If It Rains

by Jennifer L. Wright

  Wait. I craned my neck toward the opening in my box fort. Blackness raced by the open door. Yes, it was night. For sure. Not even really a moon from the looks of it. So how could I see my hands?

  Someone coughed. Someone that wasn’t me.

  The rest of my body stiffened as the cramp finally subsided. A train bull. Here. In the car. No. No, no, no. In my mind, I saw myself getting beaten, flying from the train. All the whuppings I’d gotten from Pa were nothing. I was breaking the law this time. Not sassing the teacher or forgetting to close the door to the chicken coop. Maybe I could convince the bull to take me to jail instead. Pa’d come for me. He’d understand. Right?

  Right?

  I had to get out of here. But there was no way to get past him, not without being seen. I curled my shoulders and pushed my back against the side of the car. Maybe he didn’t know I was here. He hadn’t said nothing, and I was well hidden in my fort. If I could just stay quiet until the next stop . . .

  “You’re awake.”

  The voice was deep. Gruff. I closed my eyes and held my breath, trying to fold into myself.

  “Why don’t you come out of there? Can’t be comfortable.”

  I didn’t move. Maybe I could make a run for it.

  A run for it? Come on, Kathryn. The train is moving fast, and you ain’t even got a brace on your leg. You may be scared but this ain’t the time to get stupid.

  The voice gave an irritated sigh. “Or stay in there. I don’t care.”

  I peered out from behind the boxes, but my limited view showed only the faint glow of a kerosene lamp and a set of large scuffed brown boots, the soles worn down to nothing. I leaned forward on my elbow to get a better look.

  The man was a beast. Even sitting down, it was impossible to miss his size. His torso was like a drum and his arms and legs as thick as fence posts. His face was hidden by a mane of strawberry-blond hair, which melted into a great red, bushy beard. He was a beast stuffed into a tight brown jacket and tweed pants, worn at the knees.

  “There you are.”

  Without realizing it, I’d crawled almost completely out of my hiding space. No use pretending now. I climbed to my feet and straightened, thrusting my shoulders back. I pressed my lips into a snarl, hoping I looked intimidating.

  I couldn’t see his eyes. They were hidden by too much hair. But I could feel his gaze travel down my body, resting longer than I wanted on my foot. I tucked it behind my other leg. So much for intimidation.

  What little skin showed on his face was red, shiny. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He leaned forward, holding out an open can of sardines. “Want one? You look like you could use ’em.”

  I wrinkled my nose. Fish. The worst of all the meats. Pa always said it was the Oklahoma in me that hated them. I said it was the part of me that didn’t want to eat things that swam around in the same place they went to the bathroom.

  And more than that, they were being offered by him. Another stranger in this strange, savage world outside Boise City. I’d gotten lucky with Mr. Hickory. I knew God wouldn’t let it happen again.

  And yet my stomach rumbled. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten. We’d run out of bread before Kansas City, and beans before that. I hated how much I wanted those smelly dead fish. Against my better judgment, I snatched the tin from his outstretched hand and retreated to the other side of the car.

  He snorted, scratching at his beard. “Well, alright. You’re welcome, I suppose.”

  I pulled the sardines from the can. Don’t look at them, I told myself. Just don’t look. But that didn’t stop those ugly old things from looking at me. The minute the first one reached my tongue—the salt, the grease, the overwhelming fishiness—instinct overpowered revulsion. I devoured them, ignoring even the crunch of their tiny bones as I swallowed. My insides churned, causing a foul-smelling burp. I was afraid I was going to lose them, but they stayed put, and after a few minutes, my stomach quieted.

  “These were supposed to go with them. But I guess you can eat ’em plain.” He tossed over a small brown package.

  Crackers. He couldn’t have offered the crackers first? They crumbled in my mouth, absorbing the fishiness, tasting like dirt and paper. I ate them anyway.

  He tossed me a canteen. “What’s your name?”

  I drank slowly, the food settling comfortably in my stomach. No longer a beggar, I remembered where I was. On a train. Illegally. With this man who might or might not throw me from it. I tossed the water back to him, glancing toward the boxcar’s open door. “Why don’t you tell me yours first?”

  To my surprise, the man laughed, earsplitting in this small space. “Fair enough. You can call me Bert.” He dipped his head. “Your turn.”

  “Kathryn.”

  “Alright, Kathryn. Wanna tell me what you’re doing on this here train?”

  “Not really.”

  “Now, that ain’t polite.”

  I scowled. “You wanna tell me what you’re doing on this here train?”

  Bert’s head dipped to his chest. His fingers fidgeted in his lap as he scraped one thumb against the other. “Not really.”

  I nodded once. “Alright then.” He was no train bull. That much was clear. And that much was all I cared about. I returned my attention to the open door. “Do you know where we are?”

  He shrugged, his stiff jacket scraping against the wood. “Dunno. I hopped on outside Hannibal when it slowed for another freighter. So I’m guessing Illinois somewhere.”

  “Illinois?” My heart leapt. I was never a real good student, but I was pretty sure Illinois was pretty close to Indianapolis. I’d gone farther on this train in a single sleep than I had in over a month of travel by car, foot, and on Chelee’s back. Illegal or not, this train was a chariot. I bit down on my smile and nodded, like I didn’t care. “Right, right. Illinois.”

  Bert watched me and scratched his head, sending ripples through his hair. It was so clean-looking. If I touched it, I bet it would feel like silk. Not that I would.

  I smoothed down my own hair, suddenly very aware I hadn’t bathed in weeks. It was oiled straw under my fingers.

  “Where you headed?”

  I wiped my hands on my dress. Good grief. My dress. It hadn’t been nice on a good day. Now ripped and filthy, it probably smelled worse than those disgusting sardines. I wasn’t sure why I cared. “Nowhere. Where are you headed?”

  He smiled like a fox, his lips darting back and forth over his teeth. “Same as you. Nowhere.”

  I squinted, unsure if it was a joke. His face sure had a hard time sitting still. “Well, thank you for the food, Bert. But I suppose we’ll just sit quietly until we reach our nowheres?”

  He gave another slight shrug. “Alright.”

  The rattle of the train car roared louder in our silence. I couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, but the air smelled sweet, like recent rain and marigolds. I’d almost forgotten it. It was the smell of life and happiness, of my childhood. My heart ached at the memory.

  Bert pulled his jacket over his face, his giant belly rising and falling slowly. I crawled back into my fort of boxes. He knew I was here. The boxes wouldn’t stop him if he was a scoundrel. They wouldn’t help. But somehow they did. Listening to the noisy quietness, I drifted into a deep sleep.

  “Kathryn. Kathryn, get up.”

  A growl. Hands on my shoulders, shaking me. My eyes struggled to focus on the shape in front of me.

  “Now, Kathryn. Now, now.”

  Frank Fleming was standing over me. In the dim light, his bony fingers reached out, touching me. My grogginess evaporated instantly. My heart began to pound, its beat thrashing in my ears and drowning out the sound of his voice. “Get off me!” I screamed, swinging my fists wildly. “Get off me!”

  “Kathryn. Kathryn!” His hands left my body, pulled in front of his face to shield it from my blows. His voice was a high-pitched whisper. “We’re stopping! The train is stopping. Springfield, I think.”

  His words hun
g in the air as his face morphed before my eyes. Bert. It was just Bert. But not the Bert I’d met last night.

  Instead of calm confidence, his cheeks quivered under his beard, and his eyes, bulging and watery, darted this way and that as he stuffed scraps of trash into his pocket. “The bulls will be here any minute. We have to get out of the car. Now.”

  I jumped to my feet, feeling the blood drain from my face. “Springfield? Mr. Hickory didn’t say nothing about Springfield. It’s supposed to go to Indianapolis!”

  “Don’t matter where it’s supposed to go. This is where it is. And you won’t be going anywhere if they catch you.” He blinked rapidly, nostrils flaring.

  I clawed at my face, surprised to find my hands shaking. “But where do we go? We can’t jump! It’s too late. They’ll find us in the yard!”

  He poked his head out the door. Sure enough, real shapes rose up around us. A city. It was the end. In more ways than one.

  “There,” he said, pointing. “The ladder to the top. We can hide on top of the car until they’ve passed.”

  I poked my head out beside him. The train had slowed, but the ground was still moving. I grew dizzy and took a step back, closing my eyes to steady myself.

  “We have to go now.”

  I shook my head. The ladder was several feet from the opening. There was no way I could make it.

  Bert grabbed my shoulders again. “Kathryn, they take no mercy on stowaways. You have to jump.”

  “I can’t!” I yelled, thrusting my foot toward him. “Are you stupid? I can’t!”

  He looked from my face to my crippled leg and back again. His lips puckered and squirmed. “You have to try! If they find you, they’ll look for others, and then we’ll—”

  The train car lurched and shuddered. The sound of brakes.

  Bert grabbed my hand, his liquid eyes pleading. “If you don’t jump, you’re dooming us both.”

  Inside my shoe, my toes curled as if into a sneer. Mocking me. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  He squeezed my wrist once and then dropped it. “Well, good luck, then.”

  My stomach rolled as I took in the enormity of his words. “What?”

  A train whistle blew, causing us both to flinch. Bert’s lips formed a thin line, disappearing beneath his beard. Then he took several steps back until he was diagonal from the door, paused, and barreled through it sideways at full speed.

  “Bert!” I leaned out the opening, clutching the side for support.

  He was hanging off the side of the ladder, his long mane blowing in the breeze. He didn’t even look back before starting to climb.

  I retreated into the car, pacing. He left me. He left me! Just like everyone else. I rubbed the back of my neck as I walked, grit rolling beneath my fingers. My box fort blurred in front of me as I pushed down angry tears.

  There was no way I’d fit inside, not with whatever was in there to begin with. Besides, if they took the box off the train, I’d still be in trouble, just a heap of a different kind.

  I looked upward, past the train car roof, past the place where Bert was probably now safely hidden away. To heaven. To God. It was never enough for Him. He couldn’t ever just leave me alone. There was always something else, another way to push me down, to punish me. Another way to show me just how little He thought of me.

  Always another way to hurt me.

  Beneath my feet, the train car clunked, slowing.

  “Oh no! The bag! My bag!”

  I stopped pacing.

  “Kathryn, please! My bag! I forgot my bag!”

  Wiping my eyes, I poked my head out the door again and looked up. Bert’s head peered over the top of the car. His hair whipped around his face, wild in the breeze.

  “My bag! My bag!”

  Sure enough, against the far wall was a brown leather bag. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands. This. This was what he fretted about leaving. Not a human being. I grabbed it and reared back, preparing to chuck it toward the ground.

  Bert’s voice was shriller than the whine of the train brakes. “Kathryn, please!”

  Beneath my feet, a groan and a shake. Shouting in the distance.

  Too late now. With only anger and spite coursing through my veins, I slung the stupid bag around my neck, checked the laces on my shoes, took several steps back . . . and leapt. My left foot landed on the ladder rung. Cold steel vibrated beneath my fingers. I’d done it! I’d made it! But as my right foot swung to connect, a sudden gust of wind slammed against me and the uneven sole slipped against the smooth metal, throwing me off-balance. My other foot slid. I thrashed my body, struggling to pull my feet back up. And then I saw it. Melissa’s handkerchief, dancing away from me in the breeze, heading back westward along the track.

  “No!” I shrieked, reaching one hand toward it. But the once-blue fabric was gone before the word even fell from my lips. “Please.” Without the hankie, my body suddenly felt too heavy, my arms too weak to hold on. The rung slipped in my sweaty fingers. I was falling.

  And then I wasn’t. Strong hands grabbed me from above, pulling me back onto the ladder. My feet swung wildly until I felt the rung securely beneath me. I crawled to the top of the car just as the train jerked to a stop.

  “The bag! Do you have the bag?”

  Sweat beaded in the hair above Bert’s lip. His eyes washed over my body, not seeing me. Looking only for the bag.

  I thrust it at him, disgusted.

  More shouting. Closer this time. Much closer.

  There was a slight dip in the roof, barely big enough for an average-size person to lie in, let alone a beast and a cripple. Bert pulled me down, cupping his hand over my mouth, and attempted to squeeze me into it next to him. I didn’t want to touch him. I wanted to run, to find Melissa’s hankie. Who cared if I was caught? I needed that hankie more than I needed air—the last tangible reminder of good in the face of all this bad.

  But from below us came a whistle and the steady crunch of approaching footsteps on gravel. The reality of capture flared and I let him squash me, hoping it would stop me from shaking.

  The footsteps stopped. The car beneath us shook as someone climbed aboard. Heels clicked on wood as they circled the cargo inside.

  “Oi!”

  Bert stiffened behind me. His body was warm and sweaty, his beard scratchy against my neck.

  “Cargo in twenty-seven going or staying?”

  “Going!”

  “Alright.” More shuffling. “All clear! Checkin’ eighty-four boxes movin’ on to Indianapolis. All clear.”

  “All clear.”

  A loud crack as the footsteps landed once again on gravel, then an earsplitting thud. Banging on the side of the car. Each tap sent a thousand painful vibrations through my body, right into my very teeth. I wiggled against them, trying to free myself, but Bert held me tighter. I wanted to scream. He was suffocating me, pushing me into the noise. Finally, though, the owner of the footsteps moved on. We listened to the crunch of rocks and the bang of each car as he made his way slowly—much too slowly—down the line.

  I struggled against Bert’s body.

  “Don’t,” he whispered. His breath was hot and wet against my neck. “Not yet. They always come back.”

  Sure enough, the footsteps returned several minutes later. Thankfully, the tapping did not. They paused at our car.

  I held my breath. Bert tightened his grip.

  The steps circled. Stalling. Waiting. Torturing. And then whistles. Something happy. Something familiar . . .

  Our house. Before the dugout. Before Helen. Before the drought. Before we’d sold the radio to buy new shoes. Pa and Melissa dancing. Laughing. Twirling. And me at the table. Watching.

  “Come dance,” Pa said.

  “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can!”

  “Look at this thing!” My brace. It was new. Well, new to me. Clunky and awkward.

  “Come on, Kath,” Melissa said, twirling around me like only she could do. “Dance!”
>
  “I. Can’t.”

  Melissa stopped smiling, her dress falling limply at her sides as her hands went to her hips. “Kathryn Baile, you stop that right now. Yes, you can. You’re as stubborn as an old sow. You get your rear end off that chair right this second.”

  I glanced at Pa for help. He stared at the floor. But was that a smile? I stood up, as much to spite Melissa as to get her off my back. My brace creaked. I wobbled. “See? I can’t—”

  My words were cut short by Pa. He swooped in and twirled me across the floor, gripping my hand and waist so I wouldn’t slip. Melissa clapped and squealed. I spun around. I tripped and swayed. But I did not fall.

  “‘Oh, there’s a dark and a troubled side of life,’” Pa sang. I stepped on his foot. The smile never left his face. “‘There’s a bright and a sunny side too.’”

  I was clumsy. I was way offbeat. I pinched Pa’s toes and mangled his hand. But I danced. Oh, how I danced.

  I giggled as Pa continued to sing and spin. “‘But if you meet with the darkness and strife, the sunny side we also may view.’”

  “‘Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side . . .’” The words slipped out against Bert’s hand.

  His body tensed.

  The whistling stopped.

  I bit my tongue. What had I done?

  The footsteps came closer. There was a sound like wood being dragged across metal.

  This was it. We were caught. I struggled to remain still. We needed to run. Flee. But still Bert pressed me closer.

  The car trembled beneath us. The footsteps were climbing. They were climbing! But . . . they weren’t. The movement wasn’t from the ladder. It was from the car itself. A lurch and a moan, and the clouds above our heads drifted west. We were moving again, out of the city, away from the bulls. Toward Indianapolis.