The Railroader’s Wife, Part 1
A short story
Author’s note: Never really knew my paternal grandparents. I remember them as old folks. They both died when I was around five. When you see old people as a kid, that’s the only way you regard them.They’re difficult to picture as young and vibrant. I see that from my own grandchildren. As far as they know, I’ve always been old.
In that spirit, I took a look back at my grandparents, imagining them as young teen lovers, young marrieds, young parents. They were pioneer stock, him a hard as nails railroad man, she a no-nonsense mother of four, who as a little girl once had to hide from roaming Comanches. Both born in the 1870s, this is my tribute to them. Some of it is true — the house turning — but most of it is supposed.
It was well past midnight when Henry turned down 2nd Street. He’d just stepped off the train from Springfield, having returned from a week’s visit with Grant and Mag. Minnie elected not to go, saying she had too much to do around the house. Henry didn’t press the matter. Truth was he’d rather looked forward to the time alone.
The night had only a thumbnail moon, but the gaslight shine just off Commercial Street gave him some glimmer along his path, and the sky was starlight clear. It didn’t really matter. He walked home from the train yards so many times over the years, he could…
