by Gail Sattler
But it didn’t matter. Before this time tomorrow, he would be gone on the next freight train.
Two
“I think I have enough strawberries in my pail now. It’s time to go back to the house. Papa should be arriving back very soon, and then it will be time for dinner.”
Elliott didn’t know which held less dirt, his face or his clothing, but he couldn’t stop himself from wiping the berry juice from his mouth onto his sleeve when Louise turned her head. The strawberries had filled a void, but he anticipated dinner like no other time in his life.
“Thank you,” he said as he rose and followed Louise through the bushes until they emerged from the trees. She slowed her step for him to catch up, but he hesitated, not wanting to walk beside her in his present condition. However, neither did he mean to insult her, especially considering her generosity. Elliott quickened his pace and walked beside her at what he hoped was a respectable distance, downwind, toward the house beside the train station.
“I won’t tell Mama you’ve eaten your dessert first.” She turned to smile at him, and Elliott forced himself to smile back. He’d never felt less like smiling. While he knew she was probably only trying to lighten the moment, it didn’t make him feel any better. He’d always said he would rather die than accept charity from a stranger. Now his lofty ideals had been reduced to exactly that—accepting charity versus the harsh reality of dying of starvation. And he’d never considered the possibility of accidental death from the often dangerous predicaments he’d been forced into while riding the freight trains. He would never again speak such words lightly.
Instead of going in the front door, he followed Louise around to the back of the house.
“Please wait here, so I can tell my mother we have a guest.”
Elliott’s heart sank. A guest. He wasn’t a guest. He had been reduced to begging. He was a vagrant. A bum. Or, as the new term dubbed him and other men in his situation, a hobo.
Living as he had been recently gave him an entirely new perspective on what was needed as the bare minimum to survive. He’d been given many lessons in pride and humility like he’d never experienced. Never in his life would he have thought he would be surviving only through the help and sacrifice of anonymous strangers.
While he waited, he tried to figure out where he was. Louise had said they were in a town named Pineridge, but he’d never heard of the place. However, as he’d passed through the countryside, he had also learned a lesson in geography such as he’d never been taught in school.
He’d traveled through countless cities, towns, and communities of varying sizes, but this one had to be the smallest he could remember. From where he stood at the rear of the Demchucks’ house, he could only see a handful of buildings—eight total. He surmised that this small outcropping was the hub for the local community of farms in the area.
He found himself staring at the school. Quickly, he turned his head. He didn’t want to think about schools. It was only a reminder of what he couldn’t have.
Louise stepped outside once again. “Please come in. Mama is heating some water. You can wash up before Papa comes back.” She stepped back inside, indicating that he should follow.
In his present condition, he didn’t want to go inside their house, but he wouldn’t insult her generosity and turn down her invitation. Still, he would much rather have eaten outside than carry his dirt into their home. Elliott inhaled deeply and followed her through the doorway.
As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, the delicious aroma of a fragrant stew caused his stomach to make an embarrassing sound. He automatically covered his stomach with one hand and tried to think about anything other than food.
To distract himself, he glanced around the room. The Demchucks’ home was modest but pristine and well cared for. The linoleum floor shone brightly with the sunlight peeking in through the lace-curtained windows. Beside him to his right, just inside the door, stood a small wooden table with a white enamel basin and a bar of soap in a matching dish on top. A colorful floral printed curtain hung from the tabletop to the floor, hiding what was likely a pail beneath. Above the table, a framed mirror hung on the wall.
To his left a woman in her fifties, an older version of Louise, stood beside a large cast-iron cookstove. She wore a dress very similar to Louise’s, but the front was covered with a cotton embroidered apron. She turned and smiled at him. “Greetings. Welcome to our humble home.”
He forced himself to smile back. “Thank you for having me.”
Louise smiled at both of them. “Elliott, this is my mama, Anna Demchuck.”
He closed his eyes briefly as he bowed his head in greeting, grateful for the distance between them, because he didn’t want her to see how disgusting he was. “Ma’am. Thank you for your invitation. If there is anything I can do for you to return your kindness, please ask.”
“Nonsense. God has provided for us well, and all we are doing is sharing it with others in times of need. One day you can return the favor to someone else. I think the water has finished heating. The basin is there beside the door if you’d like to wash up.”
There was no if about it. He’d never welcomed soap and water so much in his life.
Without waiting for his response, Mrs. Demchuck brought the basin to the cookstove, ladled some warm water into the basin, and returned it to the washstand.
Elliott stepped back to let her pass. While Mrs. Demchuck settled the basin, he noticed what appeared to be a pump on the floor next to the washbasin table. He tried to be discreet in peeking outside through the window.
An outhouse sat in the corner of the property, confirming the full scope of the Demchucks’ lifestyle in a community far away from any metropolitan area. In addition to not having running water, they didn’t have indoor plumbing.
In Katona Falls, most homes, although not all, had running water and flushing toilets. He knew that most farms still did not have this convenience, but he had never thought about the smaller communities that weren’t quite farms but weren’t really a city, either. Now he knew.
Unable to stop himself, he glanced quickly around the room to see what they did have. Next to a large wooden table set with three chairs and covered with a brightly colored oilcloth, he could see a large stand-up lamp, which confirmed that the Demchuck home had electricity. He also noted a china cabinet, the washbasin and stand, and the large cookstove, but no refrigerator or icebox.
Still, compared to what he’d seen and done over the past week, their quaint home felt like a palace.
Louise’s voice beside him brought his attention back to where it should have been in the first place. “I brought this for you.”
Elliott blinked and shook his head slightly. Lack of food and lack of sleep had distracted him from good manners, which was inexcusable. He hadn’t noticed Louise leave the room, but now she stood beside him, smiling, holding a clean towel toward him.
“Thank you,” he mumbled. Part of him could hardly wait to wash for the first time in longer than he cared to think about, but part of him dreaded it. Now he had to face the mirror and see what he had become.
Mrs. Demchuck removed her apron and slung it across the back of one of the chairs. “Come with me, Louise; there is something I need your help with in the living room.”
In the blink of an eye, the two ladies left the room, and a curtain slipped closed in the doorway leading to the rest of the house. With their departure, everything became so quiet all Elliott could hear was the crackling of the wood in the cookstove.
He suspected they really had no reason to leave the room except to give him some privacy while he did his best to wash. What he really needed was a bath, but he was in no position to do that, especially in the middle of their kitchen at dinnertime. Most important, Louise’s father would be returning shortly to find a stranger in his house. Elliott did not want to step any more beyond the bounds of propriety than he already had. Therefore, he decided to hurry to do the best he could to clean himself with the hand
soap and small basin of water provided.
Slowly, Elliott turned to the mirror. The man who looked back at him was a stranger. His hair was no longer than it had been a week ago, but in addition to the natural oils of a week of not washing it, it was so dirty it was the wrong color—not his usual neutral brown, but instead, dark and clumpy. He didn’t think he’d lost more than a pound or two after eating nothing other than berries for the better part of the past week, except that he hadn’t had any extra to lose to begin with. He could feel the difference in the way his clothes fit, but now he could also see it in his face.
He blinked back at himself and looked into his eyes. The mixture of the brown and green that made the hazel color had faded to a dull brown. No doubt because of the lack of sufficient sleep and horrid conditions under which he’d lived, the sockets of his eyes were hollow, yet puffy underneath. He couldn’t tell the exact color of his skin; however, his face appeared pale beneath the layer of grime and soot, when he should have had a tan after spending most of his time outside.
He didn’t think it was possible, but he looked even worse than he felt.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then stared at himself again as he ran his fingers over his chin, something he’d done countless times over the last week. He’d felt his whiskers grow from harsh stubble to longer, softer hair. The unkempt length disgusted him.
As a teen he’d been proud to be able to sprout a beard quickly, but conversely, as an adult, it now meant he was the first to appear untidy. And now, he noticed as he turned his head, to his dismay, in addition to the dirt, his beard wasn’t the same color as the rest of his hair.
The face of the stranger in the mirror made Elliott wish he had access to a razor, but if the best he had was soap and water, he was more grateful for that than words could say.
He worked up a lather in his hands, then rubbed it not only on his bare skin, but into his beard, and then over his hair to get out what grime he could. The blackness of the water turned his already upset stomach, telling him if that was what came off, then he was still very dirty. Trying not to drip water onto the floor, he opened the back door and dumped the dirty water outside and returned the basin to the cookstove to ladle out more warm water, just as he had seen Mrs. Demchuck do. He walked slowly across the room with the second basin of wash water and washed his hands and face again, this time with better results.
Voices on the other side of the curtain warned him of Louise and her mother’s return, so Elliott quickly dried his face and hands. Not knowing what to do with the towel, he draped it over the back of one of the chairs, then froze. Despite having washed twice, he had left smudges of dirt on their nice towel.
Before they returned, he dumped the water into the pail hidden beneath the table, barely having straightened as the curtain opened.
“I’d guess you must be feeling much better?” Mrs. Demchuck asked, smiling so warmly he immediately relaxed.
“Yes, Ma’am. Thank you.”
“My husband must be in the middle of a big job that they can’t leave, because they’re usually back by now. I think we’ll begin eating dinner without him today.” She picked up the apron and fastened it behind her, and both ladies turned toward the stove.
Elliott wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. If he were a true guest, he would have sat at the table to chat with the man of the house while the women set the food on the table, but he wasn’t a guest.
“Is there something I can do to help?” he asked.
Louise carried a loaf of bread and a large knife to the table while Mrs. Demchuck scooped the stew into a porcelain bowl and brought it with her to the table. “This is all there is. We’re ready.”
He remained standing and pushed in the ladies’ chairs to seat them, then sat himself down.
Mrs. Demchuck folded her hands on the table in front of her. “We always give thanks to the Lord for the food we eat.”
“As do I, Ma’am.”
Her eyes lit up. “Would you like to pray, then?”
He’d never in his life felt more like praying. “Yes, Ma’am. I would.”
Elliott cleared his throat, bowed his head, and closed his eyes. “Dear heavenly Father, I thank You for this day and for this wonderful meal before us. Your timing and Your grace is sufficient, as always. I thank You for the bounty which You have provided, for the kindness and generosity of strangers. Today I ask for a special blessing on the Demchuck family as a special thank-you for their willingness to share with a stranger.” Elliott paused to clear his throat, which had become tight with a rush of unaccustomed emotion. “Also I ask a special blessing on all the men who have been forced onto the trains, and all people, everywhere, for all their struggles and hardships in these difficult economic times. I pray that You touch every one of them with Your hand of mercy, that they, too, can be provided for, day by day. I ask this in the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.”
Silence reigned over the table for a few seconds. Mrs. Demchuck quickly ran the back of her hand over her eyes. “As you can guess, we see many homeless men on the trains. We try to do everything we can for all who ask.”
“I can assure you that in the days I have been traveling, I have never met such gracious people as you, Ma’am. I can hardly wait to meet Mr. Demchuck.” Elliott paused to smile, and for the first time in a long time, his smile was genuine. “I must admit, I do feel somewhat nervous. After all, he works for the railroad, and I’m not exactly a paying passenger.”
Louise pushed the bowl of stew to him, encouraging him to help himself, while her mother began slicing the bread.
Elliott didn’t wait for the bread. He spooned out a large but reasonable portion of stew and immediately began to eat. At the first delicious mouthful, he closed his eyes to savor the rich flavors of the meat and gravy but didn’t stop chewing while he did so. Ignoring his manners, he spoke as best he could around the food in his mouth. “This is delicious. Thank you, Ma’am.”
Mrs. Demchuck smiled and nodded in response. “You’re more than welcome.”
“Where are you headed, Elliott?” Louise asked as she pushed the plate of sliced bread toward him, along with a bowl of butter.
He tried to swallow quickly, but before he could, Mrs. Demchuck spoke.
“Louise! Let the poor man eat some before bombarding him with questions.”
Elliott swallowed. “It’s okay. I’m on my way to British Columbia, where hopefully a job in the logging industry awaits me.”
“Then you still have many days’ travel ahead of you.”
“Yes. It took me five days to get here, but now that I’ve become accustomed to the schedules, and other men have shown me some of the tricks, the rest of the way should be quicker.”
Louise grinned. “I can tell you a lot of tricks to riding on the trains, too.”
“Louise!”
Louise’s mouth quivered. She bit her bottom lip for a second then lowered her head and whispered to him, “I’ll tell you later.”
“If you still have many days’ travel ahead of you, especially if you are going through the mountains, I can assure you that you will be cold. I assume you have no jacket or coat?”
Elliott tried not to cringe as he spoke. He had begun his journey with a good coat and two suitcases full of clothes and his personal effects. Now, all he had left were the clothes on his back, which were tattered and filthy.
He couldn’t help himself. He lowered his head and pushed at a carrot on his plate, unable to meet her eyes as he spoke. “No, Ma’am, I don’t.”
“Then I can give you a sweater of my husband’s to help keep you warm. We often give out clothing to those in need. At the same time, we also try to share the gospel as we share food and clothing with the men off the trains. This time, it does my heart good to see you already know the Lord. For you, I especially want to help.”
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Ma’am.”
Fortunately, conversation turned to other topics than
his personal necessities. If he weren’t moving on soon, he would have liked to get to know them better. Besides their generosity in helping him when he needed it, he simply liked them as people. Now, more than ever, he anticipated meeting Mr. Demchuck.
As they talked about mundane, normal topics, the two women encouraged him to eat another helping of stew, which he appreciated from the bottom of his heart.
After they finished their meal, Elliott didn’t know what to do. In Mr. Demchuck’s absence, it would have been proper for him to thank them for their generosity and leave, but he had nowhere to go. Even if the next freight train that passed through actually stopped, that wouldn’t be until nearly sunrise. There were only two places he could spend the night and not be seen by the residents of the area. He could sleep in the forest alongside the track, where he would be exposed to the cold. Or he could hunch down in the doorway of the train station.
Neither held much appeal, but he didn’t have a choice. The sweater would offer some warmth from the cold night but not enough to be close to comfortable. The spring temperatures still dipped quite low after sundown, and the sun was already starting to set.
Something else he had not previously considered—Mrs. Demchuck’s kind donation of the sweater forced him to think of the trip through the mountains, where there would probably still be snow on the ground. He didn’t want to think of how cold that portion of his journey would be. First, he would worry about tonight. He would worry about what tomorrow would bring tomorrow.
Since the meal was done, Louise and her mother stood. Due to the continuing absence of Mr. Demchuck, Elliott did the same. “Ma’am, I know I’ve said this before, but thank you again for your generosity. Before I leave, please, is there anything I can do for you?”
