Pennsylvania, 1913
Out of the soothing, repetitive motion of the train came a nightmare, and out of the nightmare came voices – some soft, others loud and frightening and insistent.
Do not talk to any guest in the house, unless the guest addresses you first!
What’s that in your pockets, child?
Just pretend you’re me. You play me better than I do myself.
Your little brother Jimmy is dead.
Why do you do that? Look down at the floor all the time.
How’s my special little girl?
Your father’s a murderer and your mother’s a…
Give me those leg braces. No one will adopt a crippled child.
Go on, children… say goodbye to your mother.
Tell me about you, Gracie. I want to know everything.
Grace’s eyes snapped open. She had fallen asleep sitting upright in a first class compartment on the train. As the locomotive jolted to a stop, she saw the sign above the station: Welcome to Erie.
She was on her way to meet the man she loved, and he had made all her travel arrangements; all she had to do was pack and get herself to the train station in Pittsburgh. But when she arrived at Station Square, the terminal for the Pittsburgh & Lake Erie Railroad, she had no idea where to go. She had only taken a train once before, but that trip had been three years ago, under cover of night, and no one had made any arrangements.
Grace stood on the platform, a gloved hand to her lips, wondering which direction to take. She saw a line of people and joined it, smiling at the other passengers as she gently set down her two borrowed suitcases. A few of them were looking at her strangely. She glanced down at herself; the full-length charcoal grey hobble skirt, lace blouse, and beribboned jacket that matched the ribbons in her skirt were all in place. Still the other passengers gave her unnerving stares that seemed more like glares.
She touched her hair nervously. She had twisted up her thick pale-gold locks under a wide-brimmed hat trimmed with pheasant feathers that matched the ribbons in her skirt and jacket. Grace was naïve; the wonders of a fine wardrobe were still new to her. She hadn’t realized – until now – that her elegant clothes set her apart.
I’m one of you. I’m just a maid! She wanted to let them know she was a working person, too.
A railway porter approached. “Excuse me, Madame.”
Grace did not respond.
“Madame? Excuse me,” the porter said, a little more loudly.
Grace stood quietly watching the other passengers, who continued to sneak glances at her.
The porter tapped her on the shoulder.
Grace spun around, startled. “Me? Sorry! Yes?” No one had ever called her Madame before.
“I’m quite certain, Madame, you’re in the wrong place. May I see your ticket?”
Grace was embarrassed by her own ignorance. “I…I… I don’t have one,” she stammered. “A friend made the arrangements for me.”
The porter glanced at his clipboard. “What’s the name, Madame?”
“Grace.”
The porter’s eyebrows rose as he peered at her over his horn-rimmed spectacles. “Your surname, Madame.”
The knot in Grace’s stomach tightened. “Dodson. I’m sorry. Grace Dodson.” She tried to smile.
The porter ran down his list. “I don’t have a… Oh, is that D-a-w-d-s-o-n?”
“Yes!” A quick breath of relief escaped her lips.
The porter became officious. “As I suspected, you are in first class. If you will follow me, please, I will escort you to your compartment.”
As she bent down to pick up her suitcases, the porter tooted his whistle, and another porter materialized to pick up the luggage.
“This way.” The first porter led her to the car marked First Class; the luggage porter followed behind.
“Here we are, Miss Dawdson – your private compartment.”
Grace almost gasped: the compartment was as big as her bedroom.
“Enjoy your trip, Madame,” said the porter, handing her a ticket.
As she fumbled in her purse for coins to tip the men, the main porter said, “No, no. Mr. Haibach has taken care of everything.”
Mr. Haibach had indeed taken care of everything: the private compartment in the first class car was luxurious. She had only ever seen such fine upholstery in the home where she worked as a maid. Grace removed a glove and ran her hand over the rich fabric. She couldn’t believe this whole room was just for her. Through the window she could still see the line of passengers she had been standing with minutes before. They are still waiting, she thought, and I am already comfortably seated. Her first impulse was to wave them in to join her – there was so much room in her first class compartment. She felt a twinge of guilt.
The guilt passed when she caught sight of the bouquet. On a little table ledge under the large window stood a small vase filled with fragrant pink flowers. She wondered if all first class compartments came with flowers in her favorite color. An envelope lay next to the vase. For me? She pulled out the note card and read:
Gracie,
I can’t wait to see you. Don’t be nervous, my family doesn’t bite.
I will be waiting for you at the train station when you arrive.
Enjoy your trip.
John
Grace did enjoy the trip. It was amazing to watch the green countryside flow by as she looked out the big picture window. Pennsylvania really is quite beautiful, she thought to herself. The scenery moved faster and faster as the train picked up speed. It occurred to her that, like the train, she was rocketing forward on a course and at a speed she could not stop. How did I get here? Never mind, she told herself. The spectacle of the ever-changing views outside her window absorbed her and soon the vibration of the moving train lulled her into a state of serenity, and finally to sleep. Until the relentless voices in her head woke her up.
What if someone recognizes me? What if they try to send me back to the orphanage? Oh, how I wish Meg were here!
Grace reached for her hat and plopped it on her head. Almost immediately she heard a gentle, friendly voice – Meg’s voice. Whether she imagined it or not, she knew her dearest friend was with her on that train. “Put your hat on gently, my dear. Don’t muss your hair.”
With great care and slow deliberate movement, Grace lifted the hat off her head and placed it back on the seat. Then, as if she were Meg, she smoothed her hair and ever so elegantly placed it back on her head. Just as Meg would have done.
Out of the soothing, repetitive motion of the train came a nightmare, and out of the nightmare came voices – some soft, others loud and frightening and insistent.
Do not talk to any guest in the house, unless the guest addresses you first!
What’s that in your pockets, child?
Just pretend you’re me. You play me better than I do myself.
Your little brother Jimmy is dead.
Why do you do that? Look down at the floor all the time.
How’s my special little girl?
Your father’s a murderer and your mother’s a…
Give me those leg braces. No one will adopt a crippled child.
Go on, children… say goodbye to your mother.
Tell me about you, Gracie. I want to know everything.
Grace’s eyes snapped open. She had fallen asleep sitting upright in a first class compartment on the train. As the locomotive jolted to a stop, she saw the sign above the station: Welcome to Erie.
She was on her way to meet the man she loved, and he had made all her travel arrangements; all she had to do was pack and get herself to the train station in Pittsburgh. But when she arrived at Station Square, the terminal for the Pittsburgh & Lake Erie Railroad, she had no idea where to go. She had only taken a train once before, but that trip had been three years ago, under cover of night, and no one had made any arrangements.
Grace stood on the platform, a gloved hand to her lips, wondering which direction to take. She saw a line of people and joined it, smiling at the other passengers as she gently set down her two borrowed suitcases. A few of them were looking at her strangely. She glanced down at herself; the full-length charcoal grey hobble skirt, lace blouse, and beribboned jacket that matched the ribbons in her skirt were all in place. Still the other passengers gave her unnerving stares that seemed more like glares.
She touched her hair nervously. She had twisted up her thick pale-gold locks under a wide-brimmed hat trimmed with pheasant feathers that matched the ribbons in her skirt and jacket. Grace was naïve; the wonders of a fine wardrobe were still new to her. She hadn’t realized – until now – that her elegant clothes set her apart.
I’m one of you. I’m just a maid! She wanted to let them know she was a working person, too.
A railway porter approached. “Excuse me, Madame.”
Grace did not respond.
“Madame? Excuse me,” the porter said, a little more loudly.
Grace stood quietly watching the other passengers, who continued to sneak glances at her.
The porter tapped her on the shoulder.
Grace spun around, startled. “Me? Sorry! Yes?” No one had ever called her Madame before.
“I’m quite certain, Madame, you’re in the wrong place. May I see your ticket?”
Grace was embarrassed by her own ignorance. “I…I… I don’t have one,” she stammered. “A friend made the arrangements for me.”
The porter glanced at his clipboard. “What’s the name, Madame?”
“Grace.”
The porter’s eyebrows rose as he peered at her over his horn-rimmed spectacles. “Your surname, Madame.”
The knot in Grace’s stomach tightened. “Dodson. I’m sorry. Grace Dodson.” She tried to smile.
The porter ran down his list. “I don’t have a… Oh, is that D-a-w-d-s-o-n?”
“Yes!” A quick breath of relief escaped her lips.
The porter became officious. “As I suspected, you are in first class. If you will follow me, please, I will escort you to your compartment.”
As she bent down to pick up her suitcases, the porter tooted his whistle, and another porter materialized to pick up the luggage.
“This way.” The first porter led her to the car marked First Class; the luggage porter followed behind.
“Here we are, Miss Dawdson – your private compartment.”
Grace almost gasped: the compartment was as big as her bedroom.
“Enjoy your trip, Madame,” said the porter, handing her a ticket.
As she fumbled in her purse for coins to tip the men, the main porter said, “No, no. Mr. Haibach has taken care of everything.”
Mr. Haibach had indeed taken care of everything: the private compartment in the first class car was luxurious. She had only ever seen such fine upholstery in the home where she worked as a maid. Grace removed a glove and ran her hand over the rich fabric. She couldn’t believe this whole room was just for her. Through the window she could still see the line of passengers she had been standing with minutes before. They are still waiting, she thought, and I am already comfortably seated. Her first impulse was to wave them in to join her – there was so much room in her first class compartment. She felt a twinge of guilt.
The guilt passed when she caught sight of the bouquet. On a little table ledge under the large window stood a small vase filled with fragrant pink flowers. She wondered if all first class compartments came with flowers in her favorite color. An envelope lay next to the vase. For me? She pulled out the note card and read:
Gracie,
I can’t wait to see you. Don’t be nervous, my family doesn’t bite.
I will be waiting for you at the train station when you arrive.
Enjoy your trip.
John
Grace did enjoy the trip. It was amazing to watch the green countryside flow by as she looked out the big picture window. Pennsylvania really is quite beautiful, she thought to herself. The scenery moved faster and faster as the train picked up speed. It occurred to her that, like the train, she was rocketing forward on a course and at a speed she could not stop. How did I get here? Never mind, she told herself. The spectacle of the ever-changing views outside her window absorbed her and soon the vibration of the moving train lulled her into a state of serenity, and finally to sleep. Until the relentless voices in her head woke her up.
What if someone recognizes me? What if they try to send me back to the orphanage? Oh, how I wish Meg were here!
Grace reached for her hat and plopped it on her head. Almost immediately she heard a gentle, friendly voice – Meg’s voice. Whether she imagined it or not, she knew her dearest friend was with her on that train. “Put your hat on gently, my dear. Don’t muss your hair.”
With great care and slow deliberate movement, Grace lifted the hat off her head and placed it back on the seat. Then, as if she were Meg, she smoothed her hair and ever so elegantly placed it back on her head. Just as Meg would have done.
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