Montgomery, Indiana Train Depot
“And I said no!” The wrinkled old man behind the ticket counter turned up his nose. “No more trains bound for New York until the morning. 8:00 a.m., on the button.”
“But sir...” Peter’s voice hovered somewhere between pleading and murderous. “We heard the train whistle. We know a train is coming.”
Joseph pointed to the train schedule hanging behind the counter. “And it says right there that this train, the one we heard whistle, is going to New York City.”
The man stared back at them, unsmiling, through wire-rimmed glasses. To Rebekah, he looked rather owlish. He adjusted them before he spoke. “The next available train, sir, is at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow morning.”
Peter pulled off his black wool hat and ran his hand through his hair. It stuck out every which way, blond and chunky. He looked wildly around the depot.
“Her!” He thrust his finger at the glass window that separated them from the café. There, sat a brunette woman in a brown tweed jacket and matching cap. “That’s Nellie Bly, is it not? We need to see her!”
The old ticket taker’s face softened. “Her newspaper bought the place out, son. To keep Miss Bly safe, probably to keep her safe from the likes of crazed fans like you.”
Rebekah’s mouth fell open. Before Peter could formulate a response, the man continued. “Let me guess, the madhouse bit is what appealed to you?”
Peter narrowed his eyes and shook his head, like he was trying to see through a rainstorm. “Madhouse? What are you talking about, mister?” His pale face grew pale, but a deep scarlet chased the paleness away and brought with it a fierce scowl. “You mean to tell me Katie’s running about with a woman from an insane asylum?”
The man’s gray brows furrowed until it was impossible to tell if there were two of just one. “Don’t you plain people read?”
He reached beneath the counter and produced a newspaper. Rebekah accepted it and began to read aloud.
“New York reporter Nellie Bly, made famous by going under...cover. Undercover. By going undercover as a patient in the...” She glanced at the old man.
“Notorious. It means very bad.”
Rebekah nodded as the train screeched to a halt outside the depot. “In the notorious Blackwell Island Insane Asylum, is set to make headlines again. She will attempt to cir—”
Before the ticket taker could help her, she remembered the word. “Circumnavigate,” she said proudly. “Circumnavigate the globe in less than the fictional eighty days.”
She looked expectantly at the old man.
“Best I can do is book you a seat tomorrow morning.” His voice took an apologetic tone. “Rules is rules.”
Peter’s voice was a boom. “There she is! Katie!”
Joseph banged the window, but Katie didn’t turn around. Instead, she stood with her back to them at the door of the train.
“Mister, unlock this door now!” Peter yanked the handle so hard Rebekah feared it would come off in his hand. “That’s my Katie girl!”
The old man fumbled with a set of keys on an iron ring. “Bah, um, let me just...”
The whistle sounded again.
“Hurry up, mister!”
“Um,” he continued as he hurried around the desk, his old feet shuffling along at a pace he probably hadn’t kept in years. “Ack!”
The keys flew from his hand as his ancient shoe caught a snag on the floor and sent him sprawling to the ground.
Peter swore an oath.
Rebekah rushed to the old man’s side and helped him up. His spectacles, however, were crunched underfoot in the process.
“Hurry up, old man!” Peter’s voice bespoke urgency. But something else was there. A hint of heartbreak tinged his words.
Joseph fiddled with the locked door, yanking and banging to no avail. “Train’s too loud, she can’t hear us!”
“Katie!” Peter banged the wall and stared at his beloved’s back through the window. “Katie, turn around!”
Rebekah pressed the keys into the old man’s hand. He was no longer cranky and haughty, but was trying as hard as the three of them to catch Katie. “Please hurry,” she whispered.
“Old eyes don’t see as well as they used to,” he whispered back. His tone had gone from helpful to apologetic. “Give me just a moment to try and find the right one.”
“She’s hesitating!” Peter cried. “Katie, oh Katie, don’t do it! Turn around, Katie girl!”
“Here it is!” The old man held up the keys. “Take them girl, catch your friend.”
Rebekah grabbed the keys from his gnarled fingers. “Peter, here!”
She dashed toward her brother, keys outstretched.
Without taking his eyes off Katie’s back, Peter reached for the keys that would erase the barrier between them and Katie. Between the Amish and the English. Between those who were content: Rebekah, Joseph, and Peter...and Katie, the one who was discontented.
Peter’s fingers wrested the ring of keys from Rebekah, but did so too soon. Instead of flipping the keys into his hand, Peter sent them flying into a corner of the train depot. His face, moments before creased with determination, melted into one of defeat.
The train whistle shrieked, and before their very eyes, Katie shook her head and pulled herself into Nellie Bly’s train car.
The old man hung his head. “I’m sorry, kids.”
Joseph took off his black hat and ran his hands through his dark hair. His brows furrowed, Peter looked as though he would cry if he didn’t have an audience.
Crestfallen, Rebekah picked up the newspaper, scattered in all the excitement, that the ticket taker had shown them. Nellie Bly’s beaming face grinned back at her as she folded the thin pages carefully. The train wheels squealed as they lurched to life and started down the tracks, bound for New York.
The heavy silence was broken at once as Joseph and Peter began to argue, quietly at first then louder, as Rebekah tucked the newspaper into her rumpled quilting bag.
“Take the rig, Peter, are you listening to yourself?”
Peter’s eyes were wild with desperation. “We can beat the train, or at least keep up with it for a while...”
“In a one-horse wagon filled with three people?” Joseph shook his head and watched as train car after train car passed the window. “We still have to run to the livery and get the wagon from where we left it. Then follow the tracks, all while running the horse at full speed just to keep up?”
Peter hung his head, much like Thomas would do if he was caught whipping up mischief with an empty bowl and broken spoon.
“Think Peter. You’d run the horse to death, and then what?” Joseph’s voice grew more volatile, something Rebekah had never heard before. “Trains don’t have to stop for rest, water, or food. We do. How much are you willing to risk?”
“What do you reckon we do then?” Peter’s voice went from fiery to forlorn in a matter of syllables. “Just sit here on our thumbs while she rides the rails with God only knows who...”
Peter stopped talking and exhaled a long breath. “Wow. I cannot believe I said that. It’s like I’m letting go of everything I’ve learned. All the time spent living with the Wagler’s this past year, all they have tried to teach me. I’m throwing it away over this predicament.” He sank down on the nearest wooden bench and let his head fall in his hands. “Help me, Joseph. What do I do?”
The old man, who had moments before been fiddling with his broken spectacles from behind the counter, watched the three of them intently.
Joseph ran his hands through his hair again and slowly strode over and sat next to Peter. “We wait and go in the morning. She’s traveling with a woman that all the papers are following. If we follow their trail, we will find her.” He clapped Peter on the back. “Keep the faith, just as the Wagler’s have taught you. And as you’re learning to do.”
“And you’re doing it well, Brother,” Rebekah chimed in.
Joseph offered Rebekah a nod. “She’s right, Peter. We’re this close, we’ll find her.”
Peter sniffled and swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.
Rebekah didn’t realize until that moment that her brother was crying.
When he raised his face, they still glistened with unspent moisture. “My fear is, what if she truly does not want to be caught?”
Rebekah thought for a moment. “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid...”
“John 14:27,” Peter finished. His nose twitched and his lower lip began to tremble.
“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid.” Joseph paused until Peter shifted his attention to him. “Do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”
“Joshua 1:9,” Peter whispered.
Rebekah cleared her throat. “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.” She held up her rumpled quilting bag. “Each day has enough trouble of its own.”
She cocked an eyebrow and dared a giggle, which Joseph joined. After a moment, Peter snorted. Before anyone could say anything else, the lot of them were overtaken by a raucous fit of laughter that loosened Peter’s tears, but not before turning them from sullen to happy. Jovial laughter chimed off the walls and filled the stark little depot with a warmth that hadn’t been there before.
As the hilarity fizzled out, a voice they hadn’t expected to hear spoke softly. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside the still waters,” the owlish man began. When all three were staring at him, he continued. “He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the path of righteousness for His name’s sake.”
Rebekah smiled. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for Thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”
Joseph looked at his intended. “You prepareth a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. You anoint mine head with oil. My cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life…”
Everyone in the little depot finished together. “And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
“Psalm 23.” Peter smiled an easy smile. “Thank you for that reminder. Faith is a blessing, and there is no room for fear in faith.”
“And in love,” Rebekah added. She tried to ignore the blush that flamed in her cheeks as she looked anywhere but at Joseph.
Peter sighed. “Katie needs to know we love her—that I love her—and then let her make her decision about what to do next.”
His words hung heavy in the air. He didn’t have to say how much hung on Katie’s decision. But Rebekah knew that her brother had set his sights on marrying Katie Knepp once he was baptized and fully welcomed into the Amish faith.
Joseph nodded, then stopped. “Katie’s decision. It won’t impact your decision to become Amish, and become the Wagler’s son, will it?”
Peter twiddled his thumbs, then looked at Joseph. He didn’t speak and Rebekah couldn’t quite read the shadowed look in his eyes. Ever silent, Peter stood and shuffled out the front doors of the depot.
The owlish ticket man cleared his throat. “I’m mighty sorry I couldn’t be more help, folks.” Rebekah noticed he’d made no headway in mending his glasses. “But it’s high time I head home for the evening.”
He hesitated, like a new father unsure of how to help with a crying baby. “Miss Molly Price has a boarding house across Main Street, but her prices are steep. My place is too small for the lot of us, with it just being my wife and me.”
Rebekah and Joseph looked up in tandem from where they sat. Her eyes widened as realization set in. “Oh, we hadn’t given any thought as to where we would stay for the night.”
The old man nodded. “Tuck in for the night here, folks. Your train for New York will be here at 8:00 a.m.”
“It’s going to be a long night,” Rebekah said aloud. Her fingers knotted above her quilting bag, as though they too dreaded the dress they were tasked to make. “May as well make the most of my time.”
“Good idea,” Joseph whispered. “Think I’ll step out front. See if Peter needs some company.”
Rebekah pulled the swath of blue fabric out of her rumpled bag. Her brows knitted together as she studied where she’d stopped and where she was supposed to start again.
“Rebekah?”
Heat burned in her neck at the tone of Joseph’s voice. Sweet as honey, soft as velvet. A tone he’d never used with her before.
“Yes?” Something quivered in her stomach.
Joseph’s stared intently at her from beneath his broad-brimmed hat. “No matter what happens, I’ll be honored to call you my wife.”
Emotion threatened to strangle her. “You mean what happens with Katie and Peter?” A bead of sweat slid precariously down her backbone.
Joseph’s handsome face, boasting just a hint of a shadowy stubble, broke into a grin. “No, with your dress.”
His joke shattered the intimate moment, but not in an unwelcome way. Rebekah let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Of course, if it stays together through the ceremony, we’ll all be blessed.”
She smiled to herself, but didn’t meet Joseph’s gaze.
Will this be what it’s like when we’re married? Joking together and talking, in ways we don’t talk with anybody else?
Joseph strode out the door.
Rebekah sighed. “Time to get to work.” She poked the slippery little needle through the cornflower blue fabric. It was the only needle she’d thought to bring on such short notice and the thought of losing it on this journey brought a slight tremble to her fingers. This should be a shoulder to my wedding dress...
Rebekah was focusing so intently on her work, she didn’t hear the ticket taker creep up behind her until he spoke.
“You know, my wife can do better.” He squinted from over Rebekah’s shoulder at her poor workmanship.
“I do not disagree with you.” She sighed. “I think a three-year-old could probably do better than me.”
“Would you like for my wife to put that dress together for you tonight?” The old man’s tone was thoughtful. “I can have it back here for you before your train to New York City in the morning.”
Rebekah shifted and smiled at the old man. Such a sweet offer reminded her of something her pa would say. A fleeting thought of her father, lying sick and alone in an English bed, flashed through her mind. She bit her lip as a wave of nostalgia threatened to drown her.
“I thank you, sir, but this is going to be my wedding dress.”
“Oh is it now?” He raised his furry eyebrows. “A blue wedding dress isn’t something we see all too often.”
Rebekah nodded. “It is. And tradition says that it is my job to make it.”
The old man dug in his inside pocket. “I see.” He produced a scrap of cloth and held it out to her. “I was taking this home for my wife to sew into some booties for our newest grands.”
Rebekah accepted the red-and-black plaid material. It was soft and heavier than she expected. “I’m grateful, thank you.”
“You’re not getting a suitable wedding dress out of it as there’s not enough but for a pair of booties or two, but it will be a nice bit for an accent here or there.”
Rebekah rubbed it between her fingers. The man’s kindness and the thought of her ill father brought a familiar burn to her eyes.
“And remember us, my wife and me.”
Rebekah’s power of speech was lost somewhere in between her dry mouth and tight throat, so she couldn’t even say goodbye as the strangely nice man shuffled across the floor and out the door, into the Indiana night.
My collar and cuffs, she thought. And of course, I will always remember your kindness.