Borrowed Children (14 page)

“But that's not round, that's straight,” Helen said.

“It's just a way of talking,” I told her.

Its not. It's a Mystery. You don't ever come back the same. The tracks are spiked down and the train stays on the track, but you come back from a different direction entirely. It makes me sleepy just to think about it.

When I wake up the news butch is coming through. “Papers, candy, souvenirs,” he calls. “Sandwiches, soda pop!”

Now is my chance to get presents. I wait while the man in front buys cigarettes.

Would the boys like the glass engines I saw on the trip down? What about all-day suckers for the girls? I should have thought about this before. Now it's my turn.

“Something for you, Missy?”

“Yes, but I'm not sure … Is that a whistle?”

“Yes ma'am. Penny whistle. Knows every tune ever played.”

He picks one up, puts it to his mustached mouth, and makes it shriek. The rosary lady stirs. “Penny whistle, cost you a nickel,” he tells me.

Whistles are better than suckers. They last. “And the en-gines?

“A quarter, except for this granddaddy.” He lifts a big one out of the pile. “Fifty cents for this.”

“I'll take two engines, two whistles, and—do you have anything for a baby?”

He reaches into his shirt pocket. “Balloons, penny apiece.”

“I'll take three. Are those news magazines?” They're rolled up, stuck in the back of his tray.

“Time,
that's fifteen cents.”

“All right.” That will do for Daddy. “One more thing. What do you have for a lady?”

“Sand,” he says, fishing in the tray for a tiny bottle. “Seven layers, four colors.” He holds it up.

“We've got rocks prettier than that.” That's rude but true. “I'm sorry. Do you have anything else?”

“Red flower.” He finds another bottle with a little rose inside. “Fifty cents.” Mama might like that on the kitchen win-dowsill.

“I'll take that too. That's all.”

He slips a paper bag from under the tray and fills it. “One dollar even with tax.”

We trade. The seat next to me is empty so I lay out my purchases. I can't wait to see Helen with the whistle. And Willie's eyes when I blow up the balloons. I'm really going home!

I pack the presents up and set out for the dining car. I like to see if I can balance without touching the seats. Going between cars, I hold my breath and look down at the speeding ground.

All they're serving now is coffee and pie. That's all right. I really just want to sit here. It's the most magical part of the train, the dining car. To be sitting at a table, eating, and all the world flying past.

Somebody loves this land we're rushing through, every little hill, each house, and each tree. Looks for it way I look for Goose Rock. It doesn't mean I'll stay there forever.

I want to ask Mama about her music. Maybe we could work out time for her to play. I get time to do my school work. So do the boys. And we know how to do housekeeping.

Mama may say her need for music is all in Laura's head. There's no telling. She might decide to give lessons or sell the piano and turn all that song into trees. On the way to Memphis I would have said I knew Mama. But she's as much a mystery as Aunt Laura. Maybe everyone is.

It's getting dark as we come into the mountians, just enough light left to tell when we go through the Gap. The moon is like a big mother-of-pearl button.

I see the moon and the moon sees me
The moon sees the somebody I want to see….

I used to think I couldn't belong to a family so far back in the sticks. “We'd call it the jumping off place,” Daddy says, “but the hills are too close together to jump.” Now I see a family isn't one thing or one place. Tonight I'm glad to know home is waiting. Home and the world, too.

I guess I fell asleep again. It must be midnight. I can't make out much but I think we're almost there. The shape of the hills feels right. And surely that's Hensley's farm. Yes, because the train brakes just came on. That huddle of buildings is Manchester.

I gather my belongings and take a deep breath. Who will be there? Just Daddy? I can see the depot lights.

For a minute I close my eyes. I don't want to lose Memphis. Then the brakes hiss again. My heart jumps and my eyes fly open.

There they stand the whole lot of them! David and Ben almost as tall as Daddy, Mama small and solid. Look at Willie, holding his head away from her shoulder, trying to turn around. He's wearing a bonnet. Everyone is waving. Helen tugs at Anna and jumps up and down.

When the train stops, Mama hands Willie to Daddy. I can see her at the steps as I walk the length of the car. She's made this trip so many times. I wonder if it's been hard for her to come back.

“Welcome home, city girl,” she says, holding out her arms.

“Hello, Mama.”