The Race by Clive Cussler (red white royal blue .txt) 📗

knock at Josephine’s rear vestibule. Whoever it was, he must have come through the train, as Bell had seen or heard no one on the ballast. Nonetheless, Bell drew his Browning and aimed it through an open roof hatch at the door. He heard Josephine call sleepily from her stateroom, “Who is it?”

“Preston.”

“Mr. Whiteway, it’s kind of late.”

“I must speak with you, Josephine.”

Josephine padded into the front parlor, wearing a simple dressing gown over cotton pajamas, and opened the door.

Whiteway was dressed in a suit with a silk necktie, and his hair was combed in grand golden waves. “I want you to know that I’ve put a lot of thought in what I am about to say to you,” he said, and began pacing about the narrow parlor. “Odd. I feel a little tongue-tied.”

Josephine curled up in an overstuffed chair, tucked her bare feet under her, and watched him warily. “I hope you are not changing your mind,” she said. “I’m doing much better. My times are improving. I’ve been catching up. And now that the poor baronet is out of the race, I have a very good chance.”

“Of course you have!”

“Joe Mudd isn’t as fast. And Steve Stevens can’t keep going much longer.”

“You’re going to win. I’m sure of it.”

Josephine grinned. “That’s a relief. You looked so nervous, I thought you were dropping me . . . But what are you trying to say?”

Whiteway stood to his full height, thrust out his chest and belly, and blurted, “Marry me!”

“What?”

“I’ll make a wonderful husband, and you’ll be rich, and you can fly aeroplanes every day until we have children . . . What do you say?”

After a long silence, Josephine said, “I don’t know what to say. I mean, it’s very nice of you to offer, but—”

“But what? What could be better?”

Josephine took a deep breath and climbed to her feet. Whiteway opened his arms to embrace her.

“THEN WHAT HAPPENED?” whispered Marion when Bell reported to her at breakfast in the Josephine Special’s lavish dining car. Her enormous coral-sea green eyes were wide and so beautiful that for a long moment Bell lost his train of thought.

“Did she say yes?” Marion prompted.

“No.”

“Good. Preston is too in love with himself to be a loving husband. If she’s as sweet a girl as I read in the newspapers, she deserves better.”

“You’ve seen more of her than the newspaper readers.”

“We’ve only said hello in passing. But I would have thought she would have answered ‘Maybe.’”

“Why?” Bell asked.

Marion thought on that. “She strikes me as someone who gets what she wants.”

“It was a sort-of maybe. She said she had to think about it.”

“I suspect she has no one to talk to. I’ll give her an ear. And an opinion, if she wants one.”

“I was hoping you would say that,” said Bell. “In fact, I was hoping you would put your mind to what Harry Frost meant when he said that she and Celere were up to something.”

Marion glanced out the window. A stiff wind was spinning miniature tornadoes of coal smoke, wheat chaff, and cinders around the trains. “No flying today. I will do it right now.”

“I WANT TO BE LIKE YOU WHEN I GROW UP,” Josephine grinned at Marion. They were alone in the front parlor of Josephine’s private car, curled up in facing armchairs. Coffee cups sat between them untouched.

“I hope I don’t seem that old. Besides, you are grown up. You’re driving a flying machine across the continent.”

“That’s not the same. I want to be a straight shooter like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You told me straight off that Isaac overheard Preston asking me to marry him.”

Marion said, “I also told you that I’m very curious what you think of his proposal.”

“I don’t know. I mean, what does he want to marry me for?” She gave Marion one of her big open grins. “I’m just a silly girl two seconds off the farm.”

“Men are strange creatures,” Marion smiled back. “Most of them. Maybe he loves you.”

“He didn’t say he loved me.”

“Well, Preston is not very bright in many ways. On the other hand, he is handsome.”

“I suppose.”

“And very, very wealthy.”

“So was Harry.”

“Unlike Harry, Preston, for all his many, many faults, is no brute.”

“Yes, but he’s big like Harry.”

“And getting bigger,” laughed Marion. “If he isn’t careful, he’ll end up like President Taft.”

“Or Steve Stevens.”

They both laughed. Marion watched her closely, and asked, “Are you considering it at all?”

“Not at all. I don’t love him. I mean, I know he’d buy me aeroplanes. He said he’d buy me aeroplanes at least until we have children. Then wants me to stop flying.”

“Good Lord,” said Marion, “Preston is even a bigger fool than I thought.”

“You don’t think I should marry him . . . do you?”

Marion said, “I can’t tell you that. You have to know what you want to do.”

“You see, if I win the fifty thousand dollars, I’ll have my own money. I’ll buy my own aeroplanes.”

Marion said, “Dear, if you win the cross-country race, they’ll be lining up to give you aeroplanes.”

“Really?”

“I am sure of it. They know that customers will buy aeroplanes you fly. So marrying Preston really has nothing to do with aeroplanes, does it?”

“If I win.”

“Isaac says you have no doubt you’ll win. And,” she added with another laugh, “he has no doubt you’ll win. He’s bet three thousand dollars on you.”

Josephine nodded distractedly and looked out her railcar window. The wind was still rattling the glass. She closed her eyes and started to form words with her lips, then pressed her lips tightly together. She was aching to talk, Marion thought. It seemed as if Preston’s proposal was forcing to her think about things she would prefer not to.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s really troubling you?”

Josephine pursed her lips and exhaled sharply. “Can you keep a secret?” Her hazel eyes bored pleadingly into Marion’s.

“No,” Marion answered, “I can’t. Not from Isaac.”

Josephine rolled her eyes. “Why are you so honest, Marion?”

“I prefer to be,”