by Steven Hunt
With a last surge of energy he rolled through the doorway, leaving a trail of sweat and blood. He scooted several more feet into his new sanctum, away from potential death. His hands, arms, back, and legs scolded him for the years of inactivity while his chest rose and fell with each labored breath. An exertion headache formed at the front of his head while his temples pounded in synchronization with his heartbeat.
Taking a mental inventory—he didn’t have the strength to sit up for a visual one—Teddy became aware he had accomplished an amazing feat without suffering any broken bones, major cuts, or anything worse than aggravating the past knee injury and shredding his palms; palms that reminded him of sliced beef. His tattered clothes matched those of someone who rode the rails on a regular basis—torn and dirty.
After several moments of recuperating, he lifted his head off the dirty floor to take in his new surroundings. As a young boy he’d heard stories from railroad men about the dangers aboard trains. He recalled that their greatest fear wasn’t from the speed of the train or being captured by railroad officials, but from people who’d stowed away and had nothing to lose to prevent their discovery. These railroad men followed up with many stories of finding murdered victims stashed in boxes, under cargo, and—when nothing was around to hide the bodies—lying on the floor in vacant boxcars.
Holding his eyes open as wide as he could to gather more light, Teddy gazed around his temporary home. The blackness inside the car prevented much exploration, but he could make out several rectangular shapes stacked at one end of the car. Hay bales. At least he’d be able to use them to keep warm. Closer to him several bales had tumbled from the group, leaving a cumulus of loose straw. The pile promised comfort for his beaten and aching body.
A strong stink of old manure confirmed the straw had been placed there for ferrying large animals; probably either cattle or horses. The animals must have recently been unloaded since the boxcar had yet to be swept. That also meant more cows or horses might be loaded at the next stop to transport them to farther destinations, and the railroad hands waited to clean the car until all the animals had been delivered. If that was the situation, he’d have to be ready to jump.
Teddy rolled his battered body toward the straw, stopping only when a sharp pain stabbed his lower back, stealing the air from his lungs. The only other time he had felt such an intense pain was five years ago when his back had been injured during a long weekend of cutting and stacking firewood. The muscle spasms then had been so strong they snatched every bit of strength from his legs, dropping him face-first in the dirt. In comparison, this pain had to be ten times worse. With nothing else he could do, Teddy surrendered to the pain by lying on his back until the spasms subsided.
As he lay in the boxcar with the consistent klackity-klack of the train’s wheels rotating over the ties and rails, his mind wandered to the mental and emotional trauma which had driven him into depression. Images he’d constructed of his parents as they lay broken and dying from their car accident, Jane in Frank’s arms, and Mandy using drugs at a party played like a terrible movie before his eyes. Why had so much bad stuff happened to him? He thought of himself as a good person. He tried to be a good husband and father. He worked at being a good business partner—OK, maybe not so good in the last days of the company’s life, but before he’d been a hard worker. The only explanation he could think of—he’d looked for other excuses, but always came back to the same conclusion—a higher power had it out for him. Why, he didn’t know.
During summer vacations at his grandparents’ farm when he was a child, he’d been overcome with homesickness for several weeks. During bedtime his grandmother encouraged him to count his blessings when he couldn’t fall asleep. Even then he was aware that she wanted to take his mind off home so he could enjoy the summer. And it had worked. Those summers remained some of the best times in his memory.
Now as the negative thoughts again tried to pry themselves into the front of his mind, he lay on the floor of this battered, filthy, bovine-smelling, rat-infested boxcar, trying to dredge up any blessing he could count.
Wife? No, she left him. The night he followed her she’d gone straight to Frank’s house. It ripped his heart when Frank had embraced Jane as if she was more than his best friend’s wife.
Daughter? No, since she’d become a drug addict, she didn’t have a very bright future on the horizon—unless she kicked the habit. He blamed himself for that. If he’d spent more time with her maybe she wouldn’t have turned to prescription pain killers for comfort.
House? Nope, lost it. The bank had seen to that.
Business? Nah, lost it, too. The lawsuit had destroyed any chance for more customers. Who wants to do business with a company that cannot produce what they promised?
Health? Nope. He grimaced as another spasm shook his core.
Once he’d had a nice life with all those things and much more, but now they were all gone. Just fleeting images of his memory. Untouchables.
The fog thickened.
The cloak tightened.
His breathing became restricted. His heart pounded like a sledge hammer as drops of perspiration broke out on his forehead. Dust attacked his dry mouth. He’d experienced anxiety attacks before, but not in a long time and not as intense as this one. The last time had been the night before he and Frank had launched their business. He remembered Jane playing down the attack, saying that everyone in his position deserved to feel some anxiety. It had been her way of comforting him.
Focusing on the rhythmic rocking of the boxcar, Teddy closed his eyes, willing his body to relax. He breathed slowly in through his nose and out his mouth. Starting at his toes and working his way to his head, he mentally examined each muscle group, calming them, until his body relaxed.
“Teddy?”
His eyes sprung open as fear gripped him with a vise-like hold. The voice had come from one of the darkened corners of the boxcar. The pain racking his crippled body now forgotten, he craned his neck left and right searching for the source of the voice. “Who—who is there?” his voice croaked.
Trying to scramble to his feet, the taxed muscles in his legs and back rebelled, rewarding him with a weakness that caused him to stagger. Incapacitating cramps invaded his body. He dropped to one knee, clawing the wall of the car for support while scouring the area for the origin of the voice. Friend or foe he did not know. He collapsed to his knees and hands, unable to withstand the punishment his muscles inflicted. He only hoped that if the owner of the voice intended to do him harm, it would be quick.
Wait! Hadn’t the voice called his name? How did they know him? No one knew he’d be in this boxcar. Six hours ago he had not known he’d be here.
Out from the dark shadows the same voice asked, “Are you OK, Teddy?” It sounded young.
“Who…who are you? H-how do you know my name?” He braced his pain-ridden body into a semi-upright position against the wall of the boxcar.
From the recesses of the utter darkness, a low light grew in intensity until it shone as bright as a one hundred-watt bulb. A young girl emerged from the blackness into the light, her curly, shoulder-length, blonde hair bouncing with each step. In addition to the bobbing, her hair swished from side to side, the loose curls swinging from the right side of her head to skim her porcelain cheek only to be replaced by the curls on the left side with the next step. Not any older than ten, the girl wore an immaculate pink and white checkered dress complete with ruffles encircling the lower seam and along the hem of her short sleeves. Matching ankle-high socks and black shoes covered her small feet.
Her china-doll face glistened with cleanliness—unusual for someone in a boxcar since clothes and skin seemed to act as a magnet for grime—emphasizing huge blue eyes, eyes that sparkled with intelligence and kindness. Those eyes seemed to exhibit a firm understanding of the complexities of the world—even great brains such as Einstein, Fleming, Salk, and Freud only scratched the surface in their lifetimes—and a level too mature for a common ten-ye
ar-old. Eyes filled with so much knowledge were a rare commodity—even for adults.
Her bright smile and playful countenance had Teddy forgetting about her eyes for a brief moment, allowing a sense of warm comfort to wash over him. Her aura assured that everything was going to be fine.
He stared as she walked toward him. She reminded him of someone. Her petite nose, her prominent cheekbones, and the innocent demeanor made him search the section of his brain reserved for fond memories. An image of another young, blonde child popped into his mind. This beautiful child laughed as she swung on a new swing set only seconds after he’d finished assembling it, while squealing, “Higher, Daddy! Push me higher!” A smile formed on his lips.
Teddy shook his head, chasing the memory back to where it belonged. With the other things lost.
He closely examined the girl standing in front of him. The similarities were striking. Could this be Mandy’s doppelganger? He’d heard that everyone had an identical copy of themselves somewhere on earth. Could this girl be Mandy’s?
Or was his mind playing tricks on him? Maybe the fog of confusion had placed the girl here as an illusion? He’d never excelled in psychology, but he recalled enough to know it was possible to see hallucinations when emotions were out of whack such as his had been.
“Mandy?” he whispered.
“No. I am not Mandy.”
And where had the light come from? His eyes shifted to the ceiling. Solid wood. The girl neither carried a flashlight nor a lantern.
Had the light come from the girl herself? Impossible.
She sauntered toward him, stopping just out of his reach. Her head tilted slightly to her left. “Do you need help, Teddy? You look like you are in a lot of discomfort.” Her voice was soft and sweet.
He scoffed. How could she—someone so small and fragile—help him, a full-grown adult? “No. I’ll be fine.”
She nodded as she sat on the edge of a hay bale, straightening her dress to cover her knees. Her blue eyes pinned him to the wall.
The forgotten back spasms returned. He stifled an urge to scream as he shifted against the interior wall. Clamping his eyes closed as he moved, he tried to not show his agony in case the young girl needed help. All children should have a strong adult—and one they could trust—in their lives. And he happened to be the only adult present.
Too bad for her. His parenting skills had not exactly been top shelf recently.
As the spasms eased, his mind circled the problem, searching for a solution. She belonged somewhere, but where? Certainly, not here.
It’d been years since he had needed to communicate with a ten year old. Determined to not frighten her more than necessary, he had to be gentle. He couldn’t demand information. That would only scare her. She would shut down if pressured too much. If frightened, she would label him as an enemy instead of an ally and that spelled problems. “So, what’s your name and how do you know me?” he asked with as calm a voice as his discomfort would allow.
“My name is Christy. I know you because I was sent to help you.”
“You were sent to help me? Why? When? How?”
“Because you asked, silly.”
He asked? “When exactly did I ask for your help, Christy?”
“Earlier tonight. By the train tracks,” she said matter-of-factly.
By the train tracks? He had been talking to God then, not a ten-year-old. Could she have been hiding nearby and thought he meant her? But that would mean she boarded the train before him. With the trouble he’d had getting onboard and considering the girl’s small frame, Teddy knew that hadn’t happened. “Did you hear me asking for help? Maybe at the train yard in Jubilee?”
“No, I did not hear you. Father did.”
“Your father sent you? Where is he?” Teddy glanced around the boxcar, not seeing anyone else.
Christy smiled, but did not answer.
Waves of frustration built in him. Why couldn’t she just be truthful and open? Why was she being so elusive? What did she have to gain from withholding information? These questions and many more bombarded his mind. He inhaled to calm himself. “Look, Christy. Don’t you see that I’m trying to help you? But I can’t if you don’t answer my questions.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Look, if this is a game or some kind of prank, I’m really not in the mood, OK? I’ve had a tough couple of months, and my patience is running thin. So why don’t you tell me where your father is so I can get you safely back to him?”
“I am not here for you to help me. I am here to help you.” Her eyes narrowed as she tilted her chin down.
Emasculated, Teddy struggled to maintain a sense of authority. He was the adult; she was the child. So why did he feel she was in control?
“Don’t tell me you’re traveling alone and that your father allowed you to be here without parental supervision.”
“No. I am here with you.” Laughter and joy sparkled through her baby blues.
“That’s not what I meant. A girl your age shouldn’t be traveling by herself, especially in a freight car at night with a stranger. There are a lot of dangerous people out there. I could have been a bad man instead of…well…me.”
“Father knows where I am. I am not in any danger.”
“Of course not. I’ll make sure you’re safe, and…why don’t you just tell me where your father is?”
She shrugged.
Christy’s presence served to muddle his already complicated situation. Should he jump off the train with her at the next town and take her to the police? If she had run away from home that would be the proper thing to do, but at what cost? The police would want to know his name and address, which would destroy his plan and prove—what was the term? Oh, yeah, “beyond a shadow of doubt”—that he had not died in the car crash. Boarding the moving train had been hard, but getting off one was entirely more difficult. They could both be injured. Then where would that leave them?
Regardless of the consequences, he’d have to wait until the train stopped to do anything. He couldn’t just abandon her.
Something about her still puzzled him, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on it. Something unusual. Something special.
True, she wasn’t dressed like a runaway. Her hair, face, and clothes were too clean for her to have been traveling long. And she didn’t speak like a troubled, pre-teen runaway should. Her grammar was too precise for a child of her age.
These questions were worthless as long as she continued to be elusive with her answers. They only resulted in more questions. Like how did her father know where she was, but she didn’t know where he was? And had her father placed her on this train so Teddy could care for her—kind of like placing a baby at the steps of a church? Teddy would have never allowed Mandy to ride in a boxcar when she was ten. Especially with a stranger.
He sighed. He hadn’t a choice but to take her with him. There were dangers around every corner. Not so nice people just waiting for the chance to take advantage of a young girl. Even in his present depressed state he couldn’t abandon her during the Christmas season.
Like he had Mandy.
6
Jane engaged the brake. She’d parked in the newly-striped lot outside the little white country church. A simple green wreath had been nailed to the dove-colored front door for the holiday season. Stained glass windows adorned the sides of the building while a towering steeple stood guard on the roof.
She’d never been to this or any church recently—but she knew Pastor Joseph from the tight-knit community. A small town built in a tiny valley and sheltered by the magnificent Ozark Mountains, Jubilee remained isolated from the other towns. And, like so many others across the country, gossip became the main source of news.
“Looks nice.” Mandy commented as she admired the church through the windshield.
“Mm hmm.”
“How come we don’t go to church, Mom?”
Jane scanned the area for Pastor Joseph as she said, “We probably should. But now’s not the time to questi
on the whys, wherefores, and other w-h words. We need to find your father.” She shuddered with guilt from not answering Mandy’s question with a more reasonable response. It had been a legitimate question. Jane told herself they didn’t have time for a lengthy religious discussion, but that was only an excuse. A pretext to avoid making her look bad for what she really had been: lazy. Her cheeks flamed with shame for the years of inaction and for not being honest with Mandy.
Mandy opened the door and slid out without saying another word.
What great examples she and Teddy had turned out to be. They had been raised going to church and had planned for Mandy to be brought up around a church family. Teddy’s uncle had been a minister, and Teddy spoke fondly of his days attending his uncle’s church. Pastors, worship leaders, and missionaries adorned her family tree. While she was pregnant with Mandy, there hadn’t been any dispute about how to raise their daughter. So where had they gone astray? Had it been a matter of convenience to not attend? Or inconvenience? Either way, she—no, they—had to do better. If they’d been part of a congregation, she’d have plenty of shoulders to lean on now. Tension knotted the muscles in her neck.
Rubbing the knot, Jane exited the car and walked to the front door where Mandy waited.
Spotlights illuminating a reproduction of Raphael’s The Transfiguration lit the interior. Jane gawked at the painting hanging above the pulpit, transfixed by its beauty and artistry. The picture—depicting Jesus as He rose to heaven after His resurrection—caused a lump to form in her throat while tears exuded from her eyes. She could not recall a painting—or anything else for that matter—having such an emotional effect on her as this one did. Had the strain of Teddy’s disappearance caused her to become more sensitive than usual? That had to be it. It couldn’t be anything more meaningful than that. Could it?
“May I help you?” The baritone voice echoed in the vacant auditorium.
Jane turned to see Pastor Joseph dressed in faded overalls and a gray, long-sleeved T-shirt standing behind them. A twelve foot, artificial Christmas tree stood in the corner, lit by what looked like thousands of steady-burning multi-colored lights. The fluffy wings of the angel on top tickled the ceiling. Her blonde hair blossomed around a beautiful, peaceful face, emitting a glowing aureole.