Railroad Man Read online

  My heart could have melted right through my soul sitting so close to sweet Marianne. Her presence captivated me. Words from my heart wedged in my throat. So I just watched her hand guide the pencil over the paper and form the bird’s neck in the shape of the letter S. She mixed the colors blue, white, yellow and grey. Sometimes she used two pencils at the same time to make the bird feathers lift off the page. Marianne’s keen eye for color was one of her many talents I admired. I loved her long, slender arms peeking through the reeds, her determined freckled face squinting at the bird as he turned his yellow eye toward her. In fact, there was nothing about Marianne that I didn’t adore. She was the perfect girl. I sat in the reeds with her and silently planned our perfect life together.

  While Marianne updated her migration journal, I peered through the spyglass. Supported on stick-like legs, the Great Blue Heron moved away, lifting its yellow feet high above the water in measured steps stalking its prey. Within the blink of an eye, its long neck curled and the golden beak snapped the meat from the shell of a box turtle. The brief moment of beauty and cruelty fascinated me. I lowered the spyglass to see a hundred or more sleek Terns hover above the blue-green water like a white carpet. A large Osprey circled overhead taking inventory of her next meal.

  Marianne plucked the spyglass from my loose grasp. She pointed to a bare trunk that rose high above the water. “That Osprey has two new chicks over there in the top of that dead tree. This is her second hatching this year.”

  My eyes followed her finger just in time to see the bird return to its nest with the head of a sizeable drum fish caught in its powerful talons.

  Marianne breathed deeply, catching the scent of the lake. “This place is so full of life; I learn something new every time I come here.”

  Those hours, amused by nature’s power and humbled by Marianne’s beauty, were the most precious times of my young years. Close to sunset, we mounted Meg and Old Joe and usually clopped at a slow pace in silence. With Marianne, silence was natural and comforting. Her presence was enough for me.

  ***

  At Sunday Meeting, I sat behind Marianne so that I could catch the lemon scent from her hair. The sermon dragged on, but my face was veiled in the waves of Marianne’s strawberry hair. Aunt Mary prepared a huge feast shared outside after Sunday Meeting. Marianne and I made homemade ice cream on hot summer afternoons. Sweet Marianne bounced her cute rump up and down on the shaft while I turned the crank. I cranked slowly, steaming my desire and freezing Marianne’s bottom as she giggled.

  Later, Marianne and I squeezed shoulder to shoulder in the crook of the old pecan tree. The scent of her alabaster skin filled my nose. Her wavy hair was silky when I stole a touch. My face reddened as her musical voice filled my heart. Feeling the rise of desire in my pants, I longed for more.

  “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Mickey. Remember playing house when we were little?”

  I cracked two pecans together in my fist and gave her half. “That’s the way it’ll always be, you and me. Mother sent a letter this week. She said her cousin can get me a permanent job with the railroad. We’ll have it made, you and me.”

  Marianne bit her bottom lip the way she did when tears bubbled up in her eyes. Our love grew stronger through the seasons of two years. We scattered seeds in the garden during spring planting. I found her in the cellar stocking shelves during harvest season. When the leaves fell, I met her in the chicken house while she gathered eggs. On winter nights, I sat outside her bedroom window under the sliver of a moon and watched her shadow move beyond the lace curtain.

  ***

  Our crew completed the stretch of rail from Chattanooga to Atlanta in 1932. Jack and the others went home to build a life in the lifeless Depression. Mother’s cousin, yard master at the Chattanooga shop, had enough pull to get me an engineer’s apprenticeship. Jobs like mine didn’t happen by accident. Most of us were recommended by someone in the railroad system.

  Every employee at the railroad served an apprenticeship in their craft. I worked my apprenticeship on the Huntsville-Chattanooga line. As an apprentice, I earned respect by giving respect and paid my dues to the men above me. I started as a fireman, shoveling coal into the locomotive. It took nearly two years to work my way into the coveted engineer’s seat.

  The newly formed railroad union secured my future and made me a prime catch for Marianne’s heart. I was a few days shy of twenty-one when I asked Uncle Johnny Mack for eighteen-year-old Marianne’s hand in marriage. I chose a Sunday afternoon when he would be relaxed. Uncle Johnny Mack sat tilted back against the house in a straight-backed chair. I stretched out on the front porch steps.

  “Hey, Uncle Johnny Mack, did you hear that my apprenticeship is over?”

  Uncle Johnny Mack picked at his nails with a pocket knife. “Yep, I heard about that. I’m real proud of you, Son.”

  “Yes sir. I’ll be going back to Atlanta this afternoon.”

  “My sister will be real glad of that.”

  Uncle Johnny Mack hadn’t looked up and didn’t seem very interested in the most important conversation I would ever have with him. I got up and pulled a chair identical to his directly across from him and leaned forward to get his attention.

  “Uncle Johnny Mack, me and Marianne want to get married. You know I’ll be able to provide a good life for her with my new job and all. Well, I’d appreciate your blessing to let her come live with me in Atlanta—after we’re married, that is.”

  Uncle Johnny Mack’s face turned hard as stone. His sharp blue eyes squinted at me. “Mickey, you’re like one of my own sons. I’ve watched over you since your daddy fell off that ladder back in ’21. I’m real proud of how you turned out, getting on with the railroad and all. But you and Marianne are close kin. It just wouldn’t be right to marry the two of you. Why, you might sire a mongoloid child.”

  Uncle Johnny Mack’s eyes moved back to the knife in his hand. “No, my son, we can’t have that. You go on back to Atlanta and find yourself another pretty girl. Marianne will understand.”

  Uncle Johnny Mack’s unwillingness to see that Marianne and I were made for each other set my heart hard against him. In my heart, she was mine. I never thought of life without her. Marianne and I had a love that came as natural as breathing. My heart dropped into the empty hands shaped prayerfully before me. Hands meant to hold Marianne. I wanted to meet with her privately, ask her to marry me face to face. But I knew that Marianne would never go against her father’s wishes, not even for me.

  Two hours later, the boys jostled me back and forth at the Huntsville station. Marianne stood back and watched us load my bags onto the train. My eye was on her the whole time, waiting to catch hers. She waved me over. I pushed through the boys’ hold on me and ran toward her.

  My sweet Marianne’s lip trembled. She held out a cylinder of brown package paper. “Here, Mickey. This is my going away gift to you.”

  I unrolled the finished drawing of the Blue Heron standing on one foot in the tall reeds. The colors and eye of the bird took me back to Tern Lake and my feelings for her that day. I rolled the drawing back in place.

  She reached over to peck me on the cheek. I turned sharply and planted my lips on hers. Marianne pulled away. She looked frightened, and I felt the boys watching.

  “I love you. Come with me. I’ll take care of you. We’ll have a good life. I’ll talk to Uncle Johnny Mack. I’ll make him understand. Come with me, please.”

  “Mickey, you know I can’t do that. Papa almost made me stay home today. He would be miffed for sure. You know that I love you, too. I will miss you terribly. I wanted you to have the drawing to remind you of our time together at the lake. You were so patient, sitting with me every Saturday. The other boys get bored sitting at the lake with me.”

  I felt my Adam’s apple rise and fall, swallowing back the tears. My voice sounded far away and beyond my years. “I would never be bored with you, not in a lifetime. Come with me.”

  Her long fingers covered her w
et face. “I can’t Mickey. Papa…”

  The train whistle blew, and the conductor signaled me to come aboard. The feel of her fingertips lingered on mine as we pulled away from each other. The train pulled out of the station. I hung myself out the cab window and locked eyes with those of my true love until they were no longer there.

  Chapter III

  Lawrenceville

  1932

  Mother arranged a ride for me from Atlanta to Lawrenceville. The open-bed pickup stopped at the white rail gate that led to my home place.

  “Thanks a bunch, good buddy,” I said as I slipped him a fiver and waved him off.

  I stood, breathing in the clean air of home and admiring the bright blue paint job on the old farmhouse. The white gingerbread woodwork on the wraparound porch looked fresh and clean. I walked up the path, admiring Mother’s fastidious care of the place. The heavy bags weighed down my shoulders, but the sight of my mother watching me from the porch picked up my step. I loved my home place where we all looked to Mother’s strong constitution and guidance in all matters. After my father’s passing, she managed the farm and raised her family with a stern, competent hand. Mother was a no-nonsense woman who counted every penny and doted on me, her only son.

  My mother was a tall, stately woman, and I loved her dearly. There had never been a problem in my life that she couldn’t solve or an ache she didn’t heal. I hoped that she could repair the silent tear I felt in my heart that day. I dropped my bags on the pebbled walkway and fell into her warm embrace. Her sturdy hug consoled me more than she could have ever known as I secretly admired the contour of her firm body. We lingered a moment at arms’ length quietly surveying each other and getting reacquainted.

  “Hello, Mother. You look beautiful as always. I’ve missed you.”

  Mother’s eyes flushed with tears as I imagine were mine. “Oh, Mickey, it’s so good to have you home!”

  Mother led the way down the wide hallway that ran the length of the house. My eyes lingered on the memorable things of my childhood: the grandfather clock, the coat tree, and matching mahogany benches on either side. The familiar bedroom awaited my arrival with the crispness that said home. I deposited my bags on the cedar chest at the foot of the high four-poster bed. Mother rummaged through my bags and began to organize my life the way she always had. I didn’t mind. I loved her even more for taking care of me. Throughout my life, her energy and busyness had entertained and directed me.

  She eyed the brown paper cylinder. “What’s this, Mickey?”

  “Uh, that’s a gift from Marianne,” I said, pulling the drawing from its tube.

  “My—my, she’s very talented. It’s too bad that my brother is too old-fashioned to send her to Agnes Scott. She has so much promise as an artist. Well, I’ll ask Lewis to make a nice frame for it. You get settled in, now. The girls will be home soon. They will be all over themselves when they see you all grown up. They never stop asking for you. I made your favorite meal, a standing rib-roast with all the trimmings and red velvet cake for dessert.”

  As she turned to go with the Blue Heron drawing tucked under her arm, I realized how much I had missed her in my life. I hoped that being home would strengthen my spirit and help me get on with life.

  “Oh, that sounds great! It feels so good to be home.”

  Mother mocked me with a smile. “Do you remember how to peel potatoes?”

  I threw her a wink. “I sure do!”

  The smell of beef in the oven drew me to the back of the house. Long ago, my father had extended the center hallway to attach the outside kitchen. The room never lost its open and airy atmosphere, confirmed by the potbellied stove in the corner that provided heat during the winter months. I settled down on a side bench at the sturdy worktable. Mother placed a bowl of potatoes in front of me and a paring knife in my hand. She pulled the bright red cake layers from the pie safe and fluffed the creamy icing with a flat wooden spoon. Mother appreciated company while she worked in the kitchen. I ran the three-inch blade over the first potato and worked silently with my ears perked. Mother began to talk.

  “Ralph Simerson broke his lease and left the crops in the field, moved to Columbia to work in the cotton mills. He said he couldn’t support his family on today’s cotton prices. I asked him who he thought was going to supply raw cotton to the mills if people like him didn’t own up to their obligations. He always was sorry, anyway. Good riddance to white trash, I say.”

  My eyes fell on my mother’s long fingers as they stacked the red layers neatly, lining them up just right. “Lewis and Sara have been a godsend. Lewis pitched in and finished this year’s crop, didn’t even ask for a dime. Sara, bless her heart, cleaned up that filthy house. So I said they could have that house and five acres with it. It’s theirs now, free and clear. Lord knows, they earned it through the years.

  “Lewis keeps things going around here like he always has. He bartered some paint work for a young steer, part of which you smell from the oven right now. Sophia and Sara planted a garden this year big enough to feed all of us. We picked and canned together, and then divided everything evenly. Lewis and Sara may be colored, but they are like family to me. We pull together and make things work in these hard times.”

  She turned the cake, admired the intricate swirls of her handiwork, and heaved a long sigh. “I don’t know what I would do without them.”

  Mother wiped her fingers on a damp cloth and sat across the table facing me. “Mickey, I was thinking that we might not plant a crop next year. Cotton prices are near to nothing. There’s nobody to work the farm since Ralph and all his young’uns are gone. You know Lewis is about sixty-five now; it’s too much work for a young man, much less a man his age. Now that you’re home, well, I know that you will help.”

  Mother sat there looking to me for help. She had never asked anything of me in my entire life. I knew how proud she was and that she had to be in dire straits to ask anyone for anything. My sisters, Sadie and Sophia, were well-bred and well-educated. Each year that passed decreased prospects of marriage for either of them. Sadie taught grade school and Sophia taught music lessons to the sparse few who could afford it. I saw that my family needed me and my money.

  I placed my hand in hers and made a solemn promise. “Of course, I will take care of you and the girls.”

  Her loving eyes met mine. “You are a good son. I knew I could count on you.”

  That was everything my mother needed to say to seal our bargain. The tension in her face eased as she squeezed my hand. The sound of my sisters’ voices broke the silence.

  Mother nodded and released my hand. “Go to them. They have missed you so.”

  I bounded up the hallway like a kid to greet my older sisters. Their faces beamed when they caught a glimpse of me. The two women engulfed me in smothering hugs. When I squirmed away from their hold, they poked, teased, and showered me with more hugs and kisses.

  “Sadie, look how big and strong our little brother is!”

  Sadie fashioned herself a modern woman. She boldly took inventory of the nice edge a couple of years swinging an axe under the blazing sun had given me and growled, “You’re a Killer!”

  Sophia chimed in. “That’s what we’ll call you, little brother, Killer! Sadie, don’t you think he looks just like Clark Gable?”

  Arms crossed, Sadie sized me up. “Tall, dark and handsome, that’s what he is!”

  I blushed fittingly and secretly basked in the attention from the lonely women. Cradling a sister on each side, I strolled unevenly down the hall. In the small formal dining room, the girls laid out the antique china and silver place settings handed down from other generations for my homecoming. Mother rolled dinner in on a butler’s cart. Soft light illuminating from the chandelier enhanced the warm glow of family love as we settled in. We praised Mother appropriately for the special food and began to fill our plates.

  “Mother, did I mention that I received a letter from Aunt Mary?” Sophia chirped as she passed the green beans.


  Mother squinted out the corner of her eye. “No Dear, but I’m sure that you will tell me.”

  Sophia’s close relationship with Aunt Mary was a sore subject with Mother. Sophia loved visiting Riverside even more than I did and looked at Aunt Mary like a second mother.

  “Uncle Johnny Mack and Aunt Mary have made arrangements with Clyde Kilmer to ask for Marianne’s hand in marriage,” Sophia said before filling her mouth with mashed potatoes.

  Sadie’s green eyes flashed and lit up her bright red hair. “Well, what does Marianne have to say about that?” she asked, jerking the fork from her mouth.

  Sophia shrugged lightly in her quiet manner. “I don’t know. I guess they haven’t told her yet.”

  Sadie’s voice jumped an octave higher than usual. “How barbaric! Today women have the right to choose the President of the United States and who to marry—just in case the news hasn’t reached Riverside. That old man is three times her age! I wonder how Marianne feels, being auctioned off like cattle. What right do they have to play God in Marianne’s life?”

  My eyes moved from one sister to the other as I followed the conversation attentively. I could see Sophia backing down from Sadie’s fiery temper.