A Family Apart (9 page)

Without warning, the train started up with a series of jerks and jounces that threw Frances against the back of the seat, and she let out a yelp.

The train picked up speed and rattled forward, quickly leaving the station and the city of Albany behind. Frances soon became used to the rhythmic swaying of the car and stared out the window, entranced by the countryside. The tidy, white-painted houses were so different from the crowded, dark brick ones of New York. These houses were trimmed with blue or green shutters and next to them were planted neat, square gardens bursting with gold and russet marigolds and deep green vegetables in straight rows. “Cabbages!” Frances shouted as she recognized one of the vegetables.

No one seemed to hear her. All the children were racing back and forth across the aisle, peering out the windows and shouting.

“Apples! Look at the apples!”

“Over here! See the woolies!”

“Horses! With men on their backs!”

“I want to see the horses!” Petey bounced up and down with excitement. “I want to ride on a horse!”

“Look at the dogs with the funny noses!” one of the
younger children shouted, and most of the children rushed to the left side of the car.

One of the older boys laughed. “Those ain’t dogs! They’re pigs! I seen pigs brought in down at the docks.”

Frances waved at a woman who had looked up from her hoeing. The woman raised her hand and waved back before she bent once more to her chore. Frances smiled and was filled with relief. Perhaps Katherine had been telling the truth. Was this the kind of friendship she would find in the West? For the first time she felt encouraged.

“Did you see?” Frances asked Petey. “She waved at us! And look—over on the hill—look at the cows.”

“Cows?” There was another rush, this time to the right side of the train.

“But what does a cow
do
?” Peg asked.

“She gives milk,” Frances answered.

Peg giggled and said to Megan, “Frances said a cow gives us milk! Everybody knows that it’s Mr. Zeit with his milk cart who gives us milk.”

Peg’s lower lip turned out as her statement was met with a roar of laughter. But Katherine scooped her up and held her on her lap. “In a few minutes the train will make a stop for wood and water. Andrew will buy some fresh milk for you then. Will you like that?”

“Oh, yes!” Peg forgot the laughter and snuggled against Katherine.

Petey spoke up. “Do you have a husband?” he asked Katherine. “Why didn’t you bring him with you?”

“My husband, John, died three years ago,” Katherine said.

“Don’t you have any children?” Petey asked, but Frances quickly hushed him.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“It’s all right,” Katherine said and reached over to pat
Petey’s knee. “I wish we had had some children. It’s just not the way things worked out.”

“Do you have a farm?” Peg asked.

“Not a farm, a general store, where all the farmers for miles and miles around come to buy supplies. John and I opened the store, and I’ve kept it up and made it grow.” She nuzzled the back of Peg’s neck, making her giggle. “What would you like to buy in my store? A new hair ribbon? A sack of flour? A paper twist filled with sugar?”

Andrew sat on the bench next to Frances and said, “Katherine has left the store to her assistant to run, because I asked for her help. I’m lucky to have her.”

Katherine smiled at Andrew so warmly that Frances felt a stab of jealousy.
Why should I feel this way?
she asked herself. All she understood was that she liked having Andrew squeezed on the bench so close that she could feel the warmth of his arm against hers. Frances’s face began to burn, and she turned toward the window, letting the cold breeze sting her skin.

“We’re slowing down!” someone yelled, and the children rushed to fill any available window.

“Everyone stay put,” Andrew announced. “This will be a quick stop, and I’m not about to leave one of you behind.”

It didn’t take long for the men at the station to load stacks of wood on the open car behind the engine and to swing a pipe down from a large tank to fill the boiler with water. Andrew emerged from the building with a covered pail and dashed to the steps just as the train began to move.

Bread and cheese were handed around to the children, and they took turns drinking the warm milk from two metal cups which Andrew produced.

As the train rushed on, the children shouted out at each new sight. By evening heads were nodding, some of the shrillest voices had quieted, and many of the children had fallen asleep. Those who were awake sat in the aisle or leaned against the benches, listening to the tales told by a young army officer and the gentleman who was seated next to him.

“You were really attacked by Indians?” Frances gasped as the gentleman finished speaking.

“Twice,” he said.

The army officer smiled. “Have you ever heard of the Overland Stage Line?”

There was silence. Some of the children shook their heads. But Mike spoke up. “Stagecoaches, like in the dime novels!”

The officer laughed. “This is Mr. Ben Holladay, who has been called by some the ‘Stagecoach King,’ and I am Captain Joshua Taylor of the United States Army.”

“Don’t you carry a gun?” Mike asked.

“When I’m traveling I keep it in my satchel.”

“Are you going back to the West?” Mike asked.

“Mr. Holladay is going to St. Louis, and I’m being sent to Fort Leavenworth in Kansas,” the captain said.

“To fight Indians?” Danny asked, his eyes wide.

“No,” Captain Taylor said, “but I’ll tell you a story about the first time I fought Indians.”

Frances hadn’t even noticed when the conductor had lit the lantern in their railcar. Now she was surprised to find the train stopping at another station. Its platform was well lit with a number of whale-oil lanterns.

“Where are we?” Frances asked.

“In Buffalo,” Andrew said.

“Buffalos?” Danny’s voice was awed. “Are we in the West then?”

“Not yet,” Andrew told him. “We’re still in the state of New York. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

When the train stopped, some of the adult passengers walked up and down the aisle for exercise. A few got off the train. Two women opened a hamper and brought out a meal, which they ate.

Frances took her seat and stared from the window. People milled about the train. Women in full skirts and warm capes and men bundled into greatcoats with scarves around their necks to shield against the cold night air stood next to trunks and traveling cases. Then Frances noticed a black man being led past the train by two men who carried guns with long black barrels. Flickers of light sparked from the wide metal cuffs that dug into the man’s wrists and were attached to the chains one captor was holding.

“Oh, no!” Frances cried, jumping to her feet. “What are they doing to that poor man?”

Captain Taylor joined her at the window. “The man must be a slave,” he said. “He probably tried to run away and is being returned to his owner. Do you know what a slave is?”

The slave’s shoulders slumped as though every hope had been squeezed from his body. Frances ached for him. “Yes,” she whispered. “I know. I wish he had escaped. This is a Free State. He should have got away.”

“It wouldn’t have helped,” Captain Taylor said. “A few years ago Congress passed the Fugitive Slave Act, which means that officials and citizens of Free States are required to aid in capturing runaway slaves and restoring them to their rightful owners.”

“That’s not fair!” Frances blurted out.

“But it’s the law, son,” the captain said. “As good citizens we must uphold the law.”

“Those men didn’t look like good citizens to me.”

Nearby a woman commented loudly, “They probably weren’t, not if they were bounty hunters.”

“What are bounty hunters?” Frances asked.

“They’re men who make a living hunting runaway slaves,” the captain said.

The woman sniffed. “It doesn’t seem right to me that those dreadful men can go into Free States chasing down slaves. Two of those bounty hunters once pushed their way onto our place in Ohio, and my husband had to run them off with a shotgun. Like to scared me to death.”

The train started up in its usual bumping fashion. It was late and dark, with only the dim light from the swinging lantern casting wild, moving shadows across the car. As Frances stared out at the landscape, she could see clustered lights of houses that winked through the night. Then the lights became more scattered, until finally there was nothing outside the train but a black, empty world without moonlight or stars.

Frances shifted under the weight of Petey’s head on her lap and leaned against the wooden frame of the window, closing her eyes. Megan sniffled beside her, and she reached over to take her hand.

“I keep thinking about what Andrew said,” Megan whispered, “about how people don’t take all the children in a family. We’re going to be sent to different homes. It frightens me. Does it frighten you, too?”

“Yes,” Frances said, keeping her voice low. “It does.”

“I don’t want to think about being parted from you,” Megan said. “We’ve always been together.”

Frances squeezed Megan’s hand. “Maybe we won’t be parted. Maybe someone will say, ‘We want all those fine Kelly children!’ And they’ll take us to their house—a big
white house with green—no, blue—shutters, and they’ll have a horse for Petey to ride and—”

Megan interrupted. “None of your dreams now, Frances. Dreams are just pretending, and you know they don’t come true.”

“I wish this one could.” Frances groaned. “Oh, if only Ma hadn’t—”

But Megan interrupted, her voice breaking. “Please don’t talk about Ma now. I miss her too much.”

They were silent for a few minutes, and soon Megan fell asleep, her head resting heavily on Frances’s shoulder. One of the smaller children in the car was crying, and Frances could hear Katherine’s low, comforting murmur. Before long the only sounds in the car were the creaks and groans of the wooden seats and the clatter of iron wheels against the rails, all of which flowed into a steady rhythm. Soon Frances was sound asleep.

“W
AKE UP
, F
RANKIE
. I want to go home.”

Frances awoke stiff and tired as Petey buried his face in her neck, whimpering, “I want Ma!”

“I want Ma, too! Are we ever going to see Ma again?” Peg wailed.

“There, now,” Frances soothed, “of course we are.” But she kept her eyes downcast, unable to meet theirs. How could she tell them this when she didn’t believe it herself? Every turn of the train’s wheels took them farther and farther away from Ma. Frances tried to smile, to bolster their spirits, because she was in charge. The others mustn’t know that she felt like crying, too.

Frances looked up, feeling Megan’s appraising eyes upon her.

Megan brushed back her long, dark hair and whispered, “What will happen to us, Frankie?”

“Why—we’ll find good homes. We’ll have new families
and good food and warm beds,” Frances parroted. She reached across Petey and gripped her sister’s hand. “Oh, Megan,” she whispered, “I honestly don’t know what will happen.”

One of the younger boys fell into the aisle and let out a yell. At the sound of it another child began to cry.

“Can’t someone shut those urchins up!” Mr. Crandon bellowed as the train lurched into motion.

“They’re only children,” a woman snapped at him.

Mr. Crandon puffed up like a pigeon guarding the only crumb of bread. “Madam, we are entitled to as much peace and quiet as this railroad company can provide.”

“I’m sorry.” Andrew raised his voice over the din. “We’ll feed the children at the next stop, and I can guarantee that will help the situation.”

“If you can’t control them—” Mr. Crandon began.

But Mike suddenly jumped into the aisle and shouted to the older children, “Hey there, chums! How about a bit of music?” He cupped his hands together and held them against his lips, creating a lively, nasal music as he hummed, and to the music he danced a few wild steps of a jig.

The children who had been crying stopped to stare, then broke into laughter as Mike leaped to click his heels together, lost his balance, and sprawled in the aisle.

Frances saw the twinkle in Mike’s eyes and knew he had taken the fall on purpose.

“More! More!” Petey shouted.

So Mike pranced and danced with his odd music, and when some of the older children recognized a tune, they joined in, singing the words. Frances knew “The Irish Washerwoman” and “Old Dog Tray,” and when Mike
began “Oh! Susanna,” some of the adults on the car began to sing, too, Captain Taylor’s deep baritone as loud as Andrew’s.

Suddenly, with a jolt that tossed Mike sideways onto Katherine’s lap, the train shook and rattled to a screeching stop.

“Good work,” Katherine murmured to Mike as she helped him regain his balance.

Captain Taylor stretched forward to shake Mike’s hand and said, “A wise choice of action, son.”

Frances was proud of Mike. He’d been able to make them all forget their aches and fears. Ma would have been proud of Mike, too, if she could have seen him.