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Boston and Maine

Homeward Bound

By Rebecca RidsdalePublished 2 years ago Updated about a year ago 9 min read
1
Boston and Maine
Photo by john crozier on Unsplash

Mary opens her eyes and she knows this is something different. "Is this a dream?", she thinks to herself, "No, it's too real to be a dream". Moving fast, yet comfortably encased in what feels like the womb of a mother ship. Bemused by the sensation, she's seated calmly but at the same time propelled forward at what seems like warp speed - quite like one of those space shows she's seen on TV.

Panic seeps into her chest as her eyes come back into focus. "Where in the HELL am I? What in God's creation is going on?"

Mary sees now that she's on a train, but not just any train, a big old steam train, like one she and Papa used to take to the city as a child. That was a very long time ago, "surely, that big old smelly train is out of commission now?", she thinks to herself. The pungent smell of coal and oil permeate her nostrils as her eyes flash around the lonely cabin. Mary looks for a ticket or a clue as to the mystery locomotive's destination - none in site.

Glancing down at her wrinkled and spotted hands, knotted knuckles reach for the white gold band on her left ring finger. Like a worry stone, caressing it brings calm and memories of a life long-lived - a good life.

A glance out the picture window, Mary sees her static reflection; creased face, faded blue eyes and thinning shoulder length silver hair. In the foreground, the world flashes by with a glimpse of what was - hypnotized by strobing white light dancing with familiar images.

Transfixed, she sees and feels herself the young girl - tight-pinned curls, blue and white checked dress just below the knee. Sash-waisted bow, simple ruffles, puffed sleeves and Mary Jane shoes. Little hand holding big hand - safe with Papa. Mary is seven years old, and "just a youngin", as Papa used to say. Once every few months Papa and Mary would take the U.S. Class I Boston & Maine railway from their home in Deerfield, Massachusetts to Boston.

Mary sees her Ma waving them on with a happy and worried look on her face - she often finds it hard to know how her Ma is feeling from one moment to the next.

Ma used to say, "you're such a Daddy's girl". And she was - always had to go where Papa went. Mary wondered how Ma really felt about her bond with Papa.

Papa was a Civil Engineer and he'd take Mary with him to famous buildings and to meet important people. The best part was the ride on the good 'ol B&M train, though. Trains have changed so much since she was a child. Back then, its as though the train was alive with a personality all its own.

Dreamy plush fabrics, so soft to the touch. Mary would often lean back against Papa's strong and wide shoulder, tilting her head back just enough for the best 90 degree view she could manage.

Just to the right, the view through the window presented a whirl of the outside world mingling with thick puffs of black smoke, edging past. Eyes scan rich wood-lined ceiling above and rows of deeply spaced seats ahead. Groups of hushed chatter and lone patrons reading the latest news, puffing on a cigar or captured in trance by the world beyond the train car.

Down and to the left, Mary squints her eyes, focusing in and out on the rich blue, purple and gold carpet with geometric patterns. She counts the diamonds and squares while listening to the rhythm of train wheels on the track. Clack, clack, thunk...clack, clack, thunk, each heart beat lulling heavy eyes into sleep. The lingering aroma of Papa's Mennon skin bracer delightfully blending with coal and tobacco take her further into a blissful rest.

"Such a warm and strong man." Mary remembers, "I miss him so". Tears fill her once dry eyes.

HISS...HUFF...HISS...HUFF...HISSSS..., faster still!

"A big ol' clunky time-machine", Mary chuckles to herself. Her awareness now fully back in her upright position on the empty train car.

Mary's curiosity is piqued and she reaches for her cane, shakily propping herself forward and up to a standing position. The train gently sways to-and-fro and it takes a moment for her to get her footing. Matching each step forward with each side-to-side swing of the car proves challenging. Mary's knees begin to buckle and her right hand just catches the arm of the next seat over. She uses all of her strength in her right arm to pull herself up to the seat ahead, just managing to sit herself down on the other side of the train.

Mary can hear and feel her heart pounding in her chest. It sounds more like a clank, clank, clank rather than a thud, thud, thud.

"Is this what a heart sounds like at the end of its life? A last cry for help before it stops?", she ponders.

The clanking is getting slower now and she realizes the noise is the sound of the train reducing speed, as though an obstacle is up ahead. Her eyes dart out the right side of the moving train and she sees a familiar scene of expansive green and yellow fields with women and children working and playing. It reminds her of when she was young - men had gone to War and not come home, leaving their women behind to fend for themselves and their children.

Memory is sparked and Mary closes her eyes, feeling for the smooth lines of her wedding ring. The field imprinted in her minds-eye; she remembers looking out across the corn field at her friend Betty's farm. The farm was on a floodplain, easily over a hundred acres of land stretching alongside the Deerfield river.

Mary is sixteen and being out at the farm is a real treat, considering she's been boarded at the Deerfield Academy for a better part of six months. Papa is a friend and business associate of Frank Boyden, the headmaster who turned the Academy into a a nationally-respected preparatory school.

"Dicky Flynt", Mary sighs. Betty's older brother - two years older, in fact. He took over as the man of the house since their Pop never came home from that dreadful War. It was hard on him - hard on all of them, but they managed.

The first time she saw Dicky working the corn across the field she knew she wanted to know him better. From that initial gathering, when they all sat out on the veranda drinking ice-cold Dr. Pepper and watching the sun go down, Mary felt it deep in her bones - one day she'd marry that Dicky boy. Three years later, on June 10, 1957, Miss Mary Juniper Marks became Mrs. Dicky Joseph Flynt and well the rest is history, as they say.

Mary catches herself as her head tips and then taps the window pane. Her eyes flit open and she suddenly remembers that she is on the train. The lights flicker on and off and outside the windows all she can see is darkness. Panic really sets in but this time right in the pit of her stomach, as though she's swallowed a big gulp of air that's left a gaping void in her abdomen.

"I don't like this! I don't like this one bit!", Mary tries to lift herself up again. The only exit is ten or fifteen steps away at the front of the car. If she can just get to that door, maybe there is an answer on the other side of it!

Mary teeters side-to-side and forward to back - inching one foot in front of the other. She's standing in the main aisle, hanging onto either side of the backrests. She can see through the cut-out windows of the sliding door ahead, but its too dark to make anything out.

Frustrated and frightened, Mary hears herself crying out, 'HELLO? HELLO? IS ANYBODY THERE? I AM ALONE IN THE TRAIN CAR! PLEASE HELP ME!" Chest heaving, she holds her breath for a moment to listen for a reply. Nothing.

"Someone must know why I'm here!?" Exhausted, she tips herself sideways to the left and to the second seat from the front. Mary slumps her shoulders forward and head down in resignation.

"If only I had buckets full of energy like I did when I was young. I would force my way through that door and cross to the other train car, you can bet your life".

Her life - it is a tired one now. Mary still has a bit of spark and spunk, but there are really no people left to enjoy life with. Mary was an only child and she and Dicky were unable to have children. She always regretted not having children, even though it was no fault of her own.

Dicky was told by the Doctor he had testicular azoospermia - a fancy name for infertility. When he was a child he developed a condition called orchitis - another fancy term for 'inflammation of the testicle' that later caused the infertility. It wasn't until after a year of trying to conceive Dicky and Mary knew something was wrong. And so it goes.

"Now they're all gone", Mary's head hangs lower and she feels a tear fall down her cheek.

It's true, she's the last of her family and friends still alive; her only companion was her sweet Pea - short for Peanut. Mary's precious black cat who was old in her own right; eighteen, in fact. Eighty-eight in human years when Mary was forced to euthanize Pea.

She wipes the tear that has now run down a crease in her neck. Her eyes are drawn upward and out the window again. The veil of pitch-blackness outside the train has lifted and has revealed a dark haze; like before a rain shower on a hot and muggy day.

She can see the train is moving slowly around a curved track and navigating toward a tunnel. The tunnel ahead looks different than one might expect. Rather than a tunnel with a black void within it, this one has a very bright white light pouring out of it. Like a stadium lit up for a game.

"Quite unusual", she thinks to herself. She finds a sense of calm wash over her and decides to take a moment to enjoy the ride.

As the track straightens out and the train moves closer to the tunnel, her eye is drawn to the door at the front of the car. Blinding white light pours into the train car and for a moment she thinks she sees the silhouette of a person standing there. The light is so bright she is uncertain if her eyes are playing tricks on her.

Mary blinks several times and indeed she sees the shape of a man standing in the aisle just ahead and to the right of her. The light behind the figure dims slightly and she can just make out a face. Mary squints to sharpen her focus and is able to hone-in on the features of a face so familiar!

"Papa!? Is that you!?", the figure turns toward her and with a smile and a wink, reaches his hand out to her. Overjoyed, Mary reaches her own hand to the man she now knows is her Father; young, handsome and strong as she knew him so long ago.

"It is you! It really is you!" All at once, she finds herself hand-in-hand with her Papa, as he leads Mary through the bright light of the train car door to the other side.

"Oh, Papa! Thank you for bringing me home".

Short Story
1

About the Creator

Rebecca Ridsdale

she/her

Earthy and funny. Intense and structured. Poetry is passion. The rest is practice.

Owner of Four Truth Wellness and Soul Travel Hypnosis

https://www.fourtruthhypnosis.com/ and https://soultravelhypnosis.com/

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