This deleted first chapter on Now, About That Kiss didn’t make the final cut, but you might enjoy Rory’s first encounter with Dane’s Creek as the Union Pacific Domeliner pulls into the depot.
Context: It’s 1967 and Rory Adams is pulling into her final stop aboard the Union Pacific’s “City of Portland” Domeliner. Another quaint little town along the Oregon Trail, another historic bell tower to photograph–this time, in a place called Dane’s Creek.
***
“It’s a shame, really.” The conductor handed me my lone suitcase from the overhead rack. “Can’t remember when I heard that bell ringing last. I wonder if the ’62 storm—you heard about that, didn’t you? In all the news. Famous Columbus Day storm. Hard to believe it’s been five years this month. Ripped right up the Pacific Northwest coast—hit us hard here in Oregon specially. Yep, it’s a cryin’ shame. Just makes you wonder if the bell got a dent or something when the tower went down. Took the townspeople nearly three years to get it back up.”
“I’ll bet that was expensive, too. How wonderful that they restored it.” I nodded encouragingly.
“Yep, did a good job.” He nodded back, beaming. “Except for the bell not ringing, of course.”
My fingers itched to whip out my camera and capture the conductor’s proud expression. You’d think he’d hung that bell himself. I refrained, though. I’d learned the hard way during this trip that the minute I brought the camera out, questions followed. And telling this sweet old walking encyclopedia I was photographing the Oregon Trail bell towers would no doubt trigger a stampede of free advice and, I smiled ruefully, dire warnings.
My latest strategy, which was working like a charm so far, was to ask about local landmarks, implying I was just a tourist interested in old buildings and such. The conversation inevitably got around to some civic pride-style bragging about the bell tower. Railroad conductors and porters were often one-man chambers of commerce for the little towns along their routes.
“Well, Miss Adams, enjoy your vacation in Dane’s Creek. It’s a right nice little town. And don’t forget to visit the Dane’s Creek Diner. Tell ‘em Earl says hello. And oh, you’re gonna want to order the meatloaf–it’s the world’s best!”
“Oh, I will,” I said, glancing at his name plate. “Mr. Tanner, what’s the best way to get to the hotel?”
“Name’s Earl. I figure since we’ve been on this train together since Idaho, we’re practically related!”
“Okay, Earl.” Chuckling, I tucked my tourist map and sunglasses into my overworked shoulder bag.
“Only motel or hotel in town is the Cedar Inn. It’s not so far. You could probably leg it. Everything’s pretty much within walking distance. But Frank’s almost always hanging around the depot with his truck. That’s as good as they go here for a taxi. You won’t have to lug that suitcase so far.” He grinned. “Not that it’s that heavy. You’re a light packer, aren’t you?”
“Only as much as I can easily carry, because I don’t always meet such nice gentlemen as yourself.” I stood, grabbing the headrest to keep from tipping into the aisle. “Cedar Inn. Got it.”
The conductor placed a protective hand on my elbow, and guided me to the car door, expertly compensating for the train’s erratic motion. The train lurched to a howling, grinding stop. I reached for her suitcase, but Earl shook his head, and stepped off with my tote in hand. “My job’s not done till you’re settled alright.”
“Thank you, Earl,” I conceded with a smile. Fussing about being able to carry my own suitcase would be considered downright rude.
“Hey, Frank!” Earl shouted over the noise of the train. “Gotta customer for you!”
The front legs of a chair banged onto the station porch, and a very wrinkled face peered over a lowered newspaper. “What’s up, Earl?”
“Take this little gal down to the Cedar, will ya? Name’s Miss Adams.”
Frank unfolded from the chair, and shuffled toward the bench, taking my luggage from Earl. “Miss Adams. Here you go, little lady.” He motioned toward the cracked blacktop that passed for a parking lot. “Right over here.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing outright. This scenario had been replayed at stops along the Union Pacific line. Despite my considerable height, I’d been inevitably referred to as “little” by every man west of the Mississippi. These western men were unashamedly polite and protective, even if I topped them by several inches. A little gal like me could get used to that.
“Thank you, Earl. You made my trip fascinating. You’ve got more information than the World Book! Thanks for everything.” I held out a dollar to the conductor, but he waved it away, frowning comically.
“Keep it for Frank. He might just take money from a woman.” He grunted out a laugh, snatched up the metal step, climbed back into the train, and signaled to the engineer. “Happy trails,” he hollered over the screeching and groaning of the train as it pulled away.
I waved, then turned to see Frank heaving my suitcase into the flatbed of a rusty pickup. I winced, good thing I tucked my camera in my shoulder bag.
Frank opened the passenger door for me, shoved a coil of rope off the seat to the floor, and motioned me in, grinning sheepishly. “Well, shoot. Sorry, Miss Adams. I shoulda cleaned that up yesterday. Climb on in. You can crack the window a bit if you want. Not sure what that smell is, but it’s better now than last week, so you picked the right day to come to Dane’s Creek.”
I gave him a smile, cranked down the window as advised, and happily settled onto my lumpy seat.
I couldn’t wait to write Nana about these characters. She’d probably use them for comic relief in one of her spine-tingling, bodice-rippers. I could just about see Frank whipping up the carriage horses while reassuring the new governess of Elsworth Castle that it might look a little gloomy, but the folks were right nice, once you got to know ’em. Long as you didn’t mention the first wife, of course. That riled ’em up a bit.
