As we pulled into town and drove down Main Street, a police officer came out of the small, red, brick station and flagged us down. My dad rolled down the window to talk to him.
“Where you folks headed?” the policeman asked.
“New York,” my dad told him.
“I’m afraid not today,” the officer said. “This storm has closed the road up ahead for the next hundred miles. It’s not safe to drive until we get the plows down there, and that’s not going to be until tomorrow.”
“That’s not possible,” my dad said. “My wife is having a baby in New York. I have to be there.”
“And we have to be there for our mom,” I piped up from the backseat. “We’re the brother and sister.”
“That’s tough,” said the policeman, shaking his head. I noticed that little icicles were forming on the tips of his reddish brown mustache. “I know how you folks must feel. But the road just isn’t safe to drive on.”
We were quiet for a moment. This wasn’t good. This was terrible. The thought of Mom having a baby without us . . . without our support . . . well, that was just too upsetting to even think about.
We sat there in total silence, except for the small sounds of the snow landing on the hood of the car, the branches rubbing against each other in the wind, and the whistle of a distant train making its way along the tracks.
Wait a minute. Wait just a minute.
Did I hear the whistle of a distant train making its way along the tracks?
Yes, I did.
Thank you ears. You have just saved the day!
CHAPTER 10
I whipped around, faster than you could say “little red caboose,” and looked out the back window of the car. Sure enough, there was a train in the distance.
“Does that train stop here?” I asked the police officer.
“You mean right here, where I’m standing?” he said.
Oh, brother! We’re in an emergency situation and I get a guy who’s a stickler for details.
“No, sir.” I tried to sound very patient. “What I meant was . . . does it stop in Belly Ache Falls or Bear Claw Falls . . . or wherever we are, sir.”
“That’s Bellows Falls, son. And yes, the train’s stopped here every day for the past hundred and twenty years.”
“Bingo,” I said. “That’s it, Dad. We’ll park the car here, and hop on the train. It will take us right into New York and we’ll be there in plenty of time for the baby. Problem solved.”
“Not so fast, son,” the policeman said. “That train doesn’t go to New York. Its last stop today is Springfield, Massachusetts.”
“How far is Springfield?” my dad asked.
“About one hundred miles,” he answered.
“That’s perfect,” Emily commented. “Springfield is located at precisely the mathematical numerical position where the road will re-open.”
Emily always finds the hardest way to say anything. It’s like if you want to say North Pole, she’ll call it “the northernmost point on the Earth’s axis.” So I wasn’t surprised to hear her talking about a mathematical numerical position, whatever that is.
But I’m pretty sure I got her drift. I’m dense on the little points, but most of the time, I can see the big picture.
“I see where you’re going with this,” I said. “We take the train to Springfield and bypass all the closed roads. Then we’ll rent another car or catch a ride from someone and blast into New York.”
“It may not even be snowing there,” my dad said.
“That’s true,” Emily said. “New York City is near the ocean, and everyone knows that the heat-holding ability of large bodies of water causes warming of the air along the coast.”
“You got a little scientist there,” the officer said to my dad.
“You mean a little show-off,” I muttered. I have to confess, it really annoyed me that here I was coming up with a plan to get us home, and Emily was getting the credit for being smart.
My dad reached into his pocket, grabbed his wallet, and took out a handful of bills.
“Here, take this money, run to the station, and buy three tickets,” he told us. “Tuck Cheerio in your jacket. I’ll park the car on a side street, lock up our luggage and meet you there as fast as I can. Hurry! We can’t miss that train.”
Emily and I got out of the car and took off running down the main street to the train station. I could see the train pulling into the station, and I hoped we weren’t too late.
We burst inside the station, expecting to find it empty, but to my surprise, there were a lot of people there. Well, a lot of people for Bear Claw Falls or Belly Ache Falls or wherever we were. By that I mean there were about seven people waiting for the train. They all had one thing in common. They were shivering cold.
It wasn’t much of a train station. Nothing like Grand Central Station in New York, which is huge and has a giant blue ceiling with all the constellations painted on it. This train station was one small room with three orange, plastic chairs, a vending machine selling hot chocolate and chicken soup, and a grumpy-looking woman sitting behind the glassed-in ticket window.
“I’ll buy the tickets,” I said to Emily. “You wait over in the corner with Cheerio.” I wanted to keep him out of sight, just in case they didn’t let dogs on the train.
“Who put you in charge?” Emily asked.
“I did,” I informed her. “I’m handling this. After all, I’m the big brother.”
Full of confidence, I walked over to the grumpy woman at the ticket window.
“Good afternoon,” I said, giving her my best Hank Zipzer smile—the one where I show both my top and bottom teeth. “I’d like three tickets for Springfield please.”
I shoved some of the money under the glass window. I am especially terrible at counting money, so I figured I’d just wow her with a handful of bills. She wasn’t wowed. In fact, she shoved the money right back at me.
“We’re sold out,” she said.
“That can’t be. We have to get on that train.”
“You and every other person who thinks they’re going to melt in a little storm,” she said. “Everyone’s heading south like a flock of scared geese. It’s just snow. It’s not going to bite you.”
“But we have a real emergency,” I said.
“Can’t help you,” she said, shaking her head. “All the seats are sold, and fire laws won’t allow us to let you stand. End of story, kid.”
“My mom’s having a baby,” I pleaded.
“My mom had one, too,” she said. “And it was me.”
She gave out a snorty, little laugh, as if her joke was funny. It wasn’t to me.
“There must be someplace on that train,” I said. “Could we ride with the conductor?”
“Against regulations,” she said.
“How about the caboose?” I asked.
“Nope. All this train has is two passenger cars, a bunch of coal hoppers, three flatcars carrying lumber from Maine, and a cattle car with horses from upstate heading to Stamford for a horse show.”
“You’re positive?” I asked.
She didn’t even answer this time, just turned her back to me and started typing something on her computer.
Outside on the platform, I heard the screech of brakes and the train pulling to a stop on the platform. Oh no. It was here.
Think, Hank. Think of something!
Suddenly, the station door flew open and my dad came rushing in, his pom-poms flying behind him. He dashed up to me, all out of breath. Little bits of ice had collected on his eyebrows.
“Hank, did you get the tickets?” he asked.
I didn’t answer.
“Hank, where are the tickets?” he repeated.
I tried to tell him they were sold out. I opened my mouth to say that. But here’s what I said instead: “No problem, Dad. I’ve got everything under control.”
CHAPTER 11
Hank, you’re a total moron!
It would have been so much easi
er to just tell my dad the truth—that there were no more seats on the train. But I didn’t. I just couldn’t spit it out. It would have made him so upset.
I do this sometimes, and it’s not a habit I’m proud of. I open my mouth, dead set on saying the truth, and then BOOM, the exact opposite just shoots out like a rocket. Like last week, when my teacher Ms. Adolf asked me if I understood the fractions problem on the board, I wanted to say, “I don’t have the slightest clue what those numbers mean.” But when I opened my mouth, what came out was, “Are you kidding? I could do that problem in my sleep!” When she asked me to come to the board and solve it, I had to tell her that I thought I had eaten a rotten fish stick at lunch and needed a bathroom pass immediately.
Even though I know that the truth always works out best, I just don’t like to disappoint people, and that includes myself. When the truth is hard to say, often it sticks right there in my throat, somewhere between my tonsils and my Adam’s apple.
So there I was, leading my Dad and Emily and Cheerio over to the platform where the train was boarding, them thinking everything was all arranged, and me knowing that nothing was arranged. I gave myself one of my typical little smacks in the forehead.
Think fast, brain of mine. It’s now or never.
It was as if my dad was reading my mind and knew there was nothing there.
“Give me the tickets, Hank,” he said. “I want to check the car number.”
“It’s okay, Dad. I’ve got them. They’re really special tickets, too.”
Special tickets??? Oh, boy. Now I had dug myself in even deeper.
I bolted ahead to the train tracks so I could reach the passenger car first. The conductor was boarding the seven passengers who had been waiting in the station. Luckily, one woman was having a problem with her ticket, and she was in deep conversation with the conductor about whether she was in Seat 3A or 3B.
“We’re down this way,” I called to my dad and Emily. I turned in the opposite direction of the conductor, walking at a fast pace. I was hoping there was an open door on the other passenger car, and we could just slip in.
No such luck. It turns out the second passenger car was in the opposite direction of where we were walking. We were headed in the direction of the two coal hoppers and the flatcars with the lumber from Maine.
“Hank, are you sure this is right?” Emily called. “These are freight cars.”
“Emily, do I look like a guy who doesn’t know what he’s doing?” I shot back.
“Yes.”
“Well, check your eyeballs again, sister. This guy knows where he’s going.” Why couldn’t I just give it up and tell the truth? I was in a pickle, and I don’t mean dill.
We walked by the hopper cars and the flatcars. My dad was yelling at me to stop and turn around, but I kept on walking, hoping that an idea would spring into my head. The very last car on the train was a boxcar with open slats along the side. This must have been the one that was filled with horses. When I saw it, I wished I could just jump on one of those horses and ride off into the distance. Then I’d never have to tell my dad the truth about the tickets.
As we walked up to the horse car, I knew it was game over for me. There were no more cars and my dad was insisting we turn around.
“Neeiiigghhhhh!” I heard.
I looked up and saw a pair of dark brown eyes staring out at me from between the slats. They were nice eyes, soft eyes, welcoming eyes.
“Neigh!” the horse said again.
Then he shook his head and snorted as if he were saying, “Hi, Hank. Come on in.”
He’s inviting us in! There’s your answer, Hank! The idea you’ve been waiting for!
Okay, I know what you’re thinking. Horses don’t talk. And they don’t invite you into their train car for a visit. But I’m telling you, this horse was inviting us in. At least, that’s what I chose to believe.
CHAPTER 12
I stood in front of the horse car and turned to my Dad and Emily.
“This is our car,” I said to them. “Climb in.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Emily said.
To show her I wasn’t kidding, I jumped up onto the metal step that stood in front of the sliding wood door to the car.
“What are you waiting for?” I asked. “We’ve got our own personal, private car.”
My friend the horse stuck his nose out of the slats and neighed again.
“Well, almost private,” I added.
“Hank, this is ridiculous!” my dad exclaimed. “We can’t ride in a horse car.”
“Why not, Dad? It’s the best car on the train. Dark, warm, and with a nice horsey smell.”
I knew my dad was about to explode, so I had to act fast. Without waiting for his answer, I slipped off the chain that was holding the door closed and slid the grate open just wide enough for a human to enter. I stepped inside the car.
Wow, I wasn’t kidding about the horsey smell!
There weren’t any stalls in the car, just ten horses all lined up in a row. They were wearing different colored blankets and were munching on hay that was scattered around the floor. My horse friend was at the end of the row closest to me. When he saw me, he whinnied and pawed the ground. I hoped that was a friendly gesture.
I reached up and patted his neck. I noticed that he was wearing one of those leather strappy things around his face, which I think is called a bridle. Let’s assume that’s what it’s called because I’m pretty sure I’m almost right.
Anyway, his bridle was brown leather, and in gold letters down the side, it said T-R-I-G-G-E-R.
“Is that your name, fella?” I whispered. “Trigger?”
He whinnied again, and nuzzled me right smack in the parka.
“I like you too, Trigger. Now be a good horsey and please . . . stay calm. I’m counting on you.”
I reached my hand down to the platform and held it out for Emily.
“Come on, Emily. Trigger here is really friendly, and he wants to meet you.”
This was kind of a dirty trick on my part because I know what a sucker Emily is for animals. She gets along better with creatures in the animal kingdom than she does with actual human creatures. The girl even loves iguanas and, trust me, those scaly reptiles are not easy to love.
Emily took my hand and I pulled her up to the metal step. Cheerio, who was in her free arm, got one whiff of the horsey smell drifting out of the train car and started to sneeze and bark at the same time. I don’t think he’d ever been that close to a horse, let alone ten horses riding across Massachusetts in an enclosed car.
“Achoo . . . arf . . . achoo . . . arf . . . achooo . . . aaarrfff!”
Man, Cheerio was putting on quite a show.
I was worried that his sneezing attack would freak Trigger out, and then all the horses would follow his lead and start to panic.
“Easy, Trigger,” I said, reaching out to pat him again. “Cheerio won’t hurt you. He’s just having a doggy allergy attack.”
Trigger got right up in Cheerio’s face and sniffed him up and down. At first I was worried that the horse might have thought Cheerio was a carrot. He is long and narrow and kind of tannish orange. But I didn’t have to worry, because after a few sniffs, Trigger stuck his nose under Cheerio’s chin and nuzzled him. And not just a little nuzzle either, but a giant, slobbery nuzzle. I think this made the other horses very curious, because within two seconds, they all gathered around Cheerio and started nuzzling him like crazy. Cheerio went limp in Emily’s arms and started to purr like a cat. I had never heard him make that noise before.
“How cute is this,” Emily said. “They are having an animal group hug.”
“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?” I nodded.
“Cool, Hank? It’s much more than that. This is Mother Nature at her best. We are witnessing the miracle of inter-species bonding.”
The train whistle blew, giving its warning that we were about to pull out of the station any minute.
“Hank and Emily, y
ou come down here right this instant,” my dad called up to us.
“It’s up to you, Emily. If you can get him up here, you can witness inter-species bonding all the way to Springfield. We’ll have a full-fledged nuzzle fest.”
I felt a little bad putting the whole responsibility on Emily. But she is much better at convincing my dad to do things than I am. They think alike.
“Dad,” Emily said. “We simply have to ride in the horse car. It’s important for my education as a scientist. You want me to excel, don’t you?”
Education! Scientist! Excel! These words were music to my dad’s ears. There is nothing that Stanley Zipzer wants more than an educated, excelling, scientist kid. Unfortunately, that’s not me. But hey, I can dance. That’s got to count for something.
He climbed up on the metal step and poked his head inside the car.
“Where are we going to sit?” he asked. “This car is completely full of horses.”
Suddenly the train jolted ahead, and we were all thrown inside the car. We had to hang on to the slats so we didn’t fall down.
“Great, Hank,” my dad said, as the train picked up speed and pulled out of the station. “Now it’s too late to change cars and use our real tickets.”
“Oh well,” I said. “Who wants to ride in a stupid passenger car, anyway? It’s so dull and ordinary . . .”
“And warm,” my dad shivered. “We have to get away from these open slats. Let’s huddle up in the center of the car.”
We tried to find our way to the center, but trust me, ten horses take up a whole lot of room and there wasn’t any left for us. We were standing pressed right up against them, toe-to-hoof, hoof-to-toe.
“Stop tickling me when I’m trying to find a place to stand, Hank,” Emily said. “That’s so immature.”
“I’m not tickling you,” I told her. “He is.”
Dump Trucks and Dogsleds: I'm on My Way, Mom! Page 4
