by Ginny Dye
He turned to the growing crowd of rescuers. “These people are going to have to get out of the cold.” He looked around. “Jack Southwick,” he barked. “Your house is the closest. May we start to take people there?” He waited for the nod and then continued to give orders. “Getting these people up the slope is going to be hard. We need to make stretchers out of anything we can find—siding, pieces of wood, tree boughs, metal from the roof. Be creative. Gather whatever you believe will do the job. As we release the patients, your job is to carry them to Jack’s house.”
He glanced around again. “His house won’t hold all these people. What house is the next closest?”
“Doug Griffith’s place,” a man offered.
Dr. Curtiss nodded. “That’s where we’ll take those with the most minor injuries.”
Janie was aware of the conversation, but she was already bending over the body of Christiana Lang. Her new friend was barely conscious, with glazed eyes robbed of any awareness. Janie murmured softly as she checked her pulse and ran her hands over her limbs and skull. Janie’s lips tightened as she located the deep gash in Christiana’s head. From how quickly the woman was going into shock, Janie also suspected internal injuries. She reached for the gauze in Thaddeus’ bag and wound it tightly around the head wound to staunch the bleeding. There was nothing more she could do with no supplies. She willed the relief train to arrive quickly as she gestured some of the men forward with their makeshift stretcher. “Handle her carefully?” she asked softly. “She is a friend.”
“We’ll do the best we can, ma’am,” one of the men replied. “We’ll get her out of the cold as fast as possible.”
She managed a slight smile when she recognized two conscious forms staring at her. “If Christiana wakes, please tell her that her children are all right. I will send them up on the stretchers once we have cared for the most critically injured.”
The four men lifted the wood panel they had ripped from the train car and began to make their way up the slippery slope. They held tightly to one corner of the stretcher while they grasped trees and bushes to pull themselves forward. They moved slowly to keep from jostling Christiana, but still there were groans of pain. Janie was relieved when the groans stopped. Unconsciousness was a blessing. If her friend lived through the night, there would be time for her to absorb the tragedy.
Janie moved over to James and Mary. Both stared up at her with frightened eyes.
“Is Mommy dead?” Mary asked in a trembling voice.
Janie ached for the little girl who had first lost her father, and then her little sister just a year before. “No,” she assured her as she took her hand. She was relieved when a quick assessment revealed both children had cuts and abrasions, but there did not seem to be any major injuries. “Your mommy was hurt, but we are going to take good care of her.” She understood the skeptical look on Mary’s face as her eyes tracked the halting progress of Christiana’s stretcher as the men carried her up the slope.
“When can we go be with her?” James asked, his eyes also locked on the ascent.
“Soon,” Janie promised. “First we have to take care of the people who are hurt worse than you two. You were very lucky,” she said. “Can you be patient while we help these other people?” She smiled when the two children nodded bravely and then turned back to her job of treating the wounded.
Janie was relieved when the screams of agony echoing under the bridge faded into silence, only because she knew that the suffering had finally ended. She forced her mind away from the torture the people had to have endured. There was nothing she could do for them. She had to put her focus on the wounded who were still living. Thankfully, it seemed that most of the people in her car had survived the brutal crash.
Matthew and others were busy scooping huge mounds of snow into the wreckage. They were making certain there was no chance fire would turn a second car into an inferno of death.
*****
Harold was as silent as the rest of the group on the relief train as they chugged as close to the bridge as they could get. Everyone was intent on helping, but they had all silently accepted the worst-case scenario they believed they might find. The train was full of doctors, railroad maintenance crewmen, and a handful of reporters. Harold had received immediate approval from his editor when it was discovered his brother and sister-in-law were on the train. One moment he was glad; the next he did not want to be the one to discover his brother’s body.
“You have a brother on this train?” a doctor asked as they waited to come to a full stop.
“Yes,” Harold answered. “I haven’t seen him in ten years.” He tried to calm his pounding heart as he viewed the plumes of smoke rising from beneath the bridge. The final wire before they pulled out of Buffalo had indicated they should expect a high death toll.
“Good luck,” the doctor said tersely as he stepped off the platform into the snow.
Harold followed him, almost gagging as he took his first deep breath. “What…?”
A railroad maintenance worker disembarked behind him. “That would be the smell of burning flesh,” he said grimly. “You never get used to it.”
Harold stood numbly for a moment as the worker hurried off. He knew he was here on assignment, but all he really cared about was finding Matthew and Janie. He joined a group of men looking over the right side of the bridge. He stared in horror at the twisted, charred remains of what had once been a railroad car. Dark lumps were scattered across the snow.
“Those are bodies,” a man said hoarsely. “The poor beggars never had a chance.”
Harold shuddered and stepped back. He may have to examine those corpses in time, but surely there had to be some who had lived through the wreck. Determined not to focus on the worst, he moved toward the two passenger cars that had not derailed. He could see faces plastered to the windows as they waited for whatever would come next.
Harold boarded the train, noticing the somber silence as people tried to absorb both the tragedy unfolding behind them, and the realization they had been spared from a horrible death. He walked quickly through both cars, sickened to discover Matthew was not on either one. He turned and wove his way to the back, knowing he had to continue looking.
“Excuse me,” a woman said urgently.
Harold paused. “Yes.”
“Do you have a brother?”
Harold stiffened. “Yes. A twin. His name is Matthew Justin. Do you know him?”
The woman reached out to grasp his hand. “My name is Susannah Culligan. Your brother was sitting with me and my husband when the cars derailed. They have gone down to help.” Her grip tightened. “Your brother is alive.”
Harold sagged with relief, but then hesitated. “His wife? Janie?”
Susannah’s eyes filled with sadness. “She was in the second car that went over the bridge. I’ve not heard anything since Matthew and my husband left. My husband is a doctor,” she explained.
Harold took a deep breath. “Thank you for letting me know.” He turned and hurried out of the train, headed for the left side of the bridge. He knew the second car, the Erie, had gone over on that side. As he approached the ravine, he saw groups of men struggling up from the bottom, carrying makeshift stretchers with wounded people. “Have you seen Matthew Justin?” he asked each group. They responded to his frantic question with sympathetic gazes, but shook their heads wearily.
Harold gazed down at the wreckage barely visible in the encroaching darkness and then began to slide down. There was only one way to discover what he had come for. The descent was slow, but at least there were fires burning below to provide illumination as the wounded were cared for. When he finally reached the bottom, he felt both relief and trepidation. Would his first meeting with his brother in ten years revolve around his wife’s death?
*****
Matthew wasn’t sure what ached more, his body or his heart. His hands were raw from ripping away wood and metal to free trapped bodies. His shoulders ached from lifting heavy debris,
including the hot pot-bellied stove he had strained to lift off a man who was trapped. The man was alive when he had rescued him, but just barely. He’d had no time to go check on the status of the increasing number of people laid out on the snow, but occasional glances told him the number was diminishing.
His body would heal quickly, but his heart was another matter. All but one of the men he had interviewed for his story had been killed in the crash. When he found his friend John Chapman, his anguished eyes had gazed at him for just a moment before they closed forever. Matthew could do nothing other than set his lips and move on to the next person crying for help.
The grief would come when the world got quiet again.
He had recoiled in horror when he looked up at the roof straight into Josiah Haywood’s bulging eyes. He had no idea how his body had been caught between pieces of the roof, but he hoped the man’s death had been instantaneous. Matthew’s mind traveled back to the dream Josiah had related to him. The young man had been given six months. Not a day more.
Matthew had been almost relieved when the cries for help continued. At least there were living people to help. He knew others had been given the grisly job of collecting the dead.
The three college boys he had interviewed for almost two hours had been under the crush of people when the train rolled and landed on its side. One of them was pulled from the wreckage still breathing. Matthew had closed the eyes of the other two, who would not continue their education nor celebrate Christmas in New York City.
Now he stood in the middle of the wreckage and gazed around. All the bodies had been removed either to the triage area, or to the waiting sleds that took the dead to the building at the train station. The wounded would be transported when they could be moved. The dead would follow in another train. Some had been identified, but he knew from the muted voices around him that too many were charred caricatures of humans. It would be a miracle if some of them could be identified.
A miracle…
Matthew yearned for one. He was grateful so many had lived through the wreck. He was thankful beyond words that Janie was alive and well, though he knew how exhausted and heartsick she must be. He had gone to check on her, but she had simply shaken her head and returned to her work of caring for the wounded. He had never been more proud of her, but he had also never hurt so much for her. He loved his wife’s tender heart and respected her strength, but he also knew her tenderness made her so susceptible to heartbreak. Taking care of soldiers was one thing. Taking care of mangled, carefree travelers whose lives had been forever altered in a moment was another.
A miracle…
Was it too much to hope for? One bright spot of the pure miraculous in a night full of darkness, pain and suffering?
Matthew took one more look around, but the late hour had obscured almost everything. Here and there the flames leaping from the fires outside glinted off a watch or a piece of jewelry, but the rest simply looked like a pile of refuse—hardly the treasured belongings of humans on their way to celebrate the holidays. There was nothing more to be done inside. Articles would be gathered in the morning. He wondered where the presents for his brother had landed. It hardly seemed important, except for the reminder that Harold must be frantic with worry. Perhaps he could ask someone to send a message through the telegraph. He certainly wasn’t going to leave the ravine until Janie was ready to go.
A miracle…
His thoughts returned to his futile hope. One step from the train and his nostrils filled with the smell of death and charred flesh. There were no miracles on a night like tonight. He swung his gaze over the tramped down snow, looking for Janie. The glow from the fires reflected off her exhausted face. For the first time he noticed the bruising and swelling that had risen while she worked.
As he hurried forward he heard it.
Matthew stopped. He had heard something—something that seemed out of place in the chaotic night—but he couldn’t identify it. He wanted to move on, but something held him in place.
The noise cut through the night air again.
Everyone in the ravine grew quiet. They turned as one to hear the sound.
Matthew strained his eyes. He was positive he had heard a cry, but it had not come from any of the people lying on the ground. Of that he was certain. He waited, willing the sound to come again.
In response to his thoughts, another pitiful cry rose into the air.
Matthew launched himself toward a bundle on the ground. He reached down, picked up the pile of what looked like clothing, and pulled back the fabric.
And looked down at his miracle.
Janie appeared at his side. “Matthew?”
Matthew grinned and held up the bundle. “It’s a baby,” he said, pulling the infant close to his chest. “A baby,” he whispered reverently. “It’s alive.”
Janie gasped and reached for the little girl who was crying but unharmed. “Minnie!”
“Minnie?”
“This is Emma’s little girl,” Janie cried happily. “She was thrown from her arms when the wreck happened. No one could find her. Where…?”
Matthew felt the joy of one good thing. “She was lying there in the snow all wrapped up.”
The miracle of a small baby defying the odds seemed to infuse hope and life into everyone at the bottom of the ravine. There was a long minute of silence before everyone turned back to their work. They would celebrate the miracle later, but right now there were people still to be tended to.
“Leave it to my brother to find the baby.”
Matthew whirled at the voice he had not heard for over a decade. “Harold?” His eyes strained to see beyond the illumination of the fire.
“I was already going to be glad to see you, but knowing you survived a train wreck certainly takes it to a new level.” Harold moved forward and engulfed Matthew in a hard embrace. He stepped back as his voice took on a new hesitancy. “Janie? Did she…?”
“She did,” Janie answered, stepping forward to take Harold’s hand. “I am Janie. I’m so happy to meet you.”
Harold sagged with relief. “You both made it through this wreck?”
Minnie began to cry harder.
Janie laughed, sheer relief giving her energy to continue through this endless day. “I’m going to let you and Matthew talk. I have a baby to care for. I will see you when we’re done here tonight.” She pulled Minnie to her chest and moved closer to the fire to examine the child more thoroughly.
Matthew turned back to his brother. “This was not how I imagined our reunion.”
“And I never dreamed I would spend the entire afternoon wondering if I had been too late to find you again,” Harold said hoarsely, his eyes bright with emotion. “Even covered with black soot and blood, you look good.”
Matthew grabbed him in another bear hug. “The paper sent you to cover the wreck?”
“More like I told the paper I was going to find my brother,” Harold quipped. “I suppose I’ll be able to write some of what I’ve seen, but mostly I’ve just been looking for you.” He stepped back and stared at him harder. “You’re really all right?”
Matthew nodded, though this was one more thing he was not certain his heart would ever heal from. How many traumas could the heart endure? Why did he always seem to be in the middle of so many tragedies?
Harold spoke his thoughts. “You always seem to be in the center of the action,” he said. “Do you think you could spread it around a little?”
“I would be more than happy to,” Matthew admitted. Suddenly he was more fatigued than he could remember ever being.
Harold noticed immediately. He stepped forward and wrapped a strong arm around Matthew’s waist. “I’ve got you, mountain man.”
And just like that, Matthew was transported back to carefree days with his twin, growing up in the mountains of West Virginia. They had spent countless hours hunting, fishing, and exploring the hills they called home. They had always been there for each other.
Matthew took a de
ep breath. “I missed you,” he said quietly.
“I know,” Harold replied. “I know.”
*****
Janie turned to Dr. Curtiss as the last patient was carried up the icy slope. Minnie was being taken directly to her mother. She hoped Emma was awake to enjoy the reunion. “Which house do you want me to go to, Doctor?”
“Neither,” Dr. Curtiss responded. “You have done magnificent work, Mrs. Justin, but you need rest.”
“I don’t,” Janie protested, speaking past the fatigue that clogged her throat and blurred her eyes. “There are so many people who need help.”
“And they will need you in the morning,” Dr. Curtiss responded. He stepped back and viewed Janie’s face. “Someone told me you were in the Erie when it went off the tracks. Your face is bruised and swollen. It’s time to take care of yourself,” he said. “One of the men will take you and your husband to their house so you can rest. If you feel up to it in the morning, I will gladly accept your help. By the way, what was in that mixture you gave everyone? I have never seen people come out of shock so quickly.”
Janie smiled. “Apple cider vinegar, water, honey, and cayenne pepper.” She understood the look of skepticism on his face. “I’ll explain more fully when I can put more than a few words together,” she promised.
“You have a deal,” Dr. Curtiss replied. “But only if you promise to get some rest.”
“She promises, and I will make sure she holds to that promise.” Matthew appeared from the shadows.
“Good,” Dr. Curtiss said. He waved a man forward. “Please take the Justins to your house. They have earned a break.”
Matthew nodded his thanks and then turned to the man waiting for them. “Do you have room for three Justins? My brother arrived on the relief train. He will be staying the night as well.”
The man nodded. “We have plenty of room,” he replied. “The name is Andrew McCullough. My wife and I welcome you.”