25 comments/ 68182 views/ 35 favorites Grand Island By: YDB95 Grand Island "Precisely," Mary said. "And I have known my share of Yale boys, I can tell you." "I'm sure you have," Bill said. "Let's see, Washington Heights, I know I've been to a couple of bars there with a friend of mine. Nick O'Connor, his name was, from 181st Street if I recall correctly, and we used to go to a wonderful place on the corner of --" "Stop!" Mary had one hand to her face and was sniffling. "Beg your pardon, Bill, but I hate to think of home now that I'll never be going back there." "Heavens, I'm sorry, Mary." "Thank you." But the damage was done, and Mary began pouring her heart out. "This will be my first Christmas away from home, and I have always loved Christmas in the city so very much. If there was one time of year I wouldn't be anywhere else on earth, that was it! Ice skating in Central Park, all the lovely trees in the stores, and all the girls at school so cheerful for that one time a year at least. The gingerbread cookies at the bakery..." Mary's voice trailed away and she sobbed for a moment while Bill looked on silently. He held out his hands for her to take, but she didn't. "I've known for nearly a year now that my life as I knew it is over for good, but I had hoped so very much for one last Christmas. I mean, what's two more weeks? But the nasty looks and the horrible comments from people who used to be my friends...it was all too much. Besides, my parents found a husband for me, and he wants me to arrive before Christmas. Grand Island, Nebraska. I guess I'll arrive just in time." "Good heavens, a mail-order bride?" Bill asked. "I didn't know they did that anymore." "People can be remarkably loyal to a tried and true way to get rid of a sullied daughter," Mary said. "Since I had my baby in September -- and yes, that means it was around Christmastime last year that I got myself in trouble -- I have learned my family was sending photographs and biographies of me to newspapers all over the West, and combing through the responses for the one they liked the best. They never asked me, of course, but then what was I but a slut anyhow?! I'm told he's a lovely young man, wealthy and responsible and attractive." "You're told? You mean they haven't even shown you a picture of the man?" "Oh, they gave me one." Mary held her book open over the table and an envelope slid out and plopped down just beside her soup bowl. "But I haven't opened it yet. As long as I don't know what the man looks like, there's still that sliver of a chance that it all won't happen in the end, and I can make believe I've got some other destiny than marrying a sugar farmer." The waiter arrived at that moment with two mugs of hot apple cider, Bill having ordered one for Mary over her objections, and then asked to take their dinner orders. "I'll have the roast beef, quite rare please, and Mary? What do you want for dinner?" "I've had my soup, thanks," she said, lifting the spoon halfheartedly out of the now cold broth. "Nonsense, a healthy young woman doesn't live on soup alone. What else would you like?" "It is all I can afford if my money is to last me to Nebraska." "This dinner is on me, and I won't take no for an answer," Bill declared. "Now what would you like to eat besides the soup?" Bill eventually prevailed upon Mary to order some chicken and potatoes; he did not need to look at the prices to know she had simply opted for the most inexpensive item on the menu. Their conversation returned to matters more serious once they were on their own again, and Bill was bursting with curiosity about pregnancy and childbirth and what it might be like to experience it all firsthand. But he knew better than to ask Mary anything so private, and he sensed that any reminder of the baby she had given up would be devastating. So that topic was easily avoided until Mary thought to ask just where Bill was going in the middle of winter. "San Francisco," Bill said wryly. "I've heard it's a wonderful town, but my reasons for going there are the worst imaginable ones." "Aren't they only just beginning to rebuild?" Mary asked. "I read all about the earthquake last spring -- I was starting to show then and my mother wouldn't even let me out of our apartment, so I read the paper front to back. So much devastation!" "Exactly," Bill said. "My father specializes in getting rich on other people's rotten luck like that. We're going out there to buy destroyed houses and rebuild and sell at a huge profit. I want nothing to do with it, I'll tell you that, but I come from the kind of family where you do what your parents tell you to do." "I'm sorry to hear that," Mary said. "The way you say that, I take it there is something else you want to do?" "Probably the last thing you want to hear," Bill confessed. "I want to be a doctor. Specifically a female doctor, helping women give birth and whatnot. I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable." "Now, why would it?" Mary asked. "I've read about some gynecologists and how they try to help women avoid getting in trouble in the first place if they don't want a baby. It's a shame I didn't meet you a year ago, if it comes to that!" "Indeed, stories like yours are just the type I'd like to put an end to," Bill said, his mind summoning a mercifully short round of images from the clinic and the horrors he'd witnessed back in New Haven as a result of women taking matters into their own hands. "But my mother wouldn't even hear of it." "Your mother?" Mary asked. "Bill, you're a grown man in a man's world, and apparently a rather rich one as well. You of all people ought to be able to make your own decisions in this world!" "You would think," Bill said. "But in my case at least, you'd be wrong. Maybe someday, but for now I am in no position to go against my mother." "I should think in this part of the country, you could do anything you please if you set your mind to it," Mary argued. Bill smiled in quiet thought, and was still pondering her comment when the waiter arrived with their dinner. They ate in comfortable silence as the gray faded to black outside, and Bill found he welcomed the added intimacy that implied. Once they were finished, he ordered a glass of wine for dessert and tried, but failed, to persuade Mary to join him. "How do you think I got in trouble in the first place?" she grumbled when he tried to persuade her. And Bill apologized profusely and did not raise the topic again. Slowly and with a bit of effort, the conversation turned back to matters more comfortable. As the car was filling with young families and Mary looked wistfully at the children romping about, Bill offered up a hopeful observation. "Now that you're getting married, you'll be free to have as many of your own as you like." Mary managed a smile. "Thank you, Bill. I suppose it is best that I try harder to look for the rainbow now that my fate is sealed." "That's a lesson I could learn as well, I have to confess," Bill agreed. "Who knows what opportunities might come my way in San Francisco?" "More than in Nebraska, I imagine," Mary said. Bill was still trying to think of a suitable response when he felt a tap on his side. He turned to see a cat's-eye marble bouncing to the floor. He leaned over and picked it up, just in time to see its owner coming after it: one of the adorable kids he had seen back in Chicago. "Well hello there!" he said as the boy stood sheepishly before him. "I'm sorry, Mister," the boy said. "We're only trying to play marbles over here, but they're bouncing everywhere because the train won't sit still!" "I understand all too well," Bill reassured him. Handing back the marble, he went on, "You know, I used to take the train every Christmas and New Year, and there are a couple of tricks my friends and I learned. Shall I show you one?" The boy nodded, still looking embarrassed. "Very well, then," Bill said. "Mary, have you got a shawl or a scarf somewhere there in your luggage?" "I certainly do," Mary said, and presently she produced a fluffy woolen wrap. Bill folded it into thick quarters, and then unfolded his handkerchief and lay it atop the wrap. Then he set the marble in the center. "Now you see," Bill explained, "The marble won't roll quite as it's supposed to, but it also won't fly away every time the train tips or turns. Got a shooter?" The little boy handed him one, and Bill demonstrated how the marble rolled, muffled but secure, across the handkerchief. "Ever neat!" declared the boy. "Can you show my --" "Billy!" Both Bill and his young friend looked up at the stern female voice -- the boy's mother, Bill quickly deduced. "I am sorry, sir," she said to Bill. "My son knows better than to harass strangers during their dinner." "Oh, he was no trouble at all, madam," Bill said. "My friend Mary here and I were merely teaching him an old trick for playing marbles on the train." Remembering what she had seen back in Chicago, he added, "I suppose it is I who ought to apologize to you for my mother's appalling behavior back at the train station. I found nothing but joy in watching your children enjoy themselves, I assure you." "I thought you looked familiar," the mother said with a relieved smile. "And thank you for the apology. I hope you do not have to go terribly far with your mother in that condition?" "I'm afraid I do," Bill confessed. "All the way to San Francisco." "Ah, you too?" came a voice behind her, and Billy's father appeared over his wife's shoulder. "We're off on our first holiday visit to Marlene's mother here. The children can't wait and, frankly, neither can I! My name's Ben, by the way. Ben Brockway." Bill shook hands with Ben and Marlene in turn, and also introduced Mary to them. She somewhat reluctantly shook hands with them as well, though visibly concerned that her reputation had once again preceded her. She relaxed somewhat as it became clear that it had not, for once. "Please, do not feel the need to apologize for your son," Bill reassured them both. "It's been far too long since I've played with marbles. How about you, Mary?" "Oh absolutely," Mary said. "But I ought to warn you, I used to whip my brothers at it regularly!" "Their mother can't be beaten either," Ben said. "His name is Bill as well, as you guessed, but we usually call him Billy." Patting the toddler asleep in Marlene's arms, he added, "This is his brother, Henry. And our daughter Calandra is about somewhere as well..." he looked around to find her hiding behind her, shy as a violet. "Hello, Calandra," Mary said. "Would you like to play marbles as well? Oh, I am sorry, unless we are holding up your dinner?" "Not at all; we are waiting for a table," Marlene said. "Candy, do you want to play marbles?" "Yes please," the girl whispered, her shyness belying a certain delight at being asked. In no time she was seated happily on Mary's lap, and Mary helped guide her little hand as she aimed for the marble. As the children played, helped along by Bill and Mary, a few minutes' worth of particulars were exchanged among the adults. Bill was delighted to learn that Marlene was a nurse, and immediately but circumspectly he set about probing for information about opportunities back home. Ben was an architect, drawn to San Francisco for the same reasons why Bill was being dragged there, but he and Marlene gave every indication of being happy with the trip and especially with the chance to visit Grandma for Christmas. "Have you got any of your own?" Marlene asked when the talk of work had reached a lull. Bill looked at Mary, who was smiling down at Candy with the first sign of real joy all afternoon and did not return his glance, and then up at Marlene. He was still groping for a diplomatic explanation when the waiter appeared behind Ben. Bill forgot about trying to explain the situation as he watched the waiter whisper urgently in Ben's ear. He felt a calling to jump up and take charge of the situation, but Billy was snuggled up comfortably beside him, so he was left to grasp at straws from his seat. "Ben, let me explain," he began. "No need," Ben told him, and then he leaned in and whispered in Marlene's ear. Marlene shot a distasteful look at the waiter, and then her smile quickly returned. "Bill, Mary," she said. "How would you both like to join us for dinner? Or at least dessert if you've already eaten?" Bill heaved a sigh of relief, and looked at Mary, who was gaping at him in disbelief. "I would love to," Mary said slowly, as if disbelieving her ears. "As would I," Bill said. "Lovely," Marlene declared. "I do believe our table is ready?" The waiter looked furious beneath his professional smile, but he nodded and pointed them to a long table halfway down the car. Marlene and Billy led the way, Mary followed with Candy in her arms after asking if she might hold the little girl a while longer, and the men brought up the rear. "See here, Ben, I really am sorry --" Bill began. "Don't be," Ben cut him off. "Bill, how old does Billy look to you?" "Perhaps six?" Bill guessed. "Exactly right. Six in October, and Marlene and I celebrate our seventh anniversary in March. Neither of us will ever again condemn a young woman for making the mistake Mary did." "Heavens, thank you!" Bill said. "I'm sure Mary feels the same, even if she is in no position to say so out loud." "I rather suspect she and Marlene are having the same conversation as you and I at the moment," Ben reassured him. And from the look on Mary's face when they arrived at the table, Bill suspected Ben was right. Billy and Candy resumed their game of marbles with occasional assistance from Mary and Bill, and the adult conversation continued as best it could alongside the game. Bill was seated against the wall of the car, and as the meal progressed he observed a change in their neighbors' attitudes. Their arrival at the table had been greeted with the inevitable knowing dirty looks at Mary, and her occasional affection towards Candy had even brought about a scandalous gasp or two. But as Bill -- who knew his name and the prestige connected to it had made the rounds of the car -- and the respectable family in their presence had embarked upon a comfortable conversation, the pervasive disgust slowly but surely gave way to a begrudging acceptance. Ever so slowly but surely, Bill even began to notice the occasional endearing look at the happy party as the game of marbles slowly petered out. Not long after the dishes were cleared, Candy fell asleep nestled adorably in Mary's arms, while Billy curled up on the bench and was also soon lost in dreams. Meanwhile the adult conversation took over. Bill and Ben compared notes on rumors that had wafted east from California since the disaster, Marlene fielded Bill's questions about hospitals and clinics in the area as best she could, and everyone scrupulously avoided the subject of Mary's destination. Bill could have remained there all night for all he cared, and only the most fleeting thoughts of his parents came and went. Ben and Marlene were polite enough not to inquire about them -- or maybe, Bill reasoned, they had seen enough back at the station to have no need to ask. No one took any notice of the time until the train ground to a halt in Des Moines, followed by a proclamation from the conductor that they would have half an hour to stretch their legs and get some fresh air if they liked. "Heavens, that sounds just the thing!" Marlene exclaimed. "Mary, would you like to join me?" "I'd love to," Mary said; the cigar smoke was rather thick by then. Bill privately thought a walk in the bracing winter air would be a nice antidote as well; but he sensed that the ladies would rather be on their own for the moment. As soon as Ben and Bill were on their own with the sleeping children, Ben asked the question Bill knew he and Marlene had been dying to ask forever by then. "Where is she being sent off to?" "Grand Island, Nebraska," Bill said. "There's a farmer waiting for her there, apparently." "Well, that's a good solid profession, isn't it?" Ben asked. "I'll tell you what, Bill, I know that girl is going through a living hell just now, but I've got to say, starting life all over again has a certain appeal -- for Marlene and me both, if the truth be told." "But Ben, you've got these three beautiful children..." Bill said in disbelief. "That we do," Ben said grimly. "And we've got to feed them all, haven't we? There's a little something Marlene hasn't told you, my friend: I'm out of work. Hasn't been any work for me back in Chicago in months. My mother says there's probably a lot of work to be had for a guy like me out in San Francisco, and I'm sure she's right...but I've got nothing lined up. Haven't even got any money for the kids' presents, Bill. I'm only hoping Marlene's mother will be able to scrape something up. Heaven knows how, since I'm told she lost everything in the earthquake, but that's our only hope just now." "Oh my," Bill said. "So all you said about Santa Claus finding your mother's house..." "I sure hope he does find it," Ben said. "If not, well, my children have to learn someday that life isn't all sweetness and light, now haven't they?" "Well, that just isn't right," Bill said, more to himself than to Ben, although Ben agreed heartily. There was no food or drink service while the train was stopped. But Bill, an experienced veteran of long rail trips, had come prepared with a flask of scotch in his coat pocket. He had rather expected to need the fortification to cope with his mother's company. But that difficulty now seemed positively desirable compared to Ben's predicament, and on drawing it out of his pocket he found the offering gratefully accepted without a word. "Thank you, Bill," Ben said after swallowing the harsh liquid. "I needed that something terrible." An idea began to hatch in Bill's mind. "You know, Ben, I have a couple of friends who went out to California last summer," he said. "They might have some work for you." "Hasn't everyone got a friend in San Francisco?" Ben grumbled. The whiskey talking, Bill tried to rationalize. But he had only a moment to do so before Ben apologized. "I appreciate it, Bill, I'm sorry. It's only that Marlene and I both have heard so much of that since we decided we had to make this trip. I'm getting to the point where I don't want anyone to get my hopes up, to tell you the truth. It always ends the same way, with no way to make sure our children even get to eat on a regular basis, never mind Christmas presents." The words, "I understand," formed on Bill's lips, but he stopped himself and took a swig of his own. No sense in trying to convince anyone else that he knew anything about being poor, after all. There was time for two more rounds of drinks for each of them before the ladies returned, minutes before the jerk of the train starting up. Little Candy awoke with a start, and Marlene declared it was time to carry the children back to their car for the night. "And Mary, we shall try that dress on you in the morning," she said. "Thank you, Marlene," Mary said. After a round of hugs and handshakes and kisses for the children, the Brockways took their leave. Bill held out his arm for Mary to take. "May I walk you back to your car?" he asked. "That really isn't necessary," she told him, but she offered no further resistance and did take his arm. "Believe me, I am in no hurry to return to my parents' carriage," Bill said. As they stepped across the first vestibule, he went on. "Is Marlene giving you a dress, is that what she said?" "She is," Mary confirmed. "While we were eyeing the sweets at the newsstand, she asked me if I had a dress for my wedding, and I said I would be wearing this one. She said that wouldn't do, and she had a lovely one she wouldn't be needing in California. Isn't that wonderful of her!" Grand Island "Wonderful indeed," Bill said. "But tell me...oh, that isn't fair. Never mind." "Never mind what?" Mary asked. "Now you must tell me!" "I suppose I must," Bill admitted. "While you were off the train, Ben confided in me that he has been out of work and they're broke. They don't even have jobs waiting for them!" "That explains a lot," Mary said. "I did notice Marlene eyed all the snacks hungrily but when I asked what she'd like to buy, she insisted she didn't care for any of them. I could see it wasn't true, but...oh, heavens, how on earth can she offer me a dress if..." "I know!" Bill said. They had arrived at Mary's car, and stood quietly just beyond the vestibule. "But I have an idea. To help them, I mean." "Can I help?" Mary asked. "They've been so very kind to me, and you know how no one else has lately -- except you of course!" Bill chuckled. "I might have insisted you help, if only so we can spend tomorrow together!" "We shouldn't," Mary said. "You know we'll be in Grand Island by tomorrow night, and then..." "And then I could buy you a ticket onwards if you find you can't face life on the farm." Bill had not planned to say it just yet, but the words tumbled out before he could stop them. "Oh, Bill, you know I could never accept that!" Mary gave every indication that she longed to do just that, however. "Promise me you'll think it over tonight," Bill said. "And please don't deprive me of one more day with you if you do decide to get off the train tomorrow." "I couldn't..." Mary's voice trailed away, and Bill took advantage of the silence and swept her up in his arms. He had expected at least token resistance, but there was none as he embraced her fiercely against the draft and the frigid night howling past outside. He kissed her chastely, and to his pleasant surprise her lips responded in polite kind. He made to let go, and was once again surprised when she was more hesitant to do so. "Tomorrow?" he whispered when at last they had pulled back from one another. "Yes please," Mary said, and turned to make her way past the sleeping travelers. The walk back to first class was thick with the most hopeful Christmas spirit Bill had felt in years, though it was also muted with a sense of melancholy at the unpleasant surprise that likely awaited the Brockway children in San Francisco. But by then a beautiful idea was already growing in his mind, and despair gave way to determination as Bill tiptoed past the mostly-sleeping passengers. As usual, his mother's dire warnings of earlier proved empty, as the carriage door opened at his touch. It sounded as though Mother and father had long since retired, so Bill turned to his tiny private bunk. He took of his coat and vest and slipped his shoes off, but left the remainder of his clothes on. With a bit of effort, he soon had his trunk out from under the bunk and, careful to do so as quietly as possible, he unlocked and opened it. Buried in one corner underneath his clothes and the contraband medical books he never left unguarded, his well-traveled treasure sack from prep school remained in its resting place. Bill didn't think he had moved the little cloth sack, much less opened it, in five or six years. But he had carried it with him everywhere he had traveled, always glad to know it was there, a sort of masculine rag doll for the boy who had been riding the rails every few months since age fourteen. He had envisioned taking the treasures out to admire periodically at Yale whenever he got lonesome for his youth; but he had found himself too busy for all that most of the time. Since graduation, of course, he had had precious little reason for looking back on the happy childhood that mostly just existed in his imagination anyhow. And so, he reasoned wistfully now as he poured the contents of the bag on his bed, he wouldn't be terribly sorry to part with some or even most of the treasures. He found that hard to believe now as he admired his well-worn baseball glove from prep-school, the ball still clutched in it...little Billy would find it easy to make friends in his new neighborhood with that! And his favorite book of adventure stories, some of which he still had memorized -- but Candy and Billy and little Henry hadn't, and maybe their mother would enjoy reading them aloud as well. And the cast-iron locomotive and the three colorful miniature horses on wheels; Bill wasn't sure if Candy liked trains, but didn't all girls love horses? Bill set aside the gifts he had chosen, and returned his remaining keepsakes to their resting place in the trunk -- most of it was teenage boy stuff that wouldn't have been appropriate for any of the Brockways, to his regret. While getting the trunk back in order, he stumbled across a book of paintings of old San Francisco that someone had given him at the sendoff party last week. He hadn't meant to pack it at all, having already leafed through the lovely images of the city he had no real desire to visit, but it had been mixed up with his medical books. A perfect gift for Ben and Marlene, he reasoned, and he set it aside with the toys. With his good deed set to be done, Bill was at last ready for bed. He peeled the last of his clothes off and stuffed them in the designated dirty-clothes corner of his trunk, and then pulled out his nightshirt. But before he pulled it on, the memory of his tender moment with Mary came flooding back. Reasoning that the train was moving too fast for him to be spotted, Bill turned and looked out the window, aware of his arousal and amused at the idea that it just might be visible to some hobo who looked at the right window at just the right angle. The idea made him laugh through the tension and desire he now realized had been building up all evening. Mary -- defeated by life in her prime and cast out due to one mistake that hadn't even been hers alone, and the boy who got her in trouble was probably enjoying Mary's beloved Christmastime in New York at that very moment -- the unfairness of it all made his blood boil. And yet, in spite of her hard lot in life, Bill knew he had detected a certain resilience. He'd sensed it throughout the evening, from that very uncomfortable beginning to the lovely ending. It wasn't only that she was beautiful, although she was -- no, once he'd gotten through to her and especially after the Brockways had stepped in, anyone could have seen she wasn't going to give up on life without a fight. It had, he now realized, been a true joy to behold. And she had felt as beautiful as she had looked in that long last moment. The memory of her body so close against his, her breasts pressing delightfully up against him, the worldly knowledge she possessed that he knew only clinically and the joy she should by rights have been able to draw from it all...simply beautiful. Bill took himself in his right hand and allowed his imagination to take over, what she looked like under that dress, what awaited her on her marital bed a day or two in the future, and the knowledge that it would only ever be a fleeting image for him... Bill knelt down and opened the trunk again to retrieve a soiled handkerchief. Certain things required his attention before he would ever be able to sleep. The cold gray light of dawn had Bill lazily awake shortly before the train stopped in Omaha, and thanks to his anticipation of one more day with Mary, he was up and shaved and dressed in plenty of time to meet her. He was not, however, quick enough to evade his angry parents, nor did he think ahead when he opened his chamber door. There they sat looking disgustedly at him, and as usual Bill found himself caught flat-footed and speechless. "Horace, you will have your man to man talk with him outside," Mother said in an uncomfortably calm growl. "I have no patience to hear what you must say." "Indeed," Father said, standing up. "You heard her, son. Outside, now." For once, Bill opted to confront his father directly rather than take his lumps. He launched into his defense as soon as they were alone in the narrow carriage hallway. "Father, I was only following Mother's directive. She told me not to come back, and I didn't! Not until you were asleep in any event." "Yes, for once you did as you were told, but that is not the problem and you know it!" Father snapped. "Spending the entire evening with a whore in a public room! Did you think we wouldn't hear of it from the porters?" "Did you think I would care?" Bill managed to keep his powder dry despite the nasty characterization of his beloved Mary. "She's a wonderful young woman, and all we did was eat a meal together." "A wonderful young woman! Has your mother taught you nothing?!" "She has taught me far too much about being a judgmental snob!" Bill retorted. "You too, but her especially! I mean, Father, even you sometimes, she criticizes you for being uncouth, and weren't you born with a silver spoon in your mouth just like I was! How can you support her looking down on others when she looks down on you too?!" "Never mind that." Suddenly Father looked as uncomfortable and put-upon as Bill was feeling. "Whatever your mother's shortcomings, she knows the way of the world and she knows it is not our place to be associating with trash like that girl! All have their place, and this is ours!" "Ours, or yours?" Bill demanded. "Do not try to deny your rightful place, Bill. We must never forget our roots." "One can remember one's roots and still wish to make the world a more reasonable place," Bill said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some friends I wish to meet for breakfast." "You know they serve breakfast in our carriage here," Father called desperately as Bill strode to the vestibule. "I also know I have some new friends I'd rather spend our precious little time with," Bill said, and he didn't look back as he exited the carriage. He smiled with relief as he realized Father was not going to follow him. It was a low blow, attacking Father on his own upper-crust credentials like that; but for some reason that had always put him on the defensive in a way it never did with Mother. Bill supposed Father simply had some shame about his snobbery whereas Mother had none. The train ground to a halt moments before Bill reached Mary's carriage, and they had little trouble finding one another. He had not crossed paths with the Brockways, but that could wait. Mary couldn't. "Good morning!" he said with real pleasure as they met just inside the exit door. "Join me for breakfast?" "In the station?" Mary asked, but she didn't show any sign of declining the offer, instead taking his hand as he offered it to help her off the train. She was still wearing yesterday's dress, but of course Bill said nothing about that. "I understand most train stations out here have restaurants attached. Special quick service so you can get back on your train in time." He did not let go of her hand as they made their way along the platform; sure enough, a sign directed them to a café up ahead. The air on the platform was chilly but refreshing, and the enclosed restaurant promised a warm greeting. It did not disappoint, and neither did the friendly waitress who had no way of knowing about Mary's scarlet letter. In a matter of minutes they were enjoying fresh coffee, biscuits and gravy and eggs. "Heavens, what a heavy breakfast!" Mary remarked. "But I suppose you eat like this all the time? "If I did I'd be big as a house," Bill corrected her. "But it is a pleasure to eat out now and again. I only wish there were places like this on the way home from college." "Didn't you eat at places like this all the time at Yale, being so posh and all?" "Not as often as you'd think," Bill said. "It wasn't so different from New York." Mary winced at the mention of her beloved hometown, and Bill quickly apologized. "I'm very sorry," he said. "But you know, my offer stands." "I thought about it all night," Mary confessed. "Couldn't sleep a wink, but there's nothing new about that, and the thought of starting again on my own out in California...I've heard a girl can do that out there." Bill hoped she might offer up an answer then and there, but the waitress stopped by with an offer to refill their coffee cups -- graciously accepted by both. As she walked away, Mary's face broke into a wistful smile. "Certainly is nice to be treated like a human being again," she said. "At least I'll have that to look forward to if I stay here." "That and a lifetime of big breakfasts like this if you want them," Bill agreed. "But Mary, it would be such a pleasure to have you join me in San Francisco!" "Your parents would never approve," Mary pointed out. "They never approve of anything anyway!" Bill laughed and Mary joined him. "Then just how do you intend to keep me on the train against their wishes?" "Leave that to me," Bill said. "I've been worming around my mother's rules for a long time." Back on the train, Bill left Mary in her car with a shameless embrace that further piqued the disgust of some of her fellow passengers, and went off in search of the conductor. Finding him in the dining car, he proffered an introduction that was unnecessary; all the train's staff knew who the Billingstons were. "How may I help you, Mr. Billingston?" the conductor asked. "I am afraid I need a somewhat unusual favor," Bill said. "It appears the suite next to my family's is vacant for this trip." "Indeed," the conductor confirmed. "We never sell out first class this time of year; too many people traveling in private carriages now." "Yes, well, I'd like to know if I can purchase a ticket for the remainder of the trip." The conductor coughed uncomfortably. "Mr. Billingston, I understand you have made a new friend, but I am sure you can appreciate she is not the type of person your fellow first-class travelers would appreciate in their midst." "Then they don't need to talk to her, do they?" Bill said, pulling out his billfold. "Now, what's the price of a ticket from Omaha to San Francisco?" "It is against policy for me to sell tickets after the journey has begun." "Perhaps I can make up for that by paying a bit extra," Bill said, handing the conductor a five dollar bill. A few minutes later, Bill returned to Mary's carriage with a ticket in his hand. He held it triumphantly out at her as she looked up from her book. "Bill, are you sure about this?" she asked, looking at the coveted slip of paper. "I had better be, now that it's done, hadn't I?" Bill said. He held out his arm, and she arose and took it. "This all seems absolutely surreal," Mary said. "After all you've been through, it seems only fair to me," Bill countered. "Where are your bags?" Mary pointed to a single pale blue suitcase directly above her seat, and Bill took it down. As the other passengers realized what was happening, a scandalous whisper pervaded the entire car and soon grew to a light applause from some corners. Mary ignored it, having become well-accustomed to such shaming by then. Bill was not so inoculated: just before they exited the car, he turned around to address the passengers. "I am ever so glad my dear friend here will not have to endure such horrible behavior for the rest of her trip. Merry Christmas to you all, and may your own friends and loved ones be less judgmental than you!" Mary looked awestruck as he clicked the door shut on the outraged passengers. "Bill, where on earth did you learn to be so noble?" "In the slums of New Haven," Bill said. "Trust me, you don't want to know more than that. Although given what you've been through, you probably already do." Bill hoped against hope that he could get Mary squared away in her new chamber without his parents discovering what he had done; but of course it wasn't to be. Perhaps another five dollars would have kept the conductor's mouth shut, Bill mused now as he guided Mary into the first class carriage and found his father waiting in the hallway. Scrupulously avoiding any acknowledgment of Mary, Father said, "A word, Bill?" "No, Father. There is nothing to discuss at the moment, and you know it." "You ungrateful little --" The final word of Father's epithet was muffled by Bill's slamming of the chamber door behind him, and Bill and Mary burst into peals of laughter and embraced again. "Heavens, this is lovely," Mary said, looking around her without letting go of Bill. "But I do hope this does no permanent damage with your parents." "The more I think about them and where we are going and why, the less I care!" Bill said. He set Mary's suitcase on the rack above the window, which once again showed a rural snowy wonderland racing by. "Speaking of which, if you do still decide to get off at Grand Island --" "Never!" Mary declared. "I'll go with you to San Francisco, and then I hope you have the sense to go your own way from your parents as well when we get there." Bill turned and looked at the wretched yet beautiful young woman, cast out on her own, and his heart nearly burst with pride. He said nothing, but nodded. The suite was equipped with a state-of-the-art wash stand, complete with a water-heater that at least raised the temperature of the clean water from icy to lukewarm. Bill demonstrated its use to Mary. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but you probably ought to wash up," he said. "We might even be able to launder your dress a bit, if you have another one." "I do have two more," Mary said, nodding at the suitcase. "There simply hasn't been an opportunity to change." "Well then, allow me to give you some privacy," Bill said, and he turned to the suite door. "Your father will be out there waiting for you," Mary said. "I'll have to face him at some point. Besides, surely you don't want an audience when you wash." "You would hardly be an audience," Mary said with a knowing grin. "And shouldn't a female doctor be well acquainted with the female body?" "I see you had thoughts much like mine last night," Bill said, slipping his hand off the doorknob. His heart was thundering and his pants were once again feeling too tight. "And little else," Mary confessed. Still fully clothed, she sat on the seat by the window. "Bill, I do hope I don't seem too forward here. It is only that you know what I have done and you do not judge me for it, and that is ever so refreshing! And you obviously like me a great deal, and as for what I did to get in so much trouble in the first place...heaven help me, Bill, but I liked it! A lot!" "Most of us do, or so I'm told," Bill said. "Then you never have?" "I've never had an opportunity that I was aware of, besides I have seen far too much of the unintended consequences." "I understand," Mary said. "But you know we don't have to go all the way, and it would be ever so perfect for us to have our bit of fun while we've got some privacy." She stood up and turned around and, twisting back to look at him, she held her hair up out of the way to reveal the clasp and buttons of her dress. "I'm yours if you'd like," she said with an inviting grin. Of all the things Bill had anticipated in the night, this had not been among them; he hadn't dared hope Mary would want anything to do with intimacy with anyone, much less him. But he saw no reason to spurn her offer, and gently he undid the string and the buttons. She seemed as relieved to get out of the smelly old dress as he was thrilled to see her out of it, and expressed no embarrassment as she removed her undergarments. Standing nude in the doorway to watch him follow suit and remove his clothes, Mary was the very picture of sadder-but-wiser feminine beauty: her body showed the aftereffects of pregnancy and birth to a trained eye like Bill's almost was, but those imperfections only made her more beautiful to him. All those clinical illustrations in his books and the unpleasantness he had confronted at the clinic -- and here, for the first time, was a look at the body he so admired in its most natural state! Grand Island Mary took in his awestruck admiration for her body and could not repress a nervous laugh. "I take it you approve, doctor," she quipped. "Lovely," he exhaled softly as he removed his shirt and reached to pull off his undershirt. "Delighted to learn someone still thinks so," Mary said. "And since you find it so beautiful, you get to wash it!" Wash her he did, gently and reverently, splashing the cool fresh water all about her body just before and after soaping up every inch of it a bit at a time. She giggled occasionally at his intimate touch and his obvious delight with his task, but not a word was spoken. He saved her hair for last, exulting in the luxurious feel of the soapy curls wrapping at random around his fingers as he scrubbed it and poured the clean water over it while she leaned over the basin. When he was finished, he patted her dry with a railroad issue towel. "Now," he said, handing her the washcloth, "Will you return the favor?" Mary made no effort to hide her interest in Bill's hard cock. "He never let me play with his," she explained as she rubbed it gently to his audible pleasure. "Perhaps if I had stopped at that...but he wouldn't even allow it." "Wouldn't allow it?" Bill repeated incredulously, struggling to maintain his balance with the intense pleasure she was giving him with her strokes. "You don't want to know what sort of absurdities he fed me to talk me into his bed," Mary said. "And then he just wanted to go straight to the main event. Nothing like I'd heard from the older girls in the street." As she spoke, Mary took the cake of soap in her hands, and soon had Bill's pubic hair awash in suds. She ran her fingers through the soapy wonderland, further inspiring groans of joy from him. "Heavens, I hope you are enjoying this as much as I am," Bill said, holding onto the washstand for balance. "You have no idea," Mary cooed. At long last she tore her attention away from his hard cock and rubbed upwards over his torso and chest. She turned him around and scrubbed his back with a cheerful flair, and gave each of his legs a quick rub up and down. Still nude herself, she lost no time in rinsing him off and patting him dry, and then taking him in an eager embrace. "Oh, that feels wonderful," Bill purred. "I've never felt anything like it before." "Doesn't it, though," Mary agreed. Shyly she added, "Your response when I was playing with you was ever so lovely. Men are so lucky to get so much feeling out of such a simple touch." "Surely you know women can, too," Bill said, surprised. "How?" Mary looked down at her own body, still something of a mystery to her." "Through the clitoris, of course," Bill said. Seeing her perplexed face, he went on, "Good heavens, you didn't know...?" "I don't think a man would understand," Mary said. "You're probably right," Bill admitted. "Come lay down and I can show you if you like." He led her back into the bedchamber and she lay back on the clean linens. Bill spread her legs gently and placed his right hand gently on her vulva. "May I?" "Please do," Mary said. Gently Bill felt around with his thumb until he had found it. He had more than one reason to know he had found it, for Mary let out a surprised yelp when he rubbed it. "That's it," he says. "The only part of the body made for pleasure only, and only women have one." He paused his rubbing to explain. "Don't stop!" Bill laughed, but he resumed his stroking. He also continued explaining. "The clitoris has more nerve endings than any other part of the body. That's why it feels so intense when you touch it the right way. Now, some doctors think the nerves reach all the way to the wall of your vagina, so if you rub inside as well..." To illustrate, he reached one finger in and rubbed in circles against her moist inner flesh. "Oh, Bill, I understand!" Mary shrieked joyfully. "Don't stop!" "I won't, not until you come," he promised. "You mean women can..." Mary's question was interrupted by a non-verbal but unequivocal 'yes,' and Bill smiled as he admired her reaction to the orgasm. He then excused himself to rinse his hands off in the basin, and then returned to hold her for the afterglow. "Thank you," she whispered. "My pleasure," he said. "No, my pleasure, and thank you!" Mary retorted, and they laughed together. They fell asleep in one another's arms, and Bill awoke to find the train stopped with the curtains still open. Fortunately they were on the far side of the station, and he had time to jump up and draw the curtains with no one the wiser. A sidelong glance down the track told him they were in Lincoln, indicating it was lunch time. They could brave the crowds in the dining car once the train started up again. "What time is it?" Mary asked in a sleepy voice as she sat up on the bed. "Not quite twelve," Bill said. "Maybe we can meet the Brockways for lunch." "That'd be lovely," Mary said. "I take it we can't tell them yet about your plans to help them, though." "Oh, that reminds me," Bill said. "I did find a few things to give them, but I forgot all about looking up my friends in California to help Ben with his job search. Let me..." he looked warily at the door. "Let me see if I can get past my parents to get my address book. With any luck they'll have stepped off the train to get some fresh air." Evidently they had done just that, for Bill was able to slip back into their suite undetected. Back in the relative safety of his tiny chamber, he once again opened the trunk and reached down the back to the corner where he had stashed the book for his own future reference should he be fortunate enough to make the escape from his parents. That idea grew in his mind as he flipped through the book for his friend Kenneth Rodney, whom Bill remembered being well-connected in San Francisco. At last he found the address, although now it occurred to him that the building might well not even exist anymore. There was, of course, nothing to be done about that. As Bill copied down Ken's contact information, another name registered in his peripheral vision just below in the R's: Daniel Romer, Denver, Colorado. Daniel's father was a doctor and, like Bill himself, Daniel had talked of following in his father's footsteps. The train would be passing through Denver tomorrow, Bill mused. Perhaps... His brainstorm was interrupted by the sound of the suite door sliding open. "I was his age once, dear," Father was saying. "Once we get him away from her, you will be amazed at how quickly it is forgotten." "You were his age but her class, Horace," Mother sniffed, a sarcastic twist in her voice when she said his name. "You know nothing about what a well-bred young man will do for a harlot like that." Bill, frozen in his fright, suddenly found himself more curious than scared. Her class? "That's enough of that!" Father thundered. "That's in the past, and he never need know the truth!" "No, but you always shall, shan't you, Horace?" Mother needled. "Or should I go back to calling you Harry?" "That's enough!" "Harry Johnson from Wheeling, West Virginia," Mother went on. "You'd still be in the gutter if it weren't for my charms and Father's money, and you think you can save your son from the same fate just by a gentle talking-to! Like father like son, once a gutter-rat, always a gutter-rat. Not if I have anything to say on the matter!" Bill was livid, and his earlier fear was forgotten. He jumped up off his bed and, still holding the contact book in his hand, tore open the chamber door. "Oh dear God," Mother said, her rage of a moment earlier now forgotten. "You little sneak," Father said, lunging at Bill, while Mother sat on the newly laundered bed and broke into sobs. Bill ducked just in time and had no trouble pinning the older man against the doorjamb. "I was only looking for a name of a friend from Yale to give to a friend from here," he said in a husky whisper. "For a job. Now, I'm going to let go and you're going to leave me alone." He did as he said, and gave his father a rough push that landed him beside Mother on the bed. "Speaking of Yale, Father, have you ever even been there?" "Only to observe it before we would spend our money to send you there," Mother admitted through her tears. "Your father barely made it out of high school, Bill. His father worked in a cigar factory. But you know he's always been a big talker. After the great fire in '71, he ran off to Chicago with his life's savings and started giving loans to families who couldn't get credit at the bank. Crazy terms and ridiculous interest rates, but you know your father could sell snow to Eskimos. My father got word of what he was up to and offered him a job, and the rest is history." "Why on earth did you have to lie to me about that?!" Bill demanded. "To keep you from making exactly the mistake you're making with that miserable little slut!" Mother screamed. "Why you --" "Bill!" Father interrupted, jumping up; now he took his son's shoulders in his hands with a conciliatory look. "We lied to you for your own good. If anyone in our neighborhood, any of your friends at Exeter or Yale -- if they knew the truth, heaven only knows what doors would have been slammed shut in your face?" "Do you think I'd be ashamed of you, Father?!" Bill was also in tears now, though he kept his voice steady. "I would be," Mother sniffed. Bill ignored her. "I never gave that any thought," Father said. "All that mattered was that I had left my poverty behind. There was no need for you to be concerned with it at all." "Then why lie to me about it?!" Bill snapped. "Because we didn't want you to turn out just as you have!" Father yelled, pulling away in disgust. "Flirting with scum from the streets like --" "Like you were?" Bill demanded. "Precisely," Mother said crisply, having put a stop to hear tears. "We all have our place in this world, and I thought your father and I had shielded you from the one we had rescued from. Now I see you belong there after all." Bill looked at his mother in silent bewilderment for an uncomfortable moment. Then he turned and went back into his chamber. He pulled on his greatcoat and tossed the few loose articles of clothing into his trunk, set the book at the toys atop all the folded clothes, and locked it. Then he lifted the trunk and, wordlessly and without making eye contact with either of his parents, he carried it out of their suite. Mother and Father said nothing as well. Bill heard only the sound of one or the other of them slamming the door behind him. Mary sat at the mirror brushing her hair when Bill burst in with his trunk. She had dressed in his absence and looked lovely as Christmas itself in her fresh frock -- until she saw the look on Bill's face. "Oh my God, what happened?" she asked. "I've just learned something I should have figured out years ago, if I weren't so snobby and naïve," Bill said. "Are you all right?" Mary asked. "Never better," Bill said. "I'm free. For the first time in my life, I'm free." "Free of what?" "I'll explain later," Bill said. "Let's go meet the Brockways for lunch." But the Brockways weren't in the dining car when Bill and Mary arrived, and so their Christmas surprises were left to wait in Bill's coat pocket while they ate their sandwiches and drank their tea. Bill was finally prevailed upon to tell Mary all he had learned. "All the clues were there!" Bill said now. "The way Mother was always so much more zealous about our lifestyle, the pitying looks Father gave the kids in the street while Mother just had her nose in the air all the time...and I did notice he never seemed to have any fond memories of Yale. All the boys whose fathers had been there back in the seventies had all sorts of stories of the place. But not him." "I'm sorry, Bill," Mary said. "No need to be," Bill reassured her. "The old ways, they're dying anyway. You look around at all the poor folks struggling just to make ends meet, and we had rooms in our house we never even opened! That can't go on forever, it just can't. Even if it could, it always made me feel so horribly guilty...now suddenly, that's gone!" "I wish I could let go of my guilt that easily," Mary said, her wretched luck having been brought back to mind by a dirty look from the waiter as he refilled their teacups. "You can!" Bill took her hands in his. "Where we're going, no one needs to know where you've been or what you've done. It's a new year and a new world! Oh, speaking of which, what do you think of getting off the train in Denver?" "Denver?" Mary repeated. "All I've heard of that country is the mountains. It is supposed to be lovely, isn't it?" "I have a friend from college whose father is a doctor. He might be able to find me a job, and yes, it is beautiful. You could go to school too if you wanted, to be a nurse perhaps? Women can even vote in Colorado, you know." Mary was laughing by the time he was done. "Is this the pace I can look forward to with you? A life-changing idea every day?!" "I'm afraid so," Bill said with a grin. "At least until I get used to knowing who I really am." "I might just have to hold you to that, Bill." They returned to Mary's suite -- now their suite -- for the afternoon. Mary lost no time in convincing Bill to give her another anatomy lesson, and Bill almost hoped his mother could hear Mary's lusty screams as he rubbed her to four more orgasms by midafternoon. There was talk of going further, and after some coaxing Bill was able to persuade Mary that it was probably the wrong time of the month for there to be any real danger in it; but the horrors Mary had endured over the past year were not to be that easily forgotten. "Let us wait on that until we've been married," she told him as they snuggled nude on the bed in the bleak afternoon sunshine. "Oh, so now who is having lots of big ideas all at once?" Bill retorted, though he harbored no objection to marrying her. "Takes one to know one, doesn't it?" Mary challenged him. "Indeed," Bill said, giving her a gentle squeeze. After several more minutes of pleasant silence, Mary sat bolt-upright. "What time is it?" Spooked by her urgent tone, Bill got up and fished his watch out of the pocket of his long-discarded pants. "Just past four o'clock," he said. A glance out the window confirmed that the winter sun was sinking, though it would linger for some time yet on the endless Midwestern horizon. "We're due in Grand Island at half past five," Mary said. "My...my would-be husband will be waiting." "I guess it won't be a very merry Christmas for him, will it?" Bill meant it as a joke, but on hearing his own words he felt terribly guilty. He sounded far too much like his mother. "Heavens, what a shame," Mary said. "It'll break his heart if I don't get off the train." "It'll break yours if you do," Bill pointed out. "You're not meant to be a farmer's wife, Mary, you know that. Especially not for a farmer you don't even know." "I know. But..." Mary looked near tears. Bill said nothing, for he knew there was nothing worth saying on the topic. He held her while she allowed the tears to run their course. Once she had regained control of herself, Bill asked, "Would you like me to go have a look for the man when we stop?" Mary shook her head. "What will you be able to tell about him from one look? If he's ugly, does that make it okay for me to break his heart? If he's an axe-murderer, do you think you'll be able to tell from one look? No, we just need to stay here and wait for the train to start up again." Bill nodded his agreement. If there was one thing he was learning this Christmas, it was that first impressions could be very, very wrong. They spent the next hour comparing memories of their favorite childhood Christmases, imagining what Denver or San Francisco or wherever fate led them would look like this time of year, and discussing anything that could keep their minds off the event that had to take place shortly. When the train did pull into Grand Island, the sun was down and there was little sign of life on their side of the station. Neither of them had the resolve to bother with conversation for those five long minutes, and so the distant sounds of the conductor announcing the stop and the few passengers getting off the train echoed all too well to their room. If there was any commotion out on the platform, they were never aware of it. When the train started up again, Mary clamped her hand over her mouth as if she were once again going to cry, and Bill held her other hand in silence. "It's over," she finally said. "He can always send for another wife," Bill said. "What good will that be to him now?" "It only would have compounded the tragedy if you had joined him." Mary nodded. "Let's go find the Brockways." Forcing a cheerful tone, she added, "Won't they be surprised to find me still on the train!" Surprised they were. "Mary!" Marlene exclaimed with unguarded joy when they walked hand in hand into the dining car where the family was waiting. "I was afraid I wouldn't be able to give you that dress after all." Then she frowned. "But if you're still on the train, does that mean..." "It means I'm still getting married," Mary reassured her, looking proudly at Bill." "Well done, you!" Ben said, shaking Bill's hand. "Someone certainly found the perfect gift under his tree this year, didn't you?" "It certainly looks that way," Bill said. "Who's getting married?" asked a bystander who was also waiting for a table. Before Bill or Mary could put a stop to it, Marlene answered the query loudly enough for several other parties to hear, and in no time the entire dining car was awash with congratulations and toasts and cheers. To Bill's delight and Mary's uncomfortable bewilderment, many of the passengers who had recoiled in disgust from her earlier in the journey now offered their compliments and well-wishing. Though he was now well-aware that his bankroll would have to last him a long time now that he was on his own, Bill shelled out the cash for a bottle of champagne, and the waiter was able to find a table for him and Mary and the Brockways well ahead of schedule. Later on in the joyous dinner, Marlene asked, "So will you both be going on to San Francisco?" Bill and Mary looked at one another. "We haven't decided," Bill said. "It must be wonderful to have such flexibility!" Marlene said. "It's a blessing and a curse, I think," Mary replied. "Oh, and that reminds me," Bill said, pulling the scrap of paper out of his pocket that he had placed there a lifetime before, earlier in the afternoon. "My friend Ken," he said, handing the paper to Ben. "If there's work to be had, his father will know where to find it for you." Ben looked at the name and address. "How can I thank you, Bill?" he asked. Bill looked down at Candy and Billy playing happily at the end of their table, again with the makeshift marbles game he and Mary had created the night before. Then he looked at Mary. "I think you already have," he said. "What do you mean, Bill?" Marlene asked. "Never mind that," said Ben, who sensed that Bill was neither able nor willing to explain just what he meant. "Bill, thank you." When at last they stood up to part ways for the night, Marlene insisted upon Mary coming to collect the dress on her own. "You know the husband shouldn't see the dress before it's time," she admonished Bill. And so Bill and Ben were left to linger by the bar for one final drink of the evening. "Now you can tell me, Bill," Ben said as they sipped their whiskey. "What did you mean, I already had thanked you?" "You set an example," Bill said. "You and your wife got off on an unlucky start together, but you've made a lovely young family all the same. That means Mary and I can do it too." Grand Island "Well, of course you can, with your connections, Bill!" Ben retorted, not unkindly. Bill chuckled and seriously considered telling Ben what he had learned of his parents that afternoon. But he opted to let the mystery be. Mary reappeared a few minutes later with a bundle under her arm, and the two men shook hands and said good night. On the walk back to their suite, Mary said, "I take it you haven't given him the gifts yet." "Oh, heavens, I forgot!" Bill cringed. "Very funny," Mary said. "I'm not joking, unfortunately," Bill told her. "I did indeed forget." "We make a better team than I thought, in that event," Mary said. "You see, now I know where their seats are." Bill smiled. "And after everyone else has gone to bed..." "We go back there and leave the gifts for them to find in the morning!" Mary finished. Waiting outside their suite for Mary to unlock the door, Bill heard his parents screaming at each other across the hall. He did his best to avoid hearing any of the words, but did make out "worthless" and "slut" among his mother's rantings. Mary, who had been living with such epithets for nearly a year, did a better job of tuning them out. Once they were safe inside, she tossed the dress on the chair by the window and made haste lighting the lamp in the corner. Then she drew the curtain, turned around, and pulled her dress off without inhibition. "Bill, get in bed," she said. "Are you sure?" Bill stood uncertainly just inside the door. "It's time to celebrate!" she teased, reaching one hand between her legs. "You've taught me so very well so far." Bill tried in vain to recall if he still had any of the sheep-skin condoms he had carried hopefully in his pocket all through his last year at Yale, and concluded that he did not. Remembering his own advice to Mary earlier in the afternoon, he reasoned that it was likely not necessary anyway. With that out of the way, soon his clothes were as well, and he found her straddling him happily in the narrow bed. She kissed him gently and he reached up to stroke her breasts as she did, and as the train roared on through the Nebraska night, Bill left the last vestige of his childhood wonderfully behind on the tracks somewhere. Mary came twice before Bill felt his own wonderful loss of control, which she squeezed eagerly along while he caught his breath and gripped at her legs. Once it was over, she lay atop him and he slipped his arms around her back. "So," Bill said after a long, tender silence. Mary raised her head. "So?" she repeated. "Was I...I mean, I haven't done this before but obviously you have, so was I..." "Were you better than he was?" Mary asked. "My darling, it wasn't even close, I assure you!" Bill allowed himself to laugh along with her, and once the laughter had died down, Mary asked him gently to never wonder about him again. Bill was never even to know his name. They fell asleep entwined in one another's arms, but fortunately Mary awoke a few hours later. She shook Bill awake gently. "Bill!" she whispered. "It's well past midnight. Shall we?" They dressed quickly and quietly, each of them opting for a pair of Bill's thick socks rather than any shoes so as to remain as quiet as possible, and Mary guided him through the dark and silent cars to the Brockways. A passenger stirred here and there and Bill had little doubt that a few of them were wide awake. But no one spoke up as they made their way down the long aisles. At last, Mary drew to a stop. Bill saw Candy and Billy curled up on the seat before them, while their parents sat fast asleep across the way with little Henry bundled between them. Carefully Bill drew the gifts one by one from the sack. He lay the book on Marlene's lap, reasoning she could be trusted to hold her tongue if he happened to awaken her. Satisfied that he hadn't done so, he then set the baseball glove just before Billy on his seat, the horses in a semicircle around Candy's hands, and the locomotive between the two children -- perhaps they would know better which of them would prefer it. None of the Brockways stirred, and Bill backed away slowly while Mary retreated just before him. Safe back in their suite, they shared a triumphant embrace, and then it was back to bed. The train was due in Denver late the following afternoon. In the morning they opted for breakfast in their suite rather than the dining car, not wanting an awkward reunion with the Brockways. "It just feels more appropriate that we let it be now, don't you agree?" Bill asked, and Mary did agree. As the scene outside showed the farmlands at last giving way to untamed prairie and windy snowdrifts, the moment of decision grew unmistakably closer. Without debate, they once again opted for lunch in their car. When that had come and gone, Bill asked, "So, do we get off at Denver?" "You'll never see your parents again if we do, more than likely," Mary pointed out. "Is that a bad thing?" "Are you asking me or yourself?" "I don't know." "You're not making this easy," Mary said. "It's your decision as much as mine," Bill said. "My, but you're a progressive gentleman, aren't you?" Bill chuckled but said nothing. Mary stood watching the rugged Western countryside rush by and waited for him to tell her of his decision, just as she had watched her father do with her mother for as long as she could recall. The cold but brilliant sun rolled along in the sky as the train rattled on, and Bill remained silent in his perch on the bed. Hours after lunch, the conductor called out for Denver, and Mary looked to Bill. He looked back at her with a smile and a shrug. "Oh, very well, then, Bill, yes, I want to get off here!" "As you wish," Bill said, standing up and crossing the room to collect his trunk. "That's it?" Mary asked, surprised. "You're getting off the train on my say-so?" "I told you it's a great place for us," Bill said, slipping his coat on. "If it's what you want, it's what I want." "This is going to take a lot of getting used to," Mary mused, picking up her suitcase to follow him. "Isn't that just what you want, though?" Bill said. "Not a lifetime of love, cherish and obey a man you didn't even know?" "Precisely," Mary confessed. Out in the hall, Bill took a long last look at the closed door of his parents' suite. He never seriously considered knocking on the door to say his goodbyes, but he desperately wished he at least felt some pull to do so. At the vestibule, a woman stood just inside the door of the next car. When Bill opened the door to their car, the woman followed suit and they found themselves face to face with Marlene Brockway. "Bill! Mary!" She threw her arms around them both, and the trio were still locked in an awkward but joyous hug as the train drew to a halt. "I thought you had likely decided to get off here, and Ben was too proud to come say goodbye, but I couldn't resist. Thank you ever so much for the gifts!" "What gifts?" But Bill's mouth was curling into a telltale grin as he said it. "Oh, very funny!" Marlene said. "All the very best to the both of you! You certainly deserve it!" "Thank you, Marlene," Bill said. "I do hope Santa Claus finds your kids in San Francisco." "He already has found them," Marlene said, and she kissed Bill forcefully on the cheek before finally letting him step down onto the platform. Neither Bill nor Mary gave any thought to walking off to begin their life together until the train pulled away, and so there were several minutes for a long goodbye with Marlene, and many wishes for a happy New Year and a promising future for all. Most of the other arriving passengers had met their friends and family on the platform and taken their leave by the time the train started up again. At last Marlene gave them a final wave and stepped back in so the conductor could close the door, and then with a jerk the train began to roll. Mary turned to Bill. "Well?" she said. "I take it we can go to a hotel for the night and you can look up your friend tomorrow?" "Of course," Bill agreed. But he didn't follow her lead just yet. "Just a moment," he said when she tried to draw him away. He gazed up at the window of his parents' suite as it rolled slowly by. "Let's see if they at least wave goodbye." "They don't know you're getting off here," Mary reminded him. "I have a feeling Dad will have figured it out." "Why?" "Because I'm just doing what he did when he was my age, and he realized his old life wouldn't do." Bill gazed hopefully at the window. He nearly gave up hope, but just as the window was directly over Bill, he was rewarded with his father stepping up to look down at the platform. Bill waved with what he hoped was a conciliatory smile, and he was rewarded with a knowing nod and a wave from Father. "I think he smiled back at me," Bill told Mary, and then he turned and picked up his trunk.