On the Train to NYC
“If I never ride on another train, it will be too soon.” Never had Rebekah heard Joseph grumble before, but he did this morning. She felt grumbly too, but said nothing. Mostly, the righteous ache in her neck and shoulder were a damper on her mood.
After their heart bleeding session the day before, everyone had been mostly quiet. Peter especially. Though emptied of the emotions that had weighed her down for so long, her heart was filled with a new emotion. An ache for her brother. She couldn’t fix it, she couldn’t make it better. She could do nothing except be there for him, and hopefully be a beacon of God’s love for him.
Finally, she let her eyes flutter open. She’d fallen asleep facing the window, her back to Joseph and her brother. There before her very eyes, God’s creation flew by through the lens of the train’s window. God, all of this is in Your hands. Please, be with my brother. Heal the ache in his heart and fill it with Your love. Give him the wisdom he needs to discern what to do with his life. Amen.
A quiet answer blanketed her tender heart.
Gelassenheit.
God’s will be done.
She smiled a tiny smile and sat up to stretch. There he was, the man who promised all of his tomorrows to her, sitting in the seat across from her. His black hair was askew, uncovered by the black wool hat that occupied the seat beside him.
“Good morning, Joseph.” Rebekah reached to straighten her covering, which felt all twisted and turned. And probably was. She scanned the immediate area. Several more people had joined their car. From where they’d come from, Rebekah wasn’t sure. Perhaps they’d stopped somewhere over night, or perhaps they’d simply grown tired of sitting in their seats elsewhere on the train and wanted a change of scenery. No matter, the one face she was looking for wasn’t anywhere to be found. Peter.
“Good morning, Rebekah.” Joseph ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up all the more.
She was powerless to stifle her giggle, but the catch in her neck made her jerk.
Joseph’s smile faded and he stuck his hat on to cover up his wild mane. “What’s the matter, Rebekah?”
“The night Pa took sick, I ran into the doorjamb. It really hurt my shoulder.” She tried to rotate it, but stopped. “Then I slept funny in the wagon on the way to Montgomery. Seems I caught a crick something awful.”
“Here, maybe I can help.” Joseph stood up and made a motion with his hand. “Turn around.”
“Um...”
Joseph dismissed her fears before she even let them pass her lips. “No worries, Rebekah. About what’s proper. Or what’s not.”
She caught his steely gaze and held it. A strange emotion stirred in her stomach. Vulnerability.
“You’re hurting. Let me help.”
Slowly, she did as she was told and turned her back to face Joseph. She closed her eyes and sucked in her lower lip as his hands brushed the tops of her shoulders. “Let’s work on that crick first, shall we?”
With practiced fingers, he began to knead her shoulders. Tight muscles, cinched up from days of unrestful sleep, began to relax. “Lean your head to the side.”
“Which side?” Her voice was a throaty whisper. “Um, this way?”
Rebekah leaned her head gingerly.
“If that’s what feels best.” He cradled her head in his hands and gently pressed her head sideways. “We will work this crick out together. But we have to talk to each other. If something hurts, tell me. If something feels good, tell me that too. Okay?”
Rebekah squinched her eyes shut. “Okay.”
“Now, the other direction.”
Cautiously, Rebekah let Joseph guide her head the other direction. “How does that feel?”
“Better, maybe?”
Joseph grunted and rolled her head forward. At once, with her head drooped down, he attacked the knots in her shoulders with nimble, practiced fingers. “Did you know that Ma gets headaches? Often.”
“Uh-huh,” Rebekah muttered.
“She asks me to rub her neck like this here. Says it helps relieve them. Knots in the neck and shoulders cause all kinds of problems.”
Joseph hit a sore spot with his thumb and Rebekah let out a groan. “That’s it, that’s the spot.”
“Okay.” Joseph kneaded and massaged, Rebekah a helpless rag doll at his mercy. Then, something popped. “I think we have it.”
With one hand, he pushed her upper back and with the other guided her into a straight upright position. “Now, I’m going to help you raise this arm. Ready?”
“Ready.”
Ever gentle, he grasped the underside of her arm and lifted. She felt the tension building the higher he lifted until finally, with her arm sticking up at an odd angle, all of the tension released in a resounding, gunshot-like pop. Every muscle in her upper body seemed to go flaccid and her eyes closed on their own. “Thank you, oh my. I didn’t realize how much it hurt until it stopped.”
“My pleasure, Rebekah.” Joseph didn’t move from behind her. “How is that shoulder, the one you hurt on the doorjamb?”
“I don’t really know.” Rebekah’s eyes remained closed. “I have not had the chance to look at it.” She bit back her words. “Actually, I’ve had the chance. I just haven’t made the time.”
“May I see it?”
Rebekah’s body stiffened.
“I didn’t mean...” Now it was Joseph’s turn to choke on his words. “Not that I would suggest that...”
Rebekah turned to face him, finally being able to move was a freeing feeling. Like she’d been trapped in a body that wasn’t her own, but now she suddenly got it back. She took his hand in hers. “Here.”
Slowly and carefully, she pressed it to her shoulder. “Ouch, right there.” She winced. “I think it’s swollen.”
“I’d say so.” Joseph pushed and felt and prodded. “I don’t think it’s broken though.”
“Just how many broken bones have you felt, Mister Graber?”
“Just one.”
“Really?” Rebekah furrowed her brow. “Who?”
“My own.”
Rebekah turned in her seat. “Joseph. What’s all this?”
Joseph sniggered. “Turn back around.”
“I believe you’re blushing!”
“Maybe I am.”
“Why?”
The woman with the cart strolled down the aisle again. There was no telling how many times she’d been up and down this particular aisle, but Rebekah’s stomach grumbled audibly when she heard her voice. Joseph’s grumbled in answer. “Last service call before we reach New York City.”
“Can I buy you breakfast, Future Mrs. Graber?”
Warmth burned in Rebekah’s chest. Future Mrs. Graber. “Certainly.” Her words were little more than a whisper. “Thank you.”
The woman’s cart squeaked to a halt. “Mister Graber? Miss Stoll?”
Joseph and Rebekah shared a wide-eyed look. “That’s us.”
“Compliments of Peter O’Leary.”
Rebekah’s face fell. Since coming to find her in Gasthof Village, Indiana, Peter went by the name of his adopted Amish family’s name of Wagler. She sank back into her seat, her appetite vanishing as quickly as it was realized.
“Danke.” Joseph accepted the breakfast goods and drinks. “Where might this Peter be now?”
“Mr. O’Leary is riding on the platform on the caboose.” She offered a bright smile. “Enjoying some fresh air, I’m sure.”
She gave them a nod before unlocking the cart’s wheels and continuing down the aisle.
“That was kind of Peter...” Rebekah let the sentence hang there, unfinished and unanswered. “Shall we wait for him?”
Joseph sank down beside her. “I don’t think he sent anything for himself. Besides, since he ordered breakfast for us, surely he got something for himself already.”
“That makes sense.”
Joseph extended his hand. “Let’s bless this meal, then enjoy.” His blue eyes twinkled. “Would you like to lead, Rebekah?”
Her eyebrows shot skyward. “Um...” Typically, the head man of the Amish household led the family’s prayers. “Well...”
Joseph chuckled. “I’ll do it.”
Rebekah took his proffered hand.
“Father, we come before you today, Rebekah and I, to give you thanks for our many, many blessings. We thank you for the ability to come on this journey, for the pleasure of each other’s company. Thank you for Rebekah, my wife-to-be.”
Rebekah’s fingers tightened around Joseph’s.
“Thank you for Peter, and his loyal love for Katie. And, we ask that You keep Katie in Your hands. Keep her safe, and please, if it be Your will, help us find her and bring her home to Indiana.”
Joseph sucked in a breath. “We also humbly ask for Your loving care of Samuel and all the Stoll family. Help us accept Your will and help us know how best to care for Samuel in this, this time of need. Father God, remember us, your humble and obedient servants. In Jesus Christ’s Most Holy Name.”
Joseph opened his eyes and looked at Rebekah. She returned his loving gaze with a semblance of a smile. “Amen,” he said.
“Amen,” Rebekah whispered.
“Amen,” came a voice from behind them. Peter, blond hair askew, stood in the aisle. His clear green eyes were puffy and red, and his tan face, tear-streaked and sullen. “Thank you for the prayer.”
Rebekah pushed herself to her feet and flung her arms around his neck. There were no words. So when Peter ducked his head and cried into her shoulder, she did what every good sister would do. She held her brother as he cried, all the way to the Central Station.
***
“We’re here.” Rebekah stood at the open train door and glanced back at Peter and Joseph. They’d all taken the opportunity to freshen up in the train’s rest car, complete with water and chamber pot. Rebekah had never seen its equal, and was certainly, for modesty’s sake, glad to have gone last. Regardless, it was a welcome feeling to wash her face with fresh water and scrub her teeth with the mint leaves she kept in her quilting bag. “Ready to go find Katie?”
“Ready,” Peter said.
“Ready,” Joseph agreed.
Rebekah straightened her gauzy white covering and stepped onto the train platform. What she saw brought her to an immediate stop. Peter and Joseph clattered into her. The three of them gasped in unison at the sight before them.
Roads spread out in all directions. People filled them. Women in fancy dresses and tall, feathered hats. Horse-drawn carriages, much fancier than the ones in Gasthof Village. Even fancier than Mr. Williams’s, who ordered wheels from Pa. Men in top hats and long coats. Tall, glowing lamps lined the streets, but didn’t have candles in them. Rubbish blew this way and that, flittering in the streets like oversized, lifeless butterflies. Buildings, ten or more stories tall, rose up all around them.
Icy stones fell into the pit of Rebekah’s stomach. “How are we going to find Katie in all this?” She felt small. Small, useless, and hopeless.
“So much happening all at once.” Joseph sucked in a breath and held it. Then, let it out with a slow whistle. “How can anyone live like this?”
“Well, this looks like Katie, all right.” Peter stepped past them and clomped down the stairs. “Guess we best get started.” He glanced over his shoulder at Rebekah. “Didn’t come all this way for nothin’, did we?”
Rebekah forced a smile. “We came to find Katie, and that’s what we’ll do.” She knotted her hands at her middle and stepped down the stairs behind her brother.
“Extra, extra!”
“Well what have we here?” Joseph smiled down at the young boy in the flat cap. He held a stack of New York World newspapers, emblazoned with large words. Extra! He wore a little brown apron that jingled when he moved. “Selling newspapers, son?”
The little gap-toothed boy spoke with a pronounced lisp. “Yeth thir. Thelling theth newthpaperth for ten thenth each.”
A top-hatted man bumped into Peter with a grunt. “Sir, I’ll thank you to move out of my way.”
Peter faked a bow and stepped out of the way. “Excuse me to you too, sir.”
“Well now.” Rebekah squatted down the little boy’s level. “What have we here?”
“Thelling paperth, Mith. Nellie Bly, the’th hot newth.” He held out a copy to Rebekah. “Only ten thenth each. Thath a dime, you know.”
“You remind me of my little brother, Thomas.” Rebekah chuckled and accepted the paper. “Peter can you pay this young man please?”
“Certainly.” Peter gave the young man a dime, and he dropped it into his pouch. It tinkled musically.
“Thankth you very much, mithter.” He turned away, a holding a fresh paper aloft. “Extra, extra! Read all about it! Nellie Bly theths thail for England!”
The paper was warm in Rebekah’s hands. “Um...Peter, Joseph.”
Peter looked after the little boy in the gray cap. “He reminds me of me, when I was a boy.”
“Peter, you need to see this.” Rebekah held it out to her brother. “Look at the picture on the cover.”
The three of them stared at the front page of the New York World newspaper. Katie, in a fancy English dress and feathered hat, just like the ones Rebekah saw walking by, stared back at them. Rebekah read the title. “‘Nellie Bly, Out of The Madhouse.’”
Joseph continued reading the smaller print underneath. “‘Takes the World by Storm—In Under 80 Days. Set to Depart for London Tomorrow Morning!’”
“Tomorrow morning,” Peter said. “Then we have tonight to find her. Joseph?”
“Yes?”
“Does it say where they’re departing from?”
Joseph skimmed the paper. As he read and mumbled the words, Rebekah looked around. A woman draped in rags with her arm around a small child scuttled up to a barrel on the corner of one of the dirt streets. Without so much as a look toward her or any of the other well-dressed people on the street, the woman dug her hand into the barrel and began scoop mushy, half-eaten food into her mouth. The child began to whine and tug on the woman’s rags, but a handful of mushy food from the woman quieted him.
Rebekah gasped. “Did you see that? The woman and the child?” She pointed into the throng of people. “Nobody even stopped to help them!”
Joseph shook his head. “No. No mention of the ship they’re taking in this paper anywhere. As a matter of fact, it says—”
“It’s starting to rain,” Peter muttered. “Come on, let’s get out of the middle of everything and under some kind of cover.” He looked around, shielding his eyes. “Goodness me, not even one tree in sight to take cover under.”
Though nobody was listening to anybody else, Joseph continued. “They are specifically not telling anyone what ship they are leaving on, until tomorrow’s edition!” He slapped the newspaper, freshly cooled, closed. “Feels like they’re just trying to get another of our dimes!”
Peter, with one hand on her back and the other on Joseph’s, shoved them through the people, now rushing to get out of the soupy drizzle. “Come on, let’s get under some shelter!” In their haste, they dashed right passed the woman and child, who had nowhere to do. At least, nowhere more important than the rubbish bin that was providing them their fill of food.
Rebekah’s jaw dropped. What’s happening to my family? We are all here together, in close quarters, talking, but not to each other. And certainly not hearing each other. It’s like we are living three separate lives, right here together. What has the English world done to us already? “How can anyone live like this?”
***
Rebekah stood in the overhanging doorway as the rain drizzled on, not fully raining and certainly not dry, looking out at the city that had yet to impress her. The woman and child still ate from the trash barrel, not thirty feet in front of them. If they were back in Gasthof Village, at least three families would have invited them in to sup with them by now. “So why haven’t we?”
Joseph’s body was turned toward Rebekah in their crammed in space, with Peter on the other side of her. “Why haven’t we what, Rebekah?”
Her quilting bag clutched to her middle, she steeled her jaw. “Peter, how much money do we have left?”
“Enough, I suppose.” He shifted his body, then shook his head. “I can’t rightly get to my wallet right now, being all cramped in this place and all, or I’d count it out and give you an exact amount.”
“Look in front of us.”
Finally, Joseph and Peter looked, at the plight that Rebekah spotted that was playing out right before them.
“Surely we can afford a meal for that family.” Rebekah poked her head out into the street. “There must be a restaurant or diner of some sort around here.”
“Too bad we didn’t bring one of your famous cinnamon cakes,” Joseph whispered into her hair. “Then we wouldn’t have to find someone else to cook for us. I must say, the food on this journey so far has been quite disappointing.”
Peter nodded in agreement as he scanned the street and read the signs of the shops.
Joseph thought for a moment before leaning in close and dropping his voice to a whisper. “I do hope you’ll be making several for our wedding celebration.”
Rebekah’s eyes widened. His warm breath on her ear and neck brought a skip to her heart. “Not much longer now.”
“December 3,” Joseph agreed.
“I’m glad we think with the same mind on matters such as these,” Rebekah said, cutting her eyes to the woman and child. “Those matters are the most important.”
“Did Jesus not give the Great Commandment, above all else, love each other as I have loved you?” Joseph stepped out into the drizzle. “Not many folks around here seem to be living that one, now are they?”
Rebekah followed him, craning her neck to study the street signs. No restaurant near here? That is odd. “No. No they don’t seem to.” Rebekah started over to the woman. “Perhaps they haven’t been properly shown how. After all, faith without works is dead, is it not?”
Peter stepped quickly to meet his sister’s stride. “Good thinking. We may as well do what we Amish do best and leave it better than we found it.”
Rebekah glanced up at Peter, catching his double entendre. We Amish. Despite the poor sleep she’d gotten and the less-than-ideal conditions at present, her face softened into a sincere smile. “Yes. What we do best.”
The woman whirled as Rebekah, Peter, and Joseph approached. “I have a knife,” she warned in a thick, rolling accent. “And I’ll use it, I will.” Her trembling hand attempted to conceal the child behind her. “I’ve no money and no possessions. And the food in this bin is mine. Go find your own.”
Rebekah sucked in a breath. “You won’t need to use your knife on us, Miss.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Rebekah. Rebekah Stoll.”
The woman stared at her with large, distrusting eyes. She didn’t extend her hand, so Rebekah gently brought hers back to her middle and cupped it at her stomach.
“This here is my brother Peter Wagler.” Rebekah thought she caught a flicker of a grin pass over Peter’s face. At least, that’s how it looked from the corner of her eye.
“And this is my fiancé, Joseph Graber.” She stared at the woman’s face. She was young, probably not too much older than the lot of them. Bits of curly red hair peeked out from under the edges of the rag that covered her head and Rebekah could just make out a smattering of freckles across her dirt-streaked face. In another circumstance, she would be considered quite lovely by English standards.
“I’m very sorry for bothering you, but we are new to New York City.” Rebekah turned up her hand. “And of course, it started to rain the moment we arrived. Might you and your precious child be able to lead us to a nearby restaurant or diner?”
The woman’s face, a mess of distrusting lines, had almost melted into something akin to welcoming. But at Rebekah’s words, she drew back into herself. Her dark, red eyebrows knitted together over her pale eyes. “Kindness around here doesn’t come without a price. What ye be wantin’ from me in return?”
Rebekah didn’t miss a beat. “Actually, we would like to buy you two a meal at a diner. It would be our honor to take care of you.” Rebekah reached out both hands toward the woman. “Sometimes, doing a kindness is its own reward. But I understand. In the English world, there is always some sort of trickery involved, isn’t there?”
Moisture welled in the woman’s eyes. With jerky movements, she extended her arms and rested her hands in Rebekah’s. Both women shared a smile. “What is your name?”
“Patty. Patty O’Shaughnessy.”
“Patty, rest assured that we are not of this English place. We believe that we are here on God’s earth only for a short time. And in that time, we are supposed to take care of each other. To give without wanting to receive.”
Patty’s lower lip trembled. “I see. I am not of this place either.”
“Let’s find a place to sit down and share a meal.” Rebekah drew Patty closer to her, as young friends do. “Come, show us where to find good food.”
Joseph tipped his hat to Patty when she looked at him. “I told Rebekah she ought to have brought a bag full of cinnamon cakes with her, then we could sit down and share a meal with you right here!”
Patty’s voice and its strange accent dropped lower. “I thought you were starin’ at me to rob me.” She closed her eyes. A single tear tracked down each cheek, leaving a white streak in its wake. “Been robbed so many times. Of money and even more.”
“Come on then.” Rebekah’s voice was chipper. “Let’s take a meal together.”
Patty nodded. “This here is Noah. Me son.”
Rebekah smiled brightly at the boy who clung to his mother’s rags. His face was round, and his hair more brown than red. He, too, had freckles, but they and his complexion were a darker hue. Olive, under all the dirt, perhaps, unlike his mother’s porcelain. “Let me guess. Noah, you are named after the great Noah of the Old Testament. Who built the ark to save the animals from the flood. Am I right?”
His little face, moments before stoic and cold, shifted into one of a true toddler boy, all dimples and grins. He nodded.
“And,” Rebekah continued, “I am going to also guess that you are about three years old. Wait, three and a half.”
The boy’s wide eyes opened wider still. He didn’t answer, but gave another tiny nod.
“How’d ye be knowin’ that?” Patty’s voice was incredulous as Peter and Joseph, obviously hungry and ready to get out of the weather, started walking and, in doing so, began herding them down the street.
“I have a mess of younger brothers,” Rebekah laughed. “I actually had the honor of delivering my last sibling when my mother had complications.”
“And it was no wonder,” Joseph piped up. “He was only, what, thirteen, fourteen pounds?”
Peter looked over his shoulder and spoke for the first time since meeting Patty and Noah. “That’s how he earned the nickname Bull. Because no baby could be that big, only a hookin’ bull could.”
“What a grand soft story!” Patty still held one of Rebekah’s hands, as though she would do anything to hold on to her new friend. “Turn left at the bottom of this street. We will find a diner by the name of Joe’s All Night Diner. They serve people like Noah and me, if we have the money to pay that is. Other places, they won’t allow us in their doors.”