she had chosen as bedfellows her fear and risk. It was all he needed. His eyes focused on hers, fingers slipping back over her mouth, and he thrust into her with the movement of an animal let off its chain. Kissing her neck hungrily, he reveled in the vibrations on his tongue and hand from her moaning cries at each stroke. The low growl of his pleasure matched the rumble of the train, and he gripped her hip firmly in his other hand to add more strength to each thrust.

She was dizzy with fear, pleasure, and the feeling of him filing her up again and again. It gave her a strange sort of buzz that worked its way from her belly and up to the base of her skull, that overcame the initial pain of the intrusion. She was overcome by the feeling of being lusted after so hungrily and completely. His movements grew deeper and more forceful, and he took his hand from her mouth just long enough to replace it with his own, using a deep and forceful kiss to smother his own guttural moan as he came deep inside her.

He held her there for what felt like an hour, waiting for his heaving breath to slow and his drumming heart to calm. Suddenly too hot, he realized he was still clothed and pulled away, sitting up to remove his layers. She studied him as he had her, wondering silently over the scars tracing across the muscles in his arms and back, slick with sweat. Turning to her, the merchant grabbed her shoulder and gently turned her on her side to face the wall. He lay back down beside her and wrapped an arm around her, his broad and muscular frame making her feel as if she could just disappear in him.

She heaved a sigh, letting her mind wander briefly to the dilemma of how to escape once the freighter arrived at its station. But that was a problem she had weeks to figure out. Until then, she merely had to obey, and hope that in return for keeping this man happy, he would ensure her safe passage.