The Girl on the Train

      "Settle down, everyone! Please, settle down!" Sheriff Bowman's words didn't travel far. The church that doubled as a schoolhouse during the week was small and sat forty people at best. He addressed the man behind the pulpit. "Reverend, you take it from here."

           Reverend Mark Wilcox nodded and searched the crowd, looking for someone, anyone, to raise their hand and volunteer to help.

           I fiddled with the seam of my cuff to help keep my eyes down as the townspeople began arguing again. Aunt Gwen always told me not to make eye contact when my elders minced words. I didn't want to look at them anyway. The urge to run warred within me, to head out far away from where I sat, but the bitter cold that awaited me outside held me to my seat. I was at the mercy of the community of people who claimed this town as their home, who couldn't agree on much of anything, nevertheless what to do with the orphan who arrived in town on the train early this morning and was now seated next to the minister in the front of the room. I just wanted to go home.

           I chanced a glance up. A man wearing overalls and a dirt smudge on his cheek stood, straw hat in hand, and pointed to an older woman more finely dressed than the others. "Mrs. Carlson, you can take her, can't ya?"

           Pressing her hand to the carved ivory handle of the wooden cane, she stood leaning heavily on its support. "No. I cannot." Her lips pursed, and she sat back down with a violent gasp as she shot an angry glance my way. My presence had disrupted the town she controlled with her money, which did not set well with her.

           Lowering my eyes which now leaked the heartache I felt, I wrestled with the images of Aunt Gwen's face when she had placed me on the orphan train heading west with the Children's Aid Society. "It's for the best, Child. You must live elsewhere, understand?" No, I didn't understand. With so many rooms in her beautiful home, why would she not have room for me? Her house was so large she would never know I was there.

           The reverend spoke again. "The train left the station hours ago, and it's cold outside. We need a family to step forward and take her in, even for only a little while, until I have a chance to send the Children's Aid Society a telegram tomorrow letting them know about the sudden passing of their agent."

           The reverence each one held for the dead claimed the room ushering in a momentary silence. This town had been the very last stop along the westward line of the railway this side of the Mississippi. The agent, Miss Josephine, was supposed to have another agent with her, but he had taken ill and had to stay behind. Along the way, we stopped at each town, lining up on the stations' platforms or in churches so that people wanting children or needing workers on their farms could come and inspect us. Each time I was passed up, Miss Josephine and I moved on to the next town.

When we arrived in this town, we disembarked and headed for the church. While crossing the roadway, Miss Josephine grabbed her chest and collapsed beside me. She was not a young woman and had had a few episodes of breathlessness on the train ride. The chaos that erupted caused my head to whirl. By the time the town doctor arrived, she had passed from this life. I was alone in a town I had never been in, with no money or anyone to care for me.

A modestly dressed woman with a kind face finally stood to speak. Her voice shook as she delivered her verdict. "I think she's a fine girl, and I wish we could take her home." She shot a sidelong glance at her husband, the full-bearded man sitting beside her. "As the schoolteacher, I spoke with this young lady today and found her to be bright and smart. But I have four boys who are becoming men, and well, you know what I mean. It just wouldn't be fittin'." She gave a slight shake of her head. "It just wouldn't be fittin'." She sat back down and looked my way. Giving a light shrug, she mouthed the words I'm sorry.

Grappling with what she meant by "not fittin'," my insides began to feel uneasy. I wiped my tears and looked out at the congregation while they all stared at me like I would pounce on them and scratch them at any moment. What was so wrong with me that they wanted me far from them?

Reverend Wilcox took in a deep breath. "We have committed to being a community of love and acceptance. Surely someone can take in this young girl and keep her long enough to allow me to get this sorted out."

"Winter's a-comin'!" One man called out.

"That's right." A woman in the back stood tall, donning a calico bonnet. "And we don't know when the next train will come. Truth is, she could be here 'til spring, Reverend."

Reverend Wilcox opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. His eyes wandered the room, looking for an answer to the dilemma.

Earlier that day, there had been a hullabaloo about the adoption papers found in Miss Josephine's satchel. All of the parents adopting children had to sign a contract with the Children's Aid Society binding them to an agreement to care for the adopted child. Miss Josephine had told me that the children traveling on the trains were anywhere from four to sixteen years of age. I would be seventeen in two weeks, at which point I would be ineligible for adoption. My head spun with the information. As the deadline approached, another detail of the adoption was looming. While the adoption papers did use the term "adoption," they also included the words "indentured servant until the age of twenty-one." If I found a family to take me in, they would be my guardians until I turned twenty-one. If I did not find a family, I would be out in the cold at nearly seventeen.

The clanging of the metal latch on the wood stove rang out as an elderly man in the back of the room fed the little beast more wood. Some were looking at me, some at the floor. Their silence was almost worse than the arguing that had lasted for over an hour.

Reverend Wilcox spoke in soft words. "God has placed me here to lead this flock. I am at a loss as to what to do with this fine young lady. It's up to all of us, not me alone."

A woman with a large silver bun to the back of her head rose and shuffled her way up the center aisle until she stood in front of the reverend. She grinned wide and crooked her finger to signal him to bend down so she could speak into his ear. But the woman was hard of hearing, so her whisper was loud enough for all to ascertain. "Why don't you marry the girl?"

Reverend Wilcox's face turned red, and he shook his head. "No, ma'am. That would not be possible." He stammered for a moment, swallowed hard, then recovered. "The regional board of trustees of the church has to approve my choice of a wife. If I bypass that, I will be asked to step down as your minister." Shooting a glance my way, he looked relieved and continued to address the situation. "I'm sure if we pray and put our heads together, we can find a way from… uhm for… this young girl."

"But she's not a girl." The elderly woman spoke, still standing before the reverend. "She's a woman."

The reverend began a slight shake of his head.

The woman turned to the congregation as she asked, "Reverend Wilcox, did you not marry the Johnson couple just last year? The groom was twenty and the bride seventeen, if I recall."

"That's true." A soft, courageous voice came from one side of the wooden pews.

The reverend shifted his weight. "But they had been brought up as friends since childhood, and their parents favored the union. Besides, we have no groom."

The room fell silent again.

A man of large stature with golden-brown waves trailing behind his shoulders tied to the back of his head with a strip of leather stood in the back of the room.

Reverend Wilcox acknowledged him with wide eyes. "Nicholas Van Buren."

The man took his time coming forward. He was a brawny man with the gait of one who walked in authority. By his mere presence, he took ownership of the room. All eyes were upon him with an astonishment that I could not comprehend. I shifted in my seat, ignorant of what this man would suggest and afraid of which family I would wind up with. Would they see me as their daughter or a servant?

"Mr. Van Buren," Reverend Wilcox repeated his name, "You are not one that usually attends town meetings. I'm surprised… and delighted… to see you here."

This Mr. Van Buren came to the front bypassing the reverend, and stood before me.

"…and you are always so quiet…" The reverend's voice trailed off.

"The frontiersman." A voice from the pews whispered.

His eyes were the bluish color of the heavens before sunset. The brown hat he held in his large hands was well-worn and trimmed with a band of leather. A small hatchet rested in his belt on one hip and his revolver on the other.

His eyes met mine, but he spoke to all in attendance. "We've been discussing this young lady's future, but no one has bothered to ask her what her name is." His voice was kind and soft but took on the room like a champion.

I straightened my spine and lifted my chin. "Clara Michelle Lancaster."

His mouth grinned, making his eyes smile. "Well, Clara Michelle, what do you want to do in this situation?"

My face fell as the tears took over my countenance.

"Hey now," he spoke gently, "There's no need to cry. This is a good day."

I stood and glared up and him. "A good day? A good day, you say? No one here wants me. My parents died, and my aunt gave me away. And now, these people," I gestured to all in attendance, "think there's something wrong with me, so I cannot go home with any of them."

The schoolteacher on the front row shook her head.

The frontiersman looked around the room and then back at me, brows raised. "You have a pretty face, and they don't know what to do with it." He chuckled. "You look like a grown woman."

"What?" I bit back.

His eyes bore into mine. "You're beautiful. The only reason the teacher doesn't want you in her home is because her boys will fight over you. That would cause a family feud that could last for years to come. It's better that you move in with someone else."

The reverend looked ashamed but nodded his head.   

I wiped my tears again and looked him in the face. "If what you say is true, Mr. Van Buren, then I am being rejected because of my looks?"

His eyes stayed on me. "Yeah. That seems to be what's going on. Folks in these parts tend to pass judgment on appearances." He held up his left hand, missing his pinky finger and half of the one beside it. Gasps echoed through the room. Then, pushing his hair away from his left ear, he showed that most of the top of it was gone, and a large scar ran from behind his ear to higher up on his scalp.

My heart sank, but my mind went curious. "How did it happen?"

"I was attacked by a bear, years ago."

Murmuring filled the room. From what was spoken, it was apparent that no one had bothered to ask this man standing before me how he had been scarred. They had only chased stories about what might have been. 

My voice rose as I addressed the congregation. "This is pathetic. If I sat up here with a huge scar across my face, you all would gasp in horror, as you are doing with Mr. Van Buren now. Instead, you reject me because you think I have beauty?" I was not going to surrender to their gasps any longer. My foot took a step as I intended to leave the schoolhouse to venture out on my own.

The frontiersman took a gentle hold on my arm. "Hold up there, Miss." His smile caused the side of his eyes to wrinkle a bit.  

I pulled my arm away from him. "Don't touch me. You don't get to decide what happens to me."

"I don't want to make that decision for you."

"What decision? My fate is being chosen by everyone in this room."

"Not me. I don't know what you want. It's up to you. What do you want?"

I breathed in deeply. "I want to go home." I looked down, around the room, and then back up at him. "Problem is, I have no home to go to."

"Not if I have anything to do with it."

My brows furrowed, and I cocked my head.

"Be my wife, Miss Lancaster."

My eyes went wide. "I don't know you."

"These people here can speak for me. I've not always been their favorite neighbor because of my scars and being a recluse most of the time. But they do know I am a man of my word."

My eyes traveled around the room. Smiles filled the faces of each and every person seated.

One man stood, "I bought a horse from him once. Best plow horse I ever had," then sat down.

The Reverend cleared his throat and gave a nod. "Mr. Van Buren is a man in good standing in our community, Miss Lancaster. Most here have simply misunderstood where his scars came from." He looked out over the people. "Perhaps we can all learn from this."

I looked at Mr. Van Buren. "You're truly asking me to marry you, here, now?"

"Yes, I am."

"You know my age. How old are you?" I asked.

He swallowed, then straightened, holding his head high. "Three and twenty, Miss Lancaster."

The elderly woman, who still stood near the reverend, took a step closer to me. "My George, God rest his soul– my George and I were married in a similar fashion o'er fifty year ago. I didn't know him. He didn't know me. But we needed each other. And so, it began." Her smile widened, and her face lit up. "After a time, I fell in with him. And I loved him until the day he died last fall. We have children and grandchildren who call us blessed."

My eyes roamed the face of this frontiersman who stood tall and fine before me. My heart calmed in my chest because his eyes were so warm. They soothed me.

"Do you know the Lord?" I asked him.

"Yes. The Lord and I are great friends. He knows my heart, and I read His word to know His."

"He's a Christian? Who woulda thought?" a whisper rang from the pews.

I bit my lip. "So, you can read and write?"

"He writes poetry, that one does." A woman called from the back.

"Do you?" I asked.

He smiled with a nod.

I looked him over, assessing his size, looking nervous.

He took in a slow breath and looked into my eyes. "I will never hurt you, Miss. I'm not that kind of man."

As I looked down, pondering what to do, I noticed him moving. He went to one knee and looked up at me.

"Will ya marry me?"

"Why me?" I shrugged.

"Because I'm sure there's more to you than that pretty face." He tapped a finger to one side of his head and laughed. "You've got a thinker. And I would like to spend the rest of my days getting to know what's up there. We could spend time reading together and then talk about the characters in the stories. You could show me what you know, and I could do the same."

Many of the womenfolk raised their brows and shot glances at their husbands.

Warmth filled me. This man was a mystery to me but not to the community. They said he was a good man, albeit an oddity to them, and I had nowhere to go.

"Okay, Nicholas Van Buren. I will marry you."

He stood, towering above me. Then, swooping me up in his arms and twirling me around, he said, "God as my witness, Clara Michelle, you'll never regret it."

The room erupted with cheers.

After an hour of preparations, and the loan of a dress from one of the townswomen, we were married in that same church. He took me to my forever home, a grand cabin filled with furniture he himself had made. We shared everything we knew with one another. "Trading knowledge pots," he called it. I was never happier in all my days.