Railroad Man

by Alle Wells

  Dottie begged Flo, “I wanna swim, Mommy. Wanna swim.”

  Swimming to Dottie was splashing around and walking on her hands and knees in the big claw foot tub.

  “Well, Honey, it sure is hot enough to swim.”

  Flo picked up Dottie even though the child’s legs nearly touched the ground. Dottie stuck her thumb in her mouth and leaned her full weight on her mother’s tiny shoulders. Flo was a good mother. I couldn’t have expected more from her. She kept Dottie safe and happy. I held the screen door open for them.

  “You want a Tru-Ade?” I asked Flo.

  She looked at me over her shoulder. “Sure, an orange one.”

  I walked to the icebox and popped the caps off the sodas on the wall opener. On the way back, I leaned on the door frame and watched Flo wrestle Dottie’s clothes off.

  Dottie whined, “I want Fluffy.”

  “No, Baby, you can’t get Fluffy wet.”

  Dottie reached for Flo’s magazines. “I want book.”

  Flo said, “No, Dottie. Don’t touch Mommy’s books.”

  Dottie jiggled the pole lamp and looked up at the ends of the gold fringe swaying back and forth on the red velvet lamp shade.

  “I want Miss Light.”

  Flo pulled the chain under the lamp shade “All right, I’ll turn on Miss Light. But don’t touch my books.”

  Flo grabbed Dottie’s arms and swung her over the side of the tub.

  “Wheee! Go swimming. Mommy and Daddy will be right outside.”

  Dottie started to splash around. I gave Flo the soda. We stood in the doorway and watched Dottie for a couple of minutes, then went back to the porch. Flo and I sat in white Adirondack chairs on the porch and watched two burly men carry furniture into the house next to us.

  “Who are those people, Mick?”

  I took a swig of the Tru-Ade. “Name’s Ackerman, just transferred here from the North Carolina shop.”

  Flo scrunched her nose. “German?”

  I nodded. “I think so.”

  Flo looked the other way. “I don’t like Germans.”

  I laughed. “How do you know you don’t like Germans?”

  Flo folded her arms. “Just don’t, that’s all.”

  I sat there thinking that Flo formed most of her opinions from movies and the magazines that promoted them. The thought reminded me of the clip of air bombers flying over Japan, the opening act to Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. If the war doesn’t end soon, I thought, everyone in the whole world will wind up hating each other. A sharp crackling noise followed by a pop that pierced my eardrums jolted me out of the daydream.

  Flo sat up. “What in the world was that?”

  I looked around. The men next door set the table on the ground.

  A guy with a cigarette hanging out his mouth pointed to the house and said, “Hey, Buddy! Check your wire.”

  I stepped to the side of the house. The wire carrying current to the house sizzled and smoked.

  Flo stood up. “I’d better see to Dottie. I bet she’s scared to death.”

  Next, I heard Flo’s blood-curdling, heart-wrenching scream. I bolted into the house. Those men I didn’t know followed me. The washroom was ablaze, the claw foot tub enclosed in a circle of fire. Through the flames, I saw Miss Lamp across Dottie’s naked back submerged under the water. The big man held me in a tight basket hold.

  I jabbed my elbows into his sides and kicked him. My kicking threw us off balance, and we tumbled over the dining room chairs. “Let me go, Man! Can’t you see my baby? Let me go!” I screamed at the man.

  The strong man held me tighter as we rolled on the floor. “Uh-uh, Buddy. You ain’t goin’ in there. You’ll get yourself killed. She’s gone. Nothing you can do.”

  Flo was lying on the floor in the doorway near the flickering flames. The other man grabbed her hands and pulled her away into the living room. Then he picked up the telephone receiver in the hallway and dialed the operator. Bells and whistles filled my head before I knew what was happening. They pushed past me, moving my furniture, stepping into the fire while the burly man held me down. Two men dressed in white jumpsuits moved Flo to a stretcher and out the door. We couldn’t see anything beyond the smoke when they doused the fire.

  The man holding me said, “Look here, Buddy. I’m going to let go now. You got any strong drink around here?”

  I nodded, pointed to the kitchen. I grabbed an unopened bottle of Jim Beam Whiskey. He grabbed my shirt and pulled me out the back door. We sat on the fire escape steps. He unscrewed the cap and handed me the bottle.

  “Drink up, my man. You need it.”

  I sat on my back steps and bawled like a baby in front of a man I didn’t even know. Two men in white jumpsuits came around the corner. My knees felt weak when I stood. My brain felt numb like a lost child waiting to be told what to do.

  A tall, slim blonde man about my age moved toward me and placed his hand on my arm. I cringed at the man’s cold touch. I wanted him to go away. “Mr. MacDonald, your wife will be fine. She fainted, is all, and she’s in shock. We gave her a sedative to calm her down. She’ll sleep soon.”

  I looked around and said helplessly, “Where is she?”

  “Out front, sir. Come with me.”

  My new neighbor followed us up the drive and around the house. I glanced at the frayed wire over my head and kept walking. Flo was laid out on a white stretcher behind the ambulance. The crowd of ten or twenty people standing on the other side of the streetcar track whispered behind their hands. Dottie was nowhere in sight.

  Before we reached Flo, I asked, “Where’s my daughter?”

  The blonde man lit a cigarette and spoke to the ground. “We sent her ahead, uh, to the morgue, you know. You can go over anytime you’re ready. Say, do you folks have another place to stay tonight?”

  I nodded and looked at Flo, her body knotted into a ball on the cot. My neighbor patted my shoulder, handed me the bottle of hooch, and walked away.

  I found the words to call out, “Thanks, Buddy.”

  I gathered Flo in my arms the way I did that night at the train station so long ago. Her body felt loose and slack from the sedative. I slipped her into the back seat of the sedan. The ambulance people left and so did the bystanders. Ackerman and his buddy went back into the new house next door.

  I took a deep breath before stepping through the open hole that led to my living room. Someone had opened the windows. The scent of smoke lingered, but the front room looked clear. Flo and I slept together in the front bedroom. I didn’t have to go far enough to see the washroom. In the bedroom, I gathered socks, shoes, skivvies, whatever my hands fell upon, and threw them into my work bag. I grabbed an armful of Flo’s dresses, my shirts, pants, and black suit. I laid them in the trunk of the car.

  Flo’s body trembled in the backseat. She appeared to be asleep or, at least, immobile. I threw the bag in the front seat. The bottle of hooch sat on the ground near the car where I’d left it. I took a long swig of the bourbon whiskey and sat it next to me in the car. I drove away from the house we loved so much, the windows and doors still wide open.

  The car sped down the familiar route. I let my mind drift with the booze and the feel of the road flying underneath me. I drank and thought about the women in my life. Women were the powerful force that molded me and led me from one endeavor to the next. Mother taught me compassion and discipline. My sisters gave me confidence and made me feel strong. Marianne introduced me to the power of love and nature.

  Most of all, I thought about Flo. She had come a long way since the first night I brought her to Lawrenceville. Flo had learned to read and balance a checkbook. Her diction was so well rehearsed, you’d never know she came from the wrong side of the tracks. Watching her with our daughter made me love her and helped me forget Marianne.

  Driving up the lane to Mother’s house, I briefly forgot why I was there. Seeing everybody on the front porch seeking a warm breeze on the hot evening jolted my memory. Mother, Lewis, Miss Sara, Sa
die, and Sophia sat at attention when I parked the car in front of the house.

  The full weight of my heavy burden bore down on me as I pulled myself out of the car. Sadness weighed my body down as I leaned against the car door looking at my shoes. I couldn’t face the people I’d known all my life. I didn’t want them to have to face the pain and sorrow I felt.

  Lewis came around the car and peeked through the car windows. “What’s happened, Son?”

  I slid down the smooth surface of the polished door until my knees and fists met the ground. “She’s gone.”

  I felt the soft gesture of his calloused hand on my neck. “Who’s gone?”

  “Dottie!” I screamed. I cried for my baby until nothing was left inside me.

  I spent the next day replaying Saturday’s events to my family and myself. I called the station to report that another child of mine had died. The railroad generously granted me unlimited leave until I was ready to go back to work. Silent and dazed, Flo stayed in bed in our old room. Miss Sara made a poultice and mixed up an herbal tea to calm Flo’s nerves. I couldn’t reach Flo. I’d seen her shut down before, but not like this. Dottie’s death was horrible for me, but it was a hundred times worse on Flo.

  On Monday, Lewis rode with me to the morgue at Grady Hospital. Lewis looked fine in his brown suit, a purple silk handkerchief folded neatly in his breast pocket. In the vicinity of Georgia State, a group of colored people milled around in the street holding cardboard signs. I slowed the car to a creep-along speed as we passed through the chanting crowd. Some came close and peeked in the car windows.

  “Mickey, what’s wrong with those fools, yelling and pushing each other?”

  “Ah, they do that all the time around here. Something about political rights, I don’t pay much attention to it. The colored around here aren’t like you and Miss Sara. They’re riled up over something all the time.”

  Lewis sat straighter in his seat, turned and eyed the protesters. “Huh, it don’t seem like a pleasant way to live to me. I sure am glad I don’t live here.”

  I signed Dottie’s death certificate in the same building I’d signed her birth certificate five years earlier. I read, Cause of Death, Suffocation. I left instructions for Dottie’s body to be moved to the funeral parlor in Lawrenceville. A Wednesday service was arranged.

  As we headed back through town, Lewis said, “Say, how about we ride by your house. I’ve always wanted to see it.”

  I gripped the steering wheel, unsure if I could face my home. I sighed, “I don’t know. I know I have to go back sooner or later. But I don’t know if I can go back now.”

  Lewis twisted in the front seat toward me. “Look, Son, you have to. Staying away won’t make the problem go away. Besides, I need to take a look and see what needs to be done to fix it up.”

  Lewis’s soft voice was my rock that day. His steadiness strengthened me.

  I gave him a weak nod. “Okay. You win.”

  As we rode through the Kirkwood neighborhood, Lewis said, “Nice neighborhood. You did a real good job finding a place to live.”

  As we approached my house, we saw a Southern Railway flatbed truck parked in my driveway. It was loaded down with the big claw foot tub, pieces of tile, and chunks of charred wood.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, watching men toting stuff out of my house.

  Lewis’s eyes met mine and answered, “Looks to me like the tooth fairy showed up.”

  I parked on the street in front of my house. Ackerman came out the front door, directing traffic. Lewis and I met him in the front yard.

  Ackerman extended his hand. “Mornin’. Good to see you.”

  I returned the handshake and nodded. “What’s going on here?”

  Ackerman pointed his thumb at the truck behind him. “See, it’s like this. Saturday, after you left, I got to thinking. See, I was chairperson for our local union division back in North Carolina. And we had a fund for things like this. So I found out who the chairperson is here and gave him a call. Sure enough, they have what they call a disaster fund here, too. So, I had the week off anyway to finish moving and figured we’d help you out. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Tears ran down my face, and I looked at the house. Lewis broke in. He held his hand out to the man. “How do you do? I’m Lewis Graham.”

  Lewis patted me on the shoulder and let out his infectious laugh. “It may not look like it, but I’m this boy’s father, so to speak. And I know he’s more than obliged for the help.”

  The man returned the handshake and nodded. “Jim Ackerman, here.”

  I fought the tears and wiped my face. “Thanks Jim. I never expected anything like this.”

  Jim’s belly poked out front as he proudly described his role in the Union. “Yep, I’ve been a Union man all my life. It’s a good organization if you have the right people working together. A good Union group steps beyond following the regulations. It looks after its people and lends a helping hand in the community. It looks like you have a good group here in Atlanta.”

  I nodded. “I’ve never been involved past paying my dues and carrying the card. By Golly, you can bet I’ll get involved from here on out.”

  A black ford truck stopped in front of my house. The man hung his arm out the open window. “Hey, Buddy. I’m Jake, the plumber. Where you want me to park?”

  Jim pointed the man up the drive. I felt so helpless and so helped. The railroad had always been good to me. Now they were here to help me when I couldn’t help myself. Jim walked over to the plumber’s truck.

  I shook my head. “Lewis, I just never imagined that anyone would do something like this for me.”

  He looked at the men going in and out of my house and said, “Kindness is what keeps us going in life. It helps us out when we’re down and lifts us up when we give back. You get involved with that group, and I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to pay them back.”

  I stalled outside the front door. I was afraid that what I’d find inside would be more than I could bear. The men hustling in and out the door made facing Dottie’s portraits on the living room wall easier to bear. The sound of the hammers and saws overtook the house and pushed everything else in the background.

  Lewis grabbed the door frame. “Mickey, this sure is a nice house, built sturdy to last.”

  I moved uncertainly toward the hallway that faced the washroom. The place was stripped to the wall studs and lath. It will be a new room, I thought, stripped of the memories of little Dottie and Miss Lamp.

  Lewis shed his necktie and jacket and helped the men carry fresh lumber into the house.

  “Mr. MacDonald, can I have a word with you?” the plumber said, standing at the dining room table with a catalog laid out in front of him.

  I nodded and walked over. “Yes, sir?”

  He pointed to the book in front of him. “Here are some samples of the latest bathroom designs.”

  “Bathroom, huh? I always called it a washroom.”

  The plumber laughed. “Times are changing, Mr. MacDonald. Now, there’re called bathrooms. Other big changes are coming about in bathroom fixtures. See here, you’re looking at a fully encased ceramic tub with a built-in shower. A wall-sink hangs next to the tub and a mirror with fluorescent lighting. The man pointed to the picture. “This year’s most popular tile color is coral pink. In this example, we have a teal colored linoleum floor.”

  I nodded. “That’s real nice. I bet it comes with a nice price tag, too.”

  “Not a cent, Mr. MacDonald. It’s all been taken care of by your friends at the railroad union.”

  “Well, my wife usually does the decorating. But I think this will be just fine, real nice.”

  “Okey-dokey, we’ll get you fixed up. Your new bathroom should be ready by the end of the week.” The man closed his book and walked away. I turned and drifted toward the sunlight.

  The room was bright and airy. Sunlight flooded in through sheer organdy tiebacks. The light flickered, making the tiny pink rosebuds
dance on the wall. The room felt full of life, the makings of a perfect childhood. Fluffy and all her other toys were there. Flo never owned a toy in her entire life. I think she tried to make up for all the things she never had through Dottie. I squeezed Fluffy in my hand and sniffed the clean scent of my daughter on the knotted blue-eyed lamb. I decided to take it to Flo. She might like that. Dottie’s closet was packed with short crinoline frocks that stood out in every direction. I chose a yellow one with a sheer pinafore, crisscrossed in the front with wide lapel ruffles, and laid it across the pink ruffled bedcover. I picked up a straw bonnet with yellow flowers that hung from a peg. She’d worn it one time for her last portrait. I threw a pair of white patent leather shoes, lacy socks, and frilly panties into a pink satchel and closed the door.

  Driving home, Lewis said, “Yep, that’s a real nice thing those guys are doing.”

  “Lewis, I was thinking. I’ve always worked my run and taken the benefits of my job for granted. Not anymore, I plan to be a real railroad man from here on out, do my share and give back to the union and to the company.”

  He smiled. “That sounds like a fine idea to me.”

  ***

  I stood looking down at the graves of my children, Dottie’s marker larger than the baby’s with an inlaid oval picture of her. Flo had only nodded when I asked her opinion on the yellow frock and summer bonnet I chose for Dottie. My mother and sisters took the clothes to the funeral parlor. They spared me the heartache of choosing the marker and a small blanket of yellow rose buds.

  My arm around Flo’s shoulder held her up. I could only see the shadow of her face under the black veiled hat. Her soft nylon glove gripped the little lamb with glass blue eyes. I looked up to catch my breath and found a familiar face in the crowd. Marianne. My heart skipped a beat more from surprise than the sight a long lost love.

  Later, I sat in the kitchen watching Flo stare at a plate of food.