Healing Ruby: A Novel

by Jennifer H. Westall

  James and I parted with strict instructions that I was to be back before four, or I was getting left behind. Beyond that, he didn’t even ask where I was going. He put the truck in line for the gin and walked off to talk with other men waiting in the line. I hurried across town to the train station and learned there was one coming through to Cullman soon, but it wasn’t a passenger train, and I couldn’t buy a ticket even if it was. That was when I first thought of hopping the train, but it seemed like a crazy notion. Not so much cause I was girl—I had done lots of things that most people didn’t think proper for a girl—but more so cause I had no idea how a person even went about jumping onto a moving train.

  I’d heard James and Henry talking about it a few times last summer when an old hobo that had been passing through got caught up under the train and killed. I shuddered thinking about it. But I also had the wild thought that if I could somehow figure out how to hop a train, I’d be free. And that thought more than any other sent my heart racing. Why, I could head off into any part of the world I wanted. No more farming. No more cotton picking. No more of being told what I had to do and how I had to do it. I could imagine all that so easily.

  I walked to the end of the platform and searched the train yard to see if I could pick up on anything. One other train was sitting on another line, but from where I stood, I couldn’t see anything useful. So I climbed down the steps and crossed over the tracks to stand beside the huge beast. The engine sounded almost like it was breathing. The box cars stretched along for what looked like at least half a mile. I walked beside a couple of them, wondering how in the world a person jumped inside one of those. All of the doors I could see were closed.

  I remembered Henry saying something about the railroad police grabbing hobos all the time and throwing them in jail. That would certainly give my mother a heart attack, and James might just kill me dead on the spot. I didn’t see anyone around that looked like a police officer. But I didn’t see anyone else around that looked like they were waiting on a chance to hop on either. Maybe that whole idea of men riding the rails was a myth.

  Just then I heard the whistle of a train coming. I figured it must be the one continuing on into Cullman. I still wasn’t quite sure what I was doing, but I figured it was best to stay out of sight for now. I slid between two cars of the train I’d been looking at, and waited for the incoming train to stop. Seemed like it took nearly forever before it finally finished all its screeching and grinding. Then that beast began its breathing too.

  I looked under the train I was hiding behind and saw the legs of men walking along the tracks. I could hear heavy metal doors sliding, voices calling to one another, and the hissing of the engine. I could smell the coal burning, even almost taste it in my mouth. The whole idea of what I was doing started to seem completely insane. I looked down at my worn dress and shoes that were so thin in the sole I could feel every pebble beneath my feet. Was I supposed to jump into an empty box car before the train started? Did I wait for the train to start moving and run alongside it? How did I know which car to get into?

  I figured I could stand there all day wondering, or I could move my behind and give it a go. Seemed to me that the best idea would be to wait until all the men were on board and the train was just starting to move. Then I’d do my best to hop on, and by the grace of God avoid killing myself.

  I was about to move to the other side of the train, when I noticed a little piece down from where I stood, a man was crouched down the same as me. The other train whistled and groaned. I glanced under the train again and saw the other one inching forward. I stood and looked back toward the man I saw before, but he was gone. I climbed back over the coupling, standing between the two trains feeling my heart beating like it was going to come clean through my chest. The wheels were already spinning faster than I’d imagined them. On both sides of me I saw about three or four men running beside the train. They grabbed the sides and flung their legs into the open doors like they’d done it a hundred times.

  I almost chickened out right then. I could simply turn around and walk away, and I’d be safe. I could wait until another Saturday to go to the soup kitchen.

  I closed my eyes, and I saw both pictures at the same time—one of me walking back to Hanceville and continuing in my life as it was, and the other of me running alongside the train and swinging my legs into a car heading off into parts unknown. I opened my eyes and took off running like I’d never run before, like I might die if I didn’t catch this train. And for a second I believed I actually might. I reached for the side and found a hold, put my other hand on the floor of the box car, and flung my legs up just like I’d seen those men do.

  I don’t think I was nearly as graceful, but I did manage to get my right leg up and push up with my hands to get the rest of the way inside. I rolled onto the floor, staying on my back while my chest heaved up and down. It hadn’t been as hard as I’d thought.

  I sat up and looked around, expecting to find a box full of poor, starving men. But I was alone. I scooted over to the open door and hung my legs out, letting the wind whip through my hair. And I did feel free.

  Hopping off the train was almost as exciting as jumping on. I tried to wait until it was moving slow enough that I could keep my feet moving. I figured waiting until it stopped completely would only be inviting someone to discover me, but I knew if I went too early I’d likely fall and bust myself up. But once again, I was able to observe others sliding out from their cars before I attempted it myself, so when I hit the ground I was able to keep myself upright.

  I ran toward the back of the train until the whole thing had passed me. Then I crossed over the tracks with a few other men doing the same. I was about to turn up the street toward the church when I heard one of the men say my name.

  “Miss Ruby, is that you?”

  It was Mr. Massey, the old man I’d served in the soup kitchen several times. I could swear he aged ten years every time I saw him. I tried to smile, but I was already so tired I could hardly manage it. “Hello, Mr. Massey. How are you these days?”

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “Child, what in heaven do you think you’re doing?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You jumping on trains now?”

  I did manage a small laugh. “Just this once. I couldn’t find anyone to drive me into town, so I thought—”

  “So you thought you’d hop a train?” His voice rose an octave, and I lost my smile. “Do you have any idea what kind of dangers you might encounter? You could get yourself killed like that!” He snapped his finger in my face. “Or worse!”

  “I’m sure it’s a bit dangerous, but I assure you I can handle myself just fine.”

  He shook his head and let out a huff. “With all that gift God storing up inside a you, you gonna go off and get yourself killed over a ride into town! Beats everything! Here I was thinking such high thoughts of you, thinking you’s special.”

  I stared at him dumbfounded. I wasn’t surprised by his outrage so much as my deep shame over disappointing him. “Mr. Massey, I’m afraid you’ve got me all wrong. I’m nothing special. And if God wanted me to have some kind of special gift, I think he’d have done it by now. I just don’t have the faith he requires for such things.”

  He huffed again and threw his arms up. Then he paced in front of me muttering to himself and glancing up at the sky. I wondered if maybe I’d caused him to have a nervous breakdown. When he finally stopped, he shook his head and looked on me with pity.

  “Oh, sweetheart, you are so deceived about even your own faith. Come, walk with me to the church and let’s have a bite together.”

  We walked the blocks over to the church, with Mr. Massey doing all the talking, mostly about how foolish I’d been to jump on that train. He told me of all sorts of horrors happening out in the country of mangled, tattered men doing all they could to survive. Some were even resorting to violence. He didn’t say anything about that kind of thing here in Cullman, but it made me rethink my noti
on of freedom. And it made me fearful for Henry. I prayed every night he was making his way in the world somehow, and now I prayed he wasn’t hopping trains to do it.

  When we reached the church, Mr. Massey took his place in line while I went to find Mrs. Doyle to let her know I’d be working. But Mrs. Doyle wasn’t around. Mary neither. And some woman I’d never met was running the kitchen named Mrs. Williams. She didn’t seem like she believed me when I first explained who I was, but thank heavens one of the ladies serving food vouched for me. She put me to work clearing off tables, so I didn’t get the chance to speak further with Mr. Massey until after he’d already finished his lunch. I walked him back outside and thanked him for his advice and prayers.

  “I know it’s hard to see,” he said, “but God shows me his work in you every time we meet. I see your faith growing inside you like a beautiful spring bud, just ready to blossom. Whatever you think you’re facing, the obstacles you’s struggling to overcome, they’s like rain feeding that bud inside you. Don’t fear the storm. He’s in the storm, just like he’s in the gentle breeze. He gots you right where he wants you.”

  I hugged his neck and thanked him once again, watching him hobble off. I wondered where he went after he left the church each time, where he slept, and how much longer he’d be able to go on like he was. I returned to the kitchen and worked quietly the rest of my time there, pondering Mr. Massey’s words. I knew God kept bringing him to me for different reasons, and I had learned to listen to him with more than just my ears. The thing my mind kept sitting on was this feeling that his words were as much a warning as they were an encouragement. I had a feeling a much bigger storm was coming my way.

  I worked until almost everyone was gone. I wiped down the kitchen and swept the floors, feeling every last fiber in my muscles pushed to their limit. By two-thirty, I was the only one left besides Mrs. Williams, and I didn’t see her around to tell her goodbye. As I put the broom back into the closet, I noticed three left-over jars of vegetables sitting on the shelf. I picked one up and thought about Hannah and Samuel. Mrs. Doyle would’ve let me take them with no questions, but I didn’t feel right about taking them this time. I was about to put the jar back on the shelf when I heard that old goat behind me.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” he growled.

  I could see everything that was about to happen laid out in front of me before I ever turned around. I could see his smug, satisfied face passing judgment on me, threatening me and my family, accusing us of all kinds of evil. I didn’t think I could stomach one second of it. So I put the jar down and turned around with the intent on leaving. But Cass stepped into my path.

  “I asked you a question, young lady.”

  “And I told you before, it’s best if we don’t speak. Since you seem so concerned with my character, I thought you’d be in favor of me controlling my tongue.”

  “Do not get smart with me,” he said, putting his finger in my face. “I will not tolerate you stealing the food from our pantry.”

  “Stealing! I’m not stealing anything!”

  “No doubt you would have, had I not caught you in the act.”

  My face burned hot, and it was all I could do to breathe normally. I clinched my teeth and my fists. “Mrs. Doyle has always been happy to allow me to take the leftovers to other families in need. That is hardly stealing!”

  “Families in need, you say? You have been deceiving the Doyles all along, just as I suspected. I happen to know for a fact that you have been taking those jars of food meant for brothers and sisters in our community who are genuinely struggling, and giving it to that wretched Negro harlot in the woods!”

  My breath caught, and I froze where I stood. “How did you—”

  “You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Why, even her own people won’t have anything to do with her and that half-breed child! But I should have expected as much. You are indeed a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And you should be clear about one thing. I have tolerated your presence here out of my Christian duty to give you the chance to turn from your sin. But I cannot tolerate thieving. You are not welcome to return, Miss Graves.”

  A hot tear streaked down my face. “Don’t worry, I won’t be back.” I strode toward the door with as much control as I could muster, but I had to turn back and speak before I burst into a million fiery pieces. “You are the most horrible man I have ever known! You do not have the love of God inside of you. All you do is condemn without any understanding of anything! I’d be careful, if I were you Brother Cass. By the same measure you judge everyone else, you also will be judged!”

  Then I slammed the door behind me and ran for the train station. I don’t know how I made it back onto a train heading for Hanceville. I could barely see anything through my tears. I guess God was watching out for me, cause I managed to get back into a box car without killing myself. Though I wasn’t alone this time. Three other men were already inside, so I found a corner opposite from them. I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my head for most of the ride. As we neared Hanceville, I slid to the edge and let the wind dry my face. Not that James would notice, but I didn’t care to explain even if by some miracle he did.

  September 12, 1931

  Dear Matthew,

  I hope you’re enjoying college, and that your teachers aren’t working you too hard. I’ve been wondering how you’re doing. Are you playing football? Are your classes interesting? Have you made some new friends? I think about you walking around campus every day, free to explore and learn all you want, and I can’t wait to go to college myself someday. I’d give just about anything to get out of this town and see the world.

  Things around here have been tough. Henry left home, and I have no idea where he ran off to. Mother thinks he’s headed north to find work. I was mad at him for a while, but now I just wish he’d come home. I miss him terribly. James has been in a permanent bad mood since he left, even though it was all his fault.

  We ginned our first two bales of cotton today, and James heard some of the other men saying the price of cotton was dropping even lower this year than last. Maybe only six cents a pound. Mother was planning on keeping some of it to make a couple of quilts to sell, but James said he didn’t think we could afford it. It wasn’t all bad news though. James said our cotton came out real nice and clean with a long staple. (Do you know what a staple is?) So it should still fetch the best price, and he sold half the seed to pay for the ginning with some left over to plant next spring.

  I haven’t been able to work at the soup kitchen for a few weeks on account of picking cotton, but I did manage to make it there today. Your mother and Mary weren’t there. I was wondering if they’re all right. I missed seeing them. Of course, I ran into Brother Cass. I’m afraid I gave him even more ammunition to use against me. But that man makes me so mad! I’ll tell you all about it soon; it’s too much to write it all down. But I won’t be going back there again. He made it clear that I’m not welcome. I know you respect him, so I won’t speak ill of him in your presence, but I cannot for the life of me figure out why everyone regards him so highly!

  School starts back on Monday, which I’m looking forward to. I can’t wait to see Mary again. We only have two classes together, Math with Mr. Whitehead and Home Economics with Mrs. Sharp. Most of my classes are interesting, but Home Economics seems so pointless. Everything we learn in that class is something I learned from my Mother before I was seven years old! And Mrs. Sharp is so rigid. There is only her way of doing anything, and everything else is completely wrong!

  Well, it’s late and I’m exhausted from jumping on and off moving trains all day. (Yes, I “rode the rails” but don’t be mad cause I’m fine!) When are you coming home to visit? I’m sure your family misses you. But I have not missed you one little bit, so don’t think I have. Still, if you’re coming home soon, it wouldn’t be terribly horrible to see you for a little while.

  Your friend,

  Ruby

  Chapter Eighteen

 
September 19, 1931

  Dear Ruby,

  Thank you for the letter you sent this week. It came on a day I needed some cheering up, and it definitely brightened my day. Things are going well here for the most part. I did give it my best at playing football, but I’ve figured out that I can only give all my effort to either football or studying, not both. There was a time when I probably would have chosen football over school, but I’ve decided that my studies mean more to my future than pigskin. (That’s what a football is made from in case you don’t know.) Believe me, there are far better boys on the team than me, and I doubt anyone will miss me. I did get to know an interesting boy named Paul. He didn’t finish school, but wanted to play ball so bad that he’s going to high school here in Tuscaloosa then practicing with the team in the afternoons. Now that is wanting to play ball!

  I am most definitely furious about this crazy notion of yours to jump onto moving trains! Have you lost your mind? I plan to have a nice long fight with you about this when I visit next weekend. I’ll tell you how irresponsible you are, and you’ll yell at me about how you can take care of yourself. Of course, I will be completely in the right, but I’ll let you think you’ve won the argument, as that’s what I always do. So you should plan to have a good go at it when I visit.

  As for school, do your best to hang in there with your studies. You are brilliant, and can manage that with little effort, I’m sure. You’ll probably graduate at the top of your class and be off to college in no time. Just a little advice though, I’d make sure you sit toward the back of the room in Mr. Whitehead’s class. (Does he still spit all over the first row of students?) And just humor Mrs. Sharp. I never took that class, cause obviously it’s for you silly girls, but I heard everyone complain about her. As for Brother Cass, I hate to agree with you, but you’re probably right in that you should avoid him. I have no idea why he has such a misguided opinion of you and your family, but I’m sure he’ll come around someday.