My Darlin' Cousin, Chapter 4 – A Stinky Situation
Summer was just around the corner and all the engines on the Island of Sodor were getting themselves ready for what was promising to be a busy season. With the warmer weather just getting started, construction on the New Line had sped up considerably as well the rebuilding of the engine facilities in Vicarstown. The summer tourist season was just getting underway and while Sir Topham Hatt had yet to reinstate the Midday Nor' Western Daylight, he knew that moment would come in the next few weeks.
The sun was almost up as Sarah arrived for work one morning at the Tidmouth roundhouse. Samantha had decided the previous evening that in order to keep all of her required skills sharp, she would fire Erika today. Sarah was excited about this because whenever Samantha took a turn in the fireman's seat it meant that she would be at Erika's throttle. Sarah had already received some informal training on how to drive steam engines from Samantha and she relished every opportunity that she got to put those lessons into practice.
Sarah was just about to climb into Erika's cab and had begun tying her hair back behind her head, when a noise behind her got her attention. A large dark red Dodge Ram pickup truck pulled up to the roundhouse and Bruce got out, slapping his tan beret on his head as he did. Sarah stood with her eyes fixed on him as he pulled his guitar case out of the back, slung it over his shoulder and began walking towards her. "G… good morning Bruce," she said nervously.
"Good morning Sarah," he responded.
"How was your evening last night?"
"You know exactly how my evening was last night," Bruce told her.
"What makes you say that?" Sarah wondered innocently.
Bruce laughed and presented her with his best 'You-Gotta-be-Kidding-Me' expression. "Really Sarah? If you're going to try and hide yourself in a crowd, you might want to be a little less obvious about it. But then, the drunken idiot who dumped his whiskey on your shoes last night and then made the most awkward come-on in history towards you, didn't help your cause much." He then spoke to her in an intoxicated tone. "Hello there. My name's John. Ever dated a bathroom?" Laughing still, Bruce headed over towards Daemon.
Sarah however, turned bright red. Bruce had seen her. The previous night she'd gone to Knapford and a local bar for a couple of drinks and a sampling of what was supposed to be the best fish and chips in town. She'd been startled to see Bruce there as well, enjoying a few drinks and entertaining the various patrons on an old piano that had been in a corner.
All evening, she'd done her best to avoid him and she thought she'd been successful at it too. That was until that drunken moron had spilled his drink all over her and then tried to pick her up in exactly the fashion as Bruce had outlined. It had been one of the most mortifying experiences of her life and she'd hauled off and slapped the fool so hard, she'd split his lip before marching out of the bar in a swirl of skirts and heels. She silently prayed Bruce hadn't witnessed the scene.
Well, those hopes are shot, Sarah thought as she climbed into Erika's cab. She could see that Samantha was desperately trying to keep a straight face. Sarah rolled her eyes. Might as well get it over with. "All right, out with it," she said. "What did you hear?"
Samantha burst out laughing and nearly fell out of her seat. "Not enough of what I wanted to hear and more than I should have." She laughed uncontrollably for several minutes before finally being able to speak again. "My name is John," she said in a tone similar to what Bruce had echoed. "Have you ever dated a toilet before? That is too good Sarah. More than a fair number of men have irritated me with their lousy come-ons in my time, but that one takes the cake. It has to be the worst I've ever heard."
"You don't understand," Sarah said hotly. "The evening was still young and I had just worked up the nerve to go talk to Bruce on a more… personal level shall we say? It was supposed to be the start of what I was hoping would be a lovely evening between him and me." She turned her gaze out of the cab, staring at nothing in particular. "That drunken idiot ruined it," she said quietly. "He ruined everything. Because it was at that moment that he blundered into me and caused that whole embarrassing scene."
Samantha displayed a more sympathetic smile. At least Sarah seemed to be trying. "I'm sorry Sarah. I'm sure another opportunity will present itself soon."
"Maybe," Sarah said softly. She shook herself back to reality. "Let's just go to work."
Until now, Erika had elected to remain silent, but she had heard every word of the conversation between Sarah and Samantha as well as bit of the conversation between Sarah and Bruce. What was going on here? She was going to have to question Bruce about this. But for now that would have to wait. Right now, she had a Nor' Western Daylight to get ready for along with her big, strong express.
A couple stalls over, Bruce climbed into Daemon's cab and was surprised to see Sir Topham Hatt there as well talking to Mike. From the expression on Mike's face, Sir Topham Hatt appeared to have just said something to him that Mike didn't like and Bruce became concerned. "Is there a problem?"
"That I suppose would depend on your definition of problem," Mike replied.
"Is something wrong with Daemon?" Bruce wondered.
"No, Daemon's fine," Mike assured him. "We're all fired up and ready go as soon as we get out clearance."
"Excellent," Bruce said sitting in the engineer's chair. "So what's the problem then?"
"The job we've pulled today," Mike said. "We've assigned to the waste dump."
Bruce almost couldn't believe his ears. "The waste dump?"
Sir Topham Hatt confirmed it. "I'm afraid so Bruce. With the summer season getting started and more tourists arriving, the waste trains are starting to get heavier than Whiff or Scruff can handle. Normally I would assign Henry to this, but I need him to finish his work up at Peel Godred. So for today, I need Daemon working the dump."
Bruce shrugged. "If it's got to be done, it's got to be done. We'll do it."
Sir Topham Hatt nodded in appreciation. "Thank you Bruce. And thank you Daemon."
"Not a problem Sir Topham Hatt sir," Daemon responded.
After Sir Topham Hatt had left, Mike laughed unhappily. "Great. Just great. The waste dump."
Bruce snorted. "I've been wondering when we were going to draw that assignment. Looks like I don't have to wonder any longer. How do you feel about working the dump today Daemon?"
"Aw shoot Mister Bruce, I don't mind at all," Daemon said happily. "Like I said when we first arrived here, I'm just happy ta be workin' again."
Bruce smiled. He could always count on Daemon to be optimistic almost to a fault no matter what challenges he was facing.
Across the roundhouse, Erika had also heard what assignment Daemon had drawn for the day and it pleased her greatly. Maybe a day of foul smelling cars and engines would wipe that silly grin off of his face. "I think you'll like working the dump Daemon," Erika said slyly.
"Really lil' darlin'?" Daemon asked. "What makes ya think so?"
"Well, you back woods Arkansas boys are known for getting dirty and smelly," Erika insulted. "I would think a day around that foul smelling place would be right up your alley."
Daemon shot her a cross expression, but remained silent. A moment later, he received clearance to head out of the yard and begin his work day.
"Ta ta Daemon," Erika taunted as Daemon steamed away. "I'm sure you'll have a great time down there rolling around in the foul muck and making some great new friends."
"That wasn't very nice Erika," Sarah reprimanded her.
"Who cares?" Erika said. Looking across the roundhouse, she saw Gordon roll his eyes and shake his head in disappointment.
Samantha noticed it. "I'd say him for starters. Or maybe what he thinks doesn't matter to you any more either?" Samantha had another point as well. "And if you'll recall, you were kind of fond of Whiff when you were stuck working the dump a few weeks back."
Erika whistled loudly. She sometimes hated it when Samantha was right.
"Oooooo weeeee," Daemon exclaimed as he wrinkled his nose. "Where in all of tarnation have ya'll brought me to?"
Bruce and Mike were having some difficulty adjusting to the stench as well. "Daemon, it is a waste dump," Bruce reminded him. "And I can safely say that we wish we weren't here either, but it's the assignment we drew and it needs to be done. End of story."
Daemon shook his head in a feeble and pointless attempt to get the smell out of his face. "I know but dad gum," he complained. "This place is smellier than a corn field full o' cow patties!"
"I know Daemon," Bruce sympathized. He coughed once and added. "But we've got a job to do and sitting here moaning about the stench isn't going to make that job go away. Just breathe through your mouth as much as possible and maybe it won't be so bad."
"You're right Mister Bruce," Daemon admitted. "Let's git ta it then. The sooner we git this done, the sooner we can be on ta somethin' else."
The Sodor Waste Dump was where all of the garbage on the island was collected. Some of it was processed and recycled in this very location, but most of it was loaded on to trains headed for the various harbors on Sodor. From there it was loaded onto barges for mainland where it would be processed, recycled or permanently disposed of in a location that could better handle the work load. Usually the waste trains going to the harbors were handled by Whiff or Scruff, the dump's resident locomotives. But occasionally, like now, those trains got too big for either of them to handle and outside help was called in.
A little dark green tank engine with black striping, a black smokebox and red running boards rolled up next to Daemon. He had a cheerful but pudgy expression and he wore glasses on his face. "Hi there," he greeted pleasantly. "Wow, you sure are big. Are you Daemon?"
"Well good monin' there little feller," Daemon said in return. "Yes my name is Daemon. I'm supposed ta be takin' some o' these here refuse trains ta the harbors today."
"My name's Whiff," the little engine said. "They call me that because I'm all smelly," he cheerfully admitted.
"Yes, I can understand why," Daemon assured him, not wanting to reveal the fact the Whiff's smell was starting to irritate him.
"Well we take our jobs seriously here, but we're also kind of laid back," Whiff explained the workings of the dump to Daemon. "The first train I have for you is over there by the crusher. It's going to Brendam. Then I have a train of recycled metal for Kirk Ronan and by then I should have a general waste train bound for Norramby for you. After that…"
Daemon cut him off. "Uh Whiff, I don't mean ta be rude, but would ya mind tellin' me the rest o' that while I spin myself on that turntable over yonder? Like I said, I doesn't mean ta be rude or disrespectful, but dad gum… the stench comin' offa ya would knock a buzzard right off a chuck wagon!"
As Daemon steamed away to get turned, Whiff had a question for his driver. "What's a chuck wagon?"
"I have no idea," his driver responded.
Chugging his way towards Brendam, Daemon made good time with his train though the smell of it was beginning to make him wish he'd been assigned somewhere else that day. It wasn't much different for Bruce or Mike who'd both taken to wrapping their noses and mouths with scarves in a comical attempt to keep from smelling the stench. They looked like a pair of train robbers instead of an engineer and fireman. The stench wasn't too bad when Daemon was moving, but when they were stopped like now… well Bruce couldn't immediately recall smelling something worse.
That wasn't the only thing that was upsetting Bruce at the moment. As they continued to wait for the train to be unloaded, he took the opportunity to climb down from the cab and speak to Daemon. "You know Daemon, what you said to Whiff back at the dump… it was kind of rude."
From the expression on Daemon's face, Bruce already knew that Daemon felt bad about the whole thing as well. "Shucks Mister Bruce, I know that," he said. "And I'm real sorry about it. I hope I didn't hurt the little fella's feelin's none."
"You may have Daemon," Bruce admitted. "You may have. Whiff didn't ask for that job, but he nevertheless takes it very seriously. And for that, he deserves nothing but respect no matter what he or the area he works in might smell like."
"You're right Mister Bruce," Daemon said unhappily.
"And don't forget Daemon, you're no stranger to hurt feelings yourself," Bruce reminded him. "On both sides of the coin."
"Yeah, I know that too Mister Bruce," Daemon admitted. "All too well I'm afraid."
June, 1947 – Dallas, Texas
Resting comfortably in the Southern Pacific Cadiz Roundhouse, Daemon awaited his next assignment. That probably wouldn't come until the morning as he was having his semi-annual service and inspection completed. But as long as that went okay, he'd be back on the job he loved by tomorrow. Today, his brother Daryl had been assigned to the Morning Star and Delaney had been assigned to the Lone Star. As for Dustin… well, Daemon wasn't sure where Dustin was today. That wasn't uncommon these days. Sometimes he didn't know where any of his brothers were.
There had been many changes around the Dallas terminal area since the end of the war two years ago, and rumor had it there were more coming. The biggest change had been the reduction in service on the Morning Star. With the end of the war came the end of the need for a second section, so the Morning Star had been reduced to one train each way daily. Daemon had protested at first until his brothers had explained that one train each way every day was what the Morning Star had been before the war had started.
Ridership had decreased a bit too. During the war, the Morning Star had been between 16 and 22 coaches on any given trip. Without the constant demand for the transport of troops, he considered himself lucky to see just over half that number of coaches on the train now. The other engines had assured him that the decrease in ridership was just because everyone was still celebrating the end of the war with their families and taking very many vacations these days. That seemed a little odd to Daemon, especially now, two years on. But he still had no reason to suspect something was really wrong and he rested with the knowledge that passenger traffic would pick up again soon when people started traveling more again.
There were some other things that were concerning him too. Since the end of the war, the number of those new-fangled diesels around Dallas had increased dramatically as well as the number of trains they were assigned to. Just after the war had ended, a new train running between Houston and Denver called the Texas Zephyr had been introduced. It was led by a pair of bright, shiny, stainless steel E5 type diesels named Chief and Warrior.
They were a curious pair. Daemon guessed that the two of them took their names from the names "Silver Chief" and "Silver Warrior" stenciled on their sides. Chief always led Warrior for obvious reasons. He had an extremely slanted face, almost like an inverted shovel. Though many found it pleasing to look at, Daemon always thought it was kind of extreme.
Warrior, by contrast, had a flat face and was always coupled behind Chief. Daemon didn't understand why at first until Howard had explained to him that Warrior was a booster unit. He provided extra pulling power, but had no cab of his own and therefore, was forced to rely on Chief to do his job.
But that wasn't the most shocking development. Earlier this year, two other diesels colored in beautiful red, yellow and silver paint had arrived. Twin sisters named Katherine and Karen, they had semi-replaced Moe on the Texas Special. He still handled the train from Dallas south to San Antonio. But from Dallas northward, it was up to Katherine and Karen to handle the train.
Katherine and Karen were an okay sort even for new-fangled diesels. Still, even they could get a little rude from time to time. Chief and Warrior were worse though. Daemon had not gotten on well with either of them pretty much since the day they'd first arrived. While they weren't overly insulting to steam engines, they always seemed to have a mightier-than-thou attitude and frequently bragged about how they could pull a passenger train faster than any steam engine could. Daemon wondered about that. Running flat out he could hit just over 90 miles an hour. Surely those new-fangled diesels couldn't run at speeds much faster than that.
At any rate, he was glad Chief and Warrior weren't in Dallas at the moment. They always tended to bring a dark cloud over the Cadiz roundhouse whenever they decided to hang around. The only other engines in the shed at that moment were Leo, who was fast asleep, Katherine and Karen. Moe was spinning on the turntable in preparation to take the Texas Special that the ladies had just arrived with the rest of the way to San Antonio and who knew where any of the other engines were at the moment.
Katherine laughed to herself as Moe steamed away. "I'm surprised that old grandpa there can actually still generate enough power to move his own drivers," she said insultingly.
"Now Katherine," Karen scolded her twin. "Have some respect. Moses was hauling that train all the way from San Antonio to St. Louis long before we were ever around. That's to be recognized and commended."
"You got that right lil' darlin'," Daemon said, electing to butt into the conversation. "Moe may be the oldest one o' us here. But he's still got more than enough power ta take on any passenger train the Katy chooses ta throw out on the main."
Katherine rolled her eyes. "Oh really now?" she said, clearly unmoved by Daemon's suggestion. "And what, pray tell, drives you to make that suggestion there steamie?"
"They need two o' ya'll ta pull the Texas Special," Daemon retaliated. "They only need one o' Moe."
Katherine blasted her horn angrily. "How dare you," she hissed.
"I's only speakin' the truth," Daemon defended his comment.
"He does have a point Katherine," Karen reminded her twin.
Katherine looked like she was about to go into a screaming fit. But just when it seemed like she would blow her generator, she took a deep breath and relaxed a bit. "Perhaps you're right steamie," she growled at him. "But just you remember that the age of diesels has only begun. Steam may still be around a bit longer, but sooner or later they'll only need one diesel on the Texas Special."
Daemon feigned a blasé attitude, but in reality he was concerned. According to Howard, the new diesels that were showing up were more cost effective and easier to maintain. Still, he didn't let his concern show, especially to a diesel. "And when that day come we'll both be out of a job because you'll still need your sister ta pull the Texas Special," Daemon remarked.
From inside Daemon's cab, Howard laughed to himself. He admired Daemon's "take no guff attitude."
Katherine angrily blasted her horn again, prompting the roundhouse foreman to shout at her to shut up. Finally Katherine quieted down and Daemon wore a small smile of success. Not too many steam engines were willing to stand up to the diesels when they got out of line the way Daemon was. It had made him something of a local hero to the other steam engines.
If Daemon was willing to vouch for Moe's relatively intact abilities for pulling a train, he was far less inclined to do so for Trina. The poor girl hadn't been feeling well lately, complaining of aches in her rods and bearings. And as she approached the Cadiz roundhouse after completing her run from Houston on the Sunbeam, she looked worse than ever. She'd been to Southern Pacific's repair shop in El Paso earlier in the month for a complete checkup and Daemon had been forced to take over the Sunbeam for a few days during her absence.
But Trina had been released from the El Paso shops with a clean bill of health. Even so, Daemon wondered if they'd really given her the thorough check they said they had. She looked worse than ever. "Are you okay lil' darlin'?" Daemon asked with genuine concern for her well-being.
"Yeah, I'm fine Daemon," Trina replied. "Just a little sore is all."
"Are you sure 'bout that lil' darlin'," Daemon asked again. "You sure don't look good."
"No Daemon, I'm fine really," Trina insisted. "I just need a little rest is all."
Daemon still wasn't convinced. "Trina, you got a lot o' rest when you was out in El Paso and it doesn't seem ta have done a thing for ya. If ya need more rest I can take the Sunbeam again tonight…"
"I said I'm fine Daemon," Trina yelled at him. "I don't need your help!"
Daemon was surprised by Trina's outburst. "Why… I'm sorry Miss Trina," he said, suddenly being a little more formal. "I just thought that…"
Continuing her tirade, Trina cut him off. "I know what you thought Daemon! And I can assure you that I'm as fit to do my job as ever! I don't need your help and I don't need you offering it to me when I didn't ask for it in the first place!" Angrily, Trina steamed off in the direction of the water tank, groaning painfully as she did.
Daemon was dumbfounded. "What was that all about?" he asked to no one in particular.
Later that day, Trina departed for Houston having not spoken another word to Daemon and every turn of her drivers drew another pained complaint from her. The following day, Daemon was back on the Morning Star and departed Dallas long before Trina arrived with the Sunbeam. The whole ordeal still had him baffled. He'd only wanted to help Trina if she was suffering, not make her angry.
He was still confused about the whole thing when he arrived in Memphis and parked next to Miss Scarlett. Upon seeing the confused and mystified expression on her friend's face, she immediately knew something was wrong. Concerned for Daemon's well-being, Miss Scarlett tried to find out what was bothering him. "Why I declare dear Daemon, I haven't seen a face that long and upset since the day America entered the war. What's troubling you my friend?"
"Oh, nothin'" Daemon lied unconvincingly.
"Now don't you go giving me that "nothing" stuff Daemon," Miss Scarlett told him. "The fact that you are upset sir, is as plain as the bell on your head. So talk to me Daemon. I promise, you'll feel better if you do."
"Oh, I dunno Miss Scarlett," Daemon replied. He wondered if talking about what had happened would really make him feel better and he decided that maybe it would. "Yesterday I upset my good friend Trina and I'll be danged if I know the reason why."
"Well, what did you say to her?"
"All I did was offer ta take the Sunbeam for her ta Houston yesterday evenin'," Daemon insisted. He explained the situation to Miss Scarlett. "See, Miss Trina ain't been feelin' so hot lately. So they sent her out ta El Paso for a checkup. And even though she come back with a clean record, dad gum if she doesn't look and feel worse than before she left. She come into the roundhouse last night lookin' terrible and soundin' even worse than terrible. I could tell she was in a lotta pain and when she left for Houston this mornin', she groaned with ever turn of her drivers.
"When I saw what kind o' pain she was in yesterday, I offered ta take the Sunbeam ta Houston for her," Daemon continued. "But much ta my surprise, she wouldn't hear of it and when I suggested she might need some more rest, she got real cross with me. Said she was still fit as ever ta do her job and basically told me ta mind my own business. She then chuffed away in one heck of a huff and she hasn't said a dad gum thing ta me since then."
"Well Daemon sir," Miss Scarlett said. "I declare that's why she's so upset. You gave her one good scare."
Daemon was confused. "What d'ya mean Miss Scarlett?"
"For what it's worth Daemon, I don't think Trina is truly mad at you," Miss Scarlett replied. "But Daemon, you have to remember that with all these new fangled diesels starting to replace us steamers, we're getting desperate to show our bosses that we are still useful to them. I declare Daemon, Southern's bosses are already talking about replacing my sisters with diesels on the Crescent. That hasn't happened yet, but if it does, the Tennessean won't be far to follow."
Daemon blinked once. "Forgive me Miss Scarlett, but I'm not sure I understand what that has ta do with why Trina is so upset."
Miss Scarlett smiled. She really did find Daemon's naiveté attractive. "Daemon, I know you meant well. And deep down, I think Trina knows that too. But every engine that's worth keeping wants to be useful to their bosses. By offering the help that you did when it wasn't asked for by her or ordered by the bosses, you questioned Trina's ability to be useful. And I declare Daemon, in this day and age, that kind of suggestion can mean the end of a steamer's career if one of the bosses happens to overhear it. It's a good thing that no Southern Pacific bosses were around to hear your words, or they might start thinking that rather than have darlin' Trina repaired, it would just be easier to replace her with a diesel or two."
The full magnitude of what Daemon had suggested finally hit him like a head-on collision with another train. "Dangantion," he said quietly. "I didn't think about it that way. Dad gum… I really screwed up didn't I?"
"Now don't be so hard on yourself Daemon," Miss Scarlett tried to cheer him up. "I know you weren't thinkin' that your words could possibly do more harm than good. And I suppose that's to be expected. But Daemon, I declare, you need to be careful with suck talk. You might accidentally cause a steamer's retirement saying such things."
"I don't want that Miss Scarlett," Daemon confided in her. "I don't want to be the cause o' any engine losin' their job." He sighed heavily. "Dangnation… now I feel like one giant prized pole cat."
"Oh Daemon, it'll be all right in the end," Miss Scarlett said with a smile.
"Ya think so?" Daemon genuinely asked her, but not sure he wanted to know the answer.
"Sure I do." Miss Scarlett's smile got even wider and brighter. "That may not have been the smartest thing you ever said, but I know deep down you've got a good heart Daemon. And I know you'd never want to be the cause of any engine losing their job."
Daemon nodded in agreement. "You're right about that Miss Scarlett."
"And I'm sure that once you get back to Dallas and have a chat with Miss Trina, all will be fine," Miss Scarlett added. "But I declare Daemon, you do owe that nice lady an apology."
"You're right. I'll give it ta her as soon as I can," Daemon said with a smile. His talk with Scarlett had put him in a much better mood. "Oh I can't wait ta git back." He regarded Scarlett with an appreciative smile. "Thank ya for the talk Miss Scarlett. And I right appreciate ya cheerin' me up too. I'll never forget it."
"You're very welcome Daemon," Miss Scarlett smiled in return.
Daemon departed Memphis in much better spirits than he was in when he arrived. By the time he turned around in St. Louis and started heading home, Howard was having some difficulty keeping Daemon reeled in. "Take it easy Daemon," he warned. "I know you're anxious to get back, but let's not have a wreck trying to get there."
"Sorry Mister Howard," Daemon apologized.
Once back in Dallas, Daemon dropped his train and headed over to the wash rack. With a quick rinse and top off of fuel and water he headed over to the Cadiz roundhouse. Trina was there waiting for her evening run on the Sunbeam and Daemon was glad to see that there were no diesels there. In fact the only other engines in the roundhouse were Maria and Jeremiah, both in for servicing after pulling heavy oil trains from the Permian Basin.
"Well good evening Daemon," Maria greeted him cheerfully. "How was your run to St. Louis today?"
Daemon ignored Maria as he spun on the turntable and rolled back next to Trina. The angry expression she had displayed the day before was gone, replaced by a look of sadness and perhaps even fear. "Trina," he said quietly when he'd come to a stop. "Can I talk ta ya for a minute? Ya don't have ta say anythin' if you don't want."
Trina nodded and managed a slight smile. "Sure Daemon," Trina replied. "You can always talk to me."
Daemon was encouraged by the fact that Trina spoke at all. "Well lil' darlin'… I'm real sorry. I'm sorry for what I said yesterday. I never meant ta suggest ya couldn't do your job. I was just tryin' ta maybe make your life a little easier and I really wasn't thinkin' about the potential mess I could've created."
Trina smiled, though she still wore a nervous expression. "I know you meant well Daemon and I appreciate you trying to look out for me, especially when so few of the other engines nowadays will do that. And I apologize to you for overreacting. It's just…. I'm afraid Daemon."
Her response surprised Daemon. "Afraid? Afraid of what lil' darlin'?"
"Daemon, don't you see what's starting to happen around here?" Trina asked him. "The bosses are starting to see us as old, outdated technology and it's because of those new-fangled diesels that keep arriving. They're starting to replace us on every type of job that there is Daemon."
"Even on passenger trains?" Daemon wondered.
"Especially on passenger trains," Trina said.
Daemon felt himself start to panic. "B… but Delaney told me that all they was good for was shuntin' cars from here ta there."
Trina was aghast. "And you still believe that? Daemon, look at what's happened to Moe. He no longer pulls the Texas Special any further north than here. Katherine and Karen handle the train from here on. And what about Chief and Warrior? They're handling the Texas Zephyr faster than any of us could've handled the old Colorado Special."
Daemon knew that was true but up until now, he supposed he'd been kind of denying the obvious. His days were numbered. And the most maddening thing was that he had no idea when the clock was going to run out.
"Daemon, my bosses are already testing the idea of putting diesels on the Sunset Limited that I interchange with in Houston," Trina said sadly. "If SP does that… well, I can't help but wonder how much more time will go by before they replace me with a diesel."
Despite recalling Miss Scarlett's words about Southern testing diesels on the Crescent Limited, Daemon did his best to sound optimistic. "Don't say that Trina. There will always be a place for you. Surely the humans in charge can realize that?"
"But they don't Daemon," Trina said shaking her head and on the brink of tears. "They're funny in that way. One minute they think you're the greatest thing ever created and the next minute, you're old, outdated and useless. And I'm in so much pain Daemon. Sometimes I feel like I won't even be able to make my drivers complete a full turn, much less run all the way to Houston."
Daemon didn't how to respond to that. "Trina, what… what can I do ta help calm your fears?"
Trina sniffed loudly and did her best to compose herself. "Nothing Daemon. Just sit here with me. Talk to me."
Daemon managed a smile and nodded. "All right lil' darlin'," he said quietly. "If that's what ya need, that's what I'll give ya."
"Thank you Daemon," Trina said with a smile. "You're such a good friend."
Island of Sodor – Present Day
Somewhere between Kellsthorpe Road and Killdane, Daemon headed back towards the dump with a string of empty cars he'd just unloaded at Norramby. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was bright and warm in sky. And despite the stench from the train he was hauling, people were still greeting him trackside, marveling at just how big an American steam engine could be. Daemon was loving every minute of it and was looking forward to seeing Whiff again.
"Slow down a bit Daemon," Bruce called out. "We're not trying to break any speed records here."
"I know Mister Bruce," Daemon replied. "But I really need ta talk ta Whiff again. I owe the little feller an apology for the way I acted this mornin'."
"That I'm not going to deny Daemon," Bruce agreed. "But he's not going anywhere, so reel it in a bit before there's a problem."
"All right Mister Bruce," Daemon said as he started to slow down.
Up ahead, Old Farmer Cuthbert was having a bad day too. The big old truck he owned that he insisted would never break down had done just that. And on the railroad crossing of all places. Oh well, there weren't any trains coming at the moment, so he figured he could take a few minutes and try to figure out what the problem was. If he did, then with a little luck he could fix it and get the truck rolling again in no time. Besides, the load he was carrying was far too precious and heavy for him to abandon or even try to push off the tracks.
Throwing open the hood, he was greeted by a jetting cloud of steam erupting from the radiator. Old Farmer Cuthbert cursed loudly. Damn engine had boiled over, but why? Other than the fact that it was whistling like a tea kettle, there didn't seem to be anything wrong with the radiator.
Old Farmer Cuthbert grumbled as he set about his work and envisioned the argument he was going to have with his wife when he got home later. I told you that darned thing was too old. Now maybe you'll listen to me you crusty old fart and buy yourself a new truck. That would be close to how it would go anyway. "Bah," Old Farmer Cuthbert grunted. This truck had served him well for just over forty years now. As long as he some tools and little luck, he could fix it again and stop that annoying whistling. He'd done numerous times in the past and he'd do it as often as he had to. Why should he buy a new truck? The one he had now was just fine.
Suddenly, the railroad warning signals were activated and Cuthbert looked up in wide-eyed surprise as the bells started to ring, the lights started to flash and the gates started coming down. With dawning horror, Old Farmer Cuthbert realized that whistling he'd been hearing hadn't been the radiator of his truck, but rather the whistle of an approaching train!
Looking up the track, he was horrified to see Daemon bearing down on the crossing as fast as he could. His whistle was blowing loudly and sparks were shooting out from his drivers as he attempted to stop. In a desperate attempt to save his truck and his cargo, Old Farmer Cuthbert ran in between the disabled vehicle and the rapidly approaching Daemon and began waving his arms over his head. "No!" He yelled as loud as he could. "No! Stop!"
The instant Bruce saw the disabled truck blocking the crossing, he slammed Daemon's throttle closed, applied the emergency brakes and began blowing Daemon's whistle. Though the brakes were now engaged, Daemon's forward momentum was too great to avoid the collision. "Hang on Mike!" Bruce yelled across the cab. "We're gonna hit!"
Ahead, Old Farmer Cuthbert continued to stand in the tracks and wave his arms in a foolish, desperate and life threatening attempt to save his ancient truck. "Stop! No! Please stop!"
Bruce began blowing the track obstruction alarm which was defined in most railroading cultures as a rapid series of short blasts on the whistle. "What is that idiot doing?" Bruce yelled as he watched Old Farmer Cuthbert's doomed attempt to save his property. "Come on old man, move! Move you old fool! Get out of the way!"
"Stop! No! No! Stop!"
Daemon didn't relish the idea of hitting the truck, but what he really didn't want to hit was Old Farmer Cuthbert. He cut loose one more ultra-long and ultra-loud blast on his whistle, yet was still able to yell over it, "GIT OUTTA THE WAY YA DAD GUM IDIOTIC OLD POLE CAT!"
Finally accepting that Daemon was not going to stop in time, Old Farmer Cuthbert jumped out of the way seconds before Daemon would've hit him. An instant later, Daemon squeezed his eyes shut and plowed into the truck totally destroying it on impact. The brown dirt-like cargo that Old Farmer Cuthbert had been hauling was thrown in all directions. Some of it landed on Daemon's face, while more of it landed on top of his boiler and throughout his running gear while still more of it found its way back into his cab, pelting Bruce and Mike.
And finally Daemon stopped.
Old farmer Cuthbert got to his feet and looked at his truck, now a barely recognizable crumpled heap perched awkwardly on Daemon's cowcatcher. "My truck!" Old farmer Cuthbert wailed. "My beautiful truck!"
Who cares about your damn old truck, Bruce thought. You're lucky you're not a hood ornament on Daemon's cowcatcher along with it. "You all right Daemon?"
Daemon was a little dazed and woozy from the impact, but otherwise unhurt. "I… I think so Mister Bruce," he responded. "I'm just covered in whatever in tarnation this mess is."
It was then the stench hit all three of them and they realized what they were all covered in. And with that realization, Bruce, Mike and Daemon all loudly and simultaneously uttered the same word.
"SHIT!"
Sometime later the cleanup crews had arrived and peeled what was left of Old Farmer Cuthbert's truck off of Daemon's cowcatcher. A wrecker was loading it on to a flatcar in preparation to be hauled away to the waste dump. Daemon had been detached from the train and Henry had arrived to take it onward while Daemon was thoroughly inspected for damage. As he waited for the flatcar now carrying Old Farmer Cuthbert's mangled truck to be added to the train, Henry couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at the smell of manure and chuckle a bit when he saw Daemon covered in it. "Looks like you're in a real crappy predicament Daemon," Henry joked.
"No kiddin'," Daemon said with a wry smile. "Guess I smell like a corn field full o' cow patties now."
Nearby, Bruce was giving Sir Topham Hatt his version of the events that unfolded leading to the accident. "So as soon as I saw the truck in Daemon's way I shut of his throttle and set his brakes into emergency stop and then…"
The twisted expression on Sir Topham Hatt's face, strongly suggested that he too was having some difficulty coping with the smell. In fact, he looked like he was about to keel over from it. He'd held his breath to the point where he was almost turning blue but couldn't hold it any longer. Forcefully expelling it from his lungs, he cut Bruce off. "Yeah, great Bruce… uh… tell me the rest on phone, would you please?" And with that, he beat a hasty retreat to his car, slamming the door shut behind him.
"Can't say I really blame him for doing that," Mike said.
"No, I suppose not," Bruce agreed as his cell phone started to ring. "Yes sir," he said upon answering it. "As I was saying…"
Elsewhere, Mrs. Cuthbert had been notified by the local constable that her husband had been in an accident. Hurrying to the scene, she was relieved to see he was okay, but ticked off to see that his old, useless truck had been the direct cause of this whole mess. Well now that Daemon had demolished it, there was no way he could avoid buying a new one now.
Predictably however, Old Farmer Cuthbert was more interested in how his old truck was going to be fixed now than anything else. "What about my truck?" he complained loudly. He pointed to the mangles heap that was pathetically perched on the flatcar. "Who's going to fix it now?"
"Are you daft man?" one of the accident investigators told him. "Your truck is a quarter of the size it was before impact. There's no way it can be fixed now."
But Old Farmer Cuthbert was defiant. "Nonsense sonny. There's nothing wrong with that truck that a little body work and paint can't take care of and I'm expecting the railroad to repair it to the condition it was in before your danged engine ruined it."
Daemon heard the exchange and whistled angrily. Didn't this old idiot understand that the accident had been his fault?
That was enough for Mrs. Cuthbert. Hauling back and swinging with all her might, she batted her husband in the back of his head with her purse. "Have you lost your mind you old fool?" She hit him again, prompting Old Farmer Cuthbert to cry out and back away from his angry wife. "The man just said your truck was completely destroyed and if you'd bother to open your eyes, you'd see was right!"
"But Hilda," he complained. "My truck!"
"Your truck, your truck," Mrs. Cuthbert raged. "It's always your truck, isn't it?" She whacked him with her purse again. "Well, let me tell you something you silly old goat; it's you and your damned truck that caused this mess in the first place because you wouldn't replace it when I told you to!" Another whack. "And then you have the idiocy to stand in front of a speeding train in a pathetic attempt to save your precious truck! Well guess what you doddering old fool…" Another whack. "…now you'll just have to buy a yourself new truck like you should've done twenty years ago! That is if you expect to harvest anything this summer and bring some money into the house instead of pissing it away at the local pub!" Another whack and she shook her finger in his face. "And I'll tell you another thing you crusty old fart, when we get home…"
The noise of Old Farmer Cuthbert's enraged wife died away as she drove him away from the scene. Daemon and Bruce both watched in fascination and maybe even a little fear. When she was finally out of earshot, Daemon couldn't help but sarcastically say, "She's a nice lady." He glanced back down at the point where Mrs. Cuthbert had finally convinced Old Farmer Cuthbert that he'd be safer hiding in her car than being face to face with her. Daemon looked back at Bruce and squeezed his eyes shut. "Yeeesh."
It also prompted a joke from Mike. "Weren't uh, weren't you married to her once?"
"Hardly," Bruce defended himself. "Her daughter maybe, but not her."
Daemon and Mike both burst out laughing and Mike nearly fell on the ground.
Long after Henry had departed with Daemon's train plus the flatcar carrying the truck and all statements to the relevant authorities made, the mess had been cleaned up as much as possible and Daemon was cleared to return to Tidmouth. Unfortunately, he did not have a chance to bathe and the line at the wash rack was a long one. Therefore, he arrived at the Tidmouth sheds still covered in crap, causing all of the other engines present to recoil in shock from the smell.
"Sorry y'all," he said apologetically. "I had a little accident and well, this here was the result."
The first one to say anything was James, who was afraid that somehow the mess that Daemon was covered in would get on him and ruin his red paint. "Oh good grief," he cried. "What happened to you Daemon?"
"I said I had a little accident," Daemon reminded him.
"With what?" James asked and promptly shook his head. "Never mind, I don't want to know. Just don't get any of that crap on me!" He said this last sentence as he lurched forward towards the mainline and disappeared, happy to by away from the smell and the crap that covered him.
Emily was next t ospeak. "Daemon, you're a good, kind man," she said. "But don't ya think you're distressin' all of here by showin' up a right proper mess? Don't ya think a wee bit of a bath is in order sir?"
Before Daemon could answer her, she too had followed James away from the roundhouse and onto the main line.
Now it was Gordon's turn and he looked like he wanted to vomit. "Daemon, I'm sorry for the accident you were in. But would you mind standing downwind of us until you get washed off? You'll permeate this whole shed with that smell." He was also eager to get out of the area and was on the turntable and on to the main line faster than ever before.
One by one, all of the engines in the shed said something to Daemon before leaving in a hurry. Last to open their mouth was Erika. "Oh Lord," she said and wrinkled her nose at the foul stench coming off of him. "Well Daemon, I always suspected you were a shit-head and you've just proven me right beyond my wildest expectations. Geez, go wash off before you knock out the other engine crews, especially mine."
And with that, Daemon was alone in the roundhouse area and he was a little upset too. "Did she really have ta call me that?"
"No," Bruce said. "And I'm sure Samantha and Sarah will give Erika an earful for it."
Daemon wasn't particularly convinced of that. "If ya say so. Still, it sure seems like we cleaned this place out in a hurry Mister Bruce," he observed.
"Can you blame them for wanting to get away from us," Bruce asked. "I'm sure there are things out there that smell worse than we do, Daemon. But at the present moment, I can't think of any of them."
"Aw I know that Mister Bruce," Daemon said. "And I don't blame them one little bit for rollin' out o' here faster than a cowboy respondin' ta a chow bell. But it just makes me feel worse because it reminds me that I shoulda been a little nicer ta Whiff earlier."
"Well you can apologize to Whiff tomorrow Daemon," Bruce informed him. "Right now my top priority is to get you washed off, then get home so I can wash myself off. I'm sure Mike feels the same way."
"Ya think?" Mike grumbled loudly.
Daemon knew Bruce was right. "Okay. Let's git ta it."
Making his way to Sodor Steamworks in an attempt to get washed off, Daemon was "greeted' by Victor, a narrow gauge tank engine from Cuba who worked the Steamworks as an inspector and was frequently called upon to make sure all the other steamers on Sir Topham Hatt's Railway were functioning properly. But had never seen or smelled an engine completely covered in crap before. With wide-eyes and an open mouth, Victor began to let out a long, rapid fire series of words in his native Spanish. Daemon had no doubt that whatever Victor was saying, it contained more than a few curse words.
Still ranting at the top of his voice in Spanish, Victor chuffed off in the direction of the main line, willing to do anything to get away from the foul stench. He even blew his whistle here and there a few times amongst the rapid fire expressions.
"Well, that went semi-better than I expected," Daemon said as he watched Victor retreat.
"How so?" Bruce wondered.
"I didn't understand a danged word he just said," Daemon admitted. "Which is probably for the best actually."
Bruce couldn't help but laugh. "Come on old boy, let's get you clean and nice."
After being thoroughly cleaned, he spent that night on a service track near the Tidmouth coaling tower. With his mind primarily on Whiff, he didn't feel like talking to any other engines. Though he responded as they all rolled back in that evening with hearty greetings for him, he didn't offer much else except an emotionless, "good evenin'" to them. He even ignored Erika who had yet another scathing insult for him as she passed by him on her way to the roundhouse and her big strong express.
That was the one thing that got Daemon's mind off of Whiff and how he would apologize to the little guy. He opened his mouth to say something, but found that actually saying something to Erika now would be pointless. Her attitude towards him though was starting to really irritate him. What did she have against him? Why was she always so mean to him? He hadn't done anything to hurt her, even back when they'd first met in 1954. While he hardly would've said they were friends back then, he'd always treated her with respect and dignity. He'd even stepped up and defended her honor at one point and nearly gotten himself thrown off the Cotton Belt roster for it.
Erika had been very appreciative of what Daemon had done to help defend her and for a while it looked like they might actually become friends. But that had all changed somehow, and Daemon didn't know why. He'd tried to find out when he'd seen Erika at the 1992 National Railroad Historical Society Convention in San Jose, but she'd just told him, "You know why."
Daemon was still trying to figure out why, when he fell asleep.
The next morning, Daemon was startled awake by Erika rudely whistling in his face as she as she passed by him to get the morning Nor' Western. Whatever snide comment she made along with it was lost to the wind. This was getting monotonous. If she kept this up he'd have to have a little "chat" with her. But right now he had bigger things on his mind than a nonsensical and silly Daylight.
As Bruce and Mike began to build up his fire and steam, Sir Topham Hatt's car pulled up and the fat little guy approached him. "Well Daemon," he said with a pleasant smile. "It's good to see you looking, feeling… and smelling better today."
"I thank ya for that Sir Topham Hatt sir," Daemon replied. "It does indeed feel good ta not be smellin' like a barnyard. So, what's my job for today?"
"I've got a load of construction supplies for you to take to Vicarstown along with some empties for Barrow," Sir Topham Hatt told him. "After that, you'll be on the Salad Bowl Express right back here."
"Sound good ta me sir," Daemon said. "But uh… would it be all right if I made a stop at the waste dump for just a short while? I'd kind o' like ta speak with Whiff for a bit if ya don't mind."
"What for Daemon?" Sir Topham Hatt was curious to know the answer and once Daemon explained the situation, he smiled approvingly. "All right Daemon. The construction materials are still being loaded up in Tidmouth Harbor and won't be ready for a little while yet. As soon as Bruce thinks you're ready, you can head over to the waste dump. But once there, you have only an hour. After that, you must return to take the train to Vicarstown and Barrow and then collect the Salad Bowl Express for your return. Okay?"
"All right, one hour," Daemon said smiling. "Don't ya worry Sir Topham Hatt. I'll be back ta do my job on time."
"I know you will Daemon."
And so it was a short time later, that Daemon steamed back to the Sodor waste dump. The smell of it sure hadn't gotten any better, but Daemon really didn't seem to notice this time around. Either that or he just didn't care. In the end, hauling trash was just a job, like hauling passengers, construction materials, food or any other one of the countless things trains pulled from place to place.
Whiff was coupled up to a string of hoppers being loaded with scrap metal. Later, the cars would be hauled by someone to the port of Knapford to be loaded onto a ship and transported to the mainland. Whoever that was going to be, Daemon didn't know but he couldn't but feel a pang of regret at the knowledge that it would not be him. Not today anyway.
Whiff smiled and cheerfully blew his whistle as Daemon approached. "Hey Daemon," he greeted as the big American 4-8-4 came to a stop next to him. "How are you feeling? I heard you had a little accident yesterday."
"Yeah," Daemon said. "Dad gum, I ran straight into a truck that was filled with some… well let's say really foul stuff that ya don't want ta be covered in. But I'm okay. Nothin' that a good hose and brush couldn't take care of."
Whiff chuckled. "Yeah, I heard about that part of the accident too." He nodded towards another track off to his right where the flatcar that had been sent to accident site sat, the mangled truck still resting pitifully on it. "The truck you hit is right there. Later today, it's going to be washed down and then crushed."
"I think Old Farmer Cuthbert would have a heart attack if he was here ta see that happen," Daemon observed.
"That was his truck?" Whiff asked. "Good riddance. It's about time he got rid of it, though I'm sure he's not very happy about how it was disposed of."
"No sir," Daemon said. "I can assure you that was not. But his wife was able ta… persuade him to see otherwise, shall we say."
Whiff knew what that meant and he laughed. "Ouch."
"Yeah," Daemon agreed. "Ouch several times over is right."
"All kidding aside Daemon, I'm sure am glad you're okay," Whiff said.
"Why thank ya little fella," Daemon said appreciatively. "I'm glad I'm okay too."
"So are you working here again today?" Whiff wondered. "I thought Edward was going to take this train."
"I guess he is," Daemon replied. "All I know for sure is that I'm workin' the Salad Bowl Express today. But I wanted ta come here and see ya for a mite before I started off."
"Well that's nice of you Daemon," Whiff said. "But may I ask why?"
"Well," Daemon said. "Golly gee, Whiff, I felt so terrible about how I spoke ta ya and treated ya yesterday, I just wanted ta come back and apologize ta ya."
Whiff was surprised. "Apologize? To me? Why?"
"For callin' ya smelly and hurtin' your feelin's."
Whiff eyed Daemon for a second in confusion, then suddenly started laughing. "Are you serious Daemon? You thought I was upset by what you said to me?"
Now it was Daemon's turn to look confused. "Ya mean ya weren't?"
"No, not at all," Whiff assured him. "Daemon, look at where I work. This is a waste dump after all. I know I'm smelly. It's the nature of my job. Sure it makes it hard to make friends every now and then, but I really don't care. I love my job and I wouldn't trade it for anything."
"Well tarnation Whiff, I sure am glad you ain't upset or mad at me," Daemon confessed, clearly relieved. "I sure was afraid ya would be."
"Why would I be upset at the truth Daemon?" Whiff asked him. "I work in a dump. I'm smelly. Period. What else is there to say?"
"I suppose nothin'," Daemon admitted as he thought it over. "No. I take that back little fella. Because there is one other thing ta say. Yes ya may work in a dump and ya might be right smelly and all that. But as for all this about it bein' difficult ta make friends? I say bull cookies because ya just made a friend Whiff."
"Really?" Whiff asked, clearly surprised.
"Mm hmm," Daemon insisted. "And little friend, when we all done with today's work load, I'd like ta come back here and then you and I can have a right fine chat. What d'ya say little friend?"
"I'd like that Daemon," Whiff said excitedly. "A lot."
"Good," Daemon answered. "I would too."
Back in Daemon's cab, Bruce took note of the fact that they were almost out of time. The construction train had to be taken and if they left now, they'd be able to couple up to the Salad Bowl Express right as it arrived from the mainland. "Come on Daemon," Bruce told him. "It's time we were getting underway."
"All right Mister Bruce," Daemon answered. He turned back to Whiff. "Well little friend, I gotta git goin' now. But I'll be back after sunset and you can tell me all about your life here and I'll tell ya a bit about mine back home. How's that sound?"
"I look forward to it Daemon," Whiff said.
"All right then," Daemon said. He issued three short blasts on his whistle. "Ya take o' yourself today little friend, ya hear?"
"You too Daemon," Whiff said. "And have a great day today."
As Daemon headed off back towards Tidmouth to collect his train, Bruce paid him a compliment. "I'm proud of you Daemon. Very proud of you indeed."
"Thank ya Mister Bruce," Daemon replied. "I'm kinda proud o' myself too. And I sure am glad that Whiff wasn't upset with me for what I done said. Makes me feel a whole lot better. Maybe one day Erika will tell me why she's so upset with me?"
"Maybe Daemon," Bruce considered. "When she's ready to tell you, she will. But even if she never does, don't let her attitude towards you get you down. And don't waste a lot of time trying to figure out why she's upset with you. It's not worth the time. You both have something to offer to the railroad industry and unlike a lot of steam engines in this world, you're able to prove that steam locomotives can still have a place in daily railroading service. In the end, that's all that matters."
"I know Mister Bruce," Daemon assured his driver. "And I sure am happy ta be showin' the humans in this here world that gittin' rid o' steam was perhaps a bit premature o' them. I just wish some o' my old friends from Dallas could be here ta see it."
"I understand Daemon," Bruce said. "I understand."
Daemon whistled once. He noticed they were running a little slow and Daemon was anxious to get underway. "Hey Mister Bruce, ya think ya give me a little more steam here? We got a trains ta move and we ain't gonna git our job done today if I'm movin' slower than a constipated billy goat!"
Bruce laughed. That was the Daemon he knew and loved. "You got it Daemon," he said yanking back on the throttle.