<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/8/8f/Marguerite_Tuerny_07.jpg/600px-Marguerite_Tuerny_07.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Marguerite Tuerny<br/><strong>Date:</strong>September 25, 1874 (about 18 months before start of game)<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Early Evening<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Rocky Mountains - on the rail between Denver and Salt Lake<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Closed<br/><hr/>Denver was...  she wasn't sure what she thought about Denver.  It was both more and less civilized than she'd pictured.  The Opera was quite good, she even recognized some of the players from Baltimore.  But there was a gunfight just down the street from her hotel, close enough that she heard the discharge of firearms.  It was only a few shots, and from what they told her, it wasn't a duel like they sometimes had back East, but a fight between rowdy men over ownership of a horse.  And Denver was the last bastion of civilization until Sacramento, which she did not have high hopes for.<br/><br/>Of course, there was Deseret, but she frankly didn't know what to expect there.  If half of what she heard was even partially true, then Deseret and the city by the Salt Lake were...  she didn't know what.  Unreal, she supposed.<br/><br/><strong>"We can still turn back."</strong>Alfred suggested, watching her from across the facing seats as the wheels clicked along the uneven track.  He was overly solicitous, and though she often felt better in his company, she just as often felt uneasy.  His concerns of late seemed more aimed at her travel purse than her person, which was hardly flattering.<br/><br/><strong>"We've talked about this before Alfred."</strong>She replied.<strong>"You can go back if you like."</strong>Frankly, she wondered why he hadn't.  She was normally a good judge of people, but Alfred while overtly transparent, often surprised her.<br/><br/>Days on the rail blended into each other, was it a week now since she left Baltimore?  Or was it longer?  Ahead was the Mormon city by the Salt Lake - some called the place Doom, what an ominous appellation!  More immediately ahead were the steep passes and dark tunnels through the Rocky Mountains.<br/><br/>That night, as the train struggled through the mountains between Colorado and Deseret, she stepped out of the rear car of the train, watching the extent of lost lands to the east from the small porch-like cubical.  East.  Home.  She was looking back, so ready to agree to Alfred's pleas and just go home and settle for what she could find there.  But while she had her mother's beauty, she was mostly her father's daughter, more than willing to take great risks for greater reward.  Effectively, she was staking her future on the hope that the one asset her father had protected for her wasn't worthless.<br/><br/>There were lights out there, some steady and white and some red and flickering, the later must be fires, campfires made by savage natives or hearty men of the wild.  The white lights - she didn't know.  Perhaps they were will-o-the-wisps or some new invention made possible by the ghost-rock?  Or maybe just the moonlight reflecting off mirror-polished rock.<br/><br/>She didn't hear the door open over the sounds of the train and her own dream-like distraction with the scenery, so Alfred surprised her when he stepped beside and wrapped an arm about her trim form.  Overly familiar, and not something he'd ever have tried back in Baltimore, but making a scene about it here would only lead to fruitless argument.<strong>"Isn't it lovely?"</strong>She asked, the mountain view really was spectacular, and he nodded absently, agreeing without really looking.<br/><br/>His clipped Boston accent grated on her now, though there was a time she found it charming.<strong>"Rita."</strong>He'd taken to calling her that, though she'd never given him permission to call her by that pet-name reserved for family.  Again, she didn't have the energy to argue with him about it.<strong>"This is insane.  I worry for you.  I'm not sure you're competent to risk everything you have.. that we have..."</strong>And there it was, as little as she had, a few paltry thousand dollars, and he thought of it as his own.<br/><br/><strong>"We're not married Alfred, I am my own woman."</strong>This was shaping up to be another of their oh-so-civil confrontations.  He as going to insist and she was going to rebuff and she already wished it was over.<br/><br/><strong>"A woman needs a man out here."</strong>He informed her, tightening his grip about her waist in an attempt to pull her into him.<strong>"And a man wants a woman, especially a woman like you Rita.  You're beautiful."</strong><br/><br/>He leaned in to kiss her, and she avoided it.<strong>"Not now Alfred, I'm not in the mood."</strong>But this time, perhaps the western air had driven him mad?  This time he behaved not like a suitor, not like a gentleman, he pulled her tight and ignored her protests, ignored her struggles, and tried again to kiss her despite her protests.<br/><br/>She wasn't sure what happened then, her elbow landed in something soft, and her knee made contact in a move her father taught her which she never expected to use.  They struggled, she was pressed back against the rail, and then the latch failed and the gate in the rail opened and she fell.<br/><br/>It could have been worse, the train was barely moving, struggling up the final steep slope capping the pass.<strong>"Alfred!"</strong>She called,<strong>"Stop the train!"</strong>She struggled to her feet, oh, her dress was a ruin!  The thought intruded even in this situation, but she suddenly winced when she put her weight on her left foot.  A broken ankle?  It didn't matter, even if it was simply twisted, she couldn't run, and the train was pulling away.<strong>"Alfred!"</strong>She called again, her voice rising to a scream.<br/><br/>But the figure at the tail of the train was doubled over in agony, intent on his own problems.  She hopped, then skipped, and hurt her ankle as it may, she started to trot, wishing at the moment her chic travel boots had somewhat more sensible heels.  Once she was moving, she gained on the slow-moving train.  She was safe!<br/><br/>But just before she could grab the rail the train topped the pass, the locomotive rolling down the far slope and pulling the rest of the train along at rising speed.  She was... she was almost there!<strong>"Alfred!"</strong>She called,<strong>"Give me your hand!"</strong>She reached out, and the man she faced didn't seem like the handsome dashing suitor from Boston at all, his face was twisted in pain and... it almost seemed like triumph!<br/><br/>And then he was just a shadow under the awning, the train and all her worldly possessions quickly fading into the darkness, the rattle lasted longer, she could feel the train through the rail long after it was gone.  And she was alone, in the dark, at the summit of a cold mountain pass, and her ankle hurt.<br/>