The Moffat Museum (14 page)

"Sure," said the man. He reached behind him, and from a shelf with lots of little cubicles in it, he pulled out the ticket he wanted.

It came in two parts, one saying "Cranbury to New Rochelle," the other saying "New Rochelle to Cranbury." Jane paid him and put the ticket in her red patent-leather pocketbook.

"I'm going on the eight-fifteen," said Jane. "Is this the right ticket for that special train?"

"Sure," said the man. "Or for any local train. The eight-fifteen from New Haven to Grand Central Station will be along in a few minutes."

"It will stop in New Rochelle, won't it?" asked Jane anxiously.

"Has to," said the man. "It's a local ... stops at every hen coop all down the line." He laughed. "Every hen coop," he repeated.

Jane went outdoors and stood beside Joey, who had put her satchel at the place on the platform where he figured the door of a coach would stop.

"Listen, Jane," said Joey. "Remember what Mama always say. Don't speak to strangers."

"Supposing a stranger speaks to me?" asked Jane.

"Look straight ahead. Eye them out of the corner of your eyes. Even if, out of the corner of your eyes, that person appears to be nice, sounds nice, look straight ahead. Say nothing. That's the way to deal with strangers."

Now, way down the tracks where they seemed to merge together, they saw a train coming closer and closer.

"The-eight-fifteen," said Joey. He looked at his watch. "On time," he said.

The stationmaster came out and stood beside a cart with canvas sacks of mail on it.

"This
is
the eight-fifteen to New Rochelle, isn't it?" asked Jane. Her heart was beating hard.

"Yes, miss. It's that," he said. "On time."

The train came to a sudden screeching stop. Pigeons flew up into the sky. Jane rushed to the door of the nearest coach. There was no time to be concerned about the gush of steam hissing from underneath that enveloped her. Joey boosted her up the high steps while the conductor grabbed her from above. Joey picked up her satchel and shoved it up onto the train. She and her satchel and a huge fat timetable that Joey had given her as a surprise present were all together on the eight-fifteen train.

The stationmaster had flung the sacks of mail into a car up ahead. Then the conductor blew a whistle. "'Board! 'Board!" he said.

Jane sat down by a window near the back of the car, tucked her satchel under her seat so no thief would get it, looked out the window, saw Joey, waving, waving, and waved back. He had his foot on the pedal, ready to go the minute the train went. She knew he was going to ride his bike beside the train to the end of the platform, wave as long as possible, and then good-bye to Jane on the eight-fifteen!

The train started up!
Puff-puff-puff, puff-puff,
going faster and faster, and Joey was out of sight. But she was off, off on her first train trip all by herself!

So far, all was going along exactly as practiced yesterday with Mrs. Price.
Probably putting out more laundry,
thought Jane fondly, while she, Jane Moffat, was speeding down the tracks on the eight-fifteen.

The seats on this train were a dusty red plush, faded and smelling of train. Jane settled herself comfortably and looked around. That must have been the reservoir they had just sped past. The conductor sat down across the aisle, behind the last seat on that side. He had a little red plush seat to sit on that folded itself up and sprang back whenever he stood up. He stood up now.

"Tickets!" he said. "Tickets!"

Jane got out her ticket, and since she was in the rear, he came to her seat first. He tore off the "to New Rochelle" half, punched it, and stuck it in a little slit in the back of the seat in front of Jane. She could keep an eye on it there. That ticket proved she was on the right train and not on one taking a surprise turn up an unusual switch leading to a destination unknown.

Jane put the other half of her ticket, the "to Cranbury" half, back in her pocketbook for the time when the final stage of this expedition would take place.

The conductor pivoted around on his big flat black shoes as though he were on a turnstile and held out his hand for the ticket of a lady in the seat opposite Jane's. He examined her ticket closely. Jane watched. The lady was elderly.

"Oh, yes!" said the conductor. "You're the lady from Montowese bound for Greens Farms. I've been told to watch out for you and see that you get off there." He punched her ticket and put it in the slit in the back of the seat in front of her. "You're Ida Brooks, right?"

"No!" said the lady indignantly, "I'm
Ada
Brooks. On my way to visit Cousin Agnes."

"Ida ... Ada ... what's the difference so long as you're one or the other.
Brooks
is what counts. I'll see that you get off at Greens Farms. Don't you worry, don't you worry one bit," said the conductor.

Then he got out a shiny black leather notebook and put a check in it.
Probably,
thought Jane,
besides the lady from Montowese, he had other people on this train he has to keep
track of. Well, he doesn't have to keep track of me. I know where I'm going. New Rochelle!

The conductor moved on up the aisle. He had put his notebook back in his pocket. When he reached the front door of the coach, he proclaimed loudly in train language, the kind you barely understood, "Nes' station, Mifford!" and went into the coach in front where, in the same train language, he made the same announcement.

The train was not crowded, so soon the conductor came back, sat down in his pop-up seat, wet his forefinger, and counted the tickets he had. He made a note in his shiny black notebook. It made Jane happy to know that such a nice conductor knew, really
knew,
be it Ida or Ada, the name of the passenger opposite her, had it on his list.

She wished she had a little black notebook like his, all shiny and smelling of train, to write things in.

Jane took off her coat, folded it neatly, and laid it beside her. It did not take up much room. Supposing some new person getting on in "Mifford" wanted to sit beside her, there was room for both. She put her hat on top of her coat. Then she took out of her pocket the big fat timetable Joey had given her. She opened it up to the going-to-New-York page, arriving and departing, found New Haven, found Cranbury, and put checks beside these. She was going to put a check beside every station they stopped at. If the next stop really was "Mifford," once and for all she would know she was on the right train. When she got home, she would return the timetable to Joey and say that you can believe what you see in print ... at least if it is a timetable.

She looked out the window. Telegraph poles seemed to be falling like felled trees as the train whizzed by; then looking back, she could see them pop right side up again.

Sometimes the engineer blew a screaming warning whistle. That was when the train was approaching a country crossroad that went right over the tracks with no gate or anything to warn people in carts or cars or on foot that a train was coming through. At one crossing a man with a wagon piled high with beautiful fresh vegetables sat by patiently waiting. His horse looked thin and tired and was probably glad to have a little rest.

Jane began to think about the lady opposite her. She had on a rusty black straw hat with a feather at the back. Jane already knew a few things about this lady: that she was named Ada Brooks, that she had a ticket marked Greens Farms, and that she was going to visit a cousin there named Agnes. She was not what you would call a complete stranger.

Jane examined her big timetable. She found Greens Farms on the list ... six stops from here. She and the lady were both, so far, on the right train. She smiled and, out of the corners of her eyes as Joey had instructed her, studied the lady more closely.

The lady was examining a little square wooden box filled with red raspberries. She fluffed them up a bit. Then she looked out her window.
Maybe,
thought Jane,
she has been looking at me out of the corners of her eyes.
She straightened her pretty blue dress.

Then she looked at the lady's box of raspberries, and she couldn't take her eyes off of it, for a little pale green inchworm was humping its way from berry to berry.

Jane did not like worms. Rufus did, and so did Nancy Stokes. Maybe the lady did not like worms, either. Should she tell her? She knew the lady's name ... Ada Brooks ... so it would not be like speaking to a stranger. She could say it out of the corner of the mouth, while keeping her eyes straight ahead as Joey had advised, say, "Lady! There is a little green worm crawling on your raspberries!"

But suddenly, from across the aisle, a question was hurled at Jane loud enough to be heard above the
clickety-clickety-clickety
of the eight-fifteen.

"Girl!"

Jane jumped.

"Girl!" repeated the lady. "What's this train? Where's it going?"

This lady, Jane figured, needed to be reassured that she was on the right train, just the way Jane had had to have reassurance. Jane decided to answer this question hurled at her from across the aisle by a lady from Montowese, where Mama had spent her honeymoon and started having hay fever. She would be daring; she would even look directly at her.

She said, "Lady. This is the eight-fifteen train from New Haven. It stopped at eight-twenty in Cranbury."

"Cranbury!" interrupted the lady. "Spell it ... Cran
berry
or Cran
bury
?"

"...ury. Cranbury," answered Jane, "where I got on. And next it will stop in Milford. The conductor just said so, even though he pronounces it 'Mifford.' So if it does stop in Milford, that will prove we are on the right train. After Milford it will go on and on and after many stops end up in Grand Central Station in New York City."

"New York!" gasped the lady. "Don't tell me! Perish the thought!"

"Yes," said Jane. "To Grand Central Station in New York. But you and me will not be on it ... you getting off at Greens Farms and me in New Rochelle."

Jane opened up Joey's wonderful timetable. She leaned across the aisle. She ran her finger down the list of towns and cities the eight-fifteen was supposed to stop at. "There! You see? Greens Farms, where you get off, is five stops after Milford." There was a pause.

"Did someone put you on this train?" asked Jane.

"Walton did, my husband did, Walton did," answered the lady.

"Well," said Jane. "I guess that Walton is as good at remembering right trains as my brother Joey is. He remembers everything ... right trains, right dates..."

"What do dates have to do with trains? Right train? Maybe. But maybe wrong date. Agnes said come on the fifteenth..."

"This is the fifteenth! Look at my ticket, look at yours ... stamped August fifteenth," said Jane. The lady did.

"So far, so good," she said. She put a piece of chewing gum in her mouth and chewed slowly and thoughtfully. It smelled like double mint.

Then she said, "You see, you threw me off showing me that paper you have there. Saying this train was on its way to New York! But first it will stop at Greens Farms. You would not lie. I can see by the look of you ... you with your coat neatly folded and hat with cherries on top of it ... that you would not lie to me. But Walton..."

The lady paused as though to make certain of this fact before uttering it. "Walton drove me to New Haven ... the
Union
Station ... no
Grand
about it ... in his green wagon with a big sign, FARM PRODUCE, THE BEST IN MONTOWESE, painted on it. Oh, he made Dobbin go fast, he did. And he put me on this train. I'm on my way to Greens Farms ... raise Bermuda onions there. But look at the way we're whizzing along. The man who runs this train might be the sort that Walton is, whiz past a station for the fun of it. Walton might have put me on the wrong train, on the wrong date ... anything, just for the fun of it. Not mean ... just likes a little fun..."

"I don't think the New York, New Haven, and Hartford Railroad Company would have engineers that play jokes on passengers," said Jane.

"You noticed that cart standing still by the tracks so we could get past it? He had Bermuda onions in his cart, lots of 'em. That's what gave me the idea the engineer might have flown past Greens Farms, town of the Bermuda onions, for the fun of it..."

"Well," said Jane, and she had to laugh, "don't worry about that. Just worry about your raspberries. You've let some of them slide out of the box and onto the floor."

The lady gathered them up and fluffed them up, and Jane helped her, but she didn't see the worm.
Maybe gone back under, like a swimmer in a sea of raspberries,
Jane thought.

For a while all was quiet. The conductor had come back to his seat, but did not sit down. He bellowed, "Mifford, Mifford, nes' stop!"

Then he spoke to the lady from Montowese. "You don't get off here, ma'am. Not your station, Ida Brooks. I'll tell you when." Then he went in back and straddled the connecting platforms of this coach and the one behind.

"Did you hear him? There's no Ida Brooks on this train. I'm Ada, not Ida," she said. "We're identical twins."