29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jacquelyn’s eyes adjusted to the darkness as the train lurched forward. The train car was empty except for the two of them and a few bales of hay. When Ezra had mentioned going to Milwaukee by train, she hadn’t imagined she’d wind up in the same space used to transport farm animals.
“We’re lucky that this was left behind,” Ezra said, patting the hay next to him. “Sitting on the floor gets mighty cold, and standing gets mighty tiring.”
Jacquelyn could see her breath, so as far as she was concerned it was already cold. She wasn’t going to argue the point, though. She took a seat next to him and rubbed her mittened hands together. “Where does the train let out once it gets to Milwaukee?” Even sitting so close she had to speak loudly to be heard over the rhythmic sound of the train wheels moving down the tracks .
“The train yard is a good walk to downtown. I like to go past my daughter’s house on the way to the rescue mission. Sometimes I can see them through the front window. I like that. Then I know that they’re safe. After that, I’ll have dinner at the mission. They put on quite a spread. It’s a feast.” He went on, listing all of the food that was offered on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but Jacquelyn’s attention had been caught by an earlier detail.
“Your daughter lives in Milwaukee?”
“Yes, she does.” He kneaded his forehead with his fingers like soothing a headache. “With her husband and two children.”
“Why don’t you spend Christmas with them?”
Ezra flapped a hand. “They wouldn’t want me there. Don’t blame ’em either. She has some bad memories of the olden days.” He pulled a flask out of his knapsack and took a swig before offering it to her.
Gratefully, Jacquelyn accepted, but when she lifted it to her lips, she nearly choked. “You’re drinking water?”
“You thought it would be something different?”
“Well, yes, I . . .” What was it that hobos were supposed to drink? “I thought it would be hooch.”
“Hooch?” He threw back his head and laughed. “I guess I must look like a drinking man.”
He wasn’t wrong. She’d assumed as much from first sight. “No, I just thought a flask usually held whiskey or something like that.”
Ezra leaned in toward her. “I’ll tell you the truth. Right after my wife died, I used to drink my weight in the stuff. The local bootlegger was my best friend. Got liquored up on a regular basis. There are some parts of my life I can’t remember, that’s how bad it was. And then one day . . .” He had a thoughtful look on his face. “One day I decided I didn’t want to live like that. Being in love with the bottle lost me everything—my money, my house, and all of my kinfolk. I knew it would kill me. So about five years ago I quit. I put it down and never picked it up again. It was hard, so hard. I’d get hungry for it and it would haunt my every thought, but I stood firm and I got through it.”
“And that’s why you say your daughter wouldn’t want you there for Christmas?”
“Yes, that’s why.”
“It couldn’t be as bad as all that.”
“Oh yes, it could.” His brow furrowed. “I hate to even think of all the things I’ve said and done.”
“Have you tried talking to her? Apologizing?”
Ezra sighed. “No. Just too ashamed, I guess. One time I stood in the street and watched Delia and her family trimming the tree. They looked so happy. Me showing up would have ruined everything.”
“You don’t know that,” Jacquelyn said, hugging herself. She swore the cold was creeping into her bones. “Maybe she would have been glad to see you. You could start fresh.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You’ll find as you get older that sometimes it’s just too late.” He spoke with a finality that indicated the subject was closed. “Just too late.”
Jacquelyn felt her stomach growl. The unfamiliar sensation reminded her of the food in Nellie’s bag. She pulled out a square of brown paper and unwrapped it to reveal a sandwich brimming with meat and cheese, cut into two. Well, wasn’t that nice? She couldn’t believe Nellie had done this for a complete stranger, someone she wasn’t likely to ever see again. People could be surprising. She held the sandwich out to Ezra. “Are you hungry? I’d be happy to split it with you.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, taking half. “Thank you.”
They ate in companionable silence, washing down the meal with sips from Ezra’s flask. Jacquelyn could never have imagined being in such a situation. Riding the rails with a hobo. It was like one of the radio serials that Mildred loved so much. In theory it sounded exciting, but instead it was a cold and uncomfortable way to travel. To think that this was Ezra’s life. No home to speak of, just rambling around looking for a better place and the next meal. She shook her head. It couldn’t be good for society to have citizens out and about without something productive to do. Someone really should do something to help these unfortunates.
Between the cold and the food, she found herself getting sleepy and nodding off. She awoke with a start when the train slowed, embarrassed to find she’d fallen asleep on the old man’s shoulder. She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and yawned. “Are we in Milwaukee?”
“Yes, miss. Once we come to a stop, we’ll need to get out right quick. Are you up to that?” He gave her a concerned look.
“Of course.” It occurred to Jacquelyn that without Ezra she’d have no sense of direction and wouldn’t know how to find her way home. Right now, in these circumstances, he was the best friend she could have.
When the train lurched to a halt, he went to the door and pulled it open partway, then stuck his head out to take a look. “The coast is clear,” he told Jacquelyn, beckoning to the door. “Time to go.”
He jumped down with surprising nimbleness, then extended a hand to help her exit the train car. When her boots hit the ground, she was alarmed to hear a man farther down the track yelling a stream of curse words aimed in their direction.
“Hurry!” Ezra yelled, taking off at a trot. Jacquelyn wasn’t sure what would happen if that man caught up to them, but she didn’t want to know. She ran.