by Jay Barnson
After a few hours, she came to the station. The ticket booth was locked for the night, but she could still see past the leaded window to a candle burning inside. She knocked and an older woman, hair pulled back in a bun, answered.
“Here now, office hours are from seven in the morning until nine in the evening.”
Josie looked at the woman, unable to hide her weariness. Slowly, the tears she had been holding back spilled forth. The older woman looked more closely at her. Concern melted her features. “Now, now, don’t you cry. Come inside and have a cup of tea. Everything looks better after a cupper.”
The older woman opened up the barred door and let Josie in. She sat her down and eyed her worriedly as Josie stared at her hands.
“My name is Grace,” the older woman said. “What is your name, girl?”
Josie looked up. “. . . Josie.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Josie. What are you doing out so late? Especially without an escort? The city isn’t safe in the night for a young lass like yourself.”
Josie laughed harshly. She didn’t feel young anymore. She felt old and worn thin. George had used her up. Too many broken words and fast fists. “I don’t feel like a young girl.”
Grace took a deep breath and patted Josie’s hands. “This city beats many fine folk. I’ll go get you that cup of tea. You wait right here.”
Josie didn’t know the older woman, but she couldn’t help it; she spilled everything. She told Grace about meeting George and how she hoped for a bright future, but instead had met empty bottles of spirits, harsh words, and finally fleeing for her life because of her man’s mistakes.
Grace sat in her chair, her heart pounding. “Girl, you can’t be going back to that man!”
“What else do I do?” Josie said, finally breaking down into sobs and putting her face into her hands. “I’ve nowhere else to go. I’ve nothing!”
Grace poured some more tea into Josie’s cup. “Compose yourself, child. Everything will be all right. You just let me think a moment.” Josie looked at her doubtfully but took the tea. The hot cup burned her fingers slightly, but she was grateful to feel anything besides the pain of her tattered heart. Grace sat back and sipped her tea.
“Here is what I think you should do: you give me that watch and I’ll give you a ticket. I’ve a friend in town. She runs a boarding house just for women. Her girls are smart and clean. One of them for sure will be able to help you find something, and I’m sure she will let you stay there until you are on your feet.”
Josie shook her head in despair. “He won’t let me go, Grace! He’s too afraid to be on his own. He’ll drag me to hell right along with him.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” Grace scolded. “You just stay away from him. After you give him the ticket, you come right back here. If he asks for you, I’ll tell him you got on another train. He’ll think you are gone forever.”
Josie considered her words. “I—I don’t know.”
Grace took Josie’s cup and placed it on the counter. “You’ll have to think fast. If you want a fresh start, free of him, this is your chance. But you must seize it with both hands. Or he will crush you under his boot until there is nothing left of you.”
Josie looked into the older woman’s eyes. She saw truth and compassion there, far more than she had received from others. She nodded. “I’ll do as you say.”
Grace patted her hands. “That’s a good girl.”
It didn’t take Grace long to draw up a ticket for as far away as she could get the man.
“Here now, you give him this ticket and be done with him,” she said.
Josie nodded, holding the ticket tightly in her hands. “You promise you’ll still be here when I get back?”
Grace nodded with a smile. “I live right upstairs with my man. He’s a conductor.”
Josie handed her the watch. “Thank you, Grace.”
“You’re welcome, Josie.” Grace took the watch and waved at the girl. After she had left, Grace sighed. Josie’s story was an all-too familiar one in the city these days. She glanced at the watch and noted the unpolished gold. She rubbed it against one of her towels.
“My goodness, I do believe it’s gold. This would be a perfect gift for Terrence.”
She took the watch upstairs and began to clean it carefully. Unsure of the best, she tried to be mindful of the delicate hands. She polished the watch-face and brought the gold to a bright sheen. Proud of her efforts, she wrapped it in a bit of gift paper she had been saving. Grace then began making a dinner for her husband, hoping that Josie would be all right.
“Leaving again so soon?” she said, a sad smile on her face. Grace had met her husband’s return with a warm embrace, happy to be in his arms again. She didn’t even mind the smell of his tobacco.
Terrence leaned in and kissed her forehead. He thought himself the luckiest man in the world to have Grace for his wife. Despite her long days, she was always there to greet him with a smile and dinner. She was his greatest blessing, a gift from God. “My dearest flower, I would love nothing more than to be by your side always, but I must make sure the train arrives on time.”
She nodded, taking his hand and kissing it. Then she smiled as she remembered her surprise. “I have something for you.”
“You do?”
Grace nodded and went to retrieve the watch she had wrapped in the colorful green parchment paper. He took it and kissed her lips before undoing the paper. He lifted the watch in his hands and stared at it. Grace was proud of the way the candlelight reflected on the newly polished gold surface.
“My flower . . . Where did you—”
“You’ve always wanted one,” she reminded him. “No train conductor should be without a good watch.”
He nodded. “But Grace, this would cost us half a year’s pension! I can’t accept this.”
“Don’t worry, my love. I got it in trade. It is secondhand, but I doubted you would mind.”
He shook his head, a smile beaming on his wrinkled face. “I love it. And I love you. You are the greatest gift I could ever have, my love.”
They held each other in the candlelight for a time, all too aware of their limited and precious moments together. He read from the Bible as she listened to the sound of his voice. He knew that something troubled her. When she was ready to tell him he would be there for her. But for now, he prayed for her, and thought of how lucky he was to have her in his life.
Josie waited around the station edge for George nervously. It was just before the sun shone in the sky when he finally appeared. He looked tired and uncertain. For a brief moment, she wondered if there could still be a chance for them, but when he saw her, he fixated on the ticket in her hand and not on her face. There would be no future for them. She hardened her heart, knowing what had to be done.
“Here you go, George.” She handed him the ticket.
He took the ticket greedily and didn’t seem disappointed when he only saw one. “You were only able to get one? No worry, my girl, I’ll send for you as soon as I have money.”
“I know,” she said, not believing a word of it. “But you must go. The constables have already been by, so they must be looking for you.”
He grimaced and glanced around, worried. “Where does this ticket go?”
“San Francisco.”
He nodded and turned to look at her. “I—I’m sorry, Josie. I know I’ve not given you the life you wanted.”
She avoided looking into his eyes. “Life has a way of wearing us all down, George. Just go.”
He nodded again and without looking at her, he went to the train platform. She watched him go. She continued watching as he was about to board the train, but two constables walked up from behind and grabbed him. They had been waiting for him to show himself after she had told them where he would be. He struggled, but they dragged him away. He cried out, but not her name, only that he was innocent.
“Goodbye, George,” she whispered, before she turned around with her own
ticket in hand and walked back toward the ticket house and a new future, one of her own choosing.
Alexander stood still as his mother did up the buttons of his collar. He watched her sad eyes through the dark mourning veil. How he wished she would smile again. But he understood her sadness all too well.
He missed his father. All they had received was a notice telling them of his death. Words on a piece of paper no larger than his hand told him that the man he looked up to more than any other was never coming back.
But he couldn't believe that. His father would never break his word. He had promised to be there for his birthday and give him the watch Grandfather had given him.
But that day was his birthday. No father and no watch. Everything he had told him had ended in broken promises. Still, he couldn't completely give up on him. Maybe he had merely forgotten the date and was still out there, hoping to come home. It had to be true, didn’t it? He would not just die and abandon them.
He listened to the sounds of the steam train, the hissing of the gears and metal as it shifted filling his ears. The tracks and ground shook as the massive train rolled to a stop. He looked up at his mother and smiled, trying to lift her spirits.
She did her best and smiled back at him. Her face, always pretty, seemed somehow more tired than usual. The notice about his father had hit her hard, and he could often hear her crying into the night when she thought he was asleep.
He nudged a small pebble with his foot. He didn't want to visit his aunt, let alone stay with her. But times were tough and his mother had told him they had to move, that there would be no more money from the Army. How he wished that his father would come home and tell them that everything would be all right and that they didn't have to leave.
They followed everyone who boarded the train and stepped up the metal stairs leading to the car that would deliver them to their future.
Terrence boarded the train and frowned at the commotion as a thief was dragged away. “It never fails that someone tries to sneak on,” he said and sighed. He glanced at the mother and son climbing up and offered them a hand.
“Allow me,” he said, taking the suitcase from her.
“Oh, thank you,” she replied. He noticed her mourning veil and the drawn look on the young boy’s all-too weathered face. So many lost loved ones these days. It tore at his heart. He carried the suitcase onto the train car and made sure they were situated before he placed the luggage in the overhead compartment.
“Now if you need anything, just let me know.”
She smiled. “Thank you, sir.” Then she turned to her boy and dabbed at a bit of soot that had gotten on his cheek.
“My pleasure, miss,” Terrence said before he moved on to check the other passengers.
After the train began moving, he kept a watchful eye on the mother and child. After a time, he came back to check on them. “How are you and your boy doing, miss?”
“His name is Alexander,” she said, soothing the boy’s hair. “He’s had it rough of late. His father—well, his father won’t be coming home.”
Terrence nodded. “If you don’t mind my asking, was it the war?”
She closed her eyes for a moment and nodded. “We just found out a few months ago. Everything of his is gone. I even had to sell our home to move out west because we have nowhere else to go.”
Terrence glanced at Alexander’s face, which seemed so full of sadness. His father wasn’t going to return home. It had to be hard on him.
“Excuse me, could you tell me the time?” she asked him. “It’s his birthday today and I want to toast him at the hour he was born.”
“Of course.” He opened the watch and noticed with a frown that the hands had stopped moving. “Hmm . . .” he murmured. He tried winding the watch, but the hands didn't move. He stared at it for a long moment, and ran his thumb across the surface. He couldn't help but think of his lovely wife and how hard she must have worked to afford such a luxurious watch.
When he had proposed to her, he promised a life different from the smoke and soot of the city. He believed the train would take him around the world. Then the war had broken out. It had changed everything. So many broken promises, lives lost, hope forgotten.
Grace had been his salvation, his light in a world that had forgotten its purpose. Even if the watch never worked again, he knew the memory of her gift was the keeping of her promise to him; to always love him and be by his side.
He turned the watch over and opened the back compartment. “Ah!” he said, noting a bit of dust had gotten into the gears. He blew it out carefully and was pleased to see the hands start to move again. That’s when he saw the small image of a boy within, with writing on the back.
“For my son, Alexander. I’ll always be with you,” he read aloud. “Alexander? Well now, that’s interesting. Same as your name. And this picture . . . it’s you!”
The mother looked up and stared at the watch in surprise. “That watch! That was Jim's watch. His father gave it to him many years ago. But—I don’t understand? I thought it would have been lost along with his body. How is it that you have it?”
“My wife gave it to me as an anniversary gift.”
“To think it traveled all this way . . .” she said, tears forming in her eyes. She turned to Alexander and hugged him tightly. “You see, Alex? Your father is always with us. He’ll never leave us alone. Things will be all right now. I promise.” Then she turned back to the conductor, grateful for one last moment with something of her husband’s. “God bless you. I think he can rest now knowing we’ll be all right.”
Terrence stared at the grieving widow as she spoke and hugged her child. He could see Grace in her. He glanced back down at the watch and felt a whisper that he couldn't quite make out, but in his heart, he knew. Slowly he smiled. “Here,” he said. “I believe this belongs to you.” He tenderly handed the watch to the boy.
Alexander stared down at it in surprise. His mother stared at the watch before gazing up at Terrence again. “But, sir, we couldn’t possibly . . . I mean, are you sure? I can’t prove that this is my husband’s, and I didn’t mean to insinuate—”
Terrence’s smile broadened. “I believe my wife would approve. Besides, I think the little boy's dad made sure this watch found its way back to him.” He smiled at Alexander, who cradled the watch gently in his small hands. Then Terrence tipped his conductor hat. “You take care now, miss. You and Alexander. Happy birthday, son.”
Alexander stared after the conductor. Somehow his father had kept his promise. He couldn’t come home, but in a way, he would always be with them. That was enough. He held the watch to his heart, thinking of his father and his voice. He missed him so much.
In the reflection of the train window, a mother and son held each other. “It’s going to be all right. I promise, Alex.” Behind them, for the briefest of moments, a man could be seen standing in a brown uniform, smiling lovingly down on them.
“I know, Mom.”
Winnie tried to ignore the unsettling yet familiar buzz that became audible as the noise of the departing train receded. To her ears, it sounded like a muffled conversation with a familiar cadence, as maddening as a half-remembered name on the tip of the tongue.
Winnie’s cousin, Grace, had arranged to meet her at the station but was nowhere to be found. As children, Grace had never been known for her punctuality. While a simple delay was the most likely explanation, an irrational, gnawing worry of being lost with little money or prospects forced Winnie to double-check the platform.
The station itself wasn't much more than a wooden walkway alongside the recessed train rails. A sign above the telegraph office—which doubled as the ticketing office—announced the town's name, Carlton, with unassuming, roughly painted letters. Aside from being home to Winnie's remaining family and of De Falco Electrical Works—which Winnie considered famous even though no one else seemed to have heard of it—there was nothing to set it apart from any of the other dozens of towns the train had passed on it
s way here.
A young man in tattered clothes occupied the only bench in the station, seemingly oblivious to her presence. Winnie had heard the expression “slack-jawed stare” before, but she'd never seen such a literal example of it. The young man's mouth hung partway open and his eyes were unfocused. Winnie wasn't sure what was more unsettling, his vacuous stare, or the tantalizingly indecipherable buzzing.
The other occupant of the minimalist station was a balding man who stood inside the telegraph office, leaning out the window to catch whatever faint breeze might blow his way. He, too, stared blankly into space, but his expression seemed more familiar. She'd borne it herself in the most painfully dull moments in her own telegraph office in New Jersey.
Thinking that the operator might be able to provide her with directions, Winnie approached the office. As she did, she realized that the buzzing sound was coming from inside, and she forgot all about asking for directions. Curiosity replaced the brain-needling mystery, and she hoped to catch a glimpse of the new machine that was the source of the sound.
The machine, or its twin in New Jersey, could arguably be called her successor.
The operator glanced at her without much enthusiasm as she approached, and asked, “Got a message, miss?”
Winnie shook her head. “I was curious about your telegraph machine, sir. I am—that is, I used to be—a telegraph operator.”
“I used to be one, too,” the man said, offering a grim smile. “What would you like to know?”
“The messages are much faster than I'm used to. Can you actually understand them?”
“No ma'am. Nobody can. The machine takes care of almost everything. Sending, receiving, routing. I just take care of the machine.”
“Can you still send messages manually?”
“I'm not allowed to, unless the machine breaks down and I can't fix it, and I have to message New York about it. Otherwise, I just maintain it, transcribe incoming messages for delivery, and submit outgoing messages. But it's a lot faster and more accurate than human operators. Even overseas messages are faster and cheaper now. We get a lot more international cables now. Like India; I get and send those probably twice a week.”
