Eighteen

Addy jumped up from her desk. Was that a gunshot?

Voices cried out and a volley of shots followed.

By now the students had jumped up and headed for the frosted windows.

“Children, sit down!” She scurried around the room, corralling students and sending them back to their seats.

“But Miss Sullivan, maybe it’s outlaws!” Johnny yelled. At least he had obeyed and was seated. The older boys still stood, their excited gazes darting from her to the door.

“Don’t even think about it.” She headed for the window and wiped her hand across the glass, then peered out, gaping at the throng that crowded not only in front of the schoolyard but, it appeared, all over Branson Town, in spite of the bitter cold. At least the snow had held off, which was unusual for the second week in December.

A man raised his arm, his pistol pointed in the air. Addy held her breath then sighed with relief when the sheriff appeared. She couldn’t tell what he was saying, but from the look on his face, he wasn’t too upset.

Torn between her desire to find out what was going on and her responsibility to her students, she finally turned to the boys. “Everyone, please be seated as I instructed. There doesn’t appear to be anything wrong. It seems more like a celebration of some sort.”

She started as the door flew open. The sheriff’s deputy stepped inside, his fur collar pulled up against the icy wind, grinning like a schoolboy.

“Ernest! What in the world is going on?”

His grin grew wider. “The sheriff saw you lookin’ out the winder. He told me to let you know everything’s fine. The railroad crews have met, and the tracks are complete. The whole town is celebratin’. I gotta go.” He waved at his younger brother at the back of the class and took off down the street.

The class exploded in an uproar. Addy put her hands over her ears as their shouts and whistles shattered the air, accompanied by the ones invading the room from outside. She quickly slammed the door and burst out laughing. Her students jumped up and down and swung each other around the room. She should probably put a stop to their cavorting, but why not allow them a few moments of celebration?

Finally she took a small round whistle from her desk drawer and blew three shrill blasts. The class quieted down immediately and looked in her direction.

“I know you’re excited. So am I. Since it’s only a half hour until lunch time, perhaps we’ll cut our arithmetic lesson short and discuss this new event.”

A roar of voices began to speak, and Addy blew the whistle again. “But first, I’d like for each of you to return to your seat.”

One by one they dropped into their seats, breathing hard, the boys wiping their perspiring faces on their sleeves. Addy noticed a few of the girls pull out handkerchiefs and dab their foreheads. Who would guess it was so cold outside she’d had to break ice off the pump this morning?

“Charlie, would you please take my water pitcher to the pump and refill it? The rest of you get your cups out. I think you could all use a drink of water.”

Heads bobbed in the affirmative.

After everyone had a few sips of water, Addy leaned against her desk and smiled.

“Maybe we’ll have a new school project to talk about soon.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny said with enthusiasm, “that play we put on last year was a lot of fun.”

“Perhaps this time we’ll focus on the workers who built the tracks and the excitement of this day,” Addy said.

“Building the tracks through the mountains was really dangerous,” said Sally. “My pa said some men were killed.”

Addy nodded. “That’s right, Sally. There were a number of accidents that resulted in injuries and, in a few cases, death. The White River Route wasn’t built without a heavy price.”

Margaret, who’d surprised everyone by growing three inches through the summer, raised her hand.

“Yes, Margaret?”

“Now we’ll finally have passenger trains coming through, and Papa said he’ll take Ma and me on a train ride.”

“Aw, what’s so great about that?” Johnny sneered in her direction.

“That was rude, Johnny,” Addy said, her voice stern. Would the boy never learn? He’d spent a number of recesses on the corner stool.

“Sorry, but I like freight trains best. They carry all kinds of great stuff.”

“Perhaps Margaret would like to tell us why she wants to ride the train so badly.” Addy threw the girl a smile.

Margaret’s eyes lit up. “They have real dining cars with white tablecloths and real silver. And when you look out the window, you can see fields and trees and farms flying by. Or so it seems.”

“Farms and trees don’t fly, stupid. And neither do trains.”

“Johnny. The corner.” Addy glared and pointed to the stool.

“I’m sorry, Miss Sullivan. I didn’t mean to say it. It just came out. Really it did.”

“The corner,” Addy repeated.

A twitter rolled across the room as Johnny shuffled his way across the room.

“One more sound and some of you will be joining him. It’s not nice to take pleasure in someone else’s discomfort.”

They quieted and, one by one, raised their hands and gave their take on the completed railroad and what they thought was best about it.

After a while, Addy found herself floating in an old daydream. She stood on the top step of a train, waved to her family, and then glided down the aisle to her seat. Beaming with joy, she waved and blew kisses out the window to friends and loved ones as the train pulled away from the station. Suddenly she realized something new had been added. Always before she’d imagined she was alone. This time, in her daydream, Jim Castle stood at her side, walked by her side, and sat by her side.

She took a deep breath. Why couldn’t she get the man out of her mind? She hadn’t seen him since Labor Day, except for an occasional glimpse as he rode past. She’d come close to asking Abby about him a few times. Was he still working at the hunting lodge? Was he courting anyone? But she couldn’t bring herself to do so.

She forced her attention back to the child who was speaking.

“My pa says Branson will get a lot more tourists now that the passenger trains can run,” Alice was saying. “Especially with the State of Maine Hunting Lodge here.”

“And that writer guy that wrote that book,” Tommy interrupted.

Harold Wright! Of course. He and his family were camped out near the old Ross cabin. What was the name of the book he wrote? Oh yes. The Printer of Udell’s or something like that. Rumor had it he was writing a new one. About the Ozarks. Maybe he would have some suggestions for Annie and her writing. She supposed she should obtain a copy of his book and read it before she approached him. Jim would be happy to hear she had thought of someone to help Annie.

“Tommy, it’s rude to interrupt when someone is speaking,” she said, “but thank you for mentioning Mr. Wright. Perhaps he’ll come and speak to our class someday.”

❧

Jim pushed the form through the window and paid to send the telegram. Spinning on his heel, he left the telegraph office. He’d spent the better part of November trying desperately to find suitable work in St. Louis, Kansas City, and the first two weeks of December there in Springfield. All to no avail. Now he had no choice. He’d accepted the offer from the Coney Island Park.

He’d completed his work in Branson the early part of October but kept hoping something would turn up. Most of the jobs that were suitable for him required a college degree, which he didn’t have. When he’d started his own business, he’d been lucky to land that first contract that had set him up for success. He’d gotten pretty cocky. His future looked good to him. Well, he wasn’t so great. Couldn’t even get decent work. He’d never ask Addy to subsist on just enough to get by.

Now his options had run out. He had no choice but to get on the train the first week of January and head for New York, where he’d make a lot of money that wouldn’t mean a thing to him.

He drove his rented buggy to a livery stable on the outskirts of the city, where he retrieved Finch and rode out of town. He’d carried the dream of being wed to Addy since that first day he’d met her. And after he’d gotten right with God, the feeling grew until he was certain she was the one for him. He thought they were meant to be together. But he must have been wrong. Apparently, it had merely been his own desires and not God’s will at all.

All right, Lord. I give up. If You want us to be together, then work something out. If not, then okay. Thy will be done. There’s nothing more I can do.

Peace washed over him, just as it had the day when he’d surrendered to God for the first time. Did surrender always feel like this? The pain of losing Addy was still there, but it was bearable. And somehow he knew they’d both be okay.

It was late when he arrived in Branson. To his surprise, people were still on the streets. He walked into the hotel and stopped. The lobby was crowded with men standing in groups, laughing and slapping each other on the back.

“Castle! This is a great day for Branson. Where’ve you been?” The portly man who staggered across the room had obviously been drinking for quite some time.

“Hello, Philips. I’ve been out of town. What’s going on?” It must be big, considering the crowd.

“The tracks are complete. The White River Route is open for business. They’ll be running the first passenger train next week.” He hiccupped. “Lots of opportunity for us.”

Jim turned away from the smell of alcohol on the man’s breath. “You’d better go home, Philips, or get a room here and go to bed before you fall on your face.”

A younger man came over and took Philips’ arm. “Come on, Dad, the man’s right. Let’s get home.”

“Oh, all right, son, all right. I’m coming. But I say again, it’s a great day for Branson.” He leaned on his tall son as they walked to the door.

Jim shook his head as he climbed the broad stairs to his room. Philips was right about it being a great day for Branson. But for Jim, it was the slamming of a door. Even though he’d had a hand in several enterprises directly affected by the railroad coming in, any happiness he felt for the town’s success was snuffed out by a cold, dark hand that squeezed at his heart. He’d been so optimistic when he rode into town last spring. He’d had high hopes for his career and also for the lovely Miss Sullivan. Well, his career would be okay. But it didn’t matter a lot to him now.

He kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt. The sooner he got away the better for everyone. Maybe healing would even come, eventually. He’d stay until January because he had nowhere else to be before then. And he’d accepted several invitations for the Christmas season, including the Christmas Ball.

He’d hesitated about that one because Addy was sure to be there. Although, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to get one last glimpse of her before he left. It couldn’t do any more than wrench his heart out.

He wouldn’t ask her to dance. Because if he did, he might not be able to leave her.