"This," Mrs. Kolter said, measuring a space
with her foot, “looks like it should do nicely, dear. It's close
enough to the tracks to see, but far enough away that we won’t
get smothered by the crowd or covered with the dust.” Her
movements kicked up a little cloud of dry red dirt that settled over the
tops of her shoes.
Mr. Kolter stumbled behind her, burdened by the two
canvas chairs he carried folded under his right arm, and the jug that
hung from his left hand. He was perspiring from his efforts in the
warm late morning sun.
"Claude. Ellie," he called to the
children. "Claude, come help with the unpacking."
He raised his voice, but they ignored him, running off with the other
children. “That boy is too grown to chase around with the
children. He ought to be more help.”
"Oh, leave him,” Mrs. Kolter said. “He’ll
be an adult soon enough and then we'll be wishing he was still a child.
Wooo wooo!" Mrs. Kolter hooted to them like an owl.
"Now don't wander off too far, children.
Claude, you look after your sister.” But they were gone.
Mr. Kolter put down the chairs and positioned them
facing the empty tracks. He was tempted to open the jug and steal
a drink from the cooler, but his wife's sudden motion unfurled the
picnic blanket that fluttered up at him like a flock of startled birds.
"Be a dear, will you, and straighten the
edges," she directed.
A current of warm wind sliced through the growing crowd
filling the women’s sun dresses and turning up their hems. It
lifted the brim of Mrs. Kolter’s straw hat so that she had to hold it
in place with her free hand. And then it swirled away in a small
funnel of red dust.
He
laid the jug on the ground and bent dutifully to the task of arranging
the corners of the red gingham cloth with geometrical exactness.
"Looks like we made it just in time to get a good space," he
said, straightening to watch the newer arrivals staking their claim to
space on both sides of the tracks.
"It’s no wonder the turn out. Such a
beautiful day," she commented, scanning the azure sky. She
carefully readjusted the sling on one of the striped canvas chairs,
checking that the chair wouldn't swing shut accidentally when she sat in
it. She positioned it facing down the tracks in the direction the
train would arrive.
"Children!" she called. "Don't play
on the tracks. Claude, you mind your sister."
Mr. Kolter set his chair in line with his wife's, and
waited as she unpacked the picnic basket she had carried and laid out
the contents into neat groupings. There were dishes and the
silverware wrapped in linen napkins and a large bouquet of fresh-cut
daisies.
"Hello there," a voice called from behind
them.
Mrs. Kolter turned and recognized the woman.
"Why Mrs. Hanfy. How are you? It’s Mrs. Hanfy, dear,”
she said to her husband. “You remember her from last year?"
“Of course. With the twin girls,” her husband
said. He finished opening the sun umbrella, nodded and tipped his
hat.
Mrs. Hanfy set her chair close by. "Is there
room?"
“Plenty.” Mrs. Kolter indicated a place close
to hers.
“I hope you don’t mind. I so hate being alone,”
Mrs. Hanfy said and laid out her things.
"Of course not. How are the twins? They
must be getting big."
"They're healthy, thank God. Outgrowing
everything before it’s even worn,” she said. “They're
getting some things at the refreshment stand." She turned to
look for them. “And yours?”
“Playing by the tracks.”
“Your son must be sixteen.”
“Not until the end of next month. I was telling
George that Claude will be a grownup soon enough and we will miss him.”
“Where does the time go?”
"Looks to be a very big turn out today,” Mrs.
Kolter said. “Such a beautiful day."
"The radio said it would be a record.
And I shouldn't doubt that they are right. The roads were so
crowded "
As if to emphasize her words the steady stream of people
surged together, forming two parallel lines that were alive with
movement and the sounds of conversations.
"Ice cream," the melodic voice of a vendor
winding between the chairs and blankets called through the crowd.
"Souvenirs. Flowers."
"Punch, Mrs. Hanfy?" Mrs. Kolter offered the
woman a cup and another to her husband.
Ellie Kolter came running toward her parents.
"Daddy, can Claude and me have ice cream?" she asked.
“Please.”
"It's too close to lunch, you'll spoil your
appetite," her mother intervened.
"But I said please," she protested weakly.
"Maybe later. Now say hello to Mrs. Hanfy,
Ellie. You remember the twins?"
"Hello, Mrs. Hanfy," she said and curtsied.
"Such a pretty thing you're getting to be,"
Mrs. Hanfy said, reaching out to stroke her cheek.
"Say thank you to Mrs. Hanfy."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hanfy.” She curtsied again
and then, convinced there wouldn’t be any ice cream, darted back to
the other children playing on the tracks.
"Don't go off too far now. We'll be having
lunch in a few minutes," Mrs. Kolter shouted to her daughter.
“Send Claude."
"Colonel. Colonel Marcum," Mr. Kolter
called to the old gentleman who passed directly in front of their place.
The man stopped. He rubbed his perspiring face
with a white handkerchief.
"Here Colonel, there's plenty of room for
you." He offered his empty chair.
"Thank you," he said. The old man’s
face was red from exertion and he was out of breath. "It gets
to be a longer walk every year, seems to me." He was dressed
in a military uniform that was old and worn and washed so many times
that the colors were indistinguishable. The material was carefully
stitched and neatly repaired in places. The insignia patch and
decorations were faded. The shiny brass buttons, with their
markings worn away from years of polishing, held the tunic rather snugly
in place.
"Mrs. Hanfy, you know the Colonel?" Mrs.
Kolter asked. At the same time she offered him some punch and
refilled the others’ cups.
The woman nodded and smiled when she recognized the
artillery insignia that he wore. “My husband was an army
man. First Field Artillery," she said with pride. “In
the very first days of the war he won a Silver Cross at the Battle of
Columay.”
"That so?" the colonel said and sipped his
drink and mopped his face.
“Of course this modern warfare’s not the same as it
used to be when I was in the army. Firing shells on a target was
the job of a man that required courage and intelligence and didn’t
depend on all this new-fangled electronic nonsense. War was
civilized then. Not like today.” He finished his punch.
Mrs. Hanfy added, “Posthumously.”
“More, Colonel?” Mrs. Kolter asked when she saw that
his cup was empty.
“That boy of yours,” he said offering it to be
refilled. “What’s his name?”
“Claude,” Mr. Kolter said when Claude approached
them as if he’d heard his name. “Here he comes now.”
“You must be getting ready to send him off, I
imagine. He has to be sixteen by now.”
“Not for a good long while,” Mrs. Kolter said and
stopped pouring. She put down the jug and although her son was
more than a head taller, she reached up to enfold him in her arms and
she kissed him on the lips.
Claude’s face turned red with embarrassment.
“Look at you, young man, how much you’ve grown in a
year,” Colonel Marcum said. “I guess it won’t be long before
the army gets you.”
“No, sir. Next month. I’m looking
forward to it, sir.”
“It’s a noble thing to give yourself to your
country.”
“We’ve already given one son in this war,” Mrs.
Kolter countered quickly.
"It’s the price we all have to pay for our
freedom,” he said. “I lost two boys, both in the field
artillery. One in the Old War, and one at Columay.”
“You lost a son at the Battle of Columay?” Mrs.
Hanfy perked up when she heard the name. “Maybe your son and my
husband knew each other. It would be a comfort to think so.”
“The Romans,” Colonel Marcum went on quietly, “people
who knew a little something about fighting wars said it best.
Dulce et decorum est pro patria more!” He shook his old
head. “Always remember son, a man can do few things that are
more sweet and fitting than to die for his country,” he said with
practiced conviction.
“But you didn’t die,” Mrs. Kolter continued.
“You lived.” The tone in her voice made all of them turn
toward her.
“And that, my dear lady, has been my reward,” he
said without hesitation, “and my greatest punishment.”
Sounds of the band playing brought a cheer from the
crowd and broke the tension. Children ran from the tracks and
pressed about the musicians who were dressed in full uniform. Mr.
Kolter took the opportunity to change the subject. “Do you think
we might have some of that delicious food, Netty?" He
indicated the large assortment on the blanket.
“I’m sorry,” his wife said. She filled a
plate and passed it to Colonel Marcum who accepted it eagerly.
Mrs. Hanfy hesitated. "Oh, I mustn’t.
It’s for your family. The twins should be here any minute with
some refreshments," she said looking about for her daughters.
“Don’t be silly. There’s enough to go around
and then some.” Mrs. Kolter pressed the plate of chicken into
the other woman’s hands.
“Netty always packs enough to feed an army,” Mr.
Kolter said trying to make a joke.
"Cold chicken hits the spot," the colonel said
when he bit into a piece of wing.
Mrs. Kolter was spooning the potato salad onto the
plates when the twins ran up excitedly. They were dark and slight
and as identical as bookends.
"It's coming soon, Mama!" one of the girls
said to her mother. "The train is coming." The
other handed over all the things she had carried back from the
refreshment stand.
"Come now and eat, Sarah, and you too Georgina.”
The girl was straining to look down the tracks. “There's still
time," Mrs. Hanfy said. “And where are your manners?
Say hello to everyone girls. Mr. and Mrs. Kolter. They've
been kind enough to let us share their space. And Colonel Marcum.”
The girls nodded shyly and curtsied. They settled
on their mother's blanket and picked at their food without much
appetite.
"Ellie, Claude!" Mr. Kolter shouted over the
sound of the band music that was getting steadily louder as the people
began to rise in expectation and surged toward the tracks. Off in
the distance a cloud of diesel smoke smudged the blue horizon.
Colonel Marcum braced himself on the arms of the folding
chair where he sat and used his walking stick to push himself
uncertainly to his feet. When he was steady he dug into his pocket
and pulled out the gold watch that he examined closely. “It won’t
be long now,” he announced.
The four children rose and scurried away to get a better
view.
“Come back here you two,” Mrs. Kolter warned.
“Claude, take hold of your sister and come back here now.”
A distant train whistle brought a collective murmur from
the crowd and the band began a loud procession of marches.
"Here it comes," Mrs. Hanfy announced as the
spiral of smoke drew closer.
Colonel Marcum stood at a tired attention and brought up
his shaking right hand in a salute.
Mr. Kolter took his wife’s hand and pressed it in
his. With her other hand she straightened the wrinkles in her
dress and reached to gather in her son. She pulled him back to her
as he tried to move forward. "Stand close now," she
warned. “Stand close to me. This may be the last time we
have together.”
Two parallel lines of people stood in a growing silence
of anticipation along the tracks. Another whistle pierced the
afternoon, as the shining black diesel locomotives came into view.
Eight of them were needed to pull the long line of cars that strung
behind them to the horizon. The sun flashed from the metal.
The turning wheels hummed along the rails. The band struck up the
National Anthem as the Dead Train passed slowly.
"Look carefully children," Mrs. Hanfy
said. “The first cars belong to the most recent casualties,”
she explained.
Colonel Marcum steadied his salute as the cars rolled
slowly past them.
The crowd was hushed and the band played louder, a
popular song that the young people recognized with an upbeat tempo, as
one after the other the cars moved along in a seemingly endless
procession. Cut flowers thrown by the crowd down the line lay
across the roofs and in the catchers. Some tumbled from the moving
train to the feet of the spectators, who picked them up and respectfully
threw them back.
People were stretching and moving to get a better
glimpse of what was behind the shining windows, but it was impossible to
see.
"Now," Mr. Kolter signaled his family, and
they unleashed their barrage of daisies like a summer shower. Some
bounced off the side of the car and others went under the wheels.
"Wait,” Mrs. Hanfy said to the twins who were
eager to launch the bouquets, “for the cars with the silver
star. That’s where your father will be. Toward the end.”
She craned her neck. “Here it comes. Get ready girls.”
It took hours. And when the shadow of the
last cars, those that were reserved for the dead veterans, followed by
eight more diesels finally crossed in front of Colonel Marcum he dropped
his tired arm. For a moment he stood numb and blinking into the
sun with bloodshot eyes and then he wiped the tears with his
handkerchief.
"Well,"
Mr. Kolter said after a moment, "I guess it’s time to start
heading back. The traffic will be terrible.” He already
had the chairs folded under his arm.
“Mommy,” one of the twins said excitedly, “I think
I saw him. I think I saw Father waving back to me.”
Mrs. Hanfy smiled and collected her belongings too.
"Such a beautiful day," Mrs. Kolter said
absently. She was already packed.
"Absolutely perfect. You couldn’t ask for a
better day."
The crowd was already dispersing. Some
children ran along the tracks looking for souvenirs to take back.
Claude held a flattened penny he had placed on the
tracks. “Here, Ellie, something for you to remember me by.”
He gave it to his sister. “I know you’re going to miss me when
I’m gone.”
It seemed to make his mother angry. “Claude,
come help your father carry these chairs.”
"We will see you next year, Colonel Marcum,"
Mr. Kolter said, shaking the old man's hand.
"At my age,” the colonel said, “a year is a
very long time.” He looked at the flush of life in young Claude’s
face as he grappled with the folding chairs. “And then again not
very long at all.” He clapped the boy on the back. “Good
luck to you, son.” He turned to face them. “In any
event, I suppose we will all see one another next year, one way or the
other."
Magazine