by Diane Noble
Without hesitation I ran through the pelting rain to the barn, saddled one of the Arabians, my fingers moving quickly as I strapped the valise on behind. Next I found the broken dulcimer—just where I’d left it—wrapped in Poppy’s worn counterpane. I secured it above the valise. I swung my leg over the saddle, arranged my rain cape over horse and baggage, and nudged the mare through the barn door, swinging it closed behind us.
I stopped in the shadows of the wood for one last look at the house. After a moment, I turned the Arabian, and we headed for the train station.
Sixteen
I walked the mare into the shelter of the stables near the train station, then led her to the small covered corral. I hurriedly wrote a note to the keeper and instructed him to return the horse to my husband. I left the paper visible beneath the edge of the saddle.
Dodging puddles of thick red mud, I headed through the rain to the station. The stationmaster opened his window as I stamped the water and mud from my feet.
“Why, Miz Deforest, you’re up and about early this morning,” he said amiably. The stationmaster, Tupper Wardell, had once been a clerk at the mercantile and knew me from my visits to buy seeds for my garden.
“Good morning, Tup.” I gave him a wide smile, hoping to mask my nervousness. “I’m needing to head to Dover Town today. When’s the next train leaving?” I knew it likely wasn’t soon because the station was empty.
“Dover Town, eh?” He raised a bushy red brow, looking interested. “You heading back home for a visit?”
I laughed. “No, nothing like that. Just have business to attend to there.” I smiled, trying to keep my eyes from the round clock on the wall behind him.
“Well now,” he said, frowning at the schedule, “I’d say you have about two hours till the Dover Town train comes in.”
I glanced nervously toward the door and the muddy street beyond. Any minute I expected Zeb to burst in, ready to force me into the sanitarium.
Tup still watched me. “Did you want to buy a ticket?”
“Yes, please.” I pulled out the bill and handed it to him.
“Is that round trip?”
I met his eyes, then looked down at the money on the counter. “No,” I said. “One way.”
He nodded, then turned to retrieve my ticket from a maze of cubbyholes behind him. A moment later he handed it to me. “The trains are running late this morning, Miz Deforest. Heard by telegraph that the rain’s washed out some of the tracks. There’s been detours along the way. May be more on the way to Dover Town.”
I shivered, remembering my fears of high trestles and deep gorges.
“That must do,” I said, my voice coming out in a squeak. I resisted another urge to glance toward the door. “I’ll wait.” Once I was on the train I didn’t care how long it might take to reach my destination.
“All right then. You’re set for the nine o’clock.” He tipped his head toward the empty waiting room. “You can sit over there, if you want.” He looked sympathetic. “You look plumb wore out. I brought hot coffee if you’d like some.”
I nodded. He hurried to the back of the small room and came back with a blue-speckled mug. “I’m sorry I haven’t any fresh cream.”
I gratefully wrapped my cold fingers around the cup, then headed to the corner farthest from the door. I sat down, facing the window overlooking the tracks. The morning was dismal, even in the light of day.
I shuddered again, keeping my trembling, icy fingers wrapped tight around the warm mug. My eyelids were heavy, my lack of sleep catching up with me quickly. I fought to stay watchful, keeping my eyes on the track, listening for the clatter and clank of pistons and wheels and the roar of the steam engine coming into the station.
There was nothing. I strolled back and forth until the station filled, then took my seat again, facing away from the other passengers, my back to the door. One hour dragged by, then two. Nine o’clock passed. Then nine-thirty.
I remembered the letter, reached down to unsnap the valise, and pulled out the envelope. I pictured Zeb opening it and wondered if he planned to give it to me after he had mended the seal. How many other letters had he read through the years? The thought fanned the flame of anger already in my heart.
I unfolded Welsie’s letter and began to read.
San Juan, California
June 20, 1887
Beloved Fairwyn,
You must come to me quickly, child. Please hurry.
Though Micheil laughs and tries to assure me that I look better every day, that my strength is returning, I suspect he is wrong and that my days are not long. I have something important to tell you. Something I should have divulged many years ago. It’s only because of a promise I made to your grandfather that I’ve kept these precious truths to myself.
With your grandfather gone and with my own life ebbing, it’s time at last to tell you everything. But, beloved Fairwyn, I want to see your face as I tell your life’s story. I’ve kept my distance far too long, child, and it is at last time to tell you why.
I am sending train fare. A journey across the nation does complicate matters, especially if your husband does not agree to the trip. I will understand if you cannot come to me.
Through the years I have rejoiced in every detail of your life, even from this distance. Your letters have always brought me the deepest comfort and joy—almost as if you were sitting here talking to me in person. Through the words you’ve written—and even what I’ve read between the lines—I know you almost as well as I know myself.
I know you’re going through times of questioning—and believe me, beloved, these questions will increase. Remember that God is full of love and forgiveness, mercy and grace. His gifts are freely given. His arms are open wide as he stands waiting for you. He cares about every heartache, doubt, and fear. He loves you, Fairwyn, as if you were the only one in the world to love.
Should you come to me, Micheil will show you the way to my home. It’s easier for me to tell you how to find the mission—a landmark you can’t mistake—and Micheil, who spends as many hours there as he can, than to tell you the directions up the winding lane leading to me. Should Micheil be out at Saddleback Ranch (a distance away) when you arrive, you can ask others in town to show you to my little cottage by the sea.
I pray that I will see you face to face soon. Until then, I remain
The one who loves you dearly,
Welsie True
I read the letter again and then searched the envelope for train fare. Obviously Zeb had removed it. It didn’t take an advanced degree to figure out that he had kept the letter so I wouldn’t go to my beloved Welsie True. I pushed aside the nagging thought that my conclusion didn’t make sense: Because of his love for Jeannie, getting me out of the way should have been uppermost in his mind.
I stood, fighting to contain my distress, and paced the floor. I would go to Welsie True. Now. As quickly as I could get there.
More impatient than ever to be on my way, I glanced at the clock again. 9:52.
At 9:59 I heard the faint whistle of the train in the distance. With a sigh of relief, I stood a few minutes later as the train slowed and screeched to a halt before the platform with a final blast of steam.
Minutes later, the conductor shouted “All aboard,” and I hurried from the station through the pouring rain to the first car I reached. I settled into my seat on the side of the car facing the station. I had a clear view of the platform and anyone who might walk its length. Almost afraid to breathe, I kept my unblinking stare hard on the doorway.
So far no one else ventured into the rain from within the station; only a man and two women stood at the center of the platform with heads covered, waving to those they were sending off.
My heart raced as old fears rose in my throat. I swallowed my looming dread of high bridges and rail switchbacks that snaked on mountain cliffs. My stomach was a mass of jitters and nausea, seething anger toward Zeb, and fresh worry about Welsie. I bit my bottom lip and tried to remain cal
m, tried to dismiss the pouring rain and thoughts of washed-out rails. Instead, I focused on my unfaithful husband and my justification for leaving.
I glanced down at the letter, still clutched in my white-knuckled hand. If I hadn’t had proof before of my husband’s lack of love, I did now.
The conductor called again, and within minutes the heavy doors slammed closed on each car, one by one.
That was when I saw Zeb.
Looking frantic, he raced up and down the platform, shouting at the conductor to open a door. He ran toward the locomotive as the train slowly began to move from the station.
My car passed him, and he looked up. He moved with the train, shouting something to me and waving his arms. Finally, the train moved faster than he could follow. The curve of the track soon blocked both the platform and Zeb from view.
I turned in my seat to once again face forward. The engine gained speed, and rain pelted my window, drips flying backward. I trembled, an unnatural fear playing at the back of my mind. I looked across at my seat partner, a red-haired girl, who was watching the rain and nibbling on the tip of her long plait.
“I’m Fairwyn March,” I said with a smile when she turned. I hoped reassuring her would calm my own twisting stomach.
“Tansy MacFie.” She gave the window another nervous glance, looking as worried as I felt. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” Then she frowned. “I hear tell there might be some bridges washed out.”
“The stationmaster said as much. He also said it may take us longer because of detours.”
She swallowed hard and nibbled at her braid again. “I almost didn’t get on this train.”
“These iron beasts can go anywhere they want without trouble.” I sounded braver than I felt. Behind me the rain sliced against the window.
Tansy leaned forward. “I’m going to Saint Louis. My brother’s there. I’m taking this train to Dover Town, then transferring to another to Knoxville, where I connect again to one agoin’ to Saint Louis.” She sighed. “Where you goin’?”
With her flame red hair hanging in two long plaits and a face full of freckles, Tansy MacFie didn’t look more than fifteen. “That’s a long ways to travel alone,” I said.
“My brother’s all I have in the world. He’ll be right pleased to see me.” She smiled. “But you didn’t tell me where you’re headed.”
I glanced at the letter, crumpled in my hand. “California,” I said.
She let out a sigh of appreciation. “That’s a long ways too.”
“It is. And I’ve only just decided.”
Her eyes widened. “That a fact?”
“It is.”
“Where ‘bouts in California?”
“A place called San Juan. It’s near one of the old missions built by the Spanish.”
The train lurched, and Tansy grabbed hold of my hand. I continued talking, mostly to keep her mind—and mine—off the heavy rains still sluicing off our window. “That’s where swallows return every spring. Come rain or come shine, on the nineteenth day of March. My friend who lives there says it’s quite a sight. They soar to the heavens as if flying among the angels themselves. She says ’Tis a sight to behold. It’s as if God’s Spirit himself was right there among them.”
The train swayed suddenly, then jolted as if it had hit some loose track. Tansy wore a look of terror and clutched my hand yet tighter.
Talking about family seemed to help keep her mind off her fear, so I asked about her brother.
Her voice took on a prideful tone. She smiled. “He went west for gold, thinking maybe the Gold Rush wasn’t truly over. Read too many of them dime novels, seems to me. Everybody knew the gold was long gone. He panned for a while. Didn’t find a single nugget, so he came back to Saint Louis and started working the railroad, training to be a conductor. Last I heard he’s running locomotives out of Saint Louis or thereabouts.”
She watched the passing rain-blurred landscape for a moment, then turned again to me. “He doesn’t know I’m acomin’. Stephan left for California three years ago—right after our momma and daddy died all of a sudden in a buggy accident. I’ve been with my aunt till now.”
She fell silent again. The train rattled over a trestle, and she bit at her thumbnail. “I know Stephan must surely miss me even though he’s got his other responsibilities and all. We was allus close, being it was just the two of us.” She looked nervously toward the window again.
“We’ll be in Dover Town before you know it,” I said, trying to ease her fears. “Maybe we can ride together to Saint Louis.”
“Where are you from?”
I thought of Poppy’s cabin, the meadow beyond, and the lavender hills. “I’m coming from Oak Hill where I’ve been living for a few years. But before that I was from Sycamore Creek.” I laughed lightly, wondering how to describe the place. “I lived just beyond a meadow on the knob of a mountain. We called it Blackberry Mountain, though I don’t think you could find it written on a map.” I pictured returning there after my visit with Welsie True. The thought lightened my heart considerably.
She leaned closer. “I’ve heard tell of Blackberry Mountain. ’Tis not far from where Stephan and me lived with our momma and daddy before the buggy wreck.” She seemed to be puzzling something, then looked up at me. “You hear tell of Possum Creek near Laurel Fork?”
“I have—just a stone’s throw from Sycamore Creek. Can’t be more than a day’s journey afoot.”
She grinned, leaning back in her seat, more relaxed. “We’re neighbors practically. Someday maybe I’ll come over to see you if ’n you go back.” Then she frowned. “You got a schoolhouse in Blackberry Mountain?”
“No, not yet.”
“How about Sycamore Creek?”
I shook my head, smiling at her persistence.
“ ’Tis a pity,” she said. “Possum Creek’s got a schoolmarm. Name’s Missus Page. Can you fancy that? I learned to read and write and cipher up till my eighth year.” She smiled. “That’s what I want to be someday. A schoolmarm.”
“That’s a fitting profession,” I said.
We rode along in silence for an hour or more. The rain hadn’t let up, and we were starting through the low rolling hills outside Dover Town. The train swayed again, first to the right as we rounded a curve, then to the left as it snaked the opposite direction.
“We’re coming up on Granite Falls,” Tansy said, her voice sounding small and scared. “Not more than ten minutes I reckon. The bridge is high off the river.”
I reached for her hand again and found it cold and trembling. “Would you like for me to sing?” It might help relieve some of my own jitters.
She nodded. “Yes. I’m fearful of that bridge something fierce.”
So was I. “I’ll sing us across.”
“What kind of singing?”
I smiled at her. “Singin’ from the mountains.” I released her hand and leaned back in my seat. Then, keeping my voice low, I sang a lullaby, one Granny had sung to me every night as far back as I could remember.
Her face widened with wonder as she listened. And when I stopped, she clapped her hands. “Sing it again,” she said. “It’s one I remember my own momma singing.”
The skies were dark and thunderous as we started across the trestle bridge. Tansy reached for my hand again, clutching it tight. I’d just started to sing again when I felt the first shudder of the train.
Time slowed so that it seemed not to pass at all. Timbers ripped, groaning as if human. Then an eerie silence filled our car. We hung in midair for an eternity. Beside me Tansy whimpered.
The passenger car shuddered, and I buried my head in my hands, too panic-stricken to move.
Then I heard a still small voice, the same as the One who’d come to me in the night.
I am with you, beloved.
I wanted to get up from my seat to go to him, but the steep angle of the train prevented movement.
You are not alone.
It was a voice so sweet it was a
lmost unbearable, so filled with love it washed over me completely.
I reached out my hands. “Da?” I cried. “Da, is it you?”
“Who is it?” Tansy whispered, very near me. “Who are you talking to?”
“It’s One who comes when I’m afraid.”
“I’m afraid,” she said.
“He is here.”
“I hear a sound,” she said. “Like music, the music of water and light rushing together. It covers me.”
The train creaked and shuddered again, still hanging suspended above the river. Tansy reached for me. “I’m not afraid now,” she breathed, gripping my hands with both of hers. “Would you sing again?”
Behind me a baby whimpered. A man prayed, calling out for God to send his angels. A woman cried, “Today in paradise … today!”
I opened my mouth and sang again. All fell silent, listening to my song. When a loud rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, a soft weeping accompanied my singing.
Timber splintered, and beams groaned under the weight of the train. We hovered on the brink between life and death for an instant. Then we plunged downward.
Utter darkness enveloped me. Utter silence. Then I heard the blast of rushing water entering the passenger car through broken windows.
I sank into blessed nothingness.
Seventeen
Before I opened my eyes I felt the wet sand beneath me, tasted its grit, smelled the soil and rocks the river carried in its swell. I looked around, confused, before realizing where I lay. Rain poured down, sheeting off me, and I peered through the veil of it seeing nothing but gray.
At first I could hear only the pouring rain and the rush of the river to my right. I tried to move then, surprised at the pain. I had no memory of what had brought me here or of anything before this moment.
Upstream I heard a shout, then another. Followed by a moan. I frowned, trying to remember why it was important to move. To get to those I heard crying for help.