Chapter XIV
“WHERE ARE THEY takin ‘em?” Mrs. Kerr wailed as she turned to Mae as if she knew. Mae's heart squeezed in her chest. She didn’t even know where the train was headed.
“Stop!” Mae screamed. “Stop the train!” Mae’s eyes darted about the platform, looking for any train worker that was about. Seeing a man in a porter’s uniform, she flung herself at him. “You must stop it!” She pulled on his arm as she gestured frantically at the departing train.
The porter yanked his arm away from her, his eyes widening at the sudden confrontation. “Get off me!”
“You must make it stop!” she pressed, attempting to grab him again.
The porter dodged her and roared, “I can’t do no such thing! It’s gone!”
Mae stared blankly as his words wormed their way into her mind. The train continued to chug on its way toward—where?
She felt thick fingers come around her shoulders.
A round white spot came into view, and her body jerked back and forth.
Her numb mind awakened as Mrs. Kerr’s pale, plump features came into focus.
“Mrs. Turner….” She was so close to Mae's face that she could smell the faint tallowy scent of her soap mixed with sweat.
Hot breath engulfed her nose and mouth, making her feel stifled.
Mae turned her head, gasping for breath.
The sudden cool air provided a reprieve from suffocation.
She blinked. Then blinked again. The gray steel arches of the station arced up for miles.
She followed one beam up, up, up, past the solid metal panel, past the clear frosted glass, across the next metal panel.
The light filtered through the glass and brought Mae back to the present.
“Are ye alright?” Mrs. Kerr’s concern caused mounds of skin to rise up and turn her eyes into slits.
“Simon…” Mae mumbled.
“They’ve gone. The whole lot of ‘em.” Mrs. Kerr rocked back on her heels and pushed on her knee to stand upright. She held a hand down to Mae and pulled her forcefully to her feet.
Mae saw a young man in a gray uniform sweeping the platform and another older porter carrying suitcases, following behind a woman in a long fur coat.
As he placed them on the ground next to her, he turned to backtrack to the main part of the station.
Mae traipsed over to the older man and gently put her hand on his elbow. “Excuse me, sir?”
The man glanced down at her. “Ma’am?”
“Do you know where the train is headed that just left this platform?”
The man wrinkled his brow. He looked down the empty track, then back at Mae. He took out his pocket watch and read the current time. Looking back again at the platform, he responded, “Yes, Ma’am, that train would be headed west.” Mae held back her frustration at this man’s obvious answer.
“Do you know what platform number this is?”
“Platform eight.”
“Is there a destination board down here?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied, pointing to the board at the other end of the platform. She strained her eyes to see the platform eight destination. “Chicago—connections west,” she sputtered. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, yes, that one would be headed to Chicago. That’s right. Lots of connections heading through Chicago.”
Mae’s mind raced at the myriad of possibilities.
Simon could end up anywhere. Mae searched the remaining people on the platform.
The young nun was nowhere to be seen. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt all her muscles clench as she forced her mind to still.
There had to be a way to find the train’s final destination.
Simon’s cries echoed in the back of her mind.
She tried to push them from her harried thinking.
The train was headed for Chicago. She could go back to the Foundling, but she knew Father Cary wouldn’t allow any of the nuns to assist her.
The young nun had probably crossed the line just by pointing out the train.
The courthouse would have documentation about the movement of the children.
Thinking back to the court clerk, she doubted that would be the most efficient way to find out.
Mae turned to Mrs. Kerr, who had sat down on a bench. She was sobbing into her hands and swaying gently back and forth. Mae gritted her teeth. “We need to find the final destination.”
“Me Lily…” Mae could hear the lamentations faintly over the din of the station.
Wringing her hands, she looked back at the destination board. Someone had to know the final destination of the trains. There must be a way to track the trains. “Winona,” Mae called, hoping her first name would jar her back to the moment, “we must keep going. There has to be a way to find them.”
Winona’s tear-stained face was blank. Mae reached out a hand to the woman and helped her up by her elbow.
She shepherded her toward the direction of the stairwell.
As she passed the waiting train cars and their freight handlers, her vision roamed over the solid black mass of steel that was responsible for creating the distance between herself and Simon.
The freight handlers’ loud conversation drifted to her ears and threatened to drown out the recollection of Simon’s last desperate plea in her mind.
Her flattened lips curled back into a reflexive snarl as she tamped down the desire to shush them.
“—not there, Joe!” The man’s voice thrust into her ears. “That car’s going to DC. Put it on 8030.”
“How was I supposed to know?” Joe retorted.
“It ain’t that hard, dummy… The car matches the tag on the bag.”
“All the numbers start to look the same…” Joe whined.
“Well, if you wanna keep this job, you better start paying attention. Some rich ole lady in Memphis ain’t gonna be too happy when her bag ends up in DC! The station master’ll spend hours tracking down the car number and it’ll be your name signed off on the manifest.”
The number ’0728’ came to her. Where was that car headed? There had to be a manifest for that car, too. Mae stopped in her tracks. She felt Winona’s gait continue, and Mae lost her grip on her elbow.
“Does every car have a specific destination?” Mae had directed the question toward the two freight handlers, but they hadn’t heard her. Walking back a few steps, she repeated the question.
Joe’s mouth gaped open, his cigarette coming perilously close to falling out.
Mae noticed the other man straighten as he turned his attention to her.
She looked expectantly at this man whose dirty overalls pooled over his work boots.
She felt Winona’s presence behind her and noticed the man’s eyes roam appreciatively over her companion’s appearance.
Winona came up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Mae. Joe’s lips were now sealed around his cigarette, the end burning brightly as he drew in a puff. “Well, boys, ye heard ‘er. Does every car have a destination?” Winona reiterated Mae’s question with a harder edge.
“Yes, Missy… They all gotta go somewhere, don’t they?” The overalled man sneered.
“Is there a station master who would know the ending destinations?” Mae asked.
The man rolled his eyes and picked up another piece of baggage. Joe chimed in, “Sure, the stationmaster would know.” He smiled at Winona.
“Where do we find ‘im?” Winona’s expression sweetened—too quick to be sincere. Mae’s stomach turned at the sight of Joe’s indulgent grin.
The man in the overalls heaved an annoyed sigh. “You dummy… The station master only knows where the cars are heading next. Not the final destination.” He shoved the suitcase at Joe impatiently. “Car 8030.”
“If the car were going to Chicago, who would know its final destination then?” Mae focused on the man as he bent down to pick up another case.
“You’d have to check with the stationmaster in Chicago, I’d think…” His mouth set into a frown as he directed his attention fully on Mae. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the pearl handle of a brown leather satchel. Mae sucked in a breath.
“We must go upstairs and see if we can speak to the stationmaster.” Mae instructed Winona.
“I can show you to the stationmaster if you’d like…” Joe’s grin bloomed into a yellow-toothed smile.
Before the women could respond, the man in the overalls shoved another suitcase at Joe. “We got work to do. They can go upstairs and ask for the stationmaster.”
Winona’s eyes cut over to the disgruntled man and glared at him. “Thank ye fer yer help,” she said, addressing Joe again.
Mae moved toward the stairwell with Winona treading after her. The train had been gone for almost half an hour.
Mae hurried to the ticket agent’s line. There were only a few customers in front of her. Winona came to stand next to her. “Oh, Mrs. Turner, do ye think he’ll know where the children went?” Her voice sounded small, and her shoulders tensed at the question.
“We must ask. We will never get the information from the Foundling.” She thought of Father Cary’s condescending glare at the Foundling as he’d stood over her and told her she would be noted in Simon’s file. They moved forward in the line.
“But what if he doesn’t know?” Winona’s voice rose an octave. “Or if he won’t tell us either?”
The question ricocheted around in Mae’s head.
Getting the stationmaster to speak to them would be a feat in itself.
She knew she would have to adopt an air of authority if she were to be taken seriously.
“I will get him to tell us.” Winona’s eyebrows pushed down on her green eyes, and her head tilted in disbelief.
Mae didn’t know if her last statement was for Winona’s sake or her own.
As they stepped to the front of the line, she drew back her shoulders and took a steadying breath.
Walking to the ticket counter, Mae decided to forgo any discussion of the children. “Destination?” The ticket agent stated. Mae swallowed her distress and forced herself into order.
“We need to speak with the stationmaster, please.” Mae’s voice came out in a polite but condescending tone. She purposely angled her head to look down her nose at the man seated across from her.