Hopping Trains

…..

Does the road wind up-hill all the way?

Yes, to the very end.

Will the day's journey take the whole long day?

From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?

A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.

May not the darkness hide it from my face?

You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?

Those who have gone before.

Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?

They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?

Of labour you shall find the sum.

Will there be beds for me and all who seek?

Yea, beds for all who come.

Uphill, by Christina Rosetti (1861).

…..

Jed! Jed!

The words rang within the depths of the boy's dreams.

Startled awake, he blinked furiously to focus. The grey light of early dawn filtered in through the boxcar, the cracks and crevices much like it used to be in the old family barn. But, with the dirty hay laying around and the few stalls empty, no stock was lately here.

Rubbing sleepers away, he surveyed the scene further. In the dim light, he could just make out splintered, rotted, grey or brown boards weathered beyond a useful life. Some were newer, sturdier, and still others maybe fresh from the saw with a faint scent to match, having been recently but not carefully hammered into place.

He sat up. Dirty fingers combed through greasy curls the color of marigolds, or perhaps now, wet sand. The hair was long, too long. His ma would have taken scissors to it, especially now, with the summer and all.

His clothes stuck to him. Once sturdy and soft, but now holey and damp, he needed new ones. How he missed the fresh scent of a shirt as he buttoned it, of a sheet as he nestled into a soft bed, of his mother's air-dried laundry.

There was no movement. All was still; the sounds of the night long since put to bed as dawn wound its way to sunrise. He took it all in: silence, deafening silence. His own slow motions rustled softly: a piano. He coughed: a crescendo. He stilled himself, and shuddered at the quietness.

He was alone, and tried not to feel lonely.

He rose and stretched; the sore muscles reminiscent of a fitful sleep—or had it been? He seemed rested, maybe. Yawning deeply, shaking out the soreness, he did still feel weary.

His stomach rumbled. A sensation tickled his throat. Hunger? Two days since their last meal—no wonder! He frowned. Being on the run could make one forget food, even him.

Moving toward the door, he peered out the narrow crack. Another little while perhaps before the sun rose. Dare he start for the next car?

Wait! What was this place? Fencing, lots of it, spread ahead, as far as he could see. Stockyards. A sign–Kansas City. Behind him, the river. Understanding set in. He was in Missouri!

Of a sudden, he heard a voice. "The cars in front are all clear. I'll check the ones in back."

Jed panicked. Eyes darted. Where to hide?

A few minutes later: footsteps. The door slid open; creaky, rusty. Pa would have taken oil to the hinges.

Then, more loud creaking, sliding, shutting, banging! It grew more distant as the man moved down the row.

More time passed. Jed stayed where he was.

Another loud voice called, "See anything?"

"Nope. All's clear."

"Okay. Let's get some grub. We'll unload come light."

Then, again, silence.

Jed's tousled head peeked up through a dirty haystack. Pulling himself out, he sneezed, shook off the hay, and grabbed the sack with his too meager belongings. Drawing the string tight, he pulled it up one arm and let it hang from the back of his shoulder. He stepped to the door; no one was about.

He had to get to the next car and find Han, but, wait! The man's words played over in his mind: All's clear. All's clear. All's clear. But, how could that be? Okay, yes, Han had to have hidden himself just as Jed had.

Last night, under cover of twilight, the boys had run for the train as it pulled out. Grabbing the threshold of one car, Jed pulled himself up, turned, and reached out a hand to help Han. Then the train speeded up.

It played through his mind. With Jed's car and his outstretched arm now out of reach, Han had rushed for the next car, grabbed hold, pulled himself up just before the train wound round a bend. Han's car disappeared from Jed's view.

Jed willed himself calm in the rush of adrenaline from the remembrance of last night. He jumped down. Keeping close to the shadows, he moved stealthily to the car behind. Looking around and still seeing no one, he reached up, pulled the door aside, heaved himself up and in.

He froze. The car was empty: no stalls, no hay, no Han.

Worry smothered him, but he soldiered on, checking the next car, the next, the next, all down the line. Nothing. Try as he might not to, tears burned his eyes and stained his cheeks. He wanted to shout–NO!–but held his tongue. There must be some explanation.

Han had made it, hadn't he? He had to …

The stuff of his fitful dreams reverberated through his being. In them, Han was lost and called for him. Jed prayed; please let it be only a dream! He trembled at the realization it might be true. His breath caught, but, swallowing hard, he steeled himself. He had to figure this out.

From the next track, he heard more voices calling.

"Okay, get those doors closed. We're behind schedule for Chicago."

"You heard the man. Fire that engine!"

As dawn's late light brightened the scene, Jed crouched as best he could in one of the few shadows remaining. Several moments passed. The train on the next track jerked; began to move, slowly. He gazed behind him. In the moments now just before sunrise, Kansas was visible across the river, just.

Chicago lay in the other direction; big city, gaslights on every corner, tall buildings, more people than he had ever seen. The brief thought excited him, filled his very marrow, palpated through his being, rushed every nerve. Hadn't they yearned for adventure? They had not cared in which direction the train went, just—away. And, Chicago was away, distant and beckoning, but still a long way ahead. It was to have been Han and Jed, together; not Jed alone.

Across the river, Kansas became more visible as the first rays of sunlight finally burst over the horizon. Han must still be back there. Had he fallen? Was he hurt?

"Watch out!"

Jed froze. The voice had come from down the track, echoing in the alley between twin trains in the yard, its urgency plain. Screaming, "Omer, watch out! Engineer, stop the train!"

Jed heard a sudden squeal of brakes, the plaintive wail of a whistle. Steam bellowed from the chimney, shrouding the approaching daylight as if a cloud had descended. The cacophonous, cymbal-like crash of iron on iron, shrill ululation, calls and screams abated as abruptly as they had started. The barely moving train screeched to a sudden halt. Fog enveloped the first rays of morn.

Momentarily faint, the boy took in a breath, not realizing he had held it. He heard a groan. The injured man must be near.

The same voice called, "Omer!?"

Jed looked to either side, stood his ground as the fog slowly dissipated.

A low moan. "O-ver here…" A soft sigh. "Help…"

It echoed in the boy's ears. Mindful of the need to be near invisible, and silent, Jed's heart thumped furiously. The thought of someone hurt made him recall a time when one of his older brothers had fallen from the hay loft after a wayward cow bumped the ladder he was on. Pa had dropped everything and come running, as had he. But, shooed out of the way, Jed still caught sight of the shattered leg bone breaking through skin. A compound fracture, the doc had called it. Thank goodness, the good surgeon had circumvented the need for amputation. But, how he had longed to help. He could hear his ma say, "Mind, stay outside. Feed the chickens. Do your chores." Anything but be in the way.

Summoning courage, Jed called, not too loudly, "Mister? Mister Omer? Sir?"

Another groan greeted him.

Louder, "Where are ya, Mister Omer?"

Moan. A whimper. "Who, who's there?"

Jed took a few steps in the direction of the voice. He replied earnestly, "Just me."

"Son?"

The boy reached the injured man. Blood oozed from a cut on his forehead. A small pile of logs lay to his left. He had been lucky.

The man's voice trembled. "Is that you, Billy?"

A brow crinkled, before understanding smoothed it. "No sir. My name's Jed."

"Jed?" A pause. "You a friend of my Billy?"

"No sir." The boy knelt down and withdrew a shirt from his bag. Finding the cleanest part of it and spitting to moisten it, he gently laid it on the man's forehead. It quickly turned crimson. Jed grimaced, held the cloth firmly against the ragged wound.

"Argh!"

Jed remained calm. "Sorry, mister, but my ma always did this to stop the bleedin'."

The man's arm flailed. Jed grabbed his hand and held it. Omer relaxed. He said, "Thank you, Bill … Jed…"

The boy smiled. "No need for thanks, mister." Jed steadied the pressure on the cut. "Ya shouldn't be movin'. Stayin' still's best."

The man settled. Sad green eyes regarded the lad. "You look like my Billy. 'Bout the same age."

The sun radiated off Jed's countenance. There had been a Billy at the home, one of the boys who left him be, even when Han was not around.

Footsteps interrupted the little world.

The new arrival spoke. "Omer!" He knelt on the side opposite Jed. "Omer, you all right?"

The addressed nodded slowly. "Cray?"

"Yup." Cray moved Jed's hand away to get a look at the wound. "That coulda been a lot worse."

A sigh. "Yeah. Jed here done give me succor."

Cray acknowledged the youngster with all too brief a glance. "Now, you lay still and rest easy, Omer. Me and the boy'll get some help." He stood, towering over Jed, and scowled, "Where'd you come from? Come on, we got some talkin' to do."

The boy stiffened. Pulled roughly to his feet, he bent to pick up his bag. "Hey! What'cha doin'?" Unceremoniously half dragged a freight car's length away, Jed did what he could to keep up with Cray's long strides.

"Boy, I asked ya a question. Where'd ya come from?"

The youngster contemplated the ground. Two hands shook him.

"I expect an answer!"

The boy spoke softly. "Kansas."

"Speak up. Didn't hear ya."

His voice caught. "Kansas."

"Look at me when I speak to ya, boy!"

Jed gulped. He raised his head. "Kansas."

"Kansas? How the hell did ya … So we have a tramp here, do we? Lookin' for a free ride, are ya? Ya want free shelter, we got a nice little storeroom in the stationmaster's office which should suit ya just fine till the sheriff gets here!"

Adrenaline rushed. Jed sprang into action, stepping on the man's foot while twisting and bending to bite the hand holding him. Free of his captor, he bolted and ran.

"Hold it, boy!"

Jed crawled under a car and out the other side. Finally out of sight of his pursuer, he viewed the landscape. Iron rails and wooden box cars hemmed him in. Shadows fell. It was cooler now. Light did not penetrate the ironbound.

"Get that kid!"

"Where?"

"He's somewhere in here. Couldn't'a gotten far."

The boy could hear heavy boot steps tramping the railyard. He trembled. He had to get out of there.

Yet another train started, groaning those first few seconds down the tracks. Acting on instinct, Jed grabbed an opening. Hauled himself up. Fell inside. Lay on his belly. Dropped his head onto his arms.

Moist eyes looked up and watched the world rush by–away from the river, and Kansas.

And Han.

~~oo~~

To be continued