“The longer we’re together on the train, the closer we’ll live to each other,” Ethan said. “Maybe we’ll be close enough to walk.”
When the boys suggested this to Charles that evening, the agent wasn’t so sure. “In Nebraska, you can’t walk between farms, let alone towns,” he told them. “There are miles and miles of land with nothing on it but prairie grass. Farmers own sheep and cattle that have never been near a house.”
The boys had trouble imagining anything that desolate. “You better like the folks you live with if they’re all you’re going to see,” Bert commented. “I guess you’d have to have a horse to go to school and church. I think when I grow up, I’d like to write for a newspaper so people can read about what their neighbors are doing.”
Matron smiled. “That sounds like a worthy career. You’d make a good newspaperman, Bert. You always know what’s going on.”
By evening, when the train moved on, the wind was beginning to blow hard. The children watched from the windows, fascinated by the big tumbleweeds that rolled along by the train.
“Some of those things are as tall as I am!” Riley exclaimed. “They’re picking up pieces and getting bigger all the time. That wind could blow you over!”
The next morning they awoke to a world that none of them had ever seen before. The sun was visible as a bright spot in the eastern sky, but there was no way to tell where the sky and the land met. Dust and sand blew against the windows, and the children couldn’t see beyond the train tracks.
“I think I’m chewing sand,” Simon complained. “It’s all over my seat, too. How does it get in through the windows?”
“Dust storms like this are common in Nebraska,” Charles Glover told him. “No matter how tight the doors and windows are, it blows in. You’ll be chewing it for a while until we get through this storm.”
“Wow,” Ethan called, “look at this! This stuff is going around in a circle and straight up off the ground!”
“That’s called a ‘dust devil,’” Mr. Glover explained. “There’s so much open space that the earth is picked up in a whirlwind. We can be thankful that we aren’t out in it. People have gotten lost in dust storms. It’s impossible to see where you’re going.”
“I can imagine what a cleaning job there would be after one of those storms,” Matron put in. She picked up a blanket by the corner, then dropped it back on the seat. “I’d better not shake that, or we’ll be as bad off as they are outdoors. How long do these storms last?”
“Sometimes for days,” Mr. Glover replied, “but we may be heading out of this one. I hope so, because sometime tomorrow we’re due in the little town of Kelsey. We’ll stay overnight there. Then in another two days, we’ll be in Willow Creek. That’s where your new family is, Ethan. I imagine they’re anxious for you to arrive.”
Ethan and Bert looked at each other soberly. Only three days left before they would be separated.
“I’m not ever going to forget you, Bert,” Ethan said. “You’re my best friend in the whole world.”
“Just wait,” Bert declared. “When we’re grown up, with our own families, we can have farms right next to each other. We’ll always be friends.”
Chapter Seventeen
The Messenger of Hope
The little group awoke the next morning in a town so small that they could see all of it without moving away from the tiny railroad depot. A general store with a post office inside, a blacksmith shop, a tavern, and a school were the prominent buildings. Several small sod houses could be seen in the distance, but most of the area was bare and brown, like the country they had been riding through.
“Well, we can’t lose anybody here,” Bert declared. “You can see anything that moves, it’s so flat. I’m glad Pete got adopted before now. He sure wouldn’t find anything to hide behind in this place.”
“I don’t think there’s anything to hide from,” Riley commented. “At least we’ve come out of that dust storm, or we wouldn’t be able to see this much.”
“Let’s have breakfast,” Matron suggested, “then you may all go exploring on your own. I won’t need to go with you today. You’ll come back when you’re hungry.”
Although there was no danger in Kelsey, the children did stay together as they walked through the little town. Because the residents who saw the unfamiliar troupe of five boys and a girl were curious as to who the strangers might be, some of them wandered out to the railroad tracks to look over the Orphan Train. Matron invited them in, and later she reported to Charles and the children what had taken place.
“You mean these children is looking for homes?” A middle-aged lady seemed shocked. “Where’s their folks?”
Matron explained as best she could.
The woman shook her head. “No, I don’t mean a pa and ma. I mean folks—grandmas and aunts and uncles and kin that’s supposed to look after orphaned young ’uns. You mean they ain’t got nobody blood to ’em?”
“Some of them have, but they just aren’t able to care for a child. They don’t have the room or the food.”
This was hard for these country folk to comprehend.
“We ain’t got hardly a family in Kelsey that ain’t taking in someone that weren’t born to ’em. We look after each other out here.”
“But you’re doing a good thing,” another hastened to add. “Them poor little waifs wouldn’t grow up to amount to much if you didn’t help ’em. You’re doing your Christian duty.”
The others nodded in agreement. “We never heard of such before, but you’re good people. Maybe you’d all have supper with us before the meeting.”
“The meeting?”
“Yes’m. The chapel train is here this month, and we have a meeting every night. We’d be proud to have you come.”
Charles nodded when Matron shared her news. “I saw the chapel car on a siding just beyond the station. I wanted to head over there this afternoon and see what it is.”
“I’d like to go too,” Riley declared. “Have they made a church building out of a railroad car?”
“If they have, it sounds like a wonderful idea—a moving church,” Matron said. “It will be fine to have some fellowship with folks this evening.”
After lunch the younger boys and Alice chose to play ball and amuse themselves. Mr. Glover and Riley walked down the track to the ninety-foot car that, from the outside, looked like their own.
“The Messenger of Hope,” Riley read as they approached it. “Sounds like a church, all right. Do you suppose there’s someone here now?”
In answer to his question, a hearty voice boomed out the door. “Good afternoon, friends!”
The voice was followed by a jolly-looking man with a broad smile. He stretched out his hand to his two visitors. “I see you moved in to share my track this morning. I was going to come and call on you, but you beat me to it. Dawson is the name. Rev. Oscar Dawson. Come in, come in.”
The sight that met Mr. Glover and Riley was something neither had ever seen before. Across the back third of the car hung a long red curtain. They looked at it curiously.
“That’s where we live,” Rev. Dawson told them. “Mother, come and meet our visitors,” he called.
From behind the curtain came a smiling woman, every bit as jolly looking as her husband. “Welcome! We don’t often see strangers in these little towns. Sit down and let me bring you some fresh cookies.”
Mrs. Dawson scurried away, and while Charles Glover talked with the preacher, Riley looked around the car with interest. The red plush seats were like the ones he was used to, but the rest of the chapel car didn’t look the same at all. As the sun shone through the window, bright splashes of color danced on the seats and the floor, and Riley looked up to see that the tops of the transoms were made of stained glass. In place of the first two seats in front was a potbellied stove. Beside it were a pulpit, an organ, and a small altar. Ri
ley sank down and stared at the miniature church surrounding him. The men’s voices reached him, and he listened with great excitement.
“There are lots of homesteaders in this territory,” Rev. Dawson said. “As you can see, houses are few and far between. Sometimes no more than eight or ten families live within driving distance of each other. Most often it’s fewer than that, in fact.”
“We noticed that there weren’t a lot of people around. This must be hard country to settle.” Mr. Glover gazed out the window at the vast prairie surrounding them.
“It is indeed,” the preacher agreed. “These good folks work hard and have very few of the necessities that people of large towns and cities take for granted. Generally, there aren’t enough families within a ten-mile radius to support a church and a pastor, but they still need to be spiritually fed.”
“And that’s where you come in,” Mr. Glover said. “Tell me, how did this come about? I’ve never happened to run into a chapel car before. Are you the only one out here?”
“Oh no.” Rev. Dawson chuckled. “I believe there are nearly a dozen of us on the tracks here in the West. We were commissioned by the American Baptist Home Mission Society when folks started moving into this new territory. The idea was, why not have a church that moves too? A car like this can serve as a church and a parsonage together, and use the tracks already laid.”
Mr. Glover laughed. “Now that’s good business! No taxes, no grounds to maintain, and very little upkeep on your building.”
“Right. And if the preacher is run out of town, the engine hooks on and takes the church along with him!”
The two men laughed heartily at the notion.
“But that doesn’t happen often, I can assure you,” Rev. Dawson said. “The Lord has been good to us. We stay in a town like Kelsey here for a month or two. Then a passing train will take us on and carry us to the next stop.”
“And is this an expense that your mission society covers?”
“Doesn’t cost a penny. The railroad provides the service free. Over the years a number of small churches have been formed where we’ve visited. We often stop for a week of meetings at places like this where there was nowhere to worship before we came through. Now they’re becoming independent. Couldn’t be a better missionary service than this.”
Riley munched the cookies Mrs. Dawson brought to him and visited with her while the men discussed the affairs of the growing state of Nebraska.
“Doesn’t seem quite fair,” Mrs. Dawson mused. “Papa and I don’t have any children to take care of, and here you are, six nice children with no parents. My, that’s a wonderful thing that these folks are taking you to new families. Do you remember your own parents?”
“Not very well,” Riley replied. “I know my ma was pretty and young, but maybe that’s because I have her picture.” He drew it from his pocket and offered it to the preacher’s wife. “I don’t remember a pa or anyone else.”
Mrs. Dawson studied the face and then looked at Riley. “A lovely, sweet girl. You favor her. How good the Lord was to have you placed in a Christian home. I’ll look forward to meeting your matron this evening.”
Riley was quiet as he and Mr. Glover walked back to the Orphan Train. He listened as the agent told the others about the chapel car, but he didn’t say much except to tell Matron that Mrs. Dawson’s cookies were almost as good as hers.
No one objected to being scrubbed up and dressed in their finest for the evening’s outing. They watched eagerly as horses and buggies, people on horseback, and folks on foot came from all directions across the prairie.
“Where is everyone coming from?” Bert exclaimed. “There aren’t that many houses for ’em to be out of!”
“Many of them come from too far away for us to see their houses, even if this is flat land,” Mr. Glover told him. “But there are more homes near here than you would guess. A lot of them are still underground.”
“Underground! You mean they live in a hole?” Ethan was startled.
“No, not a hole. Many of them begin to build by digging a big room that will become a basement later. They live there until they can afford to build the rest of the house. It’s a perfect plan. It’s easy to keep warm in the winter and cool in the summer. The dust storms blow over the top of them. They only have to keep the chimney and fireplace openings free and clear. Most new settlers live in soddies while they homestead their land.”
“How about that!” Bert said. “We been looking at people’s houses and didn’t even know it!”
The chapel car was nearly full when the service began. Mrs. Dawson accompanied the hymns on the little pump organ, and everyone sang joyfully. Rev. Dawson welcomed the orphans, and after the sermon, he prayed that each of them would grow to trust God and do His will.
Ethan listened carefully. He had heard a lot about God in the past year, and he was sure that God loved him and would care for him.
When most of the people had left after the service, the preacher shook hands with Matron and Mr. Glover, then with each of the children.
“God bless you in your new lives,” he said. “God will lead you if you allow Him to do so.”
Riley had been unusually silent during the evening, but now he spoke up. “Rev. Dawson, this kind of work is what I want to do. I want to serve God and the people who need Him.”
The preacher studied Riley. “Son, do you believe that Jesus Christ is your Lord and Savior?”
“Yes, sir.”
Rev. Dawson looked at his wife, and she nodded. “Then Mother and I would be pleased and proud to have you as a son. The Lord’s work is our life, and if you want it to be your life too, this is the place for you.”
Mrs. Dawson hugged Riley, and so did Matron. His eyes were bright and his smile wide as the group returned to their cars for the night.
The next morning the children waved to Riley, standing by the chapel car, until The Messenger of Hope was out of sight. No one wanted to talk about it, but with Riley gone, they couldn’t deny that the trip was almost over. Ethan and Bert stayed close together as the Orphan Train steamed on toward the center of Nebraska.
Chapter Eighteen
Homeward Bound
The flickering lamp in the center of the wooden table gave enough light for Hannah to cut the biscuits and shove them into the oven. Through the open door she could see that the sun was shining. Yet no matter what the weather looked like, the day would be fine, Hannah thought happily. In the distance she could hear Carl’s joyous whistle. This was the day they had waited for since the announcement had been posted in Willow Creek weeks ago. Today they would get a child!
Hannah brushed the flour from her hands and surveyed the room. The door admitted the only outside light, and she could see just dim outlines of the furniture, but Hannah knew every inch of her home without looking. Large, smooth stones shored up the dirt walls. Hard clay sealed the cracks and covered the slightly uneven floor. The two back corners were separated from the rest of the room by long, bright-red cretonne curtains.
Hannah smiled as she looked at them. They were certainly the brightest spot in the room. A wave of homesickness washed over her as she pictured her mother folding that heavy material into a box for the trip west.
“There’s a lot here,” Mama had said. “You can curtain every window in your new house and upholster the chairs with what’s left over.”
Hannah had never suspected, any more than Mama had, that her new house wouldn’t even have windows to curtain! So the cretonne wasn’t cut up but became walls for two small bedrooms. There were other splashes of color too. Bright patchwork quilts covered the beds. Rags of every hue had been used to braid the rugs that made the vivid islands on the dirt floor. As she looked at them, Hannah recalled the day she had entertained her first visitor in her new home …
“Hello-o-o! Anyone here?”
Startled, Hannah wiped her hands
on her bright-yellow apron and ran to the door of the soddy. She and Carl had been here nearly two months, and this was the first voice she had heard besides their own.
“Yes, yes!” she had called and hurried out into the brilliant sunlight.
Jumping down from her wagon was a woman who looked about Hannah’s age, although she could have been older. The hot prairie wind whipped her long skirt around her legs. Under a gray poke bonnet, Hannah could see a sun-browned, friendly-looking face.
Hannah had hastened to greet the stranger. “Come in! Oh, I’m so glad to see you. Would you like some cold buttermilk?”
“I can’t think of anything I’d like better,” the woman replied. “Buck told me you folks were here, so I thought I’d better come and check you out.”
She followed Hannah down the steps into the cool interior of the room. Hannah pulled a chair to the table and seated her guest, then hurried to dip buttermilk from a heavy metal container. A plate of cookies completed the preparations, and Hannah settled down to enjoy her visitor.
The woman had said nothing since she’d entered, and now she regarded Hannah with interest. “Let me guess. You’ve come from somewhere in the South.”
“Why, yes,” Hannah replied. “But how can you tell?”
“The accent, for one thing. And the New England girls tend to be more practical than Southerners. I know. I came from Boston. Southern belles are flighty.”
Hannah had been stunned. “I’m practical,” she protested. “Carl and I planned carefully for this move. I think we’ve done well.”
“Now don’t get your temper up. I don’t even know your name yet. And you don’t know mine. I’m Ruth Buck. And I already told you that Buck and I came from Boston.”
“I’m Hannah Boncoeur.” Hannah was still a bit annoyed, but she would be civil. “We came from Louisiana.”
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