Page 13 of My Darling Clementine

She turned into her mother’s arms for their parting hug, holding on until the loud clamor of train wheels moving made them part. Accepting the offered hand, Kizzy jumped onto the train, grabbed her bag, and ran back to an open car, sliding onto a bench seat and waving goodbye from the train window until her mother was no longer a speck on the horizon.

She sat in the half-empty coach, wiping her face and considering her options as the rhythm of the rails rocked her bones.

I’ll go to California, where gold is lying around waiting to be found. Ordinary men dig up fortunes, becoming wealthy overnight. Kizzy read about it every day in the paper. I could do it too.

When the conductor came around, she gave him her ticket to the train’s last stop. Independence. It had a nice ring to it.

Several hours later, she went to dinner in the dining car. Every table was occupied, but not every chair. When a married couple asked if she’d like to join them, she accepted.

“Sit down and eat with us, honey,” said the plump middle-aged matron. “I’d want some company if I was traveling alone and in your situation. Sit on down.”

“I appreciate it,” Kizzy admitted, pulling over a chair. “Except for school, I’ve never been outside of Rocheport before.”

“I’m glad I got the chance. I wanted to tell you, your pa, the reverend? What he done wasn’t right, Miss Walker,” the man mumbled, avoiding her eye. “I’m Fred Shultz, by the way, and this is my wife, Ethel.” The plump woman nodded with a smile. “Nice to make your acquaintance.” He spoke while chewing his steak. “We was catching this train in Rocheport and got in last night. This morning, the missus went to Sunday services before we caught the train.” He looked up, and Kizzy recognized him as her boot-on-the-table poker-playing companion.

She laughed. “But you’re not the church going type, and were in the saloon instead. Nice to meet you, Fred. You, too, Ethel.” She reached out and shook his hand, and then that of his wife, surprising her. Kizzy shrugged. “My father is a man of loud opinions which he cannot keep to himself, either in his church or out.”

“So, we heard, no offense.” Ethel chuckled. “We both think it’s a damned, excuse me… a shame. My father was the same.” She patted her husband’s arm. “Pa tossed me out of the house when he caught me with my mister, here.” An understanding passed between the two women. “You’re smart to get going while the going’s good, girl.”

“It is good, isn’t it?” Kizzy smiled, her shoulders relaxing for the first time in hours. “With the gold rush out west, there’s plenty of opportunity for everyone.”

“Sure,” Fred grinned, two teeth missing, “and dozens of men for each woman, you’ll have your choice of husbands.”

“Whoa, slow down. Who said anything about a husband?” Kizzy shook her head. “I’m strong, and willing to work hard. I’ll search for gold myself.”

“A single woman prospector?” Ethel looked at her sideways. “Never heard tell of one, and it’s lawless territory with mostly men. You’ll be safer with a husband to take care of you.” She looked Kizzy over with an appreciative eye. “And you won’t have any trouble there.”

The older woman patted her hand. “See if you can get a job down toward the business end of Independence. Lots of shopgirls land themselves fine husbands, and if you’re looking for one to take you to California, that’s the place to start.”

“I’m not stopping in Independence,” she decided. “I’m going all the way while I have my nerve. Maybe as far as the Sierra Nevada Mountains. I read about gold nuggets lying around in riverbeds, caught up in old tree roots and such, just waiting to be found.”

Fred had read the same, and Ethel related other rumors. The three enjoyed their meal, sharing tales of the gold rush for a comfortable hour before she rose to return to her coach.

A businessman in eastern wear held the door open for her, then followed her down the train corridor. Feeling his eyes on her, she lurched along, moving forward one step at a time as the train swayed back and forth. She tried to walk a straight line, but her shoulder bounced off the wall.

“You get used to it,” she heard behind her as the door to a private compartment opened and closed, leaving her alone in the corridor.

She breathed easier and continued back into the shared public coaches. A man sat on the bench beside her suitcase, gazing out the window into the dark night. He looked up and smiled as she approached, then placed his hand on her suitcase with a proprietary air. “Yours, young lady?”

“Mine,” she declared, taking the handle and pulling the case free.

The man sprang to his feet. “Allow me, Miss.” He tried to take the suitcase from her, but she yanked it away.

“No, thank you,” she said, retreating to an open bench. “I can manage.”

The man sat back down, but once in a while his gaze strayed from the dark window to her.

Kizzy avoided making eye contact, keeping to herself on the last bench of the coach.

Another man walked over. “May I share your bench, Miss?” He tipped his hat.

She looked around the coach, where at least a dozen other benches sat empty. “No,” she blurted. “There are plenty of other places. Choose one, this bench is taken.”

Surprised, he paused, frowned, but did as she suggested.

She tried to rest, but didn’t feel safe enough to leave her eyes closed for long.

Half an hour later, a third man approached. “A beautiful woman such as yourself shouldn’t be lonely. You need some company. Allow me to introduce myself…”