Sophie Mae sprinted the lengthy, pebbled drive of the Gardenia Estate, making it halfway to the main street before her body surrendered. From the soft grass next to the road, she traced the raised gold design of the box. Does it work on command? Maybe it’s automatic?
A delivery truck sputtered from the house and produced a cloud of dust that curled along the driveway. Sophie Mae froze as the vehicle rolled to a stop.
“Hello there, miss.” A round older man in a black cowboy hat called. He had thick hands and cheeks that ballooned when he smiled. “What brings you to the Gardenia Estate?”
Sophie Mae cowered behind the tree and prayed he would leave.
“Are you hurt? Can I help?”
With a few deep breaths, she peeked around the tree. “I… need to leave right away. Could you tell me where the train station is located?”
“I can do you one better. How about a lift? I’m heading there now with a food delivery.”
She rushed back behind the safety of the tree. Focus on the future. Focus on where you need to be. Sophie Mae lumbered past the half-opened window. “Are you sure it would be okay?”
“Certainly. Hop in the back, and we’ll be on our way.”
Sophie Mae clutched the splintered wooden sides of the flatbed and hopped into the back, cradling the box. The aroma of fresh bread swirled, making her midsection cramp.
“Help yourself to a fresh loaf of bread,” he yelled through the busted back window. “There, the burlap bag to your left.”
Sophie Mae wasted no time sinking her teeth into the crisp shell of the bread. Her taste buds tingled. Her mind calmed. Eating half, she carefully opened the box, ready for any surprises. When nothing happened, she placed the leftover bread inside, rationing it until another food source surfaced.
The truck rolled along the empty two-lane highway that had land on either side stretching for miles. It reminded her of Drycrop before the sandstorms crushed any hope of fertile crops.
The banging of hammers and the swishing of hand-held saws increased along with the passing of other cars. Sophie Mae peeked between the slats of the truck.
Dozens of shanty houses covered a field, made with discarded lumber and scraps of metal either nailed or tied together with rope. Tattered blankets and clothes drying in the summer sun draped from lines of string tied from house to house. Dogs with skeletal frames roamed the landscape searching for food and reminded Sophie Mae of the animals that once lived on the Drycrop farm.
The truck rolled past the outer wall of the encampment built of trash, rotten wood, and old tires. Kids, unfazed by the living conditions, climbed the wall like scouting ants.
The truck pulled to the curb, and he jumped from the cab. “The roads are getting worse without the usual repairs. I hope the ride wasn’t too jarring.”
Sophie Mae stepped from the bed to the muddy ground and shook her head, speechless.
“Is this the first time you’ve seen a Hooverville?”
“A what?”
“This makeshift town is called a Hooverville. Most residents are from the drought lands, others are just poor, but they make do with what they have. Look over there, behind that rusted truck. See the garden? Some can grow their own food, but others are too sick, and they depend on my delivery.”
Sophie Mae scanned the town. These are the farmers who fled? This is where they went?
“Stay here in the cab. These are good people and won’t hurt you. I’ll be right back.” He tossed a few canvas bags over his shoulder and started for the hovel on the corner where flies swarmed the moist nose of a miserable mutt who lounged in the sun.
Sophie Mae watched him walk from the truck. He tipped his hat to those he passed and stopped at the house on the end. An older woman met him at the door. They appeared to be friends as they laughed and carried on.
Returning to the truck with an empty bag, he turned to Sophie Mae. “Are you going to make it from here? Are you meeting your family?”
“Yes,” she fibbed. “My parents and brothers will pick me up in Oklahoma.” The generous man didn’t deserve her lie, but she’d learned to never appear alone, like the orphan she was.
Furrowing his brow, he dug in his front pocket for loose change. “Here, take this in case the train doesn’t come in time. Nothing is very dependable these days.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Kimall, Albert Kimall’s the name. Safe journeys, little miss.”
Sophie Mae stared beyond the shantytown to the enormous train station towering in the distance. A tall clock tower rose from the left side while several windows dotted the brick exterior. Armed guards wearing the uniforms of the Great War patrolled the three flights of steps to the entrance and nodded as she passed.
Sophie Mae stumbled through the station’s revolving door, where natural light bathed the wooden benches and mission-style guard rails. Three golden domes stretched far across the entire station.
Alongside the glamor were old crinkled newspapers and ticket stubs strewn about the floor. Potatoes rotted in an overfilled trashcan, and the stench threatened the entire space. Rats scurried along in plain daylight and brazenly dug through luggage for food.
Sophie Mae shuffled to the ticket counter, winded from her climb up the steps. A gaunt man in a bowler hat and gold-buttoned vest grinned. “Good afternoon. How might I help you?”
“I need to get to Drycrop, Oklahoma, please.”
His boney finger trembled over the schedule and stopped near the middle. He squinted past the rim of his glasses. “The route for Oklahoma runs once per week, and you’re in luck. The train leaves tomorrow at eight in the morning. Would you like a ticket?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” The coins clanked against the marble counter. A single dime remained in her pocket and was enough for two warm meals.
“Have a pleasant trip.”
Sophie Mae put the ticket in the box. What am I going to do until tomorrow?
The benches near the middle of the room had the least amount of gunk. There, she placed the box on her lap and opened the lid, ensuring the bread hadn’t transported. The scent of the bread overrode her better judgment, and she took a small nibble before closing the box. Food needed rationing.
A young boy clutching a filthy cap hobbled over to her. “Can I have a bite of your bread for my mom? She sleeps all day, and maybe some food will help.”
The boy pointed to the corner of the station where a young woman and a baby slept. Covered in filth, they rested on crumpled newspapers. Sophie Mae returned her gaze to the boy’s tear-filled eyes and opened the box, handing him the entire piece. He shoved it into his hat, aware that food was nothing to flaunt.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a bracelet made of dingy string and soda pull tabs. She slid it on her wrist, and the boy grinned and scurried back to his mother.
Early the next morning, the sun blazed across the station floor and highlighted the dust particles stirred up by an older woman sweeping the floor. Sophie Mae’s eyelids fluttered at the hostile scene at the ticket booth.
A well-dressed man with thick hands pounded the counter, while the weary ticket clerk attempted to explain the revised schedule. The agitated traveler threw his arms into the air. “This is unacceptable! I have urgent business to tend to and must leave right away.”
“My apologies, sir, but the train won’t arrive until 7 p.m. tomorrow evening. Surely it isn’t a great discomfort, given the circumstances.”
The man impatiently tapped his finger on the counter while he glared at the clerk. “If it’s the only option, so be it.” He placed his money on the counter and snatched the ticket from the worker’s trembling hand.
“Have a safe journey.”
“Right.” He stomped away from the counter and headed to the darkest corner of the building. The tower bell rang in the new day, and he scornfully cleared his throat.
Sophie Mae shifted in her seat and took her ticket from the box. She read over the information.
Southbound Train to Oklahoma
Departure Time 8:30 a.m.
No Refunds or Reschedules
From across the terminal, Sophie Mae turned to the sound of pant cuffs scraping along the flooring. The child hesitantly approached the businessman who appeared visibly angry. Sophie Mae panicked as the boy’s cap was snatched by the man and thrown to the floor. The meek child scooped it up and slunk back to his mother’s arms.
Sophie Mae could identify with both the rich man determined to live his life uninterrupted and the young boy willing to sacrifice his own possessions to survive. She longed for the safety and isolation of the farm, though she understood it would be the death of her. Returning to the Gardenia House felt a little too opulent, and she wasn’t so sure it was abandoned.
Someone has to be maintaining the gardens and paying for the food Mr. Kimall brings. And a ghost hardly carries money. Maybe this box can take me back to the Gardenia House, and I can find someone to help me understand what’s going on.
Climbing down one flight of stairs, she sat on the bottom step, the document shading the box curled in her lap. Madrosa. What does it even mean? Why is it the last word? Could it be? No, that’s too simple, but maybe…
“Madrosa?” tumbled from her lips.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Sophie Mae peered into the lid. A deep squint protected her eyes from the burst of light. Holding the box tight, she vanished from the rail station.
Back in the box, her breathing slowed. She pushed past the rolled-up document and continued to the train ticket, now twice as tall as she was.
The porcelain walls transformed into the train station. Sophie Mae’s eyes darted to the benches and the domes above. Her stomach convulsed as the obnoxious odor of the overfilled garbage can returned. She staggered to the ticket booth that had formed on the far wall.
The humming of the electric lights and the chattering of people silenced. She stood confused at the ticket counter. During my first travel by box, it replicated Drycrop. This time it is the train station. It must know where I am.
Just past the ticket counter, a first set of stairs with rounded metal handrails rose from the station floor. As each step appeared higher than the last, she could smell the floral bouquet of the Gardenia House. Her mind calmed as she remembered the lush gardens.
A second set of stairs appeared, and the musky scent of dust from Drycrop brought her comfort but with a trace of fear.
The ticket clerk appeared hazy for several seconds before solidifying into a normal human shape. His presence startled her. Clasping his hands, he stood in front of the marble pillar between the two stairs. Sophie Mae timidly approached the clerk. “Hello, sir?”
“Ticket, please.”
Sophie Mae checked the pockets of her dress. “I don’t have a ticket… I mean, I had one, but I put it here, in the box, and now it’s gone.”
“It’s in your hand, miss.”
What started as a shapeless haze became a real paper ticket. Golden with a scroll-like border, it had her name but lacked a destination. The clerk held out a steady hand.
Sophie Mae paced the floor. Since the box had shown up, every choice felt like a puzzle. Her body weakened and she focused on breathing and calming the urge to run far away and hide. She walked back toward the clerk. “Might…I ask a question?”
“Certainly, miss.”
“My ticket has no destination. What do I do?”
“It’s simple. Decide where you want to go, and the ticket will oblige.”
Sophie Mae glanced at the stairs. “I need to choose what my ticket says, Drycrop or Gardenia House. Is that right?”
“Correct. Your choice will open one of the two gates.”
The ticket in her hand twitched. The words Gardenia Estate scratched letter by letter across the ticket as if an invisible hand confirmed her unspoken answer. She handed it to the clerk with uncertainty. He tore the ticket in half and motioned up the staircase. “Safe travels, miss.”
“Thank you.” She gripped the metal rail as her foot landed on the first step. She squinted hard, prepared for the flash of light.
Now out of the box, her body returned to normal size, and the tingle of box travel fizzled out. Sophie Mae stood on the same stone as her first trip to the Gardenia House. Picking up the box, she scanned the garden for people.
She jogged to the front door and crouched in the corner. I’m going inside. I need some answers and an explanation of how this box works. Focus on what’s ahead, not what’s behind.
The door opened just as last time, but a cold breeze gave her goosebumps and encouraged her to run. But Sophie Mae stood defiant and stepped across the threshold. “Thank you,” she said to the self-opening door more bravely than she felt.
Sophie Mae stood in the entryway of the grand house and set the travel box on the polished table next to a gold lamp. A light shone along the floor to her left and gave away the secret door designed to hide amongst the wood panels.
On the right was a brick archway where a fireplace, taller than she was, had a wide, oak mantle decorated with candles and greeting cards.
Straight ahead was another archway similar to the first. Beyond it, she saw the end of a table covered in a white cloth. A set of double doors along the back wall led outside.
The churning of her stomach echoed through the room’s tall ceiling. Choosing the hidden door on the left, her eyes grew wide as she entered the kitchen.
The plain cabinets and white, tiled counters were well suited for cooking for a house of such stature. Copper pans shined to perfection. Near to the work area was a food pantry. The crusty layers of dried flour and lard on the wood trim told her there was a cook in the house.
Inside the pantry, was a calendar pinned to the door. She checked the date, thrilled it aligned with her own back home.
The shelves burst with canned vegetables and dried herbs. Burlap bags of flour and cornmeal overtook the second shelf. In the back, a giant whiskey barrel of wheat stalks gave the closet a homey and natural feel.
She rustled through the pantry, sliding canisters, and searching for anything ready to eat. A jar of pickled okra sat on the top shelf, and she pushed a crate close to reach it.
The cap remained tight despite her grunting and huffing. Defeated, she slid down the wall and held her head in her hands. I’ve made a terrible mistake. Back home, I’d have eggs, and that wasn’t so bad. Here I’m surrounded by food I can’t do anything with. Why am I even here? Lousy box.
Sophie Mae jumped to her feet, ready to deliver a swift kick to the box. She scanned the floor, but the box was gone. Panicked, she raced for the entryway but stopped when a voice called out.
“Hello.”
Sophie Mae dropped behind the counter and peeked just above the surface. “Who’s there?”
“Sorry. I always forget that outsiders can’t see me.”
Tiny hands, followed by a pair of spindly arms, materialized near the counter. A young girl with reddish-brown hair and a freckled face appeared.
Sophie Mae stood and stepped backward. “How…who are you?”
“My name is Dink.”
“Dink?”
“It’s a nickname my baby brother gave me before he became a loudmouth. Everyone calls me Dink, but my real name is Lillian. Mom uses it when I’m in trouble. Actually, she says Lillian Marie Worthington. That’s when I know I’m in for it.”
“You live here?”
“Yeah, with a few others. But none of them know how to have fun. They’re always uptight about money and stuff. I’m glad you’re here. Now I’m not the only girl. I bet you’re hungry, right?”
“Yes, I haven’t eaten since yesterday, but just some bread.”
Dink raised her opened palm above shoulder height, and a red apple appeared. “This should hold you over.”
Taking the fruit, she examined its perfect red peeling. She cringed remembering the old fairy tales told to her by Grandma Hattie.
“Oh, it’s safe to eat. I’m not an old witch in disguise.”
“But how did you—”
“Oh that. I can make items appear in my left hand. That apple came from a tree in the backyard. Go ahead, take a bite, dearie,” Dink smirked.
Sophie Mae sunk her teeth into the skin. Her brows furrowed, and she pulled it from her mouth. “My teeth hurt. I’ve been eating soft foods like eggs and canned vegetables.”
“How about this, then?” Dink produced a bunch of green grapes.
She placed a grape in her mouth and its sour juice tingled her cheeks and puckered her lips. “It’s so good.”
“On to the bread. I’ll make you one of my favorite recipes, cinnamon bread with warm butter.”
Dink raised her hand, and a container of flour appeared, followed by a small box of sugar. Within minutes, butter, eggs, and cinnamon sprawled across the workspace. “This ability to pull stuff out of the air has saved me more trips up the stairs than you can imagine.”
Pulling the wooden stool next to the counter, Sophie Mae leaned in to smell the kneading dough and sprinkled cinnamon. Either from the food or the company, her anxiety melted away.
She inhaled half of the grapes before her instincts warned her to save the rest. Searching the counter for the box, her anxiety returned.
Dink wiped her sticky hands on her apron. “I almost forgot.” She raised her hand to shoulder level, and the box appeared, shiny and in one piece. “You left this on the table.”
“Thank you. I’d hate to lose it before I know how it works. Do you know what it does, besides bringing me to this house?”
“I’ve never seen it before. Georgie might know. It looks like his handiwork.” Dink rolled the dough into a long snake-like shape and patted the ends closed.
“How did you become invisible? I mean, how is it possible?”
Dink flung the bread pan to the wall, her body fading into nothing.
“Dink? Are you still here?”
Grandma Hattie’s words rang in her mind. Never ask such personal questions on a first meeting. It’s considered rude, my dear.