Here is a story beginning for you. I’m curious what you think happens next.

Westward from Red Rocks – A Story Start

Damp heat swirled in through the open glass windows and sent waves of air through the sage green pile of the velvet upholstery. The rippling of the fabric only paused when it met the creamy ornate embroidery or dove into the deeply tuffed craters along the back of the empty upholstered bench.

The windows of the luxurious Pullman car were open on purpose to catch the breeze and let the heat out. This was a vast difference to the stripped-down accommodations of the overcrowded emigrant car that Clare had traveled in previous to the most recent stop.

First-time travelers in the third class cars behind the billowing steam engine seldom were aware of their blunder in opening the sashes to let out the pent up heat. The windows in the poorly maintained cars at the head of the train tended to stick in the open position.

Clare knew to find a seat protected from the hot cinders and coal dust that would fly through those same windows when the train reached speed. Shouts of unpleasant surprise rang out when the dirty missiles struck their first victims. People looked for seats further from the constant pelting but those safer seats were taken by passengers who knew better.

In this car situated much further back in the line, the elegantly dressed stowaway showed none of the face smudges or stained clothes that would have given her away. And thanks to the predictable, clandestine swap the gambling-addicted conductors always pulled at Red Rocks, no one would question her.

Clare enjoyed sinking into the plush, rear-facing double seat where she could watch the other occupants of the car over the latest issue of Godey’s. She had pulled the magazine from the blue and burgundy carpetbag she set within easy reach on the seat next to her. The alert passenger had no fear of having to make small talk with a nosy neighbor. Since this set of facing settees would turn into a sleeping berth in a few hours, no new passenger in the next few stops would dare to take the seat that would make up the foot of her bed.

Frosted glass globes hung from sturdy brass posts suspended from the swaying barrel-vaulted ceiling painted to match the upholstery. The lamps gave the illusion of stability. Clare knew that illusion would be put to the test on this journey. The only thing she did not have was the timeline.

The woman covertly watched her fellow passengers. She did not have a direct line of sight to everyone, but the highly polished brass covering the upper berths gave a sufficient reflection even at this distance.

And there, just as she had suspected, with arms sprawled across the farthest bench as if he owned the railroad, was a lanky man in a banker’s suit. A familiar Stetson was pulled down over his eyes enough to hide him from unsuspecting passengers. Luckily, Clare was not unsuspecting.