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Grandmother Hutchinson shifted in her seat. She was too old for train trips, by her estimation. All that rocking and noise! It would have been nice to go by car, but no one offered. Oh well, a wedding is a frantic event with all there is to attend to, flowers, dresses, cakes, reception halls. Small wonder they issued her an invite and then forgot to offer a means of conveyance. Well, a granddaughter only gets married once. Or was that true these days? No matter. She wanted to be there for the nuptials, thus this godforsaken train ride.

With a belch and a hiss, the train pulled into Friendsville Station, the last stop before Oak Run. Two new passengers eased down the aisle. One was a portly fellow in a plaid shirt that bulged along a row of uneasy buttons straining mere thread to the limits. He lifted his suitcase to the overhead rack and risked blowing the shirt wide open in the process. Next, with a grunt, he settled in the seat in front of Grandmother. The other newcomer was a man of obvious refinement, dressed in a clean and pressed black suit, freshly shined shoes, and a bow tie. He lifted his valise and pushed it on the rack with thin, delicate fingers. The slightness of his hands matched his long face and big eyes, the overall impact being cartoonish in its simplicity. But a contrary and elusive dignity lingered in his steady gaze.

Grandmother Hutchinson paid the two newcomers little mind. Glancing at her watch, she wished this mechanical torture chamber on wheels would hurry up. Her granddaughter needed her. A frantic call this morning from Leslie had set Grandmother to fretting. Something about her fiancé's best man in the hospital. An accident. With heavy hearts, they intended to go on with the wedding. The fellow had insisted even though he couldn't be there. Leslie needed her Granny, and the sooner she got there, the better.

Sam Bridges, roared out a giant snore before waking with a start. The fat fellow had fallen asleep as soon as he'd sat. He'd been dreaming. About his son, who was hit by a car yesterday. Now the boy was in the hospital with a concussion and a broken leg, and he was supposed to be in a wedding tomorrow, best man. Sam hadn't seen his son in seven years, not since the divorce. But now his ex had passed, and he was the only one Dexter had. When Dex called from his hospital bed to tell of his woes, a beat of trepidation rattled in Sam, his latent sense of being a parent. So he bought a railroad ticket, and here he was. The more he thought about Dexter being slammed by that car, the more upset he got. No wonder he was having nightmares. A son being killed, or even the possibility of it, brings out one's parental instincts with a vengeance. It was a hit and run; and if he found the bastard who almost killed Dexter, he'd squeeze the life out of him with his bare hands.

James Willows, the fragile fellow, eyed Sam Bridges with a wary glance and turned away. What a barbarian, what the snorts and groans. He had enough on his mind without having to listen to that! Mister Frederick needed him. And the sooner he got there, the better. Something was terribly wrong. Mister F. called last night in a frantic state. To be truthful, Willows hadn't spoken to anyone in the family since he retired from their employ three years ago. But he had worked for them a total of three decades, so he was still considered family. Mister Frederick implied his son, Fred Jr. was in trouble. Since Willows had always been a soothing presence in the household, going about his butler duties in a stately and serene fashion while at the same time being someone to talk to, he was called now in their time of need. Fred Jr. wouldn't say what was wrong, and his father hoped James could pry it out of him. Junior had been drinking too much these days, and now the front fender of the Lincoln was bashed in. His father feared the worst sort of accident. But Fred Jr. wasn't talking.

The conductor appeared, perched in the doorway between cars. "Oak Run!" he called, only to disappear as quickly as he had come. Grandmother Hutchinson, who traveled light with a bag easily carried, made her way to the front first, quickly followed by Willows, the butler. Sam Bridges, grunting as he hoisted his case down, brought up the rear. Three personages of unrealized, unacknowledged connection all stepped off the train at the railroad station in Oak Run that day as strangers. A funny thing, though, before the day was over, their worlds would collide.


Copyright 2009 JO Janoski

Jo Janoski is a poet, author, and photographer from Pittsburgh, PA.

Send Jo a message either directly. For more from Jo visit the Word Catalyst archives or her online home.

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