Bay City Belle. Shirley Kennedy

“It’s better than rancid meat and cold coffee.”

      They reached the dining car, which Belle found to be far more elegant than she’d imagined with its plush carpet, wide windows, and murals on the walls. A row of larger tables seating four ran along one side of the aisle; tables seating two ran along the other side, all with white linen tablecloths and gleaming silver and crystal. When they arrived, they had to stand in a short line. When they got to the front, Mrs. Hollister spoke to the steward. “I would like a table for two.”

      “Sorry, madam, if you want a table for two, you’ll have to wait. Only tables for four are available right now.”

      “Then we’d like one to ourselves.”

      The steward threw her a withering glance, as if he’d never heard of anything so outlandish. “Not possible.”

      Belle spoke up. She was starving. “We don’t mind sharing a table, do we, Mrs. Hollister?”

      The older woman frowned with annoyance. “Oh, very well. Lead the way.”

      The steward led them halfway down the aisle to a table where two men occupied the seats riding forward. One, a corpulent gentleman in his forties, wore a stylish suit and vest with a gold watch chain draped across the front. The other, who was somewhat younger and a whole lot thinner, wore a plain dark suit. With a flourish, the waiter indicated the two seats riding backward. “Enjoy your dinner, ladies.”

      Belle took the seat by the window, directly across from the younger, thinner man. As Mrs. Hollister seated herself, her lips pursed into their sour-lemon look. “I detest riding backward.”

      The heavier gentleman immediately spoke up. “Oh, say, we can’t have that. We’d be happy to switch with you”—he looked to his companion—“wouldn’t we, Yancy?”

      Before the other one could answer, Mrs. Hollister raised her hand. “Never mind. I shall manage.”

      No surprise there. Belle hadn’t known her seatmate long, but long enough to recognize she liked to complain for the sake of complaining. No doubt she didn’t really mind riding backward. It was just something to complain about.

      The older man chuckled. “Which is better? To see where you’re going or to see where you’ve been?” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Ronald McLeish from San Francisco. I’m delighted to dine with two such lovely ladies as you.”

      Mrs. Hollister extended her hand reluctantly and gave him a quick, limp handshake. “Delighted to meet you. I’m Mrs. Edith Hollister from San Francisco.” Her words came out pinched, as if she begrudged each one as it left her mouth.

      If the gentleman noticed, he gave no sign of it and extended his hand to Belle. “Pleased to meet you, little lady.”

      Belle took his hand and shook it with a firm grasp. “I’m Belle Ainsworth from Savannah, Georgia, and I’m delighted to meet you.”

      He glanced toward his companion. “This is my brother, Yancy McLeish.”

      The younger man had been sitting so quietly Belle had hardly noticed him. Now that she looked closer, she could tell they were brothers from the definite similarity about their mouths, and the same brown eyes. But other than that, the resemblance ended. Ronald’s facial features had gone soft and pudgy, and he had a double chin, while Yancy’s sharp cheekbones and angular jaw made his lean face almost too thin, and from what she could see of his sinewy body, he carried not one extra ounce of fat. He didn’t appear to be as outgoing as his brother, either. “Pleased to meet you,” he said with a short nod to each of them. Polite enough, but without his brother’s excess joviality.

      Belle returned a “Delighted,” and for the first time gazed directly into his eyes. They weren’t smiling eyes, nor were they cold, either. They just didn’t have that spark of interest in them, like she remembered when she was the most popular belle in Savannah, and the young men’s eyes carried that certain gleam that told her how smitten they were. Nice eyes, though, set deep, and at least friendly.

      With a beaming smile, Ronald McLeish reached in his pocket and handed each a business card. “At your service, ladies, in case you’re ever looking for a bank in San Francisco.”

      Belle glanced at the card. “So you’re president of a bank?”

      “That I am. Of course that doesn’t mean I’m rich as the robber barons who live on Nob Hill.” He gave a chuckle. “As you can see, I’m not riding in my own private railroad car.”

      Mrs. Hollister took a long moment to stare at the card. When she raised her eyes, an actual smile tilted the corners of her mouth, a sight Belle hadn’t seen before. “Well, fancy that, a bank president.” Her tone of voice had become all warm and friendly.

      Ronald McLeish turned to his brother. “Yancy here comes from Maine. Lives out in the woods with the bears and Indians. Just wait. When we get to San Francisco, I’m going to show him what fine living is all about so maybe he’ll stay.” He slapped his brother so hard on the back he had to grasp the edge of the table. “What do you say to that, my boy?”

      A slow grin crossed Yancy’s face. His brother’s excess cheeriness didn’t seem to bother him. “We’ll see, Ronald.” He picked up a menu. “Time to order.”

      From then on, Belle began to enjoy herself, more than she thought she would. To begin with, she’d expected the food would be ordinary, but to her delight the menu listed such items as Braised Duck Cumberland, Lobster Americaine, Hungarian Beef Goulash with Potato Dumplings, and more. She chose the braised duck and soon found herself laughing and chatting, engaged in lively conversation with her newfound friends. The banker might be a bit bombastic, but he provided fascinating stories of what he called the “real” San Francisco and the shockingly wicked doings of what went on in the notorious Barbary Coast. Mrs. Hollister lost some of her rigid demeanor and gave them a description of the fancy mansions on Nob Hill and the high and mighty millionaires who lived there. Yancy didn’t talk much, but when asked, he described his dealings with the friendly Indians who lived around Moose Lake. “People think they’re savages, but they’re more civilized than some white people I know.”

      Belle had finished her braised duck and had been served her dessert of chocolate mousse when a sudden sense of well-being struck her. Here she was, traveling with affable companions, enjoying a fabulous meal on a gently rocking train, watching the whole country roll by as she traveled in style to a new life and the wonderful man she was going to marry. What more could she ask for? Life was good. Surely she’d made all the right choices. She smiled and drew in a satisfied breath.

      The banker was busy talking to Mrs. Hollister, but Yancy had been watching her. “You’re smiling, Miss Ainsworth.”

      “Yes, I am. It’s because…” How could she explain? “It’s because I’m happy. I know that sounds silly, but—”

      “Not silly at all. Seize the moment and hope that it lasts.”

      How surprising. She hadn’t expected such a thoughtful answer from the quiet man in plain clothing who sat across. “I didn’t think of it that way, but you’re quite right. And what about you, Mr. McLeish? Have you seized the moment?”

      He laughed in appreciation and was about to answer when his brother, who’d drunk several glasses of wine during dinner, slung an over-friendly arm around his shoulders. “Listen everyone, I’ll have you know Yancy here is the family hero. Served four years in the Union Army and—”

      “That’s enough, Ronald.” Yancy spoke in a soft voice edged with an overtone of uncompromising firmness. “These folks don’t want to hear about a war that’s long since over. Who did what doesn’t matter anymore.”

      Mrs. Hollister bobbed her head in agreement. “Absolutely right. Let’s change the subject.”

      Belle had been bringing a spoonful of her chocolate mousse to her mouth when the words “Union Army” stopped her halfway. After the briefest of hesitations, she continued as if nothing had happened. Never let it be