Just Off the Train
“What on earth? How—where—oh, this can’t be the station! I’ve taken a wrong door somehow!” Mamie Livingston tugged distractedly at the tapered cuffs of her neat traveling dress and hastily tried the door she’d just entered through, only to find it latched tight behind her.
“No use shoving at it, ma’am. Don’t none of them open.”
The young woman squeaked in fright and backed precipitately to the other side of the hall, the narrow drape of her skirt just missing the clay-coated boots of the rough laborer who sat against the wall opposite, his long legs stretched across the narrow space like a gate.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.” The workman appeared young—possibly even younger than Mamie herself—but that provided small comfort when laid against his broad shoulders, muscled arms, and overall coarse appearance. “Been waiting here alone who knows how long. Thought maybe you’d have some idea what this place is.”
Mamie shook her head, shrinking even further against the wall.
“I—I was on the train. Do you—know how I get back to it?”
“If I knew how to get to a train from here, you’d better believe I’d be on it.” An odd little smile touched the boy’s mouth as he shook his head. “I ain’t been nowhere near one. Someday…” The word trailed off wistfully, and Mamie swallowed hard as she took stock of the empty hallway.
“You—you said you’ve seen—no one?”
“No one but you, and it seems you ain’t the one that can help anything.” He shrugged philosophically. “Only thing different I’ve seen are the papers tacked up on the board over there.”
Mamie followed his gaze to a small corkboard on the wall near the farthest door, but she stayed rooted to her spot.
“What—what do they say?”
“Wouldn’t know, ma’am.” The young man grinned, and Mamie shivered.
“You—haven’t looked?”
“Can’t read.”
“Oh.” Mamie dropped her eyes and forced a deeper breath before skittering past the heavy boots and over to the papers. She read for several long moments, her frown becoming deeper and deeper, until finally the young man broke the silence.
“Well?”
Mamie jumped and gasped, pressing a hand to her fluttering heart.
“Oh! Don’t frighten me that way. I—yes, I’ve read them, but nothing makes any sense. They’re talking about a new story—about lessons someone thinks I need to learn—and something about being grateful that I’m here in an actual costume instead of a shapeless gray dress from no particular period. I can’t make anything out at all.”
The young man struggled to conceal a smile, but he shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly.
“Couldn’t tell you, ma’am. Nothing about me?”
“Oh.” Mamie glanced back at the papers. “I don’t know. What—what is your name?”
“Joe.”
“There is—something about you here. I don’t understand it, but perhaps you will. It says—that your story is now free on a…website?…and that they should watch for the next few months because there will be new free stories coming. Do you know what that means? Or who they are?”
“No idea.” Joe shook his head. “And I can’t think why anyone would read a story about me. Not now anyway. Maybe someday…”
Suddenly two doors sprang open with a click, and Mamie sprang toward one of them, but before her foot touched the threshold, Joe was before her with a calloused hand outstretched.
“Whoa, ma’am! Your train’s that way. Not that I wouldn’t love to take your place, but I doubt you’d last a day in mine.”
Mamie shot a nervous glance past his shoulder, caught one glimpse of a rickety tenement building, and scuttled back to the other open door without a backward glance.
Joe watched with a wry smile as the door shut hard behind her, then breathed a small sigh before disappearing through his own. After a moment, the author’s door cracked open, and she slipped into the hall, removed the papers, and shot a mysterious grin at the screen before lifting her remote and cutting the picture.
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