which look, when moved by the breezes, like huge foaming breakers in their mad rush for the shore, I continue examining my fellow passengers. I’m amazed. I haven’t even reached Mexico City and already I have fabulous ideas for my articles.
The train slows as it draws near what appears to be a modest-size town. As the train approaches the town, a large group of armed horsemen wearing sombreros and riding at a 2:09 speed leave clouds of dust as they stop and form in a decorous line on both sides of us.
Their hands rest on their holsters and none is smiling.
10
I lean across the aisle and ask a gentleman, “Do you know what’s going on?”
“I have no idea.”
“Maybe they’re bandits and we are going to get robbed.” I’m jesting, but his look suggests he doesn’t like my idea. “I’m sure I’m wrong, but you must admit their presence is puzzling.”
“On the contrary, señorita, they are here to protect us by keeping bandidos from attacking the train.”
I turn, to find a tall, distinguished-looking man.
Close to six feet tall, he has thick black hair combed straight back, a long, slender aristocratic nose, and a pencil-thin mustache. His suit is a fine cut of worsted wool; his white shirt silk, adorned by ruby cuff links, has ruffles down the front to hide the buttons; his heavy watch chain is gold and encrusted with diamonds.
He appears very much to be a cultured and wealthy gentleman; his big brown eyes, below thick eyebrows, are framed by perfectly round glasses, while his long fingers appear designed for piano playing. His nails appear manicured, something you’ll never see on the men in Cochran’s Mills—or in the Dispatch newsroom.
“Don Antonio Rodriguez-Castillo, consul general of Mexico at El Paso.” He slightly bows his head to acknowledge both of us. “Welcome to Mexico.”
His accent is slight.
I rise and offer my hand. “ Gracias, Señor Castillo. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Nellie Bly, and this is gentleman is…” I look to the man who took umbrage at my comment about bandidos as the consul general gives my hand a slight squeeze.
He clears his throat. “Jack O’Brian, but if you’ll excuse me, I have to join my wife.”
“It is a pleasure meeting you, Señorita Bly.”
“Señor Castillo?”
“Yes?”
“I’m normally not this forward, but would you join me for a moment? This is my first trip to Mexico, and I would love to learn about your country and any sights you think I should see.”
“Of course, I would be honored.”
He sits in Mr. O’Brian’s seat, so we are facing each other.
“Are you traveling with family, señorita?”
I hope he doesn’t notice my cringe at the question. “Not at the moment. I originally started with my mother as my traveling companion. But just before El Paso, she became sick from something she ate. It really put her under the weather. Poor thing couldn’t travel any farther.”
“And you didn’t want to wait for her recovery?”
“I couldn’t.” Here comes one of my famous white lies, which just slides off my silken tongue. “I’m on assignment for The Pittsburgh Dispatch and have limited time.”
I can’t admit the truth because he’d think me a horrid daughter, but I made sure my mother was in good hands. And he’s a man and wouldn’t understand why a woman would accept the challenge of traveling alone to a foreign country. Seize the opportunity, Mrs. Percy said, so I did.
“ The Pittsburgh Dispatch … a newspaper, señorita?”
“Yes, I’m their foreign correspondent.” Another half-truth. I don’t want to say the Mexico trip is self-assigned, because instead of him seeing me as a woman who has obtained a position usually reserved just for men, he’ll view me the same as my editor does: an insubordinate female putting herself into danger by foolishly trying to tackle a man’s job.
“Well, I must say it is an honor meeting you. I’ve never met a woman foreign
The train slows as it draws near what appears to be a modest-size town. As the train approaches the town, a large group of armed horsemen wearing sombreros and riding at a 2:09 speed leave clouds of dust as they stop and form in a decorous line on both sides of us.
Their hands rest on their holsters and none is smiling.
10
I lean across the aisle and ask a gentleman, “Do you know what’s going on?”
“I have no idea.”
“Maybe they’re bandits and we are going to get robbed.” I’m jesting, but his look suggests he doesn’t like my idea. “I’m sure I’m wrong, but you must admit their presence is puzzling.”
“On the contrary, señorita, they are here to protect us by keeping bandidos from attacking the train.”
I turn, to find a tall, distinguished-looking man.
Close to six feet tall, he has thick black hair combed straight back, a long, slender aristocratic nose, and a pencil-thin mustache. His suit is a fine cut of worsted wool; his white shirt silk, adorned by ruby cuff links, has ruffles down the front to hide the buttons; his heavy watch chain is gold and encrusted with diamonds.
He appears very much to be a cultured and wealthy gentleman; his big brown eyes, below thick eyebrows, are framed by perfectly round glasses, while his long fingers appear designed for piano playing. His nails appear manicured, something you’ll never see on the men in Cochran’s Mills—or in the Dispatch newsroom.
“Don Antonio Rodriguez-Castillo, consul general of Mexico at El Paso.” He slightly bows his head to acknowledge both of us. “Welcome to Mexico.”
His accent is slight.
I rise and offer my hand. “ Gracias, Señor Castillo. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Nellie Bly, and this is gentleman is…” I look to the man who took umbrage at my comment about bandidos as the consul general gives my hand a slight squeeze.
He clears his throat. “Jack O’Brian, but if you’ll excuse me, I have to join my wife.”
“It is a pleasure meeting you, Señorita Bly.”
“Señor Castillo?”
“Yes?”
“I’m normally not this forward, but would you join me for a moment? This is my first trip to Mexico, and I would love to learn about your country and any sights you think I should see.”
“Of course, I would be honored.”
He sits in Mr. O’Brian’s seat, so we are facing each other.
“Are you traveling with family, señorita?”
I hope he doesn’t notice my cringe at the question. “Not at the moment. I originally started with my mother as my traveling companion. But just before El Paso, she became sick from something she ate. It really put her under the weather. Poor thing couldn’t travel any farther.”
“And you didn’t want to wait for her recovery?”
“I couldn’t.” Here comes one of my famous white lies, which just slides off my silken tongue. “I’m on assignment for The Pittsburgh Dispatch and have limited time.”
I can’t admit the truth because he’d think me a horrid daughter, but I made sure my mother was in good hands. And he’s a man and wouldn’t understand why a woman would accept the challenge of traveling alone to a foreign country. Seize the opportunity, Mrs. Percy said, so I did.
“ The Pittsburgh Dispatch … a newspaper, señorita?”
“Yes, I’m their foreign correspondent.” Another half-truth. I don’t want to say the Mexico trip is self-assigned, because instead of him seeing me as a woman who has obtained a position usually reserved just for men, he’ll view me the same as my editor does: an insubordinate female putting herself into danger by foolishly trying to tackle a man’s job.
“Well, I must say it is an honor meeting you. I’ve never met a woman foreign
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