The Sand Hill Review               http://www.sandhillreview.org 2010

Illinois Central

Justin T. Lotspeich

James Beumer watched in nervous anticipation as the boxcars flashed by. His pale face stuck out from a thick brown canvas coat. He was of average build for twenty with thick black hair hanging down to his ears, matted from weeks without a shower. James was standing in the cold snow near a railroad switch outside of Pomeroy, Iowa, on a blizzard-torn night in November 1932.

He was running from the sheriff because of a botched attempt to steal food from the general store earlier that day. The train slowed to switch tracks, and James reached out a trembling hand barely covered in a tattered wool mitten. He darted glances toward the locomotive, looking for the fireman who would soon jump off to throw the rail switch. The icy ladder struck his wrist with a sharp slap that startled him to the spine. He leapt forward and closed his hand around what little bit of handrail he could find. The burning snow pounded against his face as he climbed the ladder.

James reached the top of the freight car and rolled onto the roof. The wind threatened to tear him down, but he kept his head low and inched forward in the pitch-black cold. Reaching the car’s center, he slid to the edge of the roof. He searched over the side and found the large sliding door. He traced the jamb forward—nothing, it was closed. “Shit!” he thought, “I’m freezing here! Christ, give me some help!” He wanted to scream out of frustration and fatigue, but the fireman was next to the sluggish train waving a gleaming signal lantern. He continued pushing forward.

By the time James reached the next railcar, his body was numb from the cold and he could barely see through the snow. The train had passed the switch and was now steaming down the rails at speed. His hand slid forward along the jamb and abruptly his arm fell into the car. He checked to see how large the gap was: a mere hand-width. He slithered forward and found a piece of corrugated steel rising from the roof. He rested his two palms against the hump with his foot on the door and straightened his body tight. The door slowly creaked open another few inches. He adjusted his body and straightened out again, but his hands slipped bringing his chin down hard onto the roof. The sheet metal rumbled against his cheek as he tasted blood.

James rolled over onto his back, peering into the sky. The gray lines of snow drifted by and he thought of home and the cold nights with his parents and older sister. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or just roll off the top of the steel box. As he began to drift into a hypothermic haze, a harsh screech from the side startled him up onto an elbow. He crept toward the door and peered over. A soft amber light coming from the car illuminated the white snow. James watched with caution and disbelief. “I see ya there son. Fetch yur leg over the edge there and we’ll pull ya on in.” The voice was warm amidst the brutal snow.

James slid down the side belly-first. He took hold of the top door run-channel and felt hands grab his legs. With a grunt, he swung inward and let go. The bright yellow sphere in the corner stunned his eyes as he was set on the ground. Once his eyes adjusted, James saw a tall man in front of him dressed in a worn fishing vest, faded brown slacks, and red underwear protruding from his shirtsleeves. His feet were covered in wool socks stuffed with newspaper that poked out from multiple holes. Wide ears flapped out and caught the light glaring from behind him giving his head a soft reddish glow. “My name’s Jackson,” said the man.

A stout woman walked over to Jackson. She stood at five foot three with broad shoulders and a strong posture. She had a farm-girl quality: her sun beaten face was streaked with dirt marks and her shoulder-length sable hair fell to one side. Her face was long, like Jackson’s, and her eyes shared the same attentive quality. She wore a faded blue dress with a ragged brown long-sleeved shirt folding out. She stood in a drooping pair of leather boots, far too large for her feet. James placed them to be in their mid-thirties.

“This here is my wife, Annmary. Got the finest woman ever to ride the rails in front of ya,” Jackson said sliding his arm around her shoulder.

“How do ya do son,” she said. “Bet it sure is fine getting' out of that freeze. It’s somethin' fierce tonight. What do ya go by?”

James shivered uncontrollably as he forced out a jerky response, “My name’s James. It’s a pleasure meeting you both, and thank you for helping me get out of that mess.” Blood ran down his chin as he spoke and he reached into his pocket and retrieved an aged white handkerchief and blotted his jaw. “I sure was startled to hear the door open, but sure glad.”

“We was darn surprised to hear the loud thud and to see the door start crackin',” Jackson said. “Your mouth okay there? Ya’s bleedin' good.”

James collected himself and stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket. “Yeah, I’m fine, I slipped and hit my face. I think it’s only my lip, but I’m too numb to tell. Ha, I suppose that is a good thing.”

“Why don’t we all sit over by the fire and become more acquainted?” Annmary asked kindly.

“Very good idear there, hon,” Jackson added. “Boy must be somethin' cold. Ya hungry? We got some boar jerky.”

“A little food would be mighty nice,” said James. “Looks like ya’ll have a good fire going. I didn’t see any light when I jumped on.” A small fire flickered in the corner, illuminating the sheet metal walls sending black lines of shadow off the rivets. Small pieces of wood fizzed and popped inside a World War One army helmet on the floor. Alongside the fire rested two brown wool military blankets. Crumpled newspapers were piled in the corner for a bed.

“We just lit the fire before I saw yur face pokin' over the edge there,” Jackson said. “We wasn’t sure what to make of the thud, but once I seen a boy there I figured you was either a rider or a crazy company man walking the cars. Any way, ya deserved gettin' out of the night.”

James and Annmary sat down by the fire while Jackson closed the door. Returning, he picked up the blankets and handed one to James and the other to Annmary.

“Thank you,” James said wrapping the blanket around him. “So how long ya’ll been riding this engine?”

Annmary reached into a sack and removed a piece of butcher’s paper. She unwrapped it and held up the jerky to James. “Well, we’s been on since about Memphis. Been a while now.”

James took a small strip of jerky but found that it was as hard as the steel they rolled on. All he could taste was his own blood as he sucked on the slab of meat. The salt burned his mouth and the slight taste of food made his stomach clench and groan.

“Yep, we’ve been ridin' a long time now,” Jackson began, “searchin' for work. We ain’t found nothin' lasting long. Annmary’s been tryin' to find work on a farmhouse, but ain’t no one needin'. Shame, she’s the best woman to have on a farm.” He leaned against the wall and smiled dully at James. Annmary lay on her side, her head resting on the newspaper bed. She smacked on a chunk of chewing tobacco, a stray piece of leaf drooping from her lip.

“So where ya headed son? Where ya from?” she asked.

James sat with his hands hovering over the fire. “I’m from Greenville, Tennessee, originally. My daddy was shot dead in the war and my momma and sister ran off to New York five years later. They took off in a hurry one night and left me a letter. Heck, it’s been about nine years now. I lived with my uncle Jeffery 'til I was eighteen, 'til the bank stole his farm. Him and his family packed up and moved over to Georgia. Told me they couldn’t take me. I think they just didn’t want me around. Seemed like no one did after my daddy died. I rode the lines far south as Durant, Mississippi, working where I could—mostly in rail yards greasing hotboxes and such. Now I’m heading out to California. Hear there’s work for a dollar a day fruit pickin' out west.”

“Offaly poor when a boy loses his family like that,” Jackson said. “Seems like a lot of hobos are ridin' out west. Sure beats this cold weather. We ought to think about headin' that way. Just ain’t no work 'round here. Seems like just when ya think ya’ve made it out of the cold somethin' fierce hits ya and yu're back where ya started in the ditch. I ain’t no one to talk fancifuly, but people’s got to look out for themselves and each other in these times, ya know. Take care of yur fellow man and such.”

“I suppose so,” James said leaning back against the cold steel wall. “Just hope that things will get a little easier where I’m headed. I’ve been moving around for so long that all I want is a warm bed to sleep in and hot food to eat. If my family couldn’t do it for me, I suppose I’ll have to for myself.”

“That’s the way James,” Annmary said, her eyes sagging as her body stretched out on the floor. “We all need that, and we can all get it with each other’s help. That’s why we brung ya in. Ya ain’t doin' no one no good up there, floppin' round like a dove all white from snow, chin all busted.”

Jackson shook his head, “I tell ya what: why don’t we all get some rest and we’ll talk more in the morn'. Me and Annmary might just be lookin' to travel over to them one-dollar jobs too. But ya’ll look tired and we should rest. We can talk in the morn'.”

“Yeah,” James yawned. “It has been a long day. I sure am grateful to ya’ll.”

“It’s really no trouble,” Annmary said nestling up against Jackson. “Ya sleep well, ya hear.”

James curled into a ball near the fire, resting his head on a thick canvas sleeve. The rumbling beneath the floor lulled him. He closed his eyes and remembered the stone fireplace and his mother and sister sewing by the hearth, their golden hair shimmering as they laughed to one another. He remembered his father sitting in his armchair, a pipe in mouth swirling gray smoke up into the rafters, a glass of bourbon resting on his lap. His father would gaze into the fireplace as if trying to understand why the flames moved as they did and for what purpose. James saw himself, alone at the bottom of the stairs, his hands cold from the wood floor. He lay down with his back against the bottom rung watching his family and fell asleep.

James awoke to abrupt tugging at his feet. The fire was barely lit and the railcar was dark and cold. He could make out Annmary at his feet. “What’s going on Annmary?” he said.

“Oh, I’m sorry I woke you,” she said. “I thought you’d be more comfortable with your boots off.”

“No, no, I’m alright,” James replied resting his head back down. “I’d be afraid my feet would get too cold.”

“Yes, Jackson knows all about them cold feet, don’t you dear?” she replied.

“Yes, Anny, I do.” Jackson’s deep voice came down from above James with such surprise that it made him jerk back against the wall. Jackson’s figure came into view moving toward him. “I’ll ask for that there coat now, James.”

“Wha’—what’s going on here? What are you talking about?” James stammered in surprise.

Jackson bent over and grabbed a coat-sleeve, pulling it hard. The coat slid off James’ arm as Jackson tossed him to the side to pull off the other sleeve. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” James yelled.

“What we all need to do in these hard times,” Annmary calmly said. “Helping ourselves and each other.” She pulled off the second boot and stood up. Jackson tore the jacket off James and tossed it toward the corner. He reached down and grabbed James by the arms, dragging him across the floor. The creaking of the steel door pounded against James’ ears as a blast of cold wind knocked the air from his lungs. He kicked at the dusty wooden floor, trying to push off while his arms flailed at Jackson’s. Jackson’s hold was strong and James could not get to his feet.

“What are ya’ll doing! Why are you doing this!” James said as the door opened. The sky was covered in heavy coal clouds, the soft moonlight peeking out from a thin patch of gray. Trees dashed by, the black figures chasing the tail of the train. The rhythm of the rails swayed back and forth like a cradle, clanking and clunking as the train skipped across the landscape.

Jackson dragged a wriggling James to the opening. With one hard push, James was thrown from the car, yelping as he landed under the train near the rusting rails amidst the tarred black ties and cold gravel. He disappeared into the clattering wheels and swaying freight cars. Annmary stared out the door, one hand leaning against the doorjamb. Jackson walked over and lifted the coat from the floor, pulling it over his arms and shoulders. “Looks like it will fit just fine,” he said in a calm and content voice while digging his hand into the coat pocket.

“Now your feet won’t be cold no more, honey,” Annmary said, pointing in the direction of the boots. “I’m sure glad that boy could help us out. He had less of a ways to go than he thought.” Jackson walked over to her as she spoke. He held out the bloody handkerchief into the cold air, letting it tear off into the night.

The handkerchief swirled in the air, being pulled and pushed by the wind from the railcars. It swayed off to one side and slowly drifted down onto the frozen ground, blending in with the pale snow and dark gravel. The Illinois Central No. 77 rumbled on, rolling down the steel rails as dawn scrounged through the remnants of night, steam and smoke rising through the frozen air that settled around the pines and creeks. The cold train swept over the winding tracks, heading west away from the approaching day.