She hurriedly dressed and made her way to the diner. In front of her stood the man with the wooden leg. She wondered about his destination. Did he have a family waiting? Maybe he’d just been released from prison camp. She’d heard stories about prisoners of war only recently freed. She shuddered to imagine the horrors of Nazi prison camps.
Just behind her waited a lone woman. Allison remembered John’s words and discreetly tried to examine the lady. She wore a fine wool traveling suit the color of bleached driftwood. Her silver hair was coiled in a loose bun, and she carried a book under her arm. Allison tilted her head slightly to read the title.
“Do you like poetry, dear?” asked the woman with a smile.
“Oh yes,” Allison answered honestly, but her face reddened when she recognized her sleuthing skills needed polish. The lady showed Allison her book, Great American Poets.
“I couldn’t help but notice your interest. Are you eating alone?” The woman glanced around. “Maybe you’d like to join me?”
“Yes, I’d love to.”
At last they were seated in the busy dining car. Allison ordered ham and eggs and orange juice.
“My name is Amanda Pierce,” the lady said, carefully unfolding her napkin. “I’m a retired English professor, and I’m traveling to Des Moines to visit my daughter. I haven’t seen her for three years and she has a new baby girl. They named her Amanda Constance after me. I can’t wait to hold her!”
Allison smiled. This woman seemed safe enough.
After breakfast they visited some more and watched the wheat and cornfields whiz by. Amanda, as she insisted Allison call her, loaned her an Emily Dickinson book. They read peacefully and took short breaks to discuss their reading.
Amanda retired for a nap in the afternoon, and Allison returned to her sleeping car. Inspired by Emily Dickinson, she picked up her pen and attempted a poem. She’d written other short poems in school and found poetry fun, but this poem actually expressed something from deep within her.
“The Long Way Home”
by Allison O’Brian.
I travel a secluded path that I must walk alone.
What lies around the next bend to me remains unknown.
I see the others passing by, loved ones hand in hand.
It seems they found a shortcut I cannot understand.
The miles, they stretch before me like an endless field of wheat.
Step by step, I am unsure, I fear I may retreat.
Perhaps I’ll reach that other shore, that swirls with milk-white foam,
Then I’ll rejoice in family ties, though I took the long way home.
She met Amanda for dinner and told her about it. “It’s really nothing. Not very good, I’m sure. It just seemed to roll off the top of my head.”
“Oh, I’d love to hear it, dear. Maybe I could even give you a pointer or two.”
Allison couldn’t resist. Amanda sipped her tea while Allison slowly read the poem aloud.
“I know it’s not much,” began Allison after a long pause, then she noticed Amanda had tears in her eyes.
“No, you’re wrong, dear. It was beautiful.” Amanda looked at Allison. “You’ve communicated a message, and that’s what poetry is all about.”
They discussed poetry all through dinner. Allison was fascinated by Emily Dickinson and her sorrowful life. Amanda seemed to really understand poor Emily, and they talked on into the night.
“As much as I hate to, I must turn in. The train arrives in Des Moines very early. Good night, my dear.” Amanda gave Allison a warm hug. “I hope you find your way home.”
The next morning Allison awoke to stillness. Must be a stop, she thought. But it seemed to go on forever. What’s wrong? she wondered. Why aren’t we moving? She dressed quickly and hurried out to investigate.
Other curious passengers crowded the aisle in various stages of dress. She made her way to the dining car and looked out the plate-glass window. Blinking her eyes in unbelief, she spied a tiger prowling outside, and beyond him limped a tall giraffe. A couple of chimps clung to the switch signal next to the tracks. Had she gone to sleep and awakened in Africa? A dining car attendant saw her face and laughed.
“Don’t be alarmed, miss. A circus train derailed just outside of Omaha. It’s taking them a while to clear the tracks . . . not to mention capture the critters. We’re going to back up into Omaha for a few hours until it’s cleared up.”
“Oh my goodness! Was anyone hurt?” Allison looked at the poor giraffe.
“Not that I heard.”
They backed into Omaha around nine a.m. Everyone poured from the train in a festive mood, talking about elephants, tigers, and bears. It was like being on safari.
Allison strolled down the main street, surprised to see tall buildings. She’d expected Omaha to be like the western movies, with false-front stores and hitching posts, though she did spy a couple of cowboys.
An old-fashioned drugstore caught her eye, and she stopped for a soda. Red-and-white-striped wallpaper adorned the walls, and the ice-cream counter was constructed of an immense piece of intricately carved oak. Behind it hung an expansive mirror framed by shelves filled with fancy soda glasses and sundae dishes, their images doubled by the sparkling reflection in the mirror. Allison could just imagine a Gibson girl sipping a soda at the turn of the century.
Just as she finished the last delectable drop of her malt, she noticed the man with the wooden leg bolt out the door. How odd, she mused as she reached for her purse on the next stool. It wasn’t there. She checked the floor. It was gone! Her money, her train ticket, even her grandfather’s address! The image of the man with the wooden leg flashed through her memory again and she tore off after him.
“Miss!” called the skinny teen behind the counter. “You forgot to pay for your—”
She flew out the door and looked both ways down the street. Nowhere in sight! How did he get away so fast?
Allison rushed to the train station and searched the area. Police . . . she needed the police. But what if they asked questions? The word runaway streaked through her mind. If they realized she was alone, she’d be in trouble for sure. She glanced at her watch. The train was due to leave in ten minutes. She rushed back toward the drugstore. There in front of the ice-cream counter stood a stout policeman jotting down notes.
“Yep, I’d say she was about nineteen or twenty,” the teen was saying. “Reddish hair, real purty.” She ducked out of sight and slipped down the street. Flattering description, but now they’d be looking for her. What in the world was she to do? She hurried back to the train station. Maybe she could sneak onto the train.
The conductors posted by each entrance greeted passengers and joked about the circus roundup. But they also diligently checked passage tickets. She watched for her chance in silent desperation. Her heart pounded with fear, and tears filled her eyes. How could this happen? Oh, God, help me, she cried in her heart and buried her face in her hands.
“All aboard!” crooned the conductor one last time.
“Hold on, there!” shouted a voice from the other end of the terminal. “Hold the train!”
Allison looked up. The man with the wooden leg was waving his hand and yelling. She leaped up in rage. “You! You!” She pointed her finger at him, her face still wet from tears as he limped toward her. He was hauling a scruffy-looking youth behind him. The conductor whistled to the engineer and signaled him to wait.
“Are you Allison O’Brian?” the man gasped, rubbing his leg above the wooden peg. His face grimaced in pain.
“Yes,” she answered honestly. She was finally finished with Sheila Jones.
“I believe this is yours,” he said as he handed her purse to her. “Make sure everything’s there.” He turned to the conductor. “This crook stole the young lady’s purse back in town. I chased him down, but I don’t know what to do with him now.” The fellow scowled and tried to wrench from his grip, but the man held tight. “I don’t want to miss my train.” A small group of bystand
ers had gathered around them.
“Here, we’ll take the scoundrel off your hands,” said a burly-looking cowboy. He took the teen by the collar. “We’ll be right happy to hand him over to the police.”
The conductor escorted Allison and the man with the wooden leg onto the train, and the crowd clapped and cheered as the train pulled away.
“How can I thank you?” Allison asked. She quickly looked inside her purse. “Everything seems to be here.” Tears slipped down her cheeks again, but this time they were from relief.
“Well, for one thing, I’m starved. I had to leave behind a nice hot fudge sundae to catch your thief. Maybe you could take me to lunch.” He brushed the dust off his jacket.
“Of course . . .” She didn’t know what else to say.
He grinned. “When I saw that fella grab your bag and head for the door, I remembered you from the train—you remind me of my own daughter.”
She smiled. “Well, I can’t thank you enough. Now you must let me get you some lunch, Mr.—”
“James O’—”
“Excuse me,” interrupted a heavyset woman as she squeezed past them and on down the aisle. Allison’s mouth dropped open and she stared at the man, waiting for him to repeat his name. Could it possibly be?
“Are you all right, Allison?” he asked with concern. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Your name . . . what’s your name?”
“James O’Conner.” He looked at her curiously.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I thought you were going to say that you were James O’Brian. I know it’s silly, but that was my dad’s name. He was killed in the war. I never really knew him. . . .”
“Oh, I see.” He nodded as if he understood. “Well, you’ve had quite a shock today. We probably both need to sit down and regain our wits.” He guided her to the dining car. They were quickly seated at a table. Mr. O’Conner ordered a cup of coffee, and she ordered tea. She sipped it silently, thinking how foolish she was to have, even for a moment, supposed this man could have been her father. How ridiculous!
“You know . . . I remember meeting a James O’Brian in England during the war.”
“Really? In England? Do you think it could have been my dad?” Allison looked at him hopefully.
He frowned. “No, I guess not. This James O’Brian was in the hospital. It was the same time I was there for my leg. But he was getting shipped back home. And you say your dad was killed in the war. . . .” He shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry.”
“I suppose that would be impossible,” Allison said quietly. “I’m sure there could have been many men with the same names.” Allison tried to smile. “I guess it’s silly for me to even think it . . . but sometimes I get this odd feeling that he could be alive. It’s stupid of me. . . .”
“No, it’s not stupid, Allison. Death is odd like that. I know during the war—” He looked out the window for a long moment. “Sometimes we’d lose someone, but it just wouldn’t seem real. You’d expect to see him walk up any time. Finally I came to the point where I just had to trust God and believe in heaven—that hopefully he’d just gone on to heaven ahead of me. Like your dad, Allison.”
She set her cup down. “Maybe so. I don’t really understand death or heaven very well.”
“I don’t know anyone who actually understands it with their head. It’s more in your heart.” Mr. O’Conner rubbed his chin and studied her. “You’re looking a little better now. For a moment back there I thought you were going to faint. Take a glance out the window. Can you believe that incredible landscape? It’s just like something out of a western movie.”
Allison gazed out the window. It did look like true cowboy country with lonely prairie, mesa rocks, and a scraggly herd of steer grazing off in the distance.
“What was your father like, Allison?”
“Well . . .” How could she say this without sounding like a complete idiot? “Actually, I don’t really know. I can’t even remember what he looked like. I’m not even sure if I ever saw him. But”—she tapped her chest—”down here I feel like I knew him. And, of course, my nanny used to tell me good things about him. He was an artist.”
He smiled. “I’m sure you did know him in your heart, and I’m confident he was a fine man. Maybe someday you can learn more about him.”
“Yes, and that’s exactly what I’m intending to do.”
Mr. O’Conner looked up. “And how’s that?”
She was tired of all the lies about her trip. The shock in Omaha broke something in her, and she was determined to play things as straight as possible from here on out. Besides, something made her trust Mr. O’Conner. She told him all about her strange trip and how she hoped to meet her grandfather.
“Oregon!” he exclaimed. “Well, that’s just where I’m bound. I’m on my way back from Europe. I swore I would never go back to that awful place after the war, but we heard about a clinic over there that designs artificial limbs for people. It’s called a prosthesis, and they’re almost like the real thing. They have joints and everything. But in order to have my leg fitted properly, I had to go in person. My uncle Henry has more money than you can shake a stick at, and he insisted on funding all my travel expenses and everything. My family just wouldn’t let me say no.”
“Oh, Mr. O’Conner, that’s wonderful! So did you get one—a pro-whatever—a leg, I mean?” Allison asked.
He chuckled. “Yes, I did. But it wasn’t completely finished when I left. They’ll ship it to me soon. I was just too eager to get back to my family. Besides, it’s still a mess over there, and so many bad memories . . .”
Allison tried to imagine. It must have been horrible. “You mentioned a daughter.”
“Yes, my Sharon. She just turned thirteen. That’s thirteen going on twenty-three. And I have a sixteen-year-old son, Mark, who’s just learned to drive, heaven help us. He also works part time as a box boy at the supermarket.”
Allison sensed the deep love this father had for his children. She felt happy for them in a bittersweet sort of way. She wondered if they realized how fortunate they were.
She spent the rest of the afternoon reading more from The Life and Times of Emily Dickinson. Amanda had inscribed the book and given it to Allison. She read the words again. To Allison, Life’s struggles can often lead us to ourselves. Don’t lose heart on the winding road for home. Love, Amanda. Allison closed the cover and for the first time noticed the author’s name: A.C. Pierce. Wasn’t Amanda’s last name Pierce? And hadn’t she said her granddaughter, Amanda Constance, was named after her? Could it be the Amanda she’d met was actually A.C. Pierce? Allison remembered Amanda’s praise and promised herself to faithfully continue to write poetry, even if no one ever read another word of it.
She joined Mr. O’Conner for dinner. The vast prairie stretched out before them as far as the eye could see.
“It’s amazing,” Allison remarked. “Nebraska just seems to go on and on. We’ve traveled for hours and the landscape hardly changes.”
“Can you imagine how the pioneers must have felt? They traveled at only a fraction of our speed.”
“Well, I’ll say this for Nebraska,” said Allison between bites. “They do have good steaks.”
He laughed. “Allison, with you around my trip should go a little faster. I hate being away from my family. I thought after the war I’d never have to leave them again. My Susan, she’s a real trooper. She managed to keep those kids in line while I was gone and hold down a job, too. Now she’s talking about going back to work, though I’m not too sure about that. I always thought a woman’s place was in the home. Say, you’ve never mentioned your mother. Did she marry again?”
Allison groaned. Here was a subject she detested. “Let me put it this way. She’s not exactly the domestic type. And yes, she married again—twice!”
Mr. O’Conner’s eyes opened wide.
“Well, not twice at once. I mean, first she married this movie produ
cer—” Oops, she thought. I said too much. Now he looked extremely curious. “Can you keep a secret, Mr. O’Conner?” she spoke confidentially. “Do you know who Marsha Madison is?”
“Sure, everyone knows who Marsha Ma—” He looked at her in amazement. “No, you’re kidding?”
She nodded and smiled.
“You’re kidding!” he said again.
Allison got a kick out of his reaction. “Yep, that’s my mom, believe it or not. And just for the record, I am not very proud of her. I’m sorry to say that a lot of the nasty stuff they write about her is true.”
He whistled, shaking his head. “Why, I never would’ve guessed in a thousand years.”
The next morning they were out of Nebraska and passing through Wyoming, but the scenery remained much the same. Allison played cards with Mr. O’Conner in the afternoon. An elderly woman commented on how nice it was to see father and daughter traveling together so congenially. Mr. O’Conner didn’t correct her and Allison felt flattered. If she could choose a father, he would be just like Mr. O’Conner.
Later in the afternoon the landscape changed. They were in the foothills of the Rockies now, rough and rugged country. Mr. O’Conner was great at spotting wildlife. They saw a big horned sheep, a few coyote, elk, and lots of antelope. Mr. O’Conner even tried to photograph them from the train.
The train passed through the mountains that night, and Allison awoke to a peculiar light. She stood up on her bunk and rubbed the condensation off the tiny window of her sleeper. The full moon was shining brightly in the crystal clear sky, and the snow-covered rocks reflected it with a bluish glow. It looked unreal, like another world or perhaps the surface of the moon. She watched for a long time, feeling insignificant and small out in the middle of nowhere. She pressed her cheek against the cold glass and listened to the rhythm of the steel wheels as they traveled down the tracks, feeling very much alone. Would it always be like this?
Allison O'Brian on Her Own Page 5
