The Train of Small Mercies (15 page)

“So are you going to ask me some questions? I'll be a good interview. I'm a serious blabber, though, so just be warned.”

Jamie put down his bow and glared at her, but she was having too much fun now. She thought of what she had said at the breakfast table that morning, trying to be Jamie's protector, and now she was surprised by how much distance she had from that feeling. Since he had come back home, they had spent plenty of time in each other's company, but mostly Jamie was content to be silent. Miriam and her mother had assured each other that this was to be expected, given Jamie's injury, the trauma of war. But Ellie had also come to wonder if for Jamie, home had become Vietnam.

“Here,” Miriam said, and she walked over to remove some arrows from the targets, whose color was conveyed only in fragments now. When she had tugged the last arrow out, she said, “You should move the targets back. This has gotten too easy for you.”

When she put the arrows back in Jamie's hands, she said to Roy, “So, what, you're interning at the paper?”

“That's right,” Roy said. “I'm at Maryland.”

“I might go there,” she said. “Or Penn State. How do you like it there?”

“I like it,” Roy said. “Good classes, good journalism program. The campus isn't much to look at, if that kind of thing is important to you, but it's a fun place. You'd like it there, I'd bet.”

“And that's not where Claire goes, right? She went to—where did she go? Virginia?” She looked down at Jamie, who had no intention of answering.

“Right, Charlottesville,” Roy said. “I was telling Jamie I don't really hear from her. She hasn't come back here during the summers. The last I heard she was studying psychology. But who knows?”

“Claire's going to be a shrink?” she said. “Gosh, I always figured Claire as more of a poetry teacher, or teaching English literature at some girls' school. She had that air about her, you know. That way.”

“You talk like you two were pals,” Jamie said.

“Well, you dated a long time. She was always at the house. I don't know, I felt like I knew Claire pretty well, actually. I don't know her now, obviously. I'm just saying—”

“Now you see my sister wasn't being modest when she talked about her ability to blab.”

“Touchy about the old flame, are we?” Miriam said.

“I'm just saying, whether she's a psychology major or an English Lit major or whatever the hell she is, it doesn't have a lot to do with me, does it? You and Mom with your ‘Oh, Claire.' Do you think her parents don't know about what's happened to me? In a town like this? Have I gotten a phone call from her or a letter? Anything that says she could give a damn? So all this mooning over Claire is, you know, is . . . I don't really need it.”

Roy had been looking down during this time, too embarrassed to look at Miriam, too nervous to look at Jamie. Finally Miriam turned and walked back toward the back door.

“So what else do you want to know?” Jamie said.

D
elores and Rebecca sat sipping their Cherry Cokes. They were at Stribe's Drive-In, and on the tray attached to Delores's door was an empty carton of crinkle-cut French fries and the balled-up wrapper of a cheeseburger. Rebecca held half of her cheeseburger in its wax paper and sometimes tried to smile, which she saw put her mother at a little more ease. On and off for an hour Delores had managed to hold ice to Rebecca's face, but still, from a few inches above Rebecca's eye to just above her jawline, her skin resembled the sky at twilight. She had managed to walk a little outside the grocery store without noticeable difficulty, and the way she gripped her doll and the fact that her crying had dwindled to sniffling made Delores believe she had suffered no serious injuries; they didn't need a doctor after all.

When the boys got badly scraped or bruised, they were engaged in activities Arch entirely approved of—football or climbing a tree or wrestling. He was particularly cautious with Rebecca, though, calling her his “little plum,” and he could quickly fall into a rage if either of the boys was being rough with her. He was just as protective of Delores. He didn't like her getting on ladders or handling hammers or carving the meat with sharp knives. In the early years of their marriage, Delores had found this attitude rather endearing, and she was amused when he gently removed such things from her hands and sometimes kissed her on the cheek as he sent her off so that he could handle the task in question. But with three children that habit had became at first impractical, then irksome. For much of their young lives the boys had needed two pieces of wood nailed together or sawed in half, or airplanes made of balsa wood rescued from tree branches, and since no one ever turned any lights off except Delores, bulbs constantly needed replacing. These little jobs had become the heart of Delores's days, and Arch's ideas about what Delores should and shouldn't do had lost all significance.

Delores peered inside Stribe's—at an older man and woman tucked into a booth, the man's head hung low toward his cardboard plate, the woman trying to make conversation with him despite his wish that she stop. Delores reached over and gripped Rebecca's knobby knee like a gearshift. “Maybe today we'll have two lunches,” she said. “What do you think about that?” When Rebecca didn't answer, Delores pressed the button on the speaker box and waited for someone to respond.

T
he laggard speed of the train allowed the faces of the mourners to come through distinctly, and many of them waved when they saw anyone from the cars looking out.

“Sure are a lot of people out there,” Big Brass said. “And all of them hot. 'Course, we're in a train that's already lost its air condition.”

Buster Hayes made his way through the crowded car, and even before he could reach his crew members his expression had indicated grim news.

“Let me tell you what I know,” he said when he got to Big Brass, and he spoke into the man's ear. Lionel could see that he should focus on the bar. A few passengers had taken notice of Buster Hayes when he came through, and the room grew quieter.

“We don't want to excite anyone,” Hayes said. “But that train that just blew by, the Admiral, ran straight over some folks back in Elizabeth. The crowd didn't know other trains were running—
I
didn't know that, either—so they were all over the tracks. Conductor's just trying to get a sense of how bad it is.”

“Good God Almighty,” Big Brass said. Buster Hayes agreed, then said, “Two of them just got pulled right under, they say. And listen to this: one of them was a woman holding a little girl at the time. But the report I got said the girl got thrown into the air and landed in the crowd, if you can believe it.”

Big Brass was not yet ready to.

“So we're slowed indefinitely until they can work this mess out,” Buster Hayes said, and he became aware that half of the car's passengers had trained their eyes on the two men. “Kennedy family about to have a fit.”

“With good reason,” Big Brass said. “Lord, Lord.”

“Anyway, I need to check in with the others, and I'll let you know more when I get an update. They're radioing back and forth like crazy, trying to make sure all the other trains get held as we pass.”

“Well, that's the first thing I thought when that train just went by us. I knew that wasn't right.”

“No, it wasn't,” Buster Hayes said. “It's a major fuckup is what it is. Conductor was pulling the emergency brake, apparently, but it didn't slow him down enough.”

“No,” Big Brass said. “Mercy.”

Buster Hayes pulled away from Big Brass then and clapped Lionel on the shoulder. “You all right, young buck?”

“Yes, sir,” Lionel said. He had heard everything, but he tried to hold himself as if he was surprised that Buster Hayes was still in the car.

“Mr. Trent will fill you in on what's happening. But let him do the talking with passengers. This is a situation, right here. And we want everyone to be as calm as can be, considering.”

“Yes, sir,” Lionel said. Buster Hayes moved carefully through to the next car, and after the passengers watched him go, they turned to Lionel and Big Brass.

“This is something else,” Big Brass whispered.

T
he train was nearly forty-five minutes late, and Ty put his ear to the railroad track.

“Hear anything?” Daniel asked.

Ty shook his head and checked his watch again. “Not yet.”

Michael balanced himself along the rail as Walt piled some stones on top of a wooden plank. Daniel stretched out lengthwise over the tracks, his hands together under the small of his back. “I'm tied up,” he said.

The boys studied him and were pleased with the new idea. Ty walked over. “Well, I warned you and your gang,” he said. “I told you there'd be trouble if you didn't leave town. Now it's curtains for you.”

Then: “No one will save you this time,” Walt added.

Ty lay down on the tracks, putting his ankles together and his wrists over his head. “Michael, try it,” he said.

In the distance, Michael could see a man and a woman walking hand in hand. “Here comes someone.”

Ty and Daniel craned their heads from the tracks. Walt shielded his eyes from the sun.

“I didn't think we'd be the only ones here,” Ty said. “I'll bet you they don't climb any trees, though. Michael, get tied up.”

Michael brushed away some pebbles before easing his back onto the tracks. He lifted his head off the rail several times before he could find a suitable angle.

“You've rounded up the whole gang,” Ty said to Walt.

“That's right,” Walt said. “All of you varmints are going to pay now.” He wanted to say more, but he felt out of his element as a ruthless sheriff. “That's right,” he finally added. He caught sight of a few more people approaching the tracks. “Hey, where do you guess they're all coming from? You think they parked over by Webber Street and walked along the stream?”

Ty lifted his head again. “I was thinking most people would just go downtown to watch. Train's passing right over Dunlop Road. Doesn't matter much to me, though.”

“Well, let's go ahead and climb up and get ready,” Daniel said. “It's going to be here soon.” He got up and dusted himself off. “Now I'm stiff.”

Walt and Ty followed, as Michael watched from his position. “You bums!” he called after them. “You left me tied up.”

“Come on,” Ty said, not looking back. Walt and Daniel looked up at the tree they had chosen and waited for Ty to climb first.

“So it looks like I'm done for,” Michael called out.

Ty looked back quickly and saw that more people were approaching the tracks. “Michael, come on up.”

Michael wiggled his feet, lifted his chin. “No one untied me. I'm doomed.”

Ty pulled himself up the lower branches, with Walt pushing off next. For the moment they concentrated on their path, as Ty tested a branch with his hand and said, “That will hold.” He stopped when the branches began to fan out—and were thinner—and then repositioned himself. Since he had to stay closer to the trunk than he had planned on, the view was too obscured to fully suit him.

“I wish I could cut some of these damn branches,” he said to his friends below. He looked down to check on Walt's progress, then looked out again at Michael. “What is he doing?” he asked. “Michael, you're going to get hit by the stupid train if you don't get up. Come on.”

Michael lifted his torso, then sank back down. “I'm tied up.”

Ty watched a man and woman dressed in black, a flaxen-haired girl in a dark summer dress between them, at the edge of the field. The girl pulled impatiently on the woman's arm. “It's getting crowded,” he said.

Walt had settled on a branch directly beneath Ty and contemplated the safety in that. “Hey, don't fall on my head,” he said.

“Okay, I'll just fart on you instead,” Ty said, but his agitation with Michael didn't let him enjoy it the way he should have.

Daniel climbed up past Walt, finally, and tested the branch across from Ty.

“You're right,” he said. “The branches
are
kind of in the way. I wish I had a machete or something.” Now that he was settled in, he looked out at Michael, then craned his head expectantly farther down the tracks. The crowd that had been gathering over the last half-hour was fifty yards away. Daniel could see that one woman had a poster board sign by her side, but he couldn't read it. The sun bathed the mourners in a yellow wash, which made him grateful for the shade. “What are we going to do about Michael?” he asked. “We can't just leave him down there.”

“It's not like he
is
tied up, you idiot,” Ty said.

“Hey, it's weird,” Walt said. “He's barely said a word all day, and now he's acting like a big goof. Of all times.”

“Michael, get your butt up here!” Ty yelled. “You're going to get flattened.”

“Don't worry, I'm not afraid,” Michael called out in his attempt at a melodramatic voice.

“Brother!” Ty said. “What a pain.”

Daniel inched himself a little farther out on his limb and looked out over the tracks in restless anticipation. “What time is it now?” he asked.

“It's way past time,” Ty said.

“
W
hen I was a little girl, I had a bad fall, too,” Delores said. They were outside the city limits, meandering a wide, circular course. There were cornfields beside them that already looked like they would expire before harvest time. “I was just about your age, and I was on my daddy's tractor. Did you remember that Grandpa was a farmer for most of his life? He had a big tractor with big wheels, and I used to love climbing on them. They were about twice as tall as I was. One day I climbed up to the tractor seat because I loved the view from up there, and when I was coming down my dress got caught on one of the gears, and when I tried to get it off I fell all the way down, just like you did. And I got a big boo-boo on my face, just like you have. I cried so loud, and my mother came running out to find me, and she scooped me up just like I scooped you up and took me inside and put ice on my face just like we did. And she gave me kisses on every part of my head that wasn't bruised. You don't remember Grandma Fern, do you? You were so young when she died. You were just a toddler, just barely walking.”