If Only In My Dreams

She loved her horse and was relieved to find out that it wasn’t damaged. And she had loved her father, then, and even more years later, when she realized that he had made those horses with his own hands.

She was excited about returning home and seeing her family again, but at the same time, she could not shake a melancholy feeling that she was leaving something just as treasured behind.

A line of cabs was unloading in front of the station. Rather than wait until they could crawl to the door, the woman asked the cabbie to stop and let her out.

“It’s only half a block,” she said, “I can walk from here.”

She paid the fare, and tipped him well. At the last minute, she impulsively reached into her shoulder bag, found Mrs. Mason’s cookies in the bottom of the paper sack, and handed him two.

“Merry Christmas,” she said.

“Same to you, miss,” he replied. “Have a good trip.”

He drove off, and she walked briskly to the station’s front doors and went inside.

She had expected it to be much more crowded than it was. Perhaps most people have already left for their holiday destinations, she thought.

The big clock in the high domed waiting room read 8:14. Her train would not be boarding for another half hour. She found an empty seat, then dug into her shoulder bag and pulled out a paperback book

She had only read a few paragraphs when a man sat down next to her. He was very tall and seemed to loom over her. He had a penciled mustache and slicked back hair and wore a long green coat and remarkably shiny shoes. When he crossed his long legs, his foot dangled just an inch or two from her knee.

Dorothy tried to return her attention to her book, but the man spoke to her. “Heading to Chicago?” he asked.

Without thinking, she said, “Yes,” then immediately regretted it. She glanced at him quickly. His smile oozed insincerity.

“Marvelous,” he said, “I am as well. Visiting family?”

She didn’t want to tell this man anything. She closed her book and put it back in her bag. Standing, she said, “Excuse me,” and made a beeline for the ladies restroom.

She lingered there long enough to make it appear that her visit had been legitimate, then walked out, crossed the room with a purposeful gait and took a seat nearer the concourse.

She opened her book again, but she did not read. She shifted her eyes from side to side, watching for the man in the green coat. Sure enough, a few minutes later, he took a seat on a bench just to her left. She did not look in his direction again, but she was certain that he was watching her.

The Broadway Limited pulled into the Pittsburgh station right on time. The woman stood, picked up her suitcase and walked through the concourse toward the platform.

The man in the green coat appeared at her side.

“Why don’t you let me carry that for you?” he asked.

“No thank you,” she said, struggling not to sound too unpleasant, “I can handle it.”

He dropped back a step, but followed closely behind her. A smiling porter directed her to the Pullman car. She could still feel that creepy man’s eyes on her as she climbed the train’s stairs.

She was excited about riding in a Pullman. When she was very young, they had lived near the railroad tracks. She would fall asleep to the sound of the trains; the rumble of their metal wheels, the chugging of the engine, the lonesome whistle when it approached a crossing. She imagined it would be a wonderful experience to actually ride in a sleeper car.

She walked down the aisle. All the seats were still in their upright positions, facing each other in pairs to form booths. She looked for a single open seat, knowing knew if she sat in an empty booth, the man in the green coat would slither in with her.

There were a couple of sailors in the first booth, but only a single elderly lady in the next.

“Is that seat taken?” she asked.

The elderly woman nodded. “My husband is in the men’s room.”

“All right. Thank you.”

The train started to move as she continued down the aisle. Every booth was either full or empty. At the far end of the car, she could see an unoccupied seat, but there was a duffel bag on it. She could not she over the seat’s back to tell if the rear facing seat was taken or not.

It was. A soldier sat across from the open seat, gazing out the window.

“Is anyone sitting there?” she asked him.

He looked up at her. She thought she saw a trace of a scowl, but his voice was pleasant when he answered her.

No,” he said, “Please, sit down.”

He picked up his duffel bag and stuffed it under the seat. The woman smiled, slipped her suitcase under her own seat, then sat down and held her hand out to him.

“I’m Dorothy,” she said.

He shook her hand.

“I’m Joe.”

CHAPTER THREE

Joe boarded the Broadway Limited and scanned the aisle for a seat.

He hoped to sit by himself, or if that wasn’t possible, across from another service man. He did not want to spend his trip with some chatty civilian who would pester him about what action he had seen, or gush about how happy he must be on his way home for Christmas.

He saw a Marine in dress blues halfway down the car and thought he’d be an ideal co-traveler, but an elderly woman took the seat before he could get there. By the time Joe passed the booth, the woman was already pestering the Marine with questions and the poor bastard was answering stoically, “Yes ma’am…No ma’am.”

Better you than me, buddy, Joe thought.

There were still plenty of other single seats, and several empty booths. Joe looked over his shoulder. There were only a few people behind him. He turned sideways in the aisle and let them pass. When they had all taken seats, the left booth at the far end was the only one unoccupied.

Joe sat down on the rear facing seat and tossed his duffel bag on the other. He hoped that people might figure that he was sitting with his back to the rest of the passengers because he wanted to be left alone, or that the duffel bag was a placeholder for someone.

He had only been settled in for a few minutes when he felt a lurch, then the slow forward motion of the train as it resumed its westward journey.

He glanced out the window at the lights of the city. They were just sparkles in the darkness; he had no emotional connection to Philadelphia. There was nothing there for him to say goodbye to.

A porter came through the door. He nodded and tipped his pillbox hat to Joe.

“Sir,” he said with a southern drawl as he punched Joe’s ticket, “As a general rule the dining car don’t open till we get fifteen minutes out of the station, but I’ll be telling the servicemen on board that y’all can go ahead and get a seat before it fills up.”

Joe thanked him. Since breakfast, all he’d eaten was the Hershey bar, and that had been hours earlier.

A pair of young men in civvies passed him and went through the door. Somehow he knew they were servicemen, despite their civilian dress. From their bow legged gait he figured they must be sailors. He got up and followed them.

The dining car was the next one down. One of the sailors held the door open for Joe and he went in.

Joe’s previous railroad experience had been limited to riding on troop trains. There had been no fancy amenities; no sleeping berths or porters, and certainly nothing like a Pullman dining car.

He sat down at one of the two-seat tables. It was set as if it were in a fancy restaurant with cloth napkins, crystal glasses and sterling silverware.

A waiter came toward him, but had to step back out of the aisle as a gang of soldiers herded into the car. Joe recognized a couple of them from the Fort Dix bus, but there was no one he knew. It looked like most of them were traveling with a buddy or had made one already on the trip. He was left alone at his table.

When they had all taken seats the waiter finally reached Joe.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said,” Have you had a chance to look over the menu?”

He had not. He lifted it and glanced up and down the list of selections as the waiter filled his glass with ice water.

Joe ordered, then looked around the car while he waited for his supper. The mood was raucous. Most of the laughter and loud voices seemed to come from the guys Joe figured to be rear echelon types who didn’t see action. Those who had the hardened look of combat vets sat quietly.

Joe made eye contact with a grizzled sergeant a few tables down. They looked at each other for a moment, and Joe was sure they were sharing the same feelings. Sure, they were glad the war was over, and relieved to be on the winning side. They were happy to be back in the states and on their way to their hometowns, but mostly, they were just goddamn weary and wanted to be left alone.

The waiter returned and put a plate down in front of Joe; a broiled chicken leg quarter, mashed potatoes and gravy, peas and carrots and white flaky biscuits. Joe stared at it like it was Rita Hayworth, standing naked in front of him.

“Sir?”

Joe looked up at the waiter.

“Sir, I was asking if you’d like coffee.”

Joe nodded, but then said, “Can I get a Coca-Cola?”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a Coke. It must have been in England, probably at the USO.

“Certainly, sir,” the waiter said, “I’ll bring it right out.”

Joe dug into his meal and had to keep reminding himself to slow down, to savor each bite. The waiter brought a full bottle of Coke and a glass of ice cubes to the table. He poured the cola like it was fine vintage wine, and left the half full bottle on the table. Joe took a sip. It was as sweet and sharp as he remembered. He drained the glass and refilled it.

The dining car became quieter as food arrived at each table. But there was a growing buzz of voices at the entrance. Civilians were lining up, waiting to be seated. Joe finished his supper and figured he should make room for some one else to sit, but the waiter came to his table one more time and set a slice of pecan pie in front of him.

“I didn’t order dessert,” Joe said.

“Givin’ a piece to all the boys,” the waiter said, “For your service. Merry Christmas.”

He wolfed down the sweet, sticky pie in four or five bites, wiped his face on the fancy cloth napkin, then stood. The crowd of civilians in the doorway parted to let him pass. Someone patted him on the back, and a quiet voice whispered, “God bless you.”

A few minutes after he had returned to his seat the porter came by. He had a small stack of magazines in the crook of his arm.

“Got some reading matter here if you’d like. Stuff folks left behind,” he said.

“Sure,” Joe said, “Anything good?”

The porter flipped through the magazines. “Don’t guess you want The Ladies Home Journal,” he said, “Popular Mechanics?”

Joe shook his head.

“How about True Detective?”

“Yeah thanks. I’ll take a look at that.”

Joe thanked him and took the magazine. He had bought an issue now and then before the war. The wild tales it told of murder and mayhem were a welcome workday distraction during down time on the loading docks. But now, none of the articles could hold his attention. He had seen plenty of dead bodies. He had seen people killed, and he had killed people himself. Death didn’t seem like a subject for entertainment anymore. He tossed the magazine onto the seat, put his head back and closed his eyes. He did not want to sleep. He was sure another bad dream would come. But he was drowsy after his big meal and soon drifted off.

A dream did come, but he found himself not in the blood soaked Ardennes Forest, but standing in front of the house on Wilson Street. There was snow on the ground and on the hemlock shrubs that flanked the porch. A Christmas wreath hung on the door and there were candles in all of the windows.

He started up the walkway, but his feet felt so heavy he could barely lift them, as if he was walking in ankle deep mud. With great effort, he took one step forward, and then another, but when he looked up, the door was no closer. Still, he struggled, and still, he made no progress.

He heard someone calling his name, from a distance at first, but growing more distinct. It was his mother’s voice.

“Come to the table, Joey,” she said, “Come to the table.”

He was confused. She had been gone before he moved to Wilson Street. Both of his parents had been gone.

He turned to look for her and the scene shifted. He was sitting at the foot of the dining room table in the house where he had grown up. The table was laden with bowls of food; Steaming mounds of mashed potatoes, yams, cornbread stuffing, green beans glistening with butter, rose red cranberry relish.

The whole family was gathered there. He saw his sister and his grandparents, his aunts and uncles and cousins. His father stood at the head of a table, carving thick slabs of white meat from the turkey’s breast. His mother stood beside him, holding a platter on which he piled the slices.

Joe looked around the table, from face to face, feeling a welling distress.

“Where is Judy?” he asked.

No one replied. They were eating their Christmas dinner, chatting and laughing.

“Where is Judy?” he repeated, in a louder voice.

Again, he was ignored.

He screamed. “Where is Judy?”

And then he was back on Wilson Street. But now the walkway stretched in front of him, nearly as far as he could see. The house stood alone, dark and distant, across a barren field of snow.

He woke up suddenly, with a sense that something had changed. It took him a minute to realize that the train was slowing down. The porter came down the aisle, calling, “Next stop, Pittsburgh! Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania!”

CHAPTER FOUR

Joe sat up and looked out the window. It was evening now, and the city was dark until they rolled into the brightly lit station.

The train stopped, and Joe waited to see if any new passengers would take the seat across from him. Only a few trickled in. Good, he thought, he could probably keep his solitary space. He leaned back and looked out the window as the train began to move forward.

“Is anyone sitting there?” he heard a woman ask.

He looked up at her. She wore a nice blue dress that looked new, but her coat seemed a little shabby. She was pretty, but had a nervous expression on her face.

He felt a moment of disappointment that his privacy would be interrupted, but he kept his voice pleasant when he answered her.

No,” he said, “Please, have a seat.”

The woman smiled. Joe removed the duffel bag from her seat. She hung her coat on a hook on the side of the booth and sat down.

“I’m Dorothy,” she said, reaching toward him.

He shook her hand.

“I’m Joe.”

Dorothy leaned her head into the aisle. The man in the green coat had taken a seat on the other side, three booths down. She could just see one green sleeve and the side of his head.

He seemed to sense that she was looking at him. He leaned into the aisle and made eye contact with her. She quickly ducked her head back into the booth.

“Is something the matter? Joe asked.

She bit her lip for a few seconds, then decided she’d be honest with the soldier. He had an earnest look about him that made her believe that he was probably a decent guy.

“Well, you see, there is a man over there…”

Joe turned and looked down the aisle.

“Don’t look,” Dorothy said, “He will see you.”

“So what if he does?”

“Well, I don’t know…it would be rude I guess.”

“Was he bothering you?”

She nodded. “He kept following me around at the station, trying to talk to me.”

“So he was bothering you but you are afraid to be rude to him?”

Dorothy started to answer him, but stopped. There was the hint of a grin at the corners of his mouth and she thought he might be mocking her. But the look in his eyes seemed to indicate a sincere concern.

“I see your point,” she said, “But I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Did you say or do anything to make him think you were interested in him?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then it wouldn’t be you making the trouble, would it?”

“I guess not.”

Joe turned in his seat once more. The man in the green coat was looking over and their eyes met. The man quickly looked away.

“Be right back,” Joe said.

He stood, straightened his jacket, and strode over to where the man was sitting. He stood next to his seat and stared down at him

The man glanced up. His face went pale.

“Something I can help you with, buddy?” Joe asked.

“Uh…no…” the man said, shaking his head.

“Alright, then I guess there’s no need for you to keep looking over at our booth then is there?”

“No…no, there’s not.”

“Okay. Happy holidays.”

Dorothy watched Joe return to his seat. He wasn’t bad looking at all. He had a nice build, although he looked to be a little underweight. She didn’t share the belief that all men looked good in a uniform, but he did. She wasn’t sure though, if she should be amused or offended by his behavior.

“You know,” she said when he’d retaken his seat, “You didn’t need to do that. I could handle him.”

“I’m sure you could, but you shouldn’t have to.”

Dorothy settled into her seat, leaning back and crossing her legs. After a quick glance at them, Joe averted his eyes. He did not want to be the same kind of guy as the creep he had just confronted. He picked up his crime magazine and flipped idly through it.

Dorothy set her shoulder bag down on the seat beside her and pulled out the paper sack Mrs. Mason had given her.

“Say, if you’re hungry, I’ve got some liverwurst sandwiches,” she told Joe.

Joe wrinkled his nose. “No thanks,” he said, “I think I’ve had enough wurst for a lifetime.”

Dorothy was puzzled for a moment, then said, “Oh. You were in Germany?”

Joe stiffened. Here they come, he thought, the inevitable questions about the war. But Dorothy just dug back into the bag and said, “Well alright, but how about an oatmeal raisin cookie?”

“Sure. That sounds great.”

Dorothy took two cookies from the bag. She handed one to Joe, then took a big bite of her own.

“These are good,” Joe said, “Did you bake them?”

“No, my, uh…the lady I was staying with baked them for me to bring on the trip.”

She waited for Joe to pry into her personal life, but he just smiled and chewed his cookie. “That was nice of her,” he said.

“Would you like another one?”

“No thanks, I had a big supper.”

“Oh, did you eat in the dining car? How was it? I wish the train hadn’t got to Pittsburgh so late in the day…”

“It was very good.”

“Well, if I get hungry, I can always eat liverwurst,” she said with a sigh. She poked around in the sack again, and Joe thought she was going to pull out one of the sandwiches. He was surprised to see her retrieve a mason jar, filled with water.

She unscrewed the lid, took a drink, then held it toward him. “Can I offer you a drink?” she asked with a grin.

“It wouldn’t be right to refuse your hospitality,” he replied. He accepted the jar, took a sip and handed it back to her.

“Thank you,” he said.

“My pleasure. let me know if you want more.”

Dorothy put the sack and the jar back in her shoulder bag and retrieved her paperback. She leaned back, crossed her legs and began to read.

Joe stared out the dark window. He was surprised to realize that he was disappointed that she didn’t seem to want to talk more. Before she sat down, all he wanted was to be left alone. Now he craved human contact, or at least, contact with her.

He considered telling her he had changed his mind, and would take one of the sandwiches after all, but he was still full from his supper, and didn’t think he could choke it down convincingly.

Finally, he realized the obvious icebreaker. “So…good book?”

Dorothy eyes twinkled when she looked up at him. “It is,” she said, “It’s called Young Bess. It’s about Queen Elizabeth when she was, well, young. It’s very interesting.”