Matt had avenged Tamara’s death, but he had never forgotten her, and even now, many years later, he continued to think of her.
Had Matt loved Tamara? He had thought about that many times over the years. He knew that he had not been “in love with” Tamara, at least not in the classic sense. But she was a part of his youth, and he could not deny that he had loved her, any more than he could deny his own heritage.
Chapter Eight
The coach-and-four rolled onto the Park Avenue Bridge, crossing 42nd Street as it approached the great stone edifice that Cornelius Vanderbilt had constructed for his railroad. Inside the coach, on the backseat facing forward, sat financier Jay Peerless Bixby, a rather plump, balding man who wore chin whiskers and muttonchop sideburns. Bixby was dressed in a three-piece suit, as befitting a man of his economic station. He was in his late fifties, but because his wife, Cynthia, was an exceptionally beautiful woman in her mid-twenties, she was often taken for his daughter.
Riding in the coach with Bixby was Ken Hendel. Hendel, in his early thirties, was a small man who wore wire- rim glasses and, at the moment, was wearing a suit and tie.
“Are you sure you made all the arrangements so I can transfer the funds as needed?” Bixby asked.
“Jay, dear, you have asked Mr. Hendel that same question at least three times since we left the house,” Cynthia said.
“Yes, well, one can never be too careful when dealing with employees,” Bixby said, speaking of Hendel as if he weren’t present. “For the most part, they tend to be unreliable.”
“I have never known Mr. Hendel to be anything but reliable,” Cynthia said in defense of the man who was their business manager.
“You can understand my apprehension, I’m sure,” Bixby said. “After all, there is a great deal of money involved, and when I am done, I will be the largest landowner in the entire territory of Arizona. Why, I’ll own a ranch that will be the envy of the West.”
“For the life of me, I don’t understand your obsession with owning a ranch,” Cynthia said.
“I am buying a ranch to make money, my dear. The cost of beef is rising every day.”
“But you’ve never even been west of the Hudson River,” Cynthia pointed out.
“That’s why I will do well,” Bixby said. He laughed. “Can you imagine those Western cretins doing business with me? I will be their superior in every respect.”
When the coach stopped in front of the station, a footman hurried around to open the door. Once outside the coach, they could see the many omnibuses and cabs standing below them. They were met by three porters who picked up the baggage that the footman off-loaded from the coach.
“Hendel, you go with the porters to make certain our luggage gets checked through,” Bixby ordered.
“Very well, Mr. Bixby,” Hendel replied.
“And before you come back, check to make certain the train is on time.”
“He doesn’t have to do that,” Cynthia said. She pointed to a big blackboard. “You can see right there that the train is on time.”
“It may have changed and they may not have changed the posting,” Bixby replied to his wife.
Just beyond the north wall, under the great vaulting roof, trains were arriving and departing. As they did so, the rumble of heavy wheels rolling on the tracks caused the floor to shake and it filled the large cavernous room with echoes.
Through doors and portals that opened onto the tracks, they could hear the rush of steam, the clang of bells, and, occasionally, the blowing of a whistle.
“Oh, Jay,” Cynthia said, her eyes shining brightly. “Have you ever seen anything as exciting as this place?”
“Sometimes, Cynthia, you are such a child,” Bixby said gruffly.
Cynthia wrapped her arms about her shoulders as if hugging herself. “I don’t care,” she said. “I think this is so exhilarating!”
Bixby turned his attention away from his wife. “You,” he called to a uniformed railroad employee who was passing by. “Are these miserable accommodations the best you have for your passengers of means?”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Do you not understand what I am saying? I am a very wealthy man,” Bixby said. “A man of my class and means should not have to sit on hard benches in a noisy room with the common passengers. Where are your upper-class accommodations?”
