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Show THE LONG WAY HOME CORNER By Beatrice Cargill LONG AFTER the 12:07 had moved out of sight around Black Mountain, two figures stood motionless on the tiny platform. . Above them, 3u!. i. creaking on its Minute hlnges8the sign Fiction read "Turner I Junction." Wind swirled and eddied around them harshly. Jeb Reynolds, station master, mas-ter, stayed discreetly inside the ticket office. He had watched folks for twenty years as they experienced experi-enced that first aloneness. The train had paused for only a minute. Then, with Rob Cameron waving and smiling on the rear platform, plat-form, it had made its noisy departure. "Must be nearly down the valley to Ellentown by now," John said. Sara clutched the shiny black leather purse tighter. It was Rob's last gift. "Feels like snow in the air. Mother." John's gray head bent to hers. "Turkey weather." "Yes, Thanksgiving's almost here again." Sara looked deep into his eyes. "John, he'll be gone for a long time." "Yes, Sara." ' Jeb Reynolds came out on the platform and watched them climb into the old blue sedan. The old car woke up and cleared its throat. "Need some anti-freeze, I do." John pulled out the choke. "Maybe a little coffee might help." Sara smiled, but it was only her lips that moved. They drove1 seven miles past "Must be down the valley to Ellentown by. now," John said. browned and crisped meadows. John slowed down near a white, low farmhouse. There was a small sign on the side of an elm tree "Mrs. Whitely's Famous Dinners." Sara nodded in reply to his unasked un-asked question. She straightened her hat in the rear view mirror and put on her gloves, taking a long time with each finger. Rob's train must be nearly to Coddington. qiHERE WERE long, silent min-A min-A utes between .soup and chicken and dessert. After dinner, they went out behind the barn to see the minks, kept in orderly cages. Mrs. Whitely's boy fished in the pond for sunfish to feed them. Sara bent over to see the tiny creatures and her hair played in the wind. The gray streaks were like a light touch of snow. She counted the minks. Two large ones, one small one, screened off by himself. A family? Their family had been three John, Rob, Sara. "Yes, they are beautiful," she said, "I wish I could look at them without thinking of the coats they are going to make." She smiled, apologetically. "It seems wicked, to kill them, I mean." Mrs. Whitely grinned. "Well, Mrs. Cameron, I used to feel sorry for them, but after the first check came in, I never thought about it again." The train must be at Gorge City now. Another hour and he'd be there. She closed her eyes. John's arm was around her. "I feel as if I'd been running," she murmured. "Guess I leaned over too long looking at the minks." They settled themselves in the old car again. They could see the farm on a distant hill. "I still love it, John. I still like coming around that curve and seeing see-ing it, knowing it'll be there." The car whined in self-pity as it climbed the hill. John drove up to the front door. He fumbled for the key and then just held it in his hand. Something seemed to hold him back. He didn't want to go into the house. He leaned down to pat the old collie who stood waiting there and saw the note. Pinned to the dog's collar was a scrap of paper. Together John and Sara read it, incredulous. Drawn in the quick scrawl of a boy in a hurry were Mom and Dad woeful faces above single-line bodies.. Mom was clutching the black purse, Dad his keys. Beneath the picture Rob had written in large black letters, 'CHEER UP-YOU SURE LOOK GLOOMY' "John, you sure look gloomy," Sara repeated and John began to grin. Sara laughed. "That boy," he said, "That crazy kid." He opened the door and they went into their house. |
