trestle. The train slowed and then eased carefully onto the bridge, like a foot at cold
water's edge. Lou and Oz looked down, but could not see the ground below in the poor
light. It was as though they were suspended in the sky, somehow carried aloft by an iron
bird weighing many tons. Then suddenly the train was back on firm ground, and the
climb was on again. As the train picked up speed, Oz took a deep breath interrupted by a
yawn—perhaps, Lou thought, to stifle his anxiety.
"I'm going to like it here," Oz suddenly proclaimed as he balanced his bear against the
window. "Look out there," he said to his stuffed animal, which had never had a name that
Lou knew of. Then Oz's thumb nervously probed the insides of his mouth. He'd been
diligently trying to stop sucking his thumb, yet with all that was happening he was
finding it tough going.
"It'll be okay, right, Lou?" he mumbled.
She perched her little brother on her lap, tickling the back of his neck with her chin until
Oz squirmed.
"We're going to be just fine." And Lou somehow forced herself to believe that it would
be so.
CHAPTER SIX
THE TRAIN STATION AT RAINWATER RlDGE WAS NO more than a glorified pine-studded
lean-to, with a single cracked and spiderwebbed window and an opening for a door but
no door to fill the space. A narrow jump separated this wreck of nail and board from the
railroad track. The channeled wind was fierce as it fought its way through the gaps in
rock and tree, and the faces of the few folk hanging about, along with the runted trees,
evidenced the blunt force of its chisel.
Lou and Oz watched as their mother was loaded into an ancient ambulance. As the nurse
climbed into the vehicle, she scowled back at her charges, the confrontation of the day
before obviously still rankling her.
When the doors of the vehicle closed, Lou pulled the quartz necklace from her coat
pocket and handed it to Oz.
"I slipped into her room before she got up. It was still in her pocket."
Oz smiled, pocketed the precious item, and then reached on tiptoe to give his sister a kiss
on the cheek.
The two stood next to their luggage, patiently awaiting Louisa Mae Cardinal.
Their skin was scrubbed raw, each hair on their heads assiduously brushed—Lou had
taken extra time with Oz. They were dressed in their very best clothes, which managed
barely to conceal their pounding hearts. They had been there for a minute when they
sensed someone behind them.
The Negro man was young and, in keeping with the geography, ruggedly built. He was
tall and wide of shoulder, deep-chested, with arms like slabs of ham, a waist not small but
not soft either, and legs long but one oddly pushed out where calf met knee. His skin was
the color of deep rust and pleasing to the eye. He was looking down at his feet, which
necessarily drew Lou's gaze to them. His old work boots were so big a newborn could
have slept in them with some room to spare, the girl observed. His overalls were as worn
as the shoes, but they were clean, or as clean as the dirt and wind would allow anything to
be up here. Lou held out her hand, but he did not take it.
Instead, with one impressive move, he picked up all their bags, then flicked his head
toward the road. Lou interpreted this as "hello," "come on," and "I'll tell you my name
maybe later," all wrapped into one efficient motion. He limped off, the bulging leg now
revealed to be a bum one. Lou and Oz looked at each other and then trudged after him.
Oz clutched his bear and Lou's hand. No doubt the boy would have tugged the train after
them if he could have somehow managed it, so as to effect a quick escape if needed.
The long-bodied Hudson four-door sedan was the color of a sweet pickle. The car was
old but clean inside. Its tall, exposed radiator looked like a tombstone, and its two front
fenders were missing, as was the rear window glass. Lou and Oz sat in the backseat while
the man drove. He worked the long stick shift with an easy skill, nary a gear ever left
grinding.
After the woeful state of the train station, Lou had not expected much in the way of
civilization up here. However, after only twenty minutes on the road they entered a town
of fair size, though in New York City such a meager collection of structures would hardly
have filled one sorry block.
A sign announced that they were entering the township of Dickens, Virginia. The main
street was two-laned and paved with asphalt. Well-kept structures of wood and brick
lined both sides of it. One such building rose five stories, its vacancy sign proclaiming it
to be a hotel at fair rates. Automobiles were plentiful here, mostly bulky Ford and
Chrysler sedans, and hefty trucks of various makes adorned with mud. All were parked