Fantastic Trains Read online

  In the first car, I started to make my way down the aisle.

  “We’ll be rich!” a gentleman at the far end shouted excitedly, almost coming to his feet before his companion shushed him, firmly holding him in his seat while speaking quickly and earnestly.

  Sensing that my attention or interest was likely unwanted, I did my best to focus on the design of the car, the smell of leather, machinery, and people, and the noise of other conversations and work being done. It was actually pretty easy to do, and I moved past them and into the next car without incident.

  A quick scan of the few passengers in the seats showed a distinct lack of the woman I planned to marry. Focused as much as I was on trying to find her familiar features among the faces in the seats, I almost tripped over a young boy playing in the aisle right in front of me. Thankfully my reflexes were good enough that I managed to catch the corner of a seat and prevent myself from landing on him.

  His big blue eyes peered up at me through a strip of black cloth that had holes cut out for his eyes. A messy blond mop of hair floated above the dark mask almost like a glowing halo and, of course, he had on a blue and red cape to finish off the look. His face split into a cheeky grin that displayed dimples. He couldn’t have been more than six years old. “Hey mister, do you need help?”

  Smiling back was instinctual. “No, I’m fine. Thanks for the offer though. You should be careful. Being in the middle of the aisle could cause an accident.”

  At once the innocent smile turned serious and he jumped onto the seat closest to him. “Right. It’s a superhero’s job to stop accidents and bad guys. I’m gonna be the best superhero in the world and beat up the bad guys and save people.”

  Nodding at him, I tried to show that I took what he said seriously. “That is a very noble cause, young man. Work hard and I know you’ll succeed. Good luck.”

  “Thanks mister! Be careful, and if you need my help beating up bad people let me know. I’m a ninja you know.”

  “I will. My thanks.” I turned quickly to hide my smile as I moved down the car. I was almost at the other end when an older woman, looking a bit frazzled, stumbled in.

  “Excuse me, have you seen a young superhero around by chance? My grandson…”

  Pointing back the way I’d come, I shifted so she had a good view of who she was looking for. She let out a heavy sigh. “Thanks. I’ve never actually got to meet him until now. You’d think that after raising my own children a grandchild would be like getting back on a bicycle. But that isn’t so. I’d better get to him and have a bit of a talk… His parents are counting on me to take good care of him until they’re able to join us and that could take a while. Thanks again.”

  Not bothering to watch them reunite I kept going, only to find myself in the dining car, where I finally spotted my fiancé. She was sitting near the window, a wistful smile on her face as the train finally started to move. She seemed so sad, even lost… If I could just remember why we’d fought, there might be a chance for me to help replace that forlorn look with one of her soft “you’re ridiculous, but you’re my ridiculous” smirks. Perhaps, if I could find out what was in the crate, maybe it could jog my memory… But how to do it while avoiding making her feel worse…

  I made my way over to her table and sat in the chair opposite her, following her gaze out the window. “Thank you for this. I know you would have preferred to fly because it would have been quicker. It means a lot to me.”

  Her smile seemed to become a bit less sad and more wistful. Her voice soft, barely a whisper, she said, “We should have done this sooner.”

  “All that really matters is that we did it.”

  We fell into silence as we both watched the scenery pass by.

  —— «» ——

  Walking up to our table, a waiter asked if he could get anything. I shook my head but she ordered a ginger ale, casually mentioning that her stomach was a little queasy. I was about to ask if there was something I could do but she abruptly went back to staring out the window, and the words stuck in my throat.

  I had learned long before that trying to force a conversation when she wasn’t interested or ready for one would only lead to a more difficult situation for both of us. We both had a lot of emotion and, sadly, emotion was far from logical. She needed time to process what she was feeling so she could deal with it more rationally, and I usually did too. If I could just remember what our fight was about … or what was in that crate…

  “Look honey, I want to get a better look at the train. How about I meet you where we’ll be spending the trip? Do you have our seat locations?”

  She sighed slightly before slowly moving her ticket from where it had been hidden by her purse and arm. The black color of her dress made her skin seem much paler than it actually was. She took a sip of her drink as I leaned over to gently kiss her cheek. She shivered at the contact.

  “I’ll see you soon darling. Make sure to put on a sweater if you find yourself cold. Maybe try to get some rest.” A soft smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and her fingers gently touched her cheek.

  Satisfied, I slipped out ahead of a train conductor making his way slowly through the dining section checking tickets, and I continued on to the end of the car, opposite the way I had come.

  The next two cars were for passengers so there was no crate in sight. It was likely something she had to transfer due to her job at the museum. Possibly an artifact of some value but not so expensive or delicate that it needed a special or armed transport. If that was the case, though, something should spring to mind. Some fragment of memory tantalizingly close to the surface. Still, there was nothing, despite my inner peace needing to know the answer. If I couldn’t remember before I found it, I might have to open it when I got there… Unless there was a really descriptive shipping label on it somewhere, maybe a manifest.

  I stopped at an open seat and sat down for a second to look outside at the world racing by. It seemed as though that crate and what was in it was making me a little obsessed. Why did I believe so strongly that the answers to what I’d forgotten, the fight we’d had, the tension I felt, the sadness on my love’s face, even the train ride itself, were inside?

  Truth was, I didn’t have a real answer, just a strong feeling and an overwhelming urge to find out, that only intensified the longer it took.

  “Sir? Is there anything I can help you with?”

  Glancing up, I found a young woman, blond hair in a braid, wearing a conductor’s uniform.

  I smiled slightly at her, though it likely looked rather crooked considering she’d surprised me. Almost as if she’d appeared out of nowhere. That and she was an entirely different conductor than the one I’d seen in the dining car.

  “Is it that obvious?”

  Her wide eyes held sympathy. “Sort of comes with the job. When you deal with people on a regular basis, in a more intimate way, well, you develop a knack for reading situations and individuals’ souls fairly accurately. My offer stands, of course. Do you need any help?”

  “Well, my fiancé and I have a large crate traveling with the cargo. I just want to make sure it’s okay. Do you think you could take me to it? Just so I can have peace of mind?”

  “It’s not something we do regularly, but I was about to go check on that car anyway. Having a little company on the way there wouldn’t be a bad thing. Is this your first time traveling by train?” She moved a step back so that I could get up.

  “Yes actually. Something I’ve wanted to do since I was a young child but never had a chance. You know how life sometimes gets away from you; you keep putting your ‘wants’ aside to get done the things that take care of your needs or the needs of those you love. Sometimes it seems like five years — even if they were filled with happiness and love — goes by in the blink of an eye. That’s sort of what happened to me, just really never got around to it until now, you know?”

 
She nodded slightly and moved in front of me, leading the way. “I hear that often, sir. It’s a sentiment that many I’ve met seem to share.”

  We naturally fell silent as we walked.

  As we were transitioning to the next car, we had to hug the wall to let another man pass. The man was grinning with an excitement I hadn’t seen often — pure joy, as he stopped briefly beside me. “Isn’t this wonderful? Not only a great mystery answered but an awfully big adventure as well. They might not think us fortunate or lucky but it’s them I feel sorry for.”

  Just as quickly as he came, he was gone. The train conductor acted as if she hadn’t heard anything and kept moving forward. I followed without asking her what she had thought he was talking about. After all, I couldn’t risk the chance to see the crate for myself.

  He was one of the most intriguing passengers I’d run into. Tied with him were the grandmother and her grandson. Still, there was something else about them that stuck out to me, something they shared, somehow, with the train conductor I was following. What it was eluded me, however.

  “Next one is cargo, sir.”

  The second she said it my throat went dry and my feet seemed to turn to cement blocks. It wasn’t rational, but I was suddenly afraid of what I was going to find out. It was just a large wooden box — nothing dangerous or scary. My fiancé wasn’t fond of anything that was life-threatening or scared her, so why…

  “Truth…”

  “What?” I stared at the conductor, wide-eyed.

  “I was just saying, truth is, we don’t have a lot of time for this, so I hope you’re ready to find what you were looking for.” Without hesitating, she led the way into the cargo area.

  For some reason the lights seemed brighter once she moved further inside, and I was blinded for a few seconds, blinking quickly to try to see through the dots dancing in my vision. A part of me must have thought that I would have a hard time finding the crate, but I didn’t. It was right there in the middle of the car, as if it had been waiting for me the entire time. Creepy was an understatement; I wanted to run from the room and forget all about my unease and questions, but I was pulled toward it and couldn’t stop myself until I was directly next to it. Slowly, I put my hands on the rough wood.

  Without moving the crate’s lid, somehow I could see what was inside, as if I had x-ray vision… Past the wooden top was the shiny, dark cherry red cover of a coffin. As I stared down at it, I knew, beyond a doubt, that my answers were nestled within. But my heart, mind and body froze, unwilling to see what I needed to.

  The truth could only be put off for so long though, and soon I was looking down through the layers of wood and fabric, to my own face, held in a single moment in time. Me and yet not — just a vessel, like an empty shell I had shed because it was no longer able to contain me. I was no longer alive in the way that term had been defined all my life. That was the truth, and then I remembered.

  —— «» ——

  We’d been walking together. My love had told me we were expecting a child earlier in the day, and we were having a heated debate over names. Not unusual since our life together had always been filled with passion and testing each other’s limits. It seemed the names we’d both loved since childhood were the exact ones the other couldn’t stand. Such a trivial thing since it was the new life that was important, a gift. A name, whatever name we chose, was insignificant in comparison to that.

  She had started to cross the road at the cross walk, more focused on the conversation than the street. What the driver of the car was most focused on, I have no idea, but the car didn’t slow down as it was supposed to.

  I didn’t think, just moved, somehow finding the speed and strength to get to her side. I spun her around in my arms as if we were dancing, my eyes never leaving her face as I pushed her forcefully back toward the sidewalk. Watching the confusion in her eyes turn to horror as she processed what was happening. It was slow motion — so much happened in such a short time, seconds really.

  There was no fear in my heart in that moment, only love. Love for her, for our unborn child.

  I remember trying to tell her I loved her and that my lips moved, but I had no idea if she’d heard the words — all I could hope was that she could see all the love I felt showing in my eyes as I held her gaze. Just a brief moment in time, but it held everything within it.

  The pain never touched me.

  —— «» ——

  Peering up at the train conductor, things seemed to click into place. “You aren’t really what you appear to be, are you?”

  Her face seemed far more androgynous than I remembered it, as her lips curved slightly into a semblance of a smile that never touched the sorrow in her eyes. “No. Much is not as it appears to be — both in life and in death.”

  “Am I really on a train with her?” My fingers turned white on the edge of the crate as a tightness took hold of my chest.

  “Yes and no. You now exist in separate planes but in the same place and time.”

  “She can’t see or hear me, can she?”

  A slight shaking of the blond head was the only response.

  “But the others…” That was when I fully understood. The others I had interacted with were dead, like I was. The grandmother who’d only just met her grandson, the boy who wanted to be a superhero, the man on his greatest adventure — for what greater adventure or mystery was there than death? Perhaps even the two men who were trying to change their financial future… My fiancé hadn’t actually spoken to me; at most I might have been able to claim that she had spoken at me. Not once had she even looked directly at me. And what about the baby…?

  “She’ll have a healthy baby boy. He’ll be born on your birthday, and she will name him Leonidas for the love and sacrifice you showed that day. Leonidas as the great Spartan king who died so his people might live. Leonidas Alexander after his father who saved him. He will be a great man one day, and he’ll never forget that you loved him and his mother.”

  “I wanted to be there for him.” My heart ached and my voice cracked.

  She laid a hand on my arm and I met her eyes. “You were.”

  —— « o » ——

  Melodie Leclerc

  Melodie Leclerc is an aspiring author hoping to make her mark on the world. She was born and raised in Langruth, Manitoba and graduated from the University of Alberta with a BA in English before teaching English in South Korea for two years. She is married and had three children — although her first son passed away, her remaining daughter and son continue to bring joy into her life.

  Beg A Little Changeling Boy

  by Laura VanArendonk Baugh

  This time, I’m going to tell you a story of the old days. Not the Oldest of Days, because I wasn’t around then, but the days when steam engines pulled carriages of passengers and cargo into the West which was Indiana. This particular day, the engine pulled a carriage of children.

  I wasn’t worried about the infants and toddlers. No one was going to take them for cheap labor; they were a costly investment in money and time, and they would go only to those who truly wanted children.

  The older children were old enough to be useful and young enough to be cute, and they were equally attractive to parents in need of a child and laborers in need of an apprentice. But the local committees generally did a decent job of evaluating potential homes.

  The boys and girls in their teens faced the toughest odds. They weren’t chubby-cheeked and adorable like the little ones, and they were suspected of carrying their bad habits west with them. They were old enough to look like hired help instead of the children they were, or should have been if they hadn’t been aged so quickly on the streets of New York City.

  It was not merely my duty to observe, it was my pleasure as well. It is perhaps the only advantage to being a half-breed freak of nature, the privilege of remaining in the human world and movin
g among the children the Fae can so rarely have. There are more than enough corresponding disadvantages. Still, my loyalty is to the Queen, wherever I am, and so I was here.

  Already the crowd assembled at the platform was aw-ing and pointing and enthusing over the various children available. “Just look at those eyes!” “Those are some curls on that one, to be sure.” “I’ll bet he’s a firecracker!”

  The younger children stared back, thumbs in mouths or fingers in hair, statue-still or twisting where they stood. It was a lot for a child to comprehend, traveling to a new state to find a new home and a new chance at life.

  The older boys descended from the train carriage all in a group, clinging to the vestige of the gangs they might have known. They played it cool. They had learned to expect nothing, but had not yet mastered the ability to wish nothing.

  I saw the moment he recognized the danger. I did not know what danger he sensed, but there was no mistaking the quick flare of his pupils, the defensive twitch of his arms to his torso, the step back into the shallow group as if to fade into the sea of humanity available in New York City. This was not a casual alarm, not for a boy who’d survived on city streets.

  I scanned the crowd nearest him but saw no weapon, no particular leer, nothing which suggested a threat. Just two men whose smiles were a little more pleased than welcoming — a subtle distinction, but there’s a lot of subtlety in my work, and I was looking for it.

  Reverend Shapes and Sister Charity herded the children into a more-or-less organized mass and followed the beaming mayor down the street.

  It’s easy both to romanticize and to criticize what are now called the Orphan Trains, but look, none of you were there. You live in a world with Medicaid and OSHA, where children come home from mandatory school to play video games while parents work in safe cubicles or unionized trades. You might look at things differently if you saw children in dangerous factories or street gangs by day and sleeping on corners by night, if one in twenty residents of your own city was a homeless child begging or thieving or worse. “Oh, what a wonderful thing for children!” and “Oh, they should have done much better!” are equally mistaken views, luxuries of thought available only to those a century or more removed.