“I wish Ben would come with you some time. But I know he is busy.”
“Yes. Pa always seems to be busy.”
“Well, he is an important man. And important men always seem to be busy.” Mildred laughed. “I don’t know if he is busy because he is important, or he is important because he is busy. I imagine it is a little of both.”
“Yes, I would think so as well.” Rebecca turned to her aunt. “Aunt Mildred, did you know my mother?”
“Julia? Of course I know her, dear. Why would you ask such a thing?”
“I don’t mean Julia,” Rebecca said. “I mean my real mother. I think her name is Janie.”
Mildred was quiet for a long moment. “Heavens, child, why would you ask such a thing now? The only mother you have ever known is Julia.”
“I know, and she is my mother in every way,” Rebecca said. “But I know, too, that she isn’t my birth mother, and I would like to know something more about her.”
Mildred sighed. “Well, I guess that is understandable.”
“Did you know her? Do you remember her?”
“I do remember her, yes. I know that when Ben learned that she was pregnant, he brought her out to the house. You were born right there, on the ranch.”
“Pa is my real father though, isn’t he? I mean he is the one who got my real mother pregnant.”
“Oh yes, there was never any question about that,” Mildred replied.
“And yet he never married my mother,” Rebecca said.
“Honey, don’t blame Ben for that. He planned to marry her, but shortly after you were born Janie ran off.”
“Janie was my birth mother?”
“Yes.”
“What was her last name?”
“Garner, I believe it was. Yes, her name was Janie Garner. But, like I said, she ran off and left you behind. That’s when Ben wrote and asked me to come take care of you until he could find someone else to do it.”
“That’s when Mama, that is Julia, the woman I call Mama, came to live with us?”
“She did. She and Ben had known each other before the war, and everyone was sure they were going to get married. But after the war, Ben seemed—I don’t know—restless, I guess you would say. Anyway, it took him awhile to settle down, and by that time he had already met your real mother. I’ll tell you true, she broke his heart when she left. Julia came after that, when you were two months old.”
“Why did my real mother leave? Did she run away with another man?”
“Nobody knows for sure. All we know is that she left a note saying she wasn’t good enough for you. For heaven’s sake, child, why are you asking so many questions about her now? Hasn’t Julia been a good mother to you?”
“She has been a wonderful mother to me,” Rebecca said. “I couldn’t ask for anyone better, and I love her dearly. I’ve just been a little curious, that’s all.”
“You know what they say, honey. Curiosity killed the cat,” Mildred said.
Hearing the whistle of the approaching train, they stood up and walked onto the depot platform. It was six o’clock, and the sun was just going down in the west, spreading the clouds with long, glowing streaks of gold and red. To the east they could see the headlamp of the arriving train. It roared into the station, spewing steam and dropping glowing embers from the firebox. The train was so massive and heavy it made Rebecca’s stomach shake as it passed by, first the engine with its huge driver wheels, then the cars with the long lines of lighted windows on each car disclosing the passengers inside. Some looked out in curiosity, others read in jaded indifference to the Marshall depot, which represented but one more stop on their trip.
“What time will you get to Fort Worth?” Mildred asked.
“The schedule says eleven o’clock tonight.”
“Oh, heavens, will Ben have someone there to meet you?”
“No, I’ll be staying at a hotel. Pa already has a room booked for me. He’ll send someone for me tomorrow.”
“Board!” the conductor called, and Rebecca and her aunt shared a long good-bye hug before she hurried to get on the train.
Inside the first car behind the express car, Tom Whitman studied the passengers who were boarding. He didn’t know what town he was in. In fact, he wasn’t even sure what state he was in. It wasn’t too long ago he left Shreveport. He knew Shreveport was in Louisiana, and he knew it wasn’t too far from Texas, so he wouldn’t be surprised if he was in Texas.
“We are on the threshold of the twentieth century, Tom,” a friend had told him a couple months ago. “Do you have any idea what a marvelous time this is ? Think of all those people who went by wagon train to California. Their trip was arduous, dangerous, and months long. Today we can go by train, enjoying the luxury of a railroad car that protects us from rain, snow, beating sun, or bitter cold. We can dine sumptuously on meals served in a dining salon that rivals the world’s finest restaurants. We can view the passing scenery while relaxing in an easy chair, and can pass the nights in a comfortable bed with clean sheets.”
At the time of that conversation, Tom had no idea he would actually be taking that cross-country trip. He was in one more town of the almost countless number of towns—and ten states—he had been in the last six days.
The town wasn’t that large. Although there were at least ten people standing on the platform, only four were boarding, as far as he could determine. One was a very pretty young, auburn-haired woman. He watched her share a good-bye hug with an older woman, whom Tom took to be her mother.
One of the passengers who had boarded was putting his coat in the overhead rack in front of Tom.
“Excuse me,” Tom said to him. “What is the name of this town?”
“Marshall,” the passenger answered.
“Louisiana, or Texas?”
“Texas, mister. The great state of Texas,” the man replied with inordinate pride.
“Thank you.”
“Been traveling long?”
“Yes, this is my sixth day.”
“Where are you headed?”
“I don’t have any particular destination in mind.”
“Ha, that’s funny. I don’t know as I’ve ever met anyone who was travelin’ and didn’t even know where they was goin’.”
“When I find a place that fits my fancy, I’ll stop,” Tom said.
“Well, mister, I’ll tell you true. You ain’t goin’ to find any place better than Texas. And any place in Texas you decide to stop is better than any place else.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.” In the week since he had left Boston, Tom had shared the train with hundreds of others, none of whom had continued their journey with him. He had managed to strike up a conversation with some of them, but in every case, they were only brief acquaintances, then they moved on. He thought of the passage from Longfellow.
Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;
So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,
Only a look and a voice; then darkness again and a silence.
With a series of jerks as the train took up the slack between the cars, it pulled away from the station, eventually smoothing out and picking up speed. Once the train settled in to its gentle rocking and rhythmic clacking forward progress, Tom leaned his head against the seat back and went to sleep.
Once Rebecca boarded, found her seat, and the train got underway, she reached into her purse to take out the letter. She had picked the letter up at the post office shortly before she left Fort Worth to come visit her aunt Mildred. The letter, which was addressed to her and not to her father, had come as a complete surprise. Her father knew nothing about it, nor did she show it to her aunt Mildred. The letter was from her real mother, and it was the first time in Rebecca’s life she had ever heard from her.