A Different Place and Time

A Different Place and Time

The cars of the electric train shifted as it roughly switched tracks. Allen Foster jostled in the cushioned seat. His limited view through the dirty window became tiring, so he tried to focus on the blurry countryside speeding by. But the creeping migraine continued. Lights inside the locomotive dimmed. He sat alone. 

The constant humming from the racing train lured him to sleep, and before long Allen closed his weary eyes. Strange images of a small midwestern town formed within the depths of his mind. As his unconsciousness released his inner inhibitions, the people and place took on a ghostly shape.  

“Danville...next stop, Danville!” shouted the conductor. 

Allen could hear the voice. He willed his heavy lids to open.

“Sir…Danville, sir. Your stop,” spoke the stocky conductor. 

Allen blinked several times. The image before him could not be real. The elder man was dressed in a blue wool serge uniform and cap and held a gold pocket watch in his hand. 

“The train will be departing the station. This is your stop.”

Allen eased himself off the cushioned wooden bench. He glanced about the empty antiquated car. “How…how did I get here?”

“You have exactly four minutes to depart the train before it moves on, sir. This is your stop. Danville.” The persistent conductor pointed. 

Allen’s heart raced. Where am I?

The railroad train whistled. Suddenly, the boxcar lurched forward. The conductor turned around and headed toward the front of the car. “All aboard!” he shouted.

Without warning, Allen’s chest tightened. He grabbed at his tie and yanked it off. He couldn’t breathe. His upper body stiffened. Allen fell back against the seat. Sweat lined his brows. He gasped and clawed at his white buttoned shirt, excruciating pain surging through his being as he gave in to the looming darkness.

“Hey, buddy…you okay?” asked a strange voice. Allen felt the weight of a hand on his drooping shoulder. “Buddy…hey, get up!” The hand shook him a little harder. “It’s the end of the line.”

Allen stirred. His eyes instantly opened to the bright light. The rapid transit sat motionless. A tall, thin man smiled. The stranger’s pinstripe business suit was wrinkled. 

“Where…where am I?” asked Allen. 

The young man grabbed his briefcase off the floor.

“Sixth and Elmore—end of the line. Everybody has to get off.” Without waiting for any type of response, the rider exited the car.

Allen’s head spun. He grasped at the metal pole to steady himself. Suddenly, the lights flickered on and off, signaling the closing of the doors. 

Seconds later, he stood on the deserted platform. On the wall directly in front of him were huge black letters that read “SIXTH AND ELMORE.”  A large red arrow pointed to the street above. A moving escalator and set of stairs reached upward.

Allen took a huge breath and exhaled slowly. He slowly took the steps. His legs felt shaky. Minutes later, he was standing on the corner of Sixth and Elmore. Blaring cars and taxis flew by, paying him no heed. The sun was setting behind the tall buildings that jutted out along the skyline. People busily moved about, without a glance his way.  

Allen’s dress shirt was soaked with perspiration. His black suit pants itched against his sweaty skin. His entire body felt clammy. Yet the evening air felt cool and damp. Suddenly, a familiar chime came from inside his pants pocket. He pulled out the cell phone.

“Hello?” he answered in a raspy tone. 

“Is this Mr. Allen Foster?” asked a deep voice. 

Allen glanced around.

“Yes…I’m Foster. Who is this, and what do you want?” demanded Allen, clearing his throat. 

 “My name is Stan Feldman…with Oak Harbor Mortgage…you’re several months behind on your mortgage, Mr. Foster. I can take a payment over the phone, if you like.” 

Allen let out a huge sigh.

“Stan…is it Stan?” asked Allen.

“Yes. Stan Feldman,” the man replied.

“I’m in a bit of a bind. I know I’m behind on the mortgage. Work…well, I make my money on commission with stock trading. And since my divorce and the pandemic…” Allen’s voice faded.

“Oak Harbor Mortgage understands, Mr. Foster, which is why they’ve let it slide the past few months. We need a payment, though, within the next two weeks. If not, unfortunately, foreclosure procedures will begin,” explained Feldman.

“I won’t have it in two weeks, Stan. You can start the process now.” And with that said, Allen disconnected the call. Not only had he lost his edge as a stock trader, he’d lost his wife, too, and now his home. His eyes blurred with tears.

With a heavy heart and empty bank account, Allen flagged down a taxi and headed home. Forty-five minutes later, he inserted the key into the deadbolt. Instantly, the room illuminated with lights. He remembered the day he installed them for Gena. She was so happy with the surprise, they made love that very evening. Little did he know, she was planning on leaving him barely a month later. How could he have missed the signs? All marriages have ups and downs. Granted, their marriage had more downs than ups. Yet still he loved Gena, and he thought she loved him, too.

Allen dropped onto the white cushioned sofa. There was little left in the room. Gena had taken most of the decorative items and expensive furniture. He didn’t care.

He turned on the flat screen television with the remote. As he scrolled through the menu, he realized he hadn’t eaten since early morning. On cue, his stomach growled with hunger. He stopped on a cooking channel. Pulling out his cell phone, he quickly ordered a large mushroom pizza to be delivered to his house. It wouldn’t be long before the house would be owned by the bank.

A half-hour later, the doorbell rang. Allen strolled to the front door. A young male with pimples on his smiling face shoved the large white box at Allen.

“A large mushroom for a Mr. Foster?” The uniformed teenager waited a brief moment as Allen dug into his pocket. “Hey, man…you paid online,” he said, still pressing the box toward Allen.

“Yeah, right…thanks.”

Allen took the pizza box and closed the front door. He heard a muffler backfired as the teen disappeared into the night.

After eating only three pieces, Allen kicked off his shoes and laid on the couch. His mind raced with all sorts of images. His life had become pieces and parts that no longer fit together in a cohesive vision. A string of fateful events that would eventually lead to only one conclusion. 

Allen closed his weary eyes and fell asleep.

The rapid transit platform was filled with commuters. People were lined up near the yellow line, waiting for the next train to arrive. Allen stifled a huge yawn. Restlessness impeded his sleep. He couldn’t get comfortable on the couch. And sleeping in his bed wasn’t an option. Gena had taken that, too.

           The train into the city was filled beyond capacity. Allen stood holding a metal pole. He jostled about as the high-speed train zipped through the countryside. Within the hour, the train had emptied most of its passengers. He should have gotten off at the last stop, with the rest of the crowd. But Allen stayed on and sat down alone. He knew there was nothing to do at work. In fact, the meeting scheduled with his boss was probably what he feared the most.

           How could I screw up my marriage? How could I fail at my job? How could I lose the house?  

Allen’s shoulders drooped. A single tear trickled down his flushed cheek. The weight of exhaustion became too much to bear. Allen closed his wet eyes. He wished he could start over again. A second chance at life. A different place—a different time. Allen closed his teary eyes for just a second.

           “Danville…next stop, Danville,” called a familiar voice. 

The click of the wheels against the track startled Allen awake. He must have fallen asleep.

The conductor stood next to Allen’s cushioned bench.

“Sir…next stop, Danville. It’s your stop, Mr. Foster,” said the aged conductor, with a smile. He pulled out his pocket watch. “Right on time, Mr. Foster, right on time.” The whistle blew as the steam engine chugged to an abrupt stop.

           “Danville?” whispered Allen. 

The conductor gave a slight nod.

“Danville, Mr. Foster.” The older man touched the brim of his hat and turned on his heel.

Allen jumped up and moved quickly to the open end of the car. Three steps led to the wooden stage.

           “All aboard!” yelled the conductor.

The locomotive jerked forward. Allen jumped onto the rickety platform. Steam poured out from under the railroad cars. As he stood up, a huge wooden sign hung from two posts: “DANVILLE.” Several people glanced his way. 

           “Are you alright, sir?” asked a tall, aged gentleman dressed in a dark frock coat with light brown straight cut trousers in black pointed toe shoes. His black stovepipe top hat loomed above him.

           Allen remained speechless until he saw the beautiful woman by the strange man’s side. Her beige bodice and long, dark skirt rested above the black laced boots. The white drawn silk bonnet accentuated her young, soft face. 

           “I’m…I’m fine,” replied Allen. He tried to brush the dust and dirt off his wrinkled pinstripe suit. The man and woman looked him up and down. “I’m…I’m a bit lost.” Allen gave a half-grin.

           “Sir, you cannot be lost.” The young woman pointed to the sign. “Danville is the town, sir. In fact, Danville is about a mile or two down the road.” Her cheeks rushed with color.

           Allen couldn’t take his eyes off the enchanted female. “Yes, of course. How silly of me. It’s Danville…I mean, the town is called Danville,” Allen replied, stumbling over his words.

           “You look confused, sir, and a bit disheveled. Your clothes, sir. They are quite strange. Allen looked down at himself. He was indeed a mess. “Are you here on business?” persisted the man. 

Allen shifted his feet.

“Well, I don’t know why I’m here.” Allen shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I’m looking for a better life.” 

The man scrunched his eyebrows.

“A better life? What’s wrong with the life you have?” The man looked over at the woman next to him. 

She giggled.

“Oh, Father. He’s jesting.” She turned to look at Allen. “I am Miss Marie Spencer, and this is my father, Mr. Howard Spencer. My father runs The Bank of Danville. And I am a school teacher,” exclaimed Marie. “Welcome to our quaint little town of Danville.”

           “Allen Foster…my name is Allen Foster. I’m looking for work.” He shoved his hands inside his pockets. 

Howard’s eyes squinted.

“As in employment?” questioned the old man. 

Marie giggled once again.

“Father…what else would Mr. Foster be referring to except gainful employment within the confines of our wonderful town?” Marie lightly tapped her father’s arm. “You’ll have to excuse my father’s rude behavior. He’s much better with numbers than dealings with people. We’re heading into Danville. Would you like to ride with us?”

           Allen’s hands were sweaty. He was infatuated with this mysterious yet intriguing woman.

           “May I? I mean, if it’s okay with Mr. Spencer, that is…” said Allen as his eyes shifted briefly to the older gent.

           “I see no harm. And I agree with my daughter, on some accounts. I can come across as a bit crude, but mind you, this day and age you have to be careful,” commented Howard. 

           “I agree with you, Mr. Spencer. And…what day and age are it, to be exact?” questioned Allen. He glanced back and forth between the two of them. 

Marie let out a chuckle.

“Why, Mr. Foster…you indeed have such a unique sense of humor…this beautiful spring day in eighteen fifty, the fifth of May, that is,” she stated. 

Allen’s smile fell from his face.

“Wait…what? Eighteen fifty? You’ve got to be kidding me! How is it possible that I…” His voice trailed off. Can this truly be eighteen fifty? Is this a dream? I hope I never wake up.

           “Are you in need of medical attention?” asked Howard. “You heard my daughter—eighteen fifty. Anyone with a right mind would know that without a telling.” Mr. Spencer took a step toward Allen.

           “My apologies, Mr. Spencer. I’m not good with dates. Yes, silly me.” Allen shifted his feet. 

           “Dear Father, please let Mr. Foster keep what little sanity he has left after your harsh interrogation. Not everyone is seedy. This man has been forthright, and he’s looking to gain employment here within our town. Is that so wrong?” commented Marie.

           “No. Not in the least, Marie. We are looking to hire on another bank teller. Might that suit your abilities, Mr. Foster?” asked Howard. 

Allen gave a half-grin.

“I could make it work…I mean, yes, it would be perfect. I also need a place to stay,” said Allen.

           “Well, you’re in luck, Mr. Foster. Morgan’s Inn can accommodate your needs. Another business taken under the wings of my father. Danville is a profitable venture for the Spencer family,” said Marie. 

Suddenly, something behind Allen drew Howard Spencer’s attention.

“It may seem our carriage has arrived, my dear.”

He gently took his daughter’s elbow to guide her toward the horse and buggy.

           “Shall we, Mr. Foster?” Marie offered her free arm to Allen.

           Allen cleared his throat and cautiously encircled his arm with hers. “We shall, Miss Spencer.”

Allen eagerly walked toward the awaiting carriage, with a beautiful woman on his arm, and into an unknown destiny.

*******

The paramedic had been performing CPR on the male subject for over five minutes, to no avail. There was no sign of breathing nor a pulse. His ashen face and blue lips told the inevitable truth.

           The uniformed police officer held back the onlookers. It was cramped inside the rapid transit car. “Okay, folks, let’s move it along. Nothing here to see. Come on, let’s get a move on.”

His stocky build pushed the commuters toward the open door. Once the area was secured, he returned to the paramedic, who’d radioed for a gurney to remove the deceased individual.

           “Any idea who this guy was?” asked the cop. 

The middle-aged paramedic shook his head.

“No…but one of the passengers said he talked briefly with this man yesterday. He said this guy rode the transit to the end of the line. The commuter said for a brief moment he thought the guy was dead, but then he woke up,” said the paramedic.

           “What do you think…a heart attack or stroke?” asked the cop.

The paramedic gave a slight sigh.

“It’s a good guess. We won’t know until the autopsy.” Suddenly, a clank of wheels and metal sounded through the sliding doors. “Can you help me lift the body onto the gurney, Officer?”

           “Sure. No problem.”

The cop stood to the side as the gurney was pushed in place. As the two men lifted the body, a wallet fell out of the man’s jacket. Seconds later, the cop picked up the wallet and looked inside for his ID.

           “It says his name is Allen Foster.” The cop closed the wallet and laid it on top of the body.  “Well, Allen Foster, I hope you’re in a better place now.” 

And with that said, Allen Foster’s body was wheeled out of the subway and loaded into the awaiting ambulance lights. The paramedic then slowly closed the back doors and drove away into the dawn of a new morning.