Cooing to her bird, Theodosia met each person’s stare directly. “Allow me to elaborate. I’m of the inclination that the ear must hear thoughts before the mind is able to grasp their full significance and keep them in separate and precise order. And if one’s thought pertains to a specific conundrum, said problem is quite likely to be solved if one simply voices it rather than merely contemplates it. That is the reason why I converse with myself.”
John the Baptist stuck his beak through his cage bars. “That is the reason why I converse with myself,” he mimicked.
Theodosia sprinkled a few sunflower seeds into her parrot’s cage, then turned back to the window. Fondling her small heart-shaped ruby brooch and the delicate gold chains that hung down from it, she realized the train was slowing in preparation for the arrival at Oates’ Junction.
She dug into her reticule and withdrew the slip of paper upon which was written the name of the man Dr. Wallaby had arranged to escort her to Templeton. “Roman Montana,” she read quietly. “Tall. Long black hair. Blue eyes.”
She wanted to believe Mr. Montana would be at the station waiting for her, but she prepared herself for the possibility that he was not. Upton had explained that in the South people were slower, their way of life unhurried. She wasn’t certain of the reasons behind such leisure but decided that in all likelihood Roman Montana would be late.
The tinge of irritation she felt impelled her to take a moment to analyze her mood. The train hadn’t even come to a complete stop yet, and here she was already impatient with Roman Montana.
“Theodosia,” she scolded herself out loud, “impatience is an emotion that is rarely advantageous and often leads to true anger. If indeed Roman Montana is unpunctual, you will accept the situation in a self-possessed fashion and keep in mind the fact that not everyone enjoys being as prompt as you do.”
As the declaration left her lips, the train came to a hissing halt. Theodosia pulled her gloves onto her hands and her escort out of her mind.
After all, she reminded herself, she had not journeyed all the way from Boston for the company of some long-haired, lackadaisical Texan named Roman Montana.
Theodosia gave a great huff,choking as the blistering heat filled her chest. “One would think there was invisible fire in Texas air,” she mumbled. One at a time, she lifted her overly warm feet off the sunbaked platform at the depot, hard pressed to keep from being knocked to the ground by the other passengers hurrying toward the shelter of the train station.
Wherewas Roman Montana?
“There now, Theodosia dear,” John the Baptist squawked from within his cage. “Here’s a nice cup of hot tea.”
At her parrot’s words, Theodosia felt another heat wave shimmer through her. John the Baptist had repeated what he heard Lillian say every afternoon at precisely three o’clock. While Theodosia realized her bird didn’t understand what he was saying, his suggestion was unbearable at this moment.
“One sugar today, Theodosia, or two?” the parrot continued with his tea talk.
Theodosia frowned. “That’s quite enough out of you, John the Bap—”
“Impatience is an emotion that is rarely advantageous,” the bird stated. “Would you like cream in your tea as well, Theodosia, dear?”
Ignoring the loquacious parrot as best she could, Theodosia patted her moist brow with her lacy handkerchief and studied her surroundings.
Wagons crowded the dusty street that separated the depot platform and the train station. A drunken man wove among the vehicles. With each faulty step, he spilled whiskey from the bottle he clutched in his hand. As he neared Theodosia, he stopped and scratched his crotch.
“Sir,” she said, pinning him with a sharp look, “it must be close to one hundred degrees out here. Did you know that drinking alcohol raises the body temperature? You are out in this hot sun and drinking whiskey as well. Is it your intention to kill yourself?”
The man blinked several times, then raised his bottle. “Y’on’t some?”
She drew away. “No.”
Shrugging, he staggered back through the wagons, still digging at his crotch.
Dismissing the vulgar man from her mind, Theodosia scanned the area once more. A dog with a scarred ear barked at her. Nearby horses stomped their hooves, then sneezed as dust floated into their nostrils. Bags and trunks slammed onto the platform as a station employee flung them from the train. A street hawker selling flasks of an elixir for fatigue called out his prices to her. Someone shouted, “Go to hell, you damned son of a bitch!”
Theodosia shook her head. “Ah, these must be the sweet sounds of Texas.” Lips pursed in distaste, she stepped off the platform and made her way across the street. Mr. Roman Montana could look for her all week; she’d had enough of waiting outside in the torrid heat.
The interior of the train station wasn’t much cooler, but at least its roof kept the sun from beating down on her. Trash, cockroaches, and sleeping cowboys littered the hardwood floor, and the walls were covered with flies, train schedules, outdated Wanted posters, and lopsided paintings. One painting was of a seminude woman; someone had sketched a beard on her face and a bolt of lightning across her bare breast. In the far corner two old men played checkers. One was smoking a cigar and dropping ashes all over the playing board; his opponent kept blowing them off.
Theodosia’s distinguished life in Boston suddenly seemed a million miles away.
After a moment she spotted a refreshment bar and hurried toward it. “I’d like a cold lemonade, please,” she said, setting the bird cage on the counter.
The barkeep stared at her thoughtfully, his long black moustache twitching as he chewed his wad of tobacco. “Well now, little lady, I reckon youwouldlike a cold lemonade, but I ain’t got nary a lemon left.” He paused a moment to dig at some dried food encrusted within the pair of initials someone had carved into the wooden bar. “’Spect I won’t be gittin’ no more fer at least another week. They come from Mexico, y’know. Lemon trees don’t grow good here.”
Theodosia winced at his atrocious grammar. “They don’t growwellhere.”
“Yeah, I know. Wonder why?”
