Still House Pond

by Jan Watson

  She took her valise back to the pallet and got out her comfy cotton nightgown. She ripped the ruffled flounce off the bottom of the gown, then tore the rest into large squares. After pouring a bit of water over one square, she used it to dab her chin. The flounce she tied around her chin and knotted atop her head like Mama had done Kate’s flannel. Thinking of Kate made her think of her teeth. What if she’d knocked one out? With the tip of her tongue she felt each one. All were in place and none was loose. Thank goodness for that.

  To get her mind off her trials, Lilly ate a piece of chocolate cake. It was so good she licked her fingers. The dog got a buttered biscuit and the rest of the potatoes from breakfast.

  Undeterred in her quest, she moved the box for better balance and climbed back up. Her fingers wouldn’t quite grasp the pole. As she stood on the box with her hands on her hips, she pondered what to do. This was getting tiring. Jumping down, she went to the table box and got her brush. With it in hand she could move the pole. Straining, being careful not to fall again, she shoved it off the other side of the beam. The pole hit the floor and rolled all the way to the pallet. The dog nosed it suspiciously. Lilly felt like she’d won the hundred-yard dash like the boys at school ran on field day. She deserved a blue ribbon.

  The pole was actually a sawed-off broom handle—or maybe a hoe handle. That didn’t matter as long as it would move the bar that barricaded the door. When she looked outside, it was quiet and still as a graveyard after dark. She shoved the pole through the space between the door and the frame. It went in, but the fit was so tight she couldn’t move it up and down. Now what? She jerked it back and forth. This was very hard work, but she was making progress. The frame and the door now had grooves from the pole. It seemed to take a very long time, but finally she could slide the handle under the outside bar and move the handle up against it. It didn’t matter, though. The bar was too heavy. She couldn’t budge it.

  Something tickled her brain. Her daddy came to mind. She once saw him pry a heavy rock out of the ground using a pole and a piece of wood he called a fulcrum. That was what she needed—a fulcrum and something to position it on so it would be higher than the heavy bar on the other side of the door.

  The old chairs might work. From atop the box, she lifted them down one by one and lugged them to the door. Though the seats were missing, the frames were intact. She spaced them a few feet apart so she could situate the wooden bar across them. Her jaw clenched in frustration. The chairs were not tall enough for the piece of wood to be used as a fulcrum. Narrowing her eyes, she stood and surveyed her creation. She wasn’t giving up. This was a puzzle to be solved and she would solve it.

  Two trips to the privy wall answered her problem. Two of the wooden boxes set on end were exactly right. Why hadn’t she seen that before she got the chairs down? No matter. Standing behind the fulcrum, she levered it up against the outside bar. The bar moved! She shouted for joy. She could taste freedom, and it was as good as chocolate cake.

  Her celebration was short-lived when the broom handle was jerked from her hands. Her heart thudded to a stop. She always wondered if you could really die from fright; now she knew you could. The door screeched open, and she stepped backward to the pallet.

  The bushy-bearded man was on the ladder. He set a jar of water just inside the door. “I ought to knock your silly brains out. I ain’t never seen the like—don’t appreciate nothing.”

  His head disappeared below the threshold, then like an afterthought reappeared. “I’ll give you fair warning. I’ll leave this door swung wide so’s you won’t roast in here like a pig on a spit, but if I see hide nor hair of you, I’ll nail this door shut and you’ll have a fine tin coffin.”

  Lilly held her breath as he climbed down the ladder, then jumped in fright when his head bobbed up again like an apple in a dunking tub.

  “And another thing, missy. Iffen you hear anybody calling for you, you keep still else I’ll drag you to the pond and let you watch that there dog trying to swim outen a gunnysack. Don’t think I won’t.” He slapped another paper packet on the floor. “Enjoy yore fine queezeen.”

  “Cuisine,” Lilly couldn’t help but whisper in his absence, “from the Latin coquere, ‘to cook.’”

  The dog stuck her wet nose against Lilly’s arm as if to say, “For pity’s sake—shut up.”

  25

  Copper was working on nothing but fear. The relief train had delivered them to the site of the wreck just a short time ago. Their approach had been so calm it was eerie. The last half mile of undamaged serpentine track winding through hills of bucolic farmland and apple orchards in no way prepared her for what she was soon to face. But just as the train rolled puffing and blowing across a rickety trestle that spanned a deep ravine, she could see and smell the smoke.

  The scene they walked into was right out of a nightmare. A long length of track stuck up from the rails like a ladder leading nowhere. Back down the rail, three undamaged cars and a caboose sat placidly on the tracks as if they were waiting for a porter to shout, “All aboard!” A pile of lump coal lay burning itself out on the bank, sending up puffs of dark smoke like signals of distress. Debris was everywhere—crates of smashed eggs, a busted drummer’s shoe trunk disgorging boots and high-tops, coops of lifeless chickens, an upended safe, shattered glass, wooden benches, and a twisted pair of spectacles. Suitcases spilled their contents out onto the ground. Copper searched it all, looking for something familiar.

  Straight ahead the locomotive sat, still hooked to another train car that dangled over the steep side of the ravine. At least she thought it was the engine—a head-on collision with another train had pleated it like an accordion. Beyond that was the other train. According to the conductor who had brought them to the scene, it was not a passenger train but a freight carrying supplies to Jackson, and one of its cars was loaded with dynamite. “Enough to blow us all to kingdom come,” he’d reckoned.

  Men scurried up the bank from the creek far below, hauling water to other men who manned the hand-operated water pumps hosing down a boxcar which Copper supposed held the explosives.

  Copper walked with John to the edge of the ravine. She caught her breath when she saw the smoldering heap of mangled steel and shredded wood far below. A path wide as the beds of several wagons made the steep hillside look as if it had been scraped clean by a giant’s sledge.

  A burly, bearded man with a badge on his chest approached. “Hard to believe, ain’t it? The force of the wreck whipped them cars through the trees like they weren’t no more substantial than a pat of butter. Looks like they was cleared by the grim reaper, don’t it?

  “’Course, they weren’t anything substantial, mostly saplings,” the man continued. “The railroad keeps the right-of-way pretty clean.”

  When no one replied, he elbowed John. “Say, you come to work or what? We don’t need no gawkers here. And if you’re searching for a loved one, you’ll have to go wait in the family tent with the others. It’s only about two miles off-site. You understand we can’t have civilians milling about such a dangerous place, slowing down our progress.”

  Copper exchanged looks with John. He stepped forward, introducing them. “Yes, we’re here to work. We came on the relief train just now.”

  “And the little lady?”

  “She practices medicine. We’re ready and able—just show us what you want.”

  The sheriff eyed John’s broad shoulders. “You go on down there.” He motioned to the gully. “They can use more strong backs.”

  “I work in timber,” John said.

  “We for sure need you, then. Did you happen to bring your ax?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “No matter; there’s a supply wagon on up the line. You’ll find it easy enough. Just tell them Sheriff Tate sent you.”

  John squeezed Copper’s hand, then started up the track. She understood his intent. They would not call attention to their plight in front of the lawman. They would be of no help to Lilly or anyone else by
waiting in the family tent.

  The sheriff turned to her. “If you’ll follow me, I got a fellow that needs some quick attention. They just brought him up out of that fiery pit of hell.”

  Copper matched his fast steps. With a hand under her elbow, he led her to the other side of the tracks and under a sugar maple tree where a man lay stretched out in the shade. “We’ve set up a field hospital in the depot yonder, but it’s full and running over with folks in need of attention. I was just going to beg for help. You appearing so suddenlike is the answer to my prayers.”

  Copper folded her skirts under her knees and sank to the young man’s side. His blue eyes were open and clouded with fear and pain. A light beard stubbled his cheeks and chin. A sparse mustache promised the manhood soon to come.

  He gripped her hand hard. “Are you an angel?”

  “Now, Billy,” the sheriff said, “you ain’t dead. This here’s a sawbones, and she’s going to make sure that don’t happen.”

  “How old are you, young man?”

  “He’s coming up on sixteen,” the sheriff responded. “He’s my little brother. He’s apprenticed to the brakeman on the Republic.” He leaned over Billy and tousled his hair. “Learning the trade real good, ain’t you?”

  “I’m a-trying,” Billy said. He attempted to lift his left arm. Between his elbow and wrist a bone protruded through muscle and skin. “This hurts like thunder.”

  “I’m a nurse. Your brother and I are going to fix you right up.” Copper soothed both the young man and his brother. “Would you take off his shoes and socks and unfasten his belt?”

  Copper checked the boy out with her stethoscope and her hands, but it appeared he had no internal injuries. His lungs were clear; his heart beat steady; he didn’t gasp or complain of pain when she checked for broken ribs, felt for crepitus along his collarbone, had him move his toes and the fingers of his good arm, and palpated his abdomen.

  “We’ll just need to stitch that gash on his forehead,” she explained to the sheriff, “and splint his arm. He’s going to be fine.”

  “See, what’d I tell you? Didn’t I say you’d be right as rain soon as we got you some help?”

  “I hurt, though, Bubby.”

  She spread a linen towel out on the grass and laid out scissors, forceps, tweezers, a round of gauze, and a small brown envelope containing a curved needle and silk sutures.

  “What else do you need?”

  “Water, soap, a basin, splints, and a bottle of whiskey,” she said.

  The sheriff rubbed his palm over his chin. “I could go for that too.”

  Copper gave him a look. “It’s for the boy.”

  “Oh, sure, sure,” he said. “I’ll be right back. There are all kinds of stuff in the depot. We got two relief trains with medical supplies out of Lexington. Do you want me to see if there’s a doctor to help?”

  “If one’s available, but I can do this. You can help me.”

  Copper took the white apron and head scarf that made her look like Florence Nightingale from her linen bag and shook them out. All the while she prepared for the task ahead, her eyes and ears searched for Lilly Gray. But except for the workmen, the site was surprisingly void of people. The sheriff was doing a good job. She knew John would be searching too by asking questions while he worked. Her fervent hope was that he didn’t find her down in the gorge, where the worst of the wreck remained.

  “. . . lumbering noise, and my feet flying out from beneath me.”

  Copper pulled her wandering attention back to Billy. “So you were caught off guard?”

  “Completely. Oh, ma’am, you can’t imagine. The screeching of the brakes, the scream of the whistles, the thunderous crash—it all sounded like Satan was throwing open the very gates of hell. Next thing I knew the car I was in went sailing off the tracks. The trees didn’t stop us, seemed like we was flying for a few seconds; then we hit the ground and started sliding toward the creek. I didn’t know if I was on the floor or the ceiling, but I was grabbing for something to hold on to. Before I had time to think, a section of the car peeled back smooth as the bark on a tree and I was flung out into the elements. I landed hard on my side. Then the train car rolled over me, and I was trapped. I reckon my arm’s broke.” He raised his eyebrows in question.

  Copper took his hand. “Your arm is broken at the radial bone, and you have a cut on your forehead. But there’s nothing that can’t be fixed. You’re very fortunate.”

  “My ma prays for me every morning and every night.”

  “Well, your ma’s prayers were answered.”

  “Here’re your supplies, ma’am.” The sheriff set the basin on the ground and poured water in.

  Copper scrubbed to the elbows. “Did you bring the medicinal whiskey?”

  The sheriff offered his brother a drink, and he slugged down a long draught.

  “Take one more,” Copper said.

  Mixing a small amount of the spirits with water, she poured it freely over the wound on the forehead and on the arm where the radial bone poked through the skin, then patted the sites dry with sterile gauze. She picked grass and gravel from the forehead gash with the tweezers before flooding it again.

  Billy’s muscles lost their tension. He seemed to relax.

  “I believe we can begin,” Copper said. “Sheriff Tate, if you’ll hold his head still for me, I’ll have him stitched up in no time.” With a needle shaped like a fishhook without the barbs, Copper closed the wound except for a small opening on one end. “I’ll leave this in case the cut gets infected. It will act as a drain. Looks like the wound’s bled freely, but you know to watch closely for lockjaw.”

  “Sad to say I do. I lost a boyhood friend that way.”

  Copper wrapped the closed head wound in gauze. “You’ll need to have these stitches removed in a few days.”

  “Will do.”

  “We’d best get this break set while he’s still got his happy juice on board. Let me see the splints.”

  The sheriff handed her two thin firm boards.

  Copper measured them against Billy’s arm from just below the elbow to the fingers. “This one is fine, but shorten this one. The inner one mustn’t be so long that it presses at the bend of the elbow when the arm is flexed.”

  Once the bone was set back in position, it was a simple matter to fix the side splints in place with strips of gauze. She fashioned a sling from Billy’s shirt and tied it around his neck, keeping his elbow fixed at a right angle.

  Billy closed his eyes and soon was softly snoring.

  “You’ll need to get him to a doctor as soon as possible,” Copper said while packing up her kit. “They’ll want to put a cast on that arm.”

  “I appreciate you being so gentle with him. He likes to think he’s a man already.”

  “Sheriff Tate, might I beg a favor?”

  “You bet.”

  “My eleven-year-old daughter was on that train. I’m desperate to find her.”

  The sheriff sucked in his breath. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

  “Do you know if any children . . . ?” Her voice faded away. She couldn’t bear to finish her question.

  “Do you want to go to the depot and have a look-see? I’m not supposed to do this, you understand, but hang it all, I don’t care.”

  Copper took the arm he proffered and was thankful for it as he escorted her to the teeming depot. It seemed most every bench and chair was occupied by a dazed and moaning person. She hadn’t realized she clutched his arm so tightly until he patted her hand.

  “Some have already been taken to the hospital in Lexington,” he said as they walked up and down the aisles. “These are waiting to go next.”

  “Is there some sort of roster? Is anyone keeping a record?”

  “There is. The ticket seller has it in the cage. Do you want to look?”

  Copper’s heart trilled and her knees went weak. “Might you get me a cup of water?”

  The sheriff led her to an unoccupied seat. She
closed her eyes and took deep breaths.

  Sheriff Tate brought a paper cone of tepid water. Just like the one Lilly had been looking forward to drinking from. She drank it down and stood. He led her to the ticket seller’s booth.

  “Hey, Ed,” he said. “We want to take a look at your roster.”

  The agent slid it under the glass partition that separated him from purchasers. “Updated it not fifteen minutes ago.”

  She scanned the list of twenty-five names or descriptions. Then went back to the top and read them again more carefully. The listed names were easy, but the descriptions took a minute. Male elderly; gray, handlebar mustache; deceased. Female young adult; brown hair; green dress; unconscious; dispatched to Lexington via relief train. And so on. With some relief she noted there were no children listed, male or female, none dead, none dispatched.

  She slid the clipboard underneath the window. “Thank you,” she said, her voice aquiver. Lilly must still be in the wreckage. She had to get down there. “What’s the easiest way to the site?”

  “It’ll just cause a ruckus if you try to do that,” the sheriff said. “It’ll only distract the workers and slow things down. I know that’s hard to hear, but it’s hard on everybody. Best thing you can do is pitch in here. Nobody’s going to stop you asking questions while you work, if you get my drift.”

  He was right, of course. At least she was here where she could be of some use, not sequestered in the family tent. She’d have to bide her time and pray.

  “I’ve got to get back to work,” the sheriff said. “Now just you remember Billy. He was down there through the night and most of today and he come out of it okay. Your little girl will do the same. It won’t be long until they have everyone accounted for.”

  “Nurse,” a woman called from a nearby bench, “can you help me?”

  Copper smoothed her long white apron, tucked an errant strand of hair under her headdress, and went to work.