A Parting Glass - a novel

Chapter One

Chapter One

A passenger train sails up and down the soft rolling hills of Central Kansas that are populated with only a scattering of houses, lonesome steers, and church steeples.

Elizabeth, the fourth child in the traveling family, clutched a small paper cup filled to the brim with ice cold water. With a steady gaze she mysteriously transforms the paper cup into a water glass. Elizabeth owned the ability to see the world as she wanted it to be and to make something out of nothing. A handy skill to have in a family cursed with hard realities.

She slowly walked down the aisle, her gait wobbly but determined. The train heaved from right to left and back again, clank, clank, as it passed over the rails. Elizabeth steadied herself. She must evade the centurions just feet away and win the release of her fellow compatriots. She was Joan, Joan of Arc, saint, martyr, and divinely guided military leader of France.

The train heaves and the contents of the glass spill out onto the floor and Elizabeth must right herself. Now she had to return to the water cooler, what an inconvenience. A thin man with sunken eyes smiled. He is one of the King’s men, she imagines. She must keep her eye on him, never let him know that she knows. As she replenishes the imaginary glass, she watches the soldier with her eye c****d. Slurp, slurp, she pretends to drink.

The passenger train was filled to capacity. Old and young, families, single women in hats, men in their tired suits, they all traveled by train. The clanking melody of the lumbering locomotive sets heads in motion, weaving back and forth. The sweet smell of bananas, bologna and peanut butter move through the car like a creeping fog, slowly settling on all those awake and asleep.

For railroad families, it was a tradition, a benefit, a club, a way to travel from Topeka to Clovis, or La Junta to Marceline, or any other place on the line of the Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe that stretched from Chicago to Los Angeles.

The Super Chief, the monster train, red-orange and yellow, commanded all that it passed. At places so small the Super Chief would only whizz by, folks climbed fences and waved. The whistle bellowed, and memories were made.

Families moved when they worked on the railroad, leaving friends and places of comfort for the next stop on the line. Grandfathers, dads, uncles, and even mothers worked for the railroad - a long and proud history. There were other railroads, but for the O’Sullivan family, there was only one.

In the back of the passenger car, two seats were turned to form an enclave of four seats; linoleum covered the floors. This special feature kept families together. The seats were scratchy and worn with tiny balls of fabric on the surface. On the head rest, white napkins were secured, making it impossible for Brylcreem, a “little dab will do it,” to soil the top of the seat. At the end of the line, in Chicago or Los Angeles, the napkins would be changed and floors swept.

In one four-seat area, James, a sturdy, muscular, bigger than expected thirteen-year-old boy with cropped auburn hair and deep green eyes wrestles with his brother Patrick, a slightly built twelve-year-old with quick reactions and deep blue eyes and blondish hair. Their haircuts matched, but nothing else. The boys, brothers to Elizabeth, served as her foes. They threw each other from seat to seat, intense in their struggle. Giggles interrupted the contest as one conquered the other. It should not be a match at all. James, the bigger, the older, and the stronger should always win, but he didn’t. Patrick had the fight of the Irish in him.

As Elizabeth approached her brothers, she looked up at her mother, Susanne. Her complexion was the color of cream with an occasional freckle, and her strawberry blond hair was straight from Scotland courtesy of her mother. Her vibrant blue eyes came from her beloved Swedish father; they were the signature of an immigrant, wide and innocent. Elizabeth had her mother’s eyes, but not her hair. Her hair was dark like her father’s, almost black. She was a combination child in looks, but not for one minute like either her mother or her father in personality.

Next to Susanne sat Katherine, pencil thin, the twin to Patrick but with the height of an older sister. The strawberry refractions that glistened in Susanne’s hair, given as a gift at birth from her mother to her first daughter, caused people to stop and stare. Katherine read to John, a chubby three old with a laugh that would fill any void, especially his mother’s.

Katherine looked up at the boys, pensive, wondering when the conductor would come and what he would say. She couldn’t stop them from wrestling so she continued reading. Katherine’s regal demeanor made her seem older than her years. Elizabeth knew that her sister was more often right than wrong, and fully understood that Katherine was the anchor of the family, much like a mother should be - the one who kept chaos at bay. However, all of that did not stop Elizabeth from occasionally challenging the “surrogate mother’s” wishes. It was as if she needed to challenge someone. She couldn’t challenge Susanne because she was too soft and fragile, or her older brothers who would just ignore her, and certainly not her father who was too dangerous.

In a flash, John freed himself from Katherine and leapt onto Susanne’s lap. Brought back into the present, Susanne welcomed John with a kiss. This boy was never without kisses. Just feet away, James’ face contorts; he’s sweating and holding Patrick in a headlock.

James looked up as Elizabeth dumped water on his head. “Now melt, you evil dogs,” she said as the water cascaded on the boys at play. She had seen the Wizard of OZ and she knew what water could do.

James shook off the drops of water. “Elizabeth,” he said with a sense of annoyance. He loved his sister, her spark. He could never truly be mad at her, and she idolized him. He was in so many ways such a mystery to her. He was strong but not too strong, smart but not in a way that made anyone feel uncomfortable. There was no show. He was bigger than life for Elizabeth and she trusted him completely.

In a flash, James caught Elizabeth’s eyes and smiled just as Patrick lunged forward and flipped him. The match would be a long one, however; that was not Elizabeth’s problem. Who won or lost was of no concern to Elizabeth. The brothers would get enough water poured on them to fill a swimming pool.

The train jerked suddenly with a force that tossed Elizabeth into the aisle. She landed and looked up into the glare of Katherine. She ignored the piercing eyes, gathered herself up and danced down the aisle to the water cooler, much to the chagrin of a tight-lipped, hat wearing woman who stared first at Elizabeth and then at Susanne.

Elizabeth would continue to water the boys until they grew tired of the wrestling match or the conductor told her to stop. The real threat was the conductor. He sported a badge, wore a rigid hat, rarely smiled and probably had a gun. Although Elizabeth had never seen a conductor pull out a gun, she knew deep down that he could. He was powerful. No one messed with the conductor because he could throw you off the train if he wanted, and he had done that very thing once to her father who seemed drunk at the time. Junior had tried to explain, “too much insulin and not enough sugar,” but the conductor knew a drunk when he saw one, and he would not tolerate a drunk on his train. Elizabeth admired the conductor’s power, but knew it couldn’t be hers. In her world, women had babies, a husband and stayed at home.

“Well, I never!” said the tight-lipped woman to Susanne and anyone else listening.

Katherine, all too familiar to the sounds of exasperation, and always aware of glaring eyes, looked up from her reading at her mother. Susanne, glued to her view, looked straight into the setting sun, never acknowledging the stares, or the wrestling boys. She was lost in remembering the sweet days of her youth: church recitals, school performances and friends - the friends who had moved away or stayed away. She remembers the excitement of listening to music on the radio from far away places like New York City. How different her life had turned out.

Elizabeth walked slowly down the aisle, carefully holding onto the sides of the seats as the train heaved left and right. She sat down in an open seat and peered out the window as tiny towns with small houses flashed by. Cars waited on dusty roads for the train to pass. The familiar clang of the crossing guard suddenly filled Elizabeth’s senses. Small children sat on wooden fences and waved as the mammoth train bellowed “hello.” Elizabeth smiled and put her hand up to the window.

The moment was broken with the cough of the conductor. He was a giant of a man with a stone face, heroic in his uniform and hat. He motioned for Elizabeth to return to her seat.

Elizabeth jumped up and scurried down the aisle. She stopped for just a moment to take in an image of a mother feeding her baby while a father and daughter peered out the window. The father looked up at Elizabeth with kindness. She felt strange but not afraid. She didn’t know very many men. Priests didn’t count. Most men, even her grandfather, didn’t pay much attention to her. For just a moment she wanted to stay and join that family, but the pull of her own family was just feet away.

Elizabeth liked being part of a big family. She loved having brothers to bother and a sister to look after her when she needed it. Her family was small potatoes compared to the O’Brien family, who had less money than Elizabeth’s family because they had ten children. In Elizabeth’s mind that was a family that could definitely provide ample entertainment.

Elizabeth knew most of the O’Brien children by name except for the older ones. She rarely ran into them so there wasn’t much need to know their names. If it was lunch time and there happened to be a neighborhood kid roaming the yard, Mrs. O’Brien just added another plate to the table. For all the chaos in the O’Brien family, they never seemed to fight. Maybe, Elizabeth thought, it was because they were like a giant arcade game with steel balls bouncing off each other, never really stopping.

Yes, the O’Brien mother looked angry, but many of the mothers in her neighborhood had that look. Elizabeth hoped when she grew up, she wouldn’t look angry. Her mother didn’t look angry; she just looked sad. Elizabeth thought that anger and sadness were like her cousins. There was some resemblance, something that connected them but they didn’t see each other very often, and when they did, there was little reason to think they even knew each other - just like anger and sadness.

Elizabeth was next to last in the family. Patrick could have been lost in the middle but he was a twin and that was special, and he was very smart. Katherine was the first girl and a twin. The only thing that beat being a twin was to be the oldest and a boy, first son of a first son. That was James. He was his mother’s protector.

Elizabeth often stared at James’ model airplanes, carefully displayed in the room occupied by the children. It was a known fact that no one was ever allowed to touch the model airplanes, Elizabeth knew the consequences. These airplanes were James’ most treasured possessions and made each of the children proud just by being related.

The favorite child was the baby John; they all truly loved him, flesh and blood treasure. First, he made his father laugh with his antics and tantrums which was no small feat. He had a fat, round face and body, the epitome of health among a family constricted by a diet of past grievances. He had unconsciously convinced his siblings that he was, in some exotic way, anointed. He had escaped it all. They knew there would not be any more babies. How could another baby come into this family and take his place? It would be impossible.

From day one, his position was established. He was big for his age. Elizabeth knew that mothers liked big babies. She heard them talk about it anywhere there was a gathering of married women. “He has such a great appetite.” Of course he does, Elizabeth thought, he eats what he likes and always throws what he doesn’t on the floor. She remembered the day they brought John home from the hospital. She immediately knew that her place as the last child had been usurped by this very large lump of screaming cuteness.

Susanne’s fingers glided along her knees, a makeshift piano. She gazed out the window oblivious to the antics of the boys just feet away. Elizabeth slid in next to Susanne and moved as close as she could. She kissed her mother’s arm and looked up at her battered neck. Susanne smiles, happy to see Elizabeth. The daughter with the great imagination that was sometimes a challenge. She lightly touches Elizabeth’s head. Her eyes linger on Elizabeth’s face as if looking for someone.

“It will be dark when we get home,” Elizabeth offers, knowing there will be no response. Susanne looks out into the sunset. The piano ritual began again. Elizabeth watched her mother’s fingers and imitated the moves. Susanne hums a tune with fragments of words flowing over her battered vocal cords arriving as a whisper: To memory now I can’t recall, so fill to me . . .