Reverend Diller glanced at the blue book on Frances’s lap. “What were you writing?” he asked.
“I keep a journal,” Frances said. “I was about to write about some of the children.”
“They’re a handful. They’ve given you a hard day,” he said.
Frances smiled. “No, they haven’t,” she said. “They’re all very good children.”
He slowly shook his head and smiled back. “One gives you a fright by runnin’ off through the train. Others squabble or fight. The babies cry. They demand your attention the entire time. You call that good?”
“They’re children, Reverend Diller. Why be surprised when they behave like children? If they all sat quietly, I’d be quite worried about them.”
“I’d like you to call me Seth, instead of Reverend Diller,” he said.
“Why, that may not seem a proper way to engage in conversation, but on this journey I expect it is acceptable. I’ve always felt there are, indeed, times to make exceptions, so I’ll agree,” said Frances. “But didn’t you tell me your given name was Oscar?”
He cleared his throat and examined the tops of his shoes. Finally he said, “Seth is my middle name, but it’s the name I’ve always gone by.”
Frances smiled. “I’m sorry. I seem to keep embarrassing you. I shall call you Seth. My name is Frances Mary Kelly. You may call me Frances. How long have you been a preacher?”
“Not long,” he said.
“Where did you study?”
“Study?”
“Yes. What school of divinity?”
He paused and smiled, as if in reflection. “Yale.”
“It must have taken years of study, yet you seem so young.”
Even in the dim moonlight she could see him blush. “I’m older than I look,” he replied.
Before Frances could say another word, he asked, “How about you? Are you eighteen? Nineteen?”
“I’m nineteen,” Frances answered.
“Most girls pretty as you would be married by nineteen,” Seth said softly.
A rush of lonely feelings filled her heart, and Johnny’s face came to her mind.
She didn’t answer.
“I didn’t mean to speak out of turn. I guess bein’ a preacher and all makes me seem nosy,” he said, and his smile was broad and friendly. Frances smiled back.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said. “Where do you live? What do you do?”
At first Frances spoke haltingly. “I’m a teacher. I teach school in Kansas,” she said, but as she saw the interest in Seth’s eyes, she went on to tell him about her little house and the town of Maxville, built after the railroad came through.
Seth asked about her family, and when she spoke of traveling with her brothers and sisters on an orphan train, he reached over and squeezed her hand in sympathy.
Looking deeply into her eyes, he said, “I’m sorry you had such a hard childhood.”
His dark, curly hair, his handsome face were so close to hers … Frances gulped and pulled her hand away. “It wasn’t a bad childhood. There were many happy times, many good memories to think about.”
“Are you tellin’ me there weren’t any bad times?” Seth asked.
“Of course there were,” Frances answered, “but I try to keep those out of my mind. I’d rather think about all the good things that happened.”
“That means you’re hidin’ from the bad memories.”
“No, I’m not,” Frances insisted. “I just believe that there’s no reason to keep bringing up unhappy thoughts.”
“There is for some people,” he said. “Some of them need the anger and the hurt to help them remember.”
Boldly Frances asked, “Are you talking about others you know, or are you talking about yourself?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters.”
Seth was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I fought in the war. You couldn’t understand what it was like.”
“Then help me understand. Tell me what’s making you unhappy.” Maybe Seth could help her understand Johnny’s bitterness.
“Have you ever seen a union Army prison camp?” Seth asked. “No. Of course you haven’t.”
Frances gasped, but Seth didn’t seem to notice. He continued: “Lice and rats and moldy food—what little there was to eat. Not enough blankets to go around in the winter months, not enough clean water to drink during the hot summer. And the hospitals … Prisoners who’re brought there are in such bad shape they’re expected to die.” There was a long pause before he whispered, “I wouldn’t die. I showed them all. I refused to give up.”