Li Jun and the Iron Road Page 10

  Debris shot into the air. Smoke and dust obscured everything. Trembling, she clung to James.

  “This time, you save my life,” she said.

  As the smoke cleared, they pulled away from each other. Workers rose from their cover and everyone hurried to look over the edge. Below them, the outcropping was gone and Di Hong’s body swung eerily in the air from Little Tiger’s extra rope. The hoist crew hauled him up and untied the rope. They covered Di Hong’s face with a cloth and the stretcher bearers carried him away.

  Only then did the workers, one by one, nod respectfully to Little Tiger and pick up their tools. Bookman patted her on the back as Mr. Nichol and Edgar shook hands and congratulated each other on handling the crisis.

  James turned to Little Tiger. “That was pretty amazing.”

  “Do you remember, Mr. James? Di Hong worked for Lei Mo.”

  Clearly James was puzzled and taken aback. “You risked your life to save a criminal like him?”

  “His soul would be trapped, like his body. I did it for him, for my friends, and for the railway. I know you have to finish by your deadline.”

  “You’re something else, that’s for sure. I learn something …” James smiled, “fantastic about you every day.”

  Offering a slight smile in return, she whispered, “Can I stay now for sure?”

  She could tell that James was holding back in front of his father and the others. She sensed he wanted to hold her in his arms, but instead he gave her a roughhouse hug, then turned to walk back to the office with his father.

  Tossing his cigar butt away, the Controller said to Bookman, loud enough for Little Tiger to hear, “This kid is trouble. Keep an eye on him.”

  It was almost sunset when Little Tiger went to see the marker just put up for her old foe, Di Hong. She was surprised to see James standing there. They were alone — a rare event.

  James said, “The Controller seemed to think this wasn’t an accident.”

  Little Tiger didn’t want to answer. There were lots of strange things in this strange land.

  “Maybe he missed home too much,” she said.

  “And jumped?” said James, incredulous.

  “It is hard here, Mr. James.”

  They wandered among the grave markers.

  “Many times I think, is my father buried somewhere here, or …”

  James saw the hope in her eyes. “You think he might be alive?”

  Little Tiger did still hope, but nobody seemed to have heard of him. “Maybe he work in a mill or on another crew.”

  James didn’t look optimistic.

  “Or maybe I find his marker,” said Little Tiger. “Send his bones back to China. We have a saying, ‘fallen leaves return to their roots.’ His bones must go home.”

  “How could you do that?” asked James, eyeing the new markers.

  Little Tiger pointed to them. “With body, they bury a jar with paper inside. On paper Bookman writes name of person and name of village. Six years, maybe more, bone collector comes to unbury what is left of body, clean bones, and send them back to person’s village. Chinese people believe soul stays with the body. If the body stays here, soul is lost, will wander forever.”

  “Do you remember him? Your father?”

  “No, not much,” she answered. “But I have picture. I can show you.”

  James smiled at her with a tenderness she hadn’t seen before. “I’d like that,” he said. “Why don’t you bring it to my railcar tonight?”

  He reached for her hand and she slipped it into his.

  ***

  Outside her tent, Powder pulled her aside. “That was good what you did today … you deserve something. It’s payday. Come join us in the gambling tent. Some fan-tan, maybe some mah-jong? I will give you a stake.”

  Little Tiger thanked him. She didn’t gamble, besides she had better plans.”Powder, instead, can you make me a hot bath?”

  Powder was not only an inventive cook, but he’d made a bathtub from one of the Irish crew’s empty whiskey kegs. Little Tiger had never used it, fearing that one of the men might catch her out, but this time they were all busy setting up the gambling tents. Happily, Powder poured hot water and a herbal essence he’d made himself into the tub. The gwailo had laughed at the Chinese men in their tubs with the “girly” scents, but it was a long tradition that the men valued. After her treat — the luxurious bath all alone — Little Tiger put her photo into her jacket pocket and sneaked away to James’s railcar.

  It was dark now and she knocked quietly on his door. James opened it and looked around to make sure that no one saw them, then ushered her inside. He whispered, “I wasn’t sure you’d come, but I sure am glad you did.”

  He devoured her with his eyes. “How did I ever, ever, think you were a boy?”

  Little Tiger laughed but wriggled away and went over to the kerosene lamp. “I have picture to show you.” She pulled the tintype out of her jacket and pointed to the worn image. “This is my father, here.”

  James studied the face of the Chinese man, his wife, and the child.

  “This baby? Is that you?”

  She nodded and handed the photo to him to study, as she looked around the opulent surroundings. The railcar had all the fixtures of a grand room: lead-fronted cabinets, velvet upholstery, panelled walls.

  “Your mother was a real beauty. You take after her,” said James.

  Little Tiger frowned and shook her head.

  He was confused. “What?”

  “I do not feel beautiful, dressed this way.”

  James put down the photo and moved close. “But without this …” he said, plucking off her slouch hat.

  Little Tiger was startled by a noise outside. She walked to the window and drew back the curtain. “Your father. Is he here?”

  James turned her around and drew her close to him. “No. He’s gone off to Victoria to talk to the banker, Mr. Grant, about getting another loan. But that’s business and being here with you is pure pleasure.”

  He cupped her chin in his hand and stared so deeply into her eyes that she felt they would melt into each other. He lifted her face and leaned in to kiss her.

  Little Tiger lowered her head and hesitated. “Mr. James …”

  “Just James,” he said.

  “James,” she murmured.

  His lips touched hers, tentatively at first, and then with more passion. She had strange new feelings. She couldn’t believe she could want him this way or surrender herself to him so completely. All she could think about was her longing to touch and be touched. She lifted her arms around his neck and gave herself completely to his kiss.

  Silently, James unwound the scarf around her head. He took her hand and led her toward his bed, unfastened the closures of her jacket and gently pulled it off, then reached for a pillow and placed it underneath her head. They lay together, legs entwined, hands exploring each other. She was not afraid. It was as if she was meant to be here with him. He ran his lips down her neck, lingering in the hollow beneath her chin. His hands ran over her shirt and under it, caressing her breasts as she arched her back, losing herself to the touch of his gentle hands. He reached down and pulled at the strings of her waistband but she caught his wrist and whispered, “No, please …”

  James brought his hand to her face and moved aside a wisp of her hair that had fallen into her eyes. “Whatever you wish,” he said. “Mmm. You smell wonderful. Like meadow flowers.”

  She gave him small kisses up and down the length of his neck and they touched in ways that Little Tiger had never imagined. His kisses lingered on her lips and his touch burned through her clothing. It was all so new, so strange, and the wonder of it swept over her.

  “I want you so badly,” said James, snuggling into the curve between her head and her shoulders. “I care for you more than any woman I’ve ever known.”

  She twisted a lock of his hair. “You are a good man, Mr. James.”

  He looked at her sternly. “It’s just James, remembe
r?”

  “James,” she corrected herself with mock seriousness. She looked around the railcar and broke into a smile. Here she was — her real self, in this luxurious room, in the arms of a man who cared so much for her. She swept her arms wide with joy. “All this is like dream. Imagine if one day you and me, we have our own railcar.”

  She snuggled closer into him, giggling, but James became thoughtful. He traced his fingers along her collar­bone. “We’ll go back to China together and build railways. Live like royalty.”

  Li Jun sighed. “I could be your queen.”

  “That would be something,” said James, giving her a long, sweet kiss.

  They lay together until the moon was high in the sky. James had fallen asleep but Little Tiger dressed and picked up the photo of her family. She looked from the faces of her parents to the gwailo sleeping soundly in his bed of fine linens. What would they think of him? What would they think of her? She pulled a blanket up over James’s shoulders and slipped away, savouring the happiness she had felt in his arms.

  Quietly, she crept out of the shadows of the railcar and hurried across the open fields to her camp. The lanterns were lit inside Powder’s gambling tent and men were still gathered around the fan-tan table as she entered. Powder lifted up an overturned rice bowl. Dried beans spilled across the table top. Using a chopstick, he sorted the beans into fours as the gamblers looked on.

  Wang Ma turned to Little Tiger. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Out for a walk,” she replied.

  Looking behind her, out to the camp, she caught sight of Bookman stopping by a worker’s fire. Cheung Wai followed her gaze and laughed. “Wonder if Bookman ever gets any joy out of life. Maybe he has a shrew of a wife like mine who makes him send home every penny!”

  Powder, concentrating on the game, said, “Bookman has no one.”

  “How’d he get that scar — really?” asked Wang Ma.

  “From a fight. He killed the guy.”

  “Killed a white guy?” exclaimed Cheung Wai.

  Powder slapped him over the head. “Don’t be crazy! If he killed a white guy, the cops would be after him. No, he killed another Chinese. The guy was jumping his claim in the gold-mining camp and Bookman slit his throat. Back home, he’s a wanted man. He has to stay here.”

  Little Tiger froze. Could the man who Bookman killed be her father? Was that why no one knew about Li Man?

  Powder slammed the upside-down rice bowl on the table. “Stop talking and place your bets!”

  Little Tiger wasn’t interested and it was very late. She could hardly wait to get to bed in her empty tent. There was so much she had to think about.

  Chapter

  Eleven

  It was another restless night for Little Tiger. She was still trying to sleep when the men stumbled into the tent, some celebrating their winning in the game, some irritated because they’d lost. Wang Ma was the worst of the bunch. His sadness ran deeper than the others and he kept nudging Little Tiger as she tried to sleep.

  “We will go home together, yes?”

  “Go to sleep, Wang Ma. You’ll need your wits about you tomorrow.”

  The next morning, Powder greeted her with the news that she would be helping Mr. Nichol’s cook that afternoon. His eyes lingered on Little Tiger’s soiled jacket and grimy neck scarf.

  “Ask him for some of the serving boy’s clothes. The tea is ready. Take it.”

  Little Tiger weaved in and out of the workers grading the track, stopping to pour tea into their tin cups. She spotted James and Edgar on their horses. Here was her chance to ask James her new questions about Bookman. She called out, “Mr. James!”

  Edgar was taken aback when James broke into a broad grin and rode over to the boy. Little Tiger looked up at James, and said, “I need to talk to you.”

  “Yeah, sure. Are you all right?”

  But at that moment the whistle of the train coming back from Victoria interrupted them as it ground to a stop nearby. Bookman rode up and shouted, “Put down your tea pails, Xiao Hu, and go help with the unloading. “

  Little Tiger stood still, looking at him.

  “What are you staring at, boy?”

  Little Tiger was focusing on his scar. It had new meaning for her now. Could it be that this man was her father’s killer? She laid down her yoke, gave Bookman a look of pure hatred, and started toward the loading dock.

  Behind the engine, the passenger railcar squealed to a stop in a cloud of steam. James and Edgar dismounted from their horses and stood at attention as Alfred Nichol swung down the steps from the railcar. She watched them greet him.

  “Welcome back, sir,” said Edgar, extending his hand.

  Nichol surveyed the rails ahead. “Are you laying track?”

  James took the lead. “Yes. We’re back on schedule, Father.”

  Nichol seemed pleased with himself. “Mr. Grant has agreed to fund us more money for the project and he’s come out to see our progress for himself.”

  George Grant, a pompous-looking man with a broad chest and a thick head of hair, came down the steps of the passenger car and pumped James’s hand.

  “Mr. Grant. What a pleasant surprise!” said James. “I haven’t seen you and your charming wife since my parents’ party, just before I left for China.”

  Mr. Grant winked at him. “As I recall, you spent a great deal of time with my daughter Melanie at that party. But I’m not the surprise, young man. Look up there.”

  Little Tiger looked at the same time as James did. There, bursting through the passenger car door, was a blonde-haired woman, wearing a pink fitted jacket and long ruffled skirt. James looked shocked. “Melanie!”

  She broke into a giggle at his amazement.

  She lifted her skirts and took James’s hand as she reached the bottom step, then stood on her tiptoes and planted a lingering kiss on his cheek.

  Little Tiger dropped the bag of rice she was lugging. Where had she seen that woman before? Ah, yes! She was the pink fluff woman who had greeted James so warmly at the immigration shed when they first arrived from China. She was dressed in pink again, but what was she doing here?

  “Fancy seeing me here, James Nichol,” cooed Melanie. “I bet I’m the biggest surprise you’ve had this week.”

  James gulped hard and Little Tiger hoped it was because he was thinking about her in his arms the night before. Or was he so entranced by this vision in pink from his real life that he had already forgotten about her?

  Hurt and confused, she moved in closer. Alfred Nichol was directing his banker to the office railcar, as he turned to James. “While we discuss the financials, I’m sure you’d like to show Melanie around the site.”

  James looked over to Little Tiger, who promptly and loudly kicked a bucket into his path. Sidestepping it, James adjusted his collar and cleared his throat. “Um, the site? Father, I don’t think Melanie would be interested in —”

  Melanie smiled brightly. “Oh? Who says I wouldn’t welcome the opportunity to spend some private time in the wilderness with James Nichol.”

  Mr. Grant chuckled and James’s father had the parting words. “Look after her well, son.”

  Melanie leaned into James and linked her arm with his. She held her pink parasol aloft and, in her dainty, laced-up boots, picked her way carefully along the track. Little Tiger followed behind, pushing a wheelbarrow laden with supplies, struggling to get close enough to hear what they were saying.

  “The line follows this elevation for another quarter mile before it starts to climb through the narrow canyon,” droned James as if he were giving a lecture.

  Little Tiger nearly gagged as Melanie feigned interest in his explanation. “Really? Do tell.”

  “The crew will grade the land with gravel and dirt, then lay the steel rails. After that the fellows from the spiking crew will set the pins.”

  Melanie gushed, “My! You’re turning into a real railway man.”

  His voice turned cold. “That’s what we’re doing out
here. I thought you were interested.”

  “I am!” she insisted, lifting her face to him. “I like seeing you so passionate. It’s very attractive.” She ran her fingers along his arm and giggled. “I’m not used to seeing you work up such a sweat over steel rails and a lot of gravel.”

  “It’s important work, Mel,” said James. He stiffened and walked a little more quickly, leaving Melanie to catch up.

  “Absolutely,” she said.

  Little Tiger could follow them no farther or it would look suspicious. She nearly tipped the wheelbarrow as she manoeuvred it away, all the while watching James lead Melanie to the middle of the trestle bridge that spanned the width of the canyon. It was one of the most glorious views on the work site — snow-peaked mountains in the distance, acres of virgin forest, and the massive river below. She hoped Melanie would catch her heel on a spike and plunge into the abyss.

  ***

  At the kitchen tent, Little Tiger lifted a bag of rice from the wheelbarrow and thumped it onto the ground. Powder was furious. “Hey! You’re gonna split those bags wide open. Hurry, Mr. Nichol’s cook expects you.”

  Little Tiger wiped her sleeve across her face, trying to stop the tears brimming in her eyes. Was there something deeper between this woman and James? What else didn’t she know about this man she cared for so much? Maybe Bookman was right ­— never trust the gwailo. What would she find out by helping with the dinner party?

  In the kitchen of Alfred Nichol’s private railcar, Little Tiger scrubbed and peeled vegetables. When his cook wasn’t watching, she stuck some raw carrots into her pockets. She’d save them to eat, maybe even trade them for money. The crew was always complaining that there weren’t enough fresh vegetables to eat and their teeth were falling out. The kitchen was wedged between the dining car and the office car where the men — Mr. Nichol, Mr. Grant, Edgar, and the Controller — were poring over blueprints and papers. Head down, appearing to be absorbed in her work, Little Tiger could overhear everything they said. Edgar proudly described their progress.

  “We still have to blast this section here, but it’s primarily soft shale. With the pace we’ve set, we’ll hit our mark bang on deadline.”