The Train Stops Here Read online

  Copyright

  ISBN 1-58660-475-9

  © 2001 by Gail Sattler. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Truly Yours, PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All Scripture quotatins are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover illustration by Chris Cocozza.

  One

  Pineridge, Manitoba

  1938

  Louise Demchuck pulled her sweater tighter and wrapped her arms around her body to protect herself from the chill of the spring wind as she stood beside the set of parallel tracks. She stared down the metal lengths, searching for the familiar sight of her father sitting on the front of the jigger while the section gang seesawed its double handles, propelling them toward the station. The never-ending lines extended into the distance until they disappeared with the miles. Not detecting any motion, and since the storekeeper’s children were not playing outside today after their return home from school, she strained her ears for a hint of sound but heard only the rustling leaves, singing birds, and chirps of the crickets.

  She gathered her skirt and ran back to the house. “I don’t see Papa or the section men, Mama.”

  Her mother stirred the soup and sighed. “I suppose the jigger was switched onto the siding, and they’ll wait until the train passes. How long will this one stop?”

  Louise hurried into the dining room to her father’s desk. She ran her finger down the paper with her father’s notes of the daily train schedule, which lay in the middle of the desktop, then glanced up at the clock on the wall. If the section gang didn’t have enough time to return to the station and get the jigger off the track before the freight train came, then they would have to wait until the train departed before they could return home.

  “The 6:15 is a freight train today, so it won’t be leaving again until 7:00. I wonder if there will be any hobos on this one.”

  Even from her papa’s desk at the front of the dining room, Louise heard her mother’s spoon land with a clatter against the metal top of the cookstove in the kitchen. As she knew would happen, her mother’s footsteps approached. Louise turned to the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, and as expected, her mother soon appeared.

  Her mother stood glowering at her, arms crossed over her apron. “We do not call them hobos. They are people—people whose lives have met with grave misfortune—from all walks of life, some older than your father, and some the same age as you. They are not traveling for pleasure, or they would be on the passenger train, paying their fare. These are desperate men, Louise. I pray that our family will never be faced with whatever terrible things forced those men to abandon their families and head for parts unknown in the faint hope of finding food and lodging.”

  Louise’s throat tightened. It was true. Many people were out of work. Even for those who maintained their jobs, everyone was spending less money on everything, including food.

  With Papa being the section foreman for the railroad, their family had been provided with a comfortable home. Their family maintained the most stable and largest income in their small community.

  “You are right, Mama. I hadn’t meant to be insulting. It’s just that everyone calls them hobos. Even Pastor Galbraith. I didn’t mean anything hurtful or mean to speak poorly of anyone.”

  Her mother shook her head. “It’s easy to pass them off by speaking of them in such a way, but the city people don’t see the suffering in their eyes like we do. Not even Pastor Galbraith.”

  Louise nodded and turned to look out the window. The train was due in seven minutes, and without doubt there would be homeless men hiding on it. Some would be riding on top of the cars to avoid being seen from the ground, but once the train stopped, the brakeman would leave the caboose to make his rounds and clear the obvious hiding places. Then, when the shipment for the store owner was unloaded and everything checked and in order, the brakeman would return to the caboose, and the train would start moving. All the hobos would scramble back on, and the procedure would be repeated the next time the train stopped.

  A single, long whistle sounded in the distance.

  Her mother’s words interrupted her thoughts. “It’s coming. I can hear it.”

  Low rumbling and the shaking of the ground signified the train’s approach to the station, which was next door to their house.

  Knowing her father would not come until after the train departed, Louise hurried up the stairs to her bedroom, where she peered into the distance to watch it, as she had done countless times since childhood. From her window on the side of the house, she watched the big black engine puff out its billow of smoke as the train slowly rolled up to the station.

  She could also see the school to the left of the train station, and beside it, the church. On the other side was the bunk-house for the section gang, which was across the tracks from the station.

  Louise smiled. If she went into her parents’ bedroom, she could look out the back window and see the entire town of Pineridge. Of course she didn’t have to. If she closed her eyes, she could picture every single building, burned into her memory. Including their house, the community consisted of only eight buildings. Directly across the main road behind their house was Mr. Sabinski’s general store, and to the west, the home of Mr. Johnstone, the bus driver. Next to that was the service station, owned and operated by Mr. Tolson, who often spent more time out on the farmers’ fields fixing the tractors where they had broken down than in his own shop in the town.

  Besides those and the homes of the teacher and principal, all else around Pineridge was farms. The only reason tiny Pineridge could support those few businesses was because very few families besides theirs owned an automobile, and even fewer could afford rail tickets into the city on a regular basis, where prices were cheaper. Since her family received free rail passes, her father went to the city every second weekend for fresh vegetables and meat, and the entire family traveled to the city once a month to shop and visit relatives. Louise appreciated that their family could take advantage of such luxuries.

  Louise watched the train as it squealed to a stop. This time, she didn’t see men on the tops of the boxcars, but as usual, a few ran from between the cars where they had been hiding on the hitches until the train slowed. One man ran out of a boxcar to hide in the trees before the brakeman began his rounds to clear the train. As section foreman, it wasn’t her father’s job to evict the hobos from the trains, but if he did see them hiding, he was required to remove them as well, even though they had nowhere to go, especially in Pineridge.

  She didn’t know those men, but her heart ached for every one of them.

  Often, they were so hungry, not having eaten for days, that they came to the house begging for food. Some simply took what was offered, but others asked to work in exchange for the food, even though there was no work for them to do. Of all the men who came to the door begging, none were turned away. Sometimes, when their clothes were so tattered and worn that they could no longer give sufficient protection from the cold nights, her mother gave them pieces of her husband’s clothing.

  In the summer it wasn’t so bad, but for now, even though the last of the snow was gone, the spring temperatures continued to drop sharply to barely above freezing some nights. At this point in the season, her mother had given away most of Papa’s warm clothing. Besides his parka, her father now only had one sweater left to his name. Both Louis
e and her mother knew they would be busy knitting all summer, preparing to give away everything they made to those in need when the colder weather began again.

  Whether it was herself, her mama, or her papa who gave the men food or clothing, they always stopped and prayed with them. Most of the time the men listened politely out of obligation for receiving something, but every once in awhile, Louise thought their prayers touched someone’s heart. For that reason, she knew that for as long as their family had food to eat, they would share with those who were less fortunate.

  She wished she could give away Bibles, but there simply was not enough money to do so. Even if there were, these homeless men could not carry any belongings with them, not even items needed every day. They only had the clothes on their backs. Nothing more.

  And week after week, month after month, more and more destitute men passed through the small community of Pineridge on their way to their last hope, a job in some big city, wherever these tracks could take them.

  Louise stayed in her room until the train was gone, then returned downstairs to find something to do until her father returned, and they could begin eating their dinner.

  ❧

  Elliott Endicott wiped his mouth and curled into a ball as he lay on the cold wooden floor of the boxcar. He had given up trying to make himself comfortable. It had been so long since he’d last eaten that he’d been sick, except there was nothing left in his stomach to expel. There hadn’t been for days. Because he had been on the move for so long and the trains stopped often, he also couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper sleep.

  The whistle sounded and the movement of the train changed, indicating they were approaching and stopping at another station. This time, he would wait until the train was almost at a stop before he moved, because he didn’t think he could get up twice. He had never been so weak or felt so ill in his life. He also wanted to move as little as possible because of the filth in the empty boxcar.

  His eyes burned from lack of sleep as he watched the movement through the crack in the boxcar door. The train slowed, and he could see he had no choice but to get up and ready himself to jump. As he stood to the side, preparing himself for the right moment, his knees wobbled like rubber, making it necessary to grasp the door frame of the boxcar for support.

  The train continued to slow, and Elliott glanced up ahead to see where they were. He could see the train station and across the road what appeared to be a school.

  As he neared the set of buildings, Elliott squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out what had become of him, of his life, and of his dreams.

  The second the train stopped, he jumped. He stumbled as he landed, skinning his knuckles, and ran into the trees. If he didn’t find berries, he hoped at least to find water to quench a thirst so harsh his throat hurt when he breathed.

  Instead of staying close to the station, Elliott wandered down the track and into the bushes, staying out of sight, hoping that if he ventured farther from the main area, he would indeed find berries untouched.

  He had sold his watch long ago and therefore didn’t know the time. From the position of the sun, he guessed it to be shortly after six in the evening.

  Dinnertime. His stomach grumbled painfully at the thought.

  Not for the first time, he wondered what would happen once he arrived at his friend Edward’s home in British Columbia at the end of his journey, provided he lived to make it. Good or bad, no matter what awaited him would surely be better than this.

  Hopefully, he could find something to eat before this train left again. He’d learned the hard way that generally the freight trains traveled in the same direction approximately ten hours apart. The next one to go by would be in the middle of the night. Since this was such a small community, the train wouldn’t stop. Elliott calculated that the next train to stop wouldn’t be along before noon tomorrow. That being the case, the night promised to be a very cold one with no shelter if he missed getting back on this train. For this moment, he didn’t care. He had to find something to eat.

  As he wandered farther along the tracks, he recognized the wild strawberry bushes. The bare bushes told him he had not been the first person to discover this patch. However, because of the size of the patch, his heart quickened in the hope that there could be more nearby that had not been consumed by other men riding the freight trains. Elliott made his way farther into the trees, not caring if he came face-to-face with a bear. The bear would have to fight him because whatever he found, he planned to eat.

  He hadn’t gone too far into the trees before he met with success. Behind an outcropping of rock, he discovered a mother lode of strawberries. Many were green, but others were tender and juicy and begging to be eaten. In the distance, he heard the train beginning to pull away from the station, but he didn’t care how cold he would be tonight. He had food.

  Elliott sank to his knees in a short prayer of thanks to God for the bounty before him, then grabbed for the berries. At the first bite, he closed his eyes to savor the flavor. They were only wild berries, but he’d never tasted anything so wonderful in his life. They were sweet and tangy and delicious.

  He shoveled the strawberries into his mouth as fast as he picked them. One after another, he ate as many as he could, as quickly as he could, not caring that the dark red juice dribbled into his beard. He had over a thousand miles and many days to go before he reached his destination, and he knew he would be much worse for wear by then. Berry stains in his beard would be the least of his worries.

  As he reached for more, Elliott’s hand froze. From the same direction he’d come, he heard someone else approaching.

  For a second, he didn’t want to share his prize, but then he chided himself for being greedy. God had provided, and if God desired, God would take away.

  “Papa? Is that you?”

  It was a female voice.

  The foliage parted. “Papa?” A young woman of about nineteen appeared. She wore a dark green dress that would nearly have blended her into the background if it weren’t for her blond hair, as bright as the sun in the dark surroundings. In her hand she carried a dull metal pail.

  The second the young woman saw him, her green eyes widened and she backed up a step. She gasped and covered her mouth with one hand, still holding the pail in front of her with the other.

  Elliott sprang to his feet. “Excuse me, Miss. Please, don’t be frightened. I’m only here to eat these berries and nothing more.”

  “You were on the last freight train! And it’s gone!”

  He cringed. He knew it was obvious how he’d arrived, but he was still ashamed. He hadn’t seen himself in a mirror recently, but he could guess at his appearance. Neither did he want to think what he smelled like.

  Today, for the first time, he had taken the risk of sleeping in a boxcar because the train was in motion. Until only a few hours ago, he had heeded the other men’s warnings about the dangers of going into the boxcars. For days he had traveled by scrambling over countless greasy hitches between the cars. He’d ridden many miles from atop the boxcars, which were always heavily laden with dirt and dust, not to mention the gifts from countless birds.

  He didn’t want to think about the other unmentionables he’d had to deal with inside the boxcar. Without a doubt, in all his twenty-five years on God’s earth, he had never been so disgustingly filthy, not even as a child. At least when he was a child, it had been good, clean dirt. However, he’d been so desperate for sleep and protection from the weather that he had taken his chances and actually gone inside when he’d discovered a boxcar with an unlocked door.

  He’d never had a beard in his life, and he hated the feel of it. The rough whiskers had grown long enough to be in the bristly stage. Even if it had been long enough to be a cultured beard, he still would have hated it. And, as long as it’d been since he’d bathed or shaved, it was equally as long since he’d combed his hair. No doubt it was matted with things he’d rather not think about.

  In addition to eve
rything else, his right shirtsleeve had ripped, and he had no new shirt to change into. His trousers and shoes were grimy, but so far, intact. His shirt pocket had also been ripped when another man had tried to rob him as he slept, leaving a gaping hole.

  Unfortunately for both of them, he had nothing the man could steal.

  Elliott backed up a step. The last time he’d combed his hair had also been the last time he’d brushed his teeth. “I think I’ll find another patch of berries elsewhere.”

  The woman cleared her throat and also backed up a step. “Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat? My family and I will be eating dinner soon, and you’re welcome to join us. I was about to pick some strawberries for dessert.”

  He opened his mouth to turn down her generous offer but couldn’t force out the words “no, thank you.” While the berries were tasty, they were no substitution for a real meal.

  If God had found a way to give him a decent meal, Elliott would not turn Him down.

  “Thank you for your generosity and kindness. I would appreciate that more than words can say.”

  Her shaky smile warmed his heart, and something went to war in his battered stomach. “You’re quite welcome.”

  “My name is Elliott Endicott, and I’m on my way to where hopefully a job awaits me.”

  She smiled again, this time with more confidence. “My name is Louise Demchuck. My father is the section foreman here in Pineridge.”

  Elliott bowed his head. “I’m pleased to met you, Miss Demchuck.”

  “Please, call me Louise. We are not formal here in Pineridge. But before we go back to the house, I do need to fill my pail. I think there are plenty of berries here for both of us—for me to pick, and for you to eat.”

  Elliott had been prepared to help the lady pick, but he discreetly glanced at his hands and decided against it. He could only guess that Louise would not want him handling food she would eat. If he hadn’t been so hungry, he wouldn’t have eaten food touched with his hands.

  The young lady didn’t speak as she picked, but instead, she began to hum. Elliott nearly dropped the berries from his hand when he recognized it as “Rock of Ages,” his favorite hymn. If he wasn’t eating, he would have joined her with a harmony. Then his better judgment reminded him that he was only one of countless, desperate men passing through her town. As such, he was not in a position to develop a friendship with this woman. He probably should not have even spoken to her.