“At least he’s had no more misadventures,” Andrew said.
“Oh, I didn’t say that!” Frances shook her head. “In Colorado Mike had a run-in with claim jumpers who nearly cost him his life, and in California—”
“There’s the train!” Stefan bounced up and down on the buggy seat and shouted in Andrew’s ear. “Hurry! We don’t want to miss it!”
Andrew hitched the buggy to a post near the depot and carried Frances’s carpetbag and Stefan’s box to one of the coach cars.
Frances hopefully searched the platform for Johnny, sick at heart that he hadn’t come. Delaying until the conductor shouted, “All aboard!”, she mounted the steps to the railway car and hurried to the seats Andrew and Stefan had picked out. She shook hands with Andrew and thanked him for the money he’d given her for traveling expenses.
Andrew said, “I’ll wait on the platform until the train leaves. Is there anything else you need?”
I need Johnny, Frances thought, but she shook her head and answered, “I can’t think of anything.”
She made sure that Stefan was comfortable next to the window, then sat beside him, twisting to see out of the windows on both sides of the car. To her dismay, there was still no sign of Johnny.
It wasn’t until the engineer blasted the air with his horn and the chugging engine picked up steam, tugging the string of railway cars faster and faster out of Maxville, that Frances admitted to herself that Johnny wouldn’t come to say goodbye.
I’m going to New York, she told herself. The memories and anticipation welled up in her, mingling with her loneliness for Johnny and making it hard to breathe.
The train jerked and swayed. She struggled to put Johnny out of her mind so that she could concentrate on giving Stefan a pleasant trip. She told him stories, explored the train with him, soothed him to sleep with his head on her lap, and fed him fresh milk and apples, meat, bread, and cheese at some of the depot stops along the way.
On the platforms around these depots, she often saw men wearing tattered remnants of army uniforms—both blue and gray.
“They’re late in making their way home,” she said to the conductor.
He shook his head sadly as he answered, “Some of them no longer have homes, so they’re goin’ to wander and keep wanderin’, I suppose.”
“But the war has been over for more than a year.”
“Depends on where you live,” he said. “I heard that down in Texas they’re still fightin’.”
Frances shuddered. It was impossible to believe the hatred and cruelty caused by war. But she knew it existed. She’d seen its dark reflection in Mike’s and Johnny’s eyes.
She had brought her journal, the one Johnny had given her; it helped to record her thoughts and feelings and the descriptions of what she saw and wanted to remember. Putting the story on paper softened the words that burned in her heart and made her separation from Johnny easier to bear.
* * *
On the day they were scheduled to arrive in New Jersey, Stefan was so excited that Frances could hardly keep him in hand. He ran from one end of the car to the other, staring out the windows, searching for the tightly clustered buildings that would mean he would soon be greeting his aunt and uncle. Frances was excited, too, and a little fearful. The Kelly family’s life in New York City was far in the past. Would returning to the people and places she’d known be too painful?
The train pulled into a large shed, which was crowded with travelers, peddlers, and people who eagerly searched the windows of each car for the faces of those they had come to meet. Now and then someone would spot a loved one and begin shrieking and waving.
Frances wrote in her journal:
There seem to be more former soldiers at this station than at any of the others. Remnants of blue mingle with tattered gray without incident. Eyes are downcast or exhausted, no longer sparking with the battlefield’s fear and anger. I hope and pray that these weary men are able to forgive and forget and will soon begin to build new lives for themselves.
One of the men glanced up at Frances. Their eyes met, and he smiled. Remembering the drawn expression on Johnny’s face when he returned from the prison camp, Frances gave no thought to proper behavior and smiled back.
Stefan tugged on her arm. “There are my aunt and uncle! See? They’re waving at me! I was afraid I wouldn’t remember them, but I do! I do!”
Frances leaned over Stefan’s shoulder and looked where he was pointing. A short, slender couple had spotted Stefan. The woman was crying and smiling at the same time. The man looked very much like Stefan—with the exception of a bushy mustache. With the couple was a plump, red-cheeked woman who had brown hair that escaped in little flyaway wisps from under her black straw hat. She waved at Frances and smiled.