chapter 45

"You look like you've had a nasty shock. Is something amiss?" Mr. Armwel noted the ashen look on his companion's face.

"My money was in my inside coat pocket...but it's not there now."

"How could that be?! Let me get your breakfast..."

"No, no--" Gene pulled a coin purse from his pocket and snapped it open. I've got the thirty-five cents here, a tip, and even ten cents besides. ...I don't know how it happened. Must have been--well, I just don't know." He snapped his coin purse shut and stuck it back into his pants pocket.

"It's going to be a long trip. Do you have anything to tide you over?"

"My Aunt sent me a package of sandwiches to 'fill in the gaps' as she calls it, and I only had my traveling money in my coat pocket," he said with a dark frown. It will make things short though," he left a nickel by his coffee cup. "It could be worse."

"Well, back to the station," Mr. Armwel turned toward the station as they walked out the restaurant door into the street.

"Unrest in Europe! Read all about it!" a thin ten year old boy wearing what looked like his brother's coat wrapped around him, stood at the street corner peddling his wares. He waved the morning paper in the air, "Get your paper now! Read all about it--trouble brewing overseas!"

"I'll take one of those..." Mr. Armwel raised a hand toward the boy.

"Thank you, mister!" the boy pocketed the nickel and handed him the paper.

"Why aren't you in school?" the man spoke disapprovingly.

"I'm here for my Pa. He's sick."

Mr. Armwel made a clucking noise, shook his head and the pair continued with their progress toward the station...

"You go ahead. I'll catch up," Gene turned back.

Gene came back a few seconds later to find the older gentleman watching him with a quizzical air.

"I've been there--" Gene said with a shrug.

"But?"

"That's alright--mine's only temporary..."

"Oh, the confidence of youth..." he sighed with a slight smile. "Might as well find a seat in here. The express won't be coming in for about forty-five minutes yet..."

Charles Armwel read through the paper pointing out several articles and expanding on what the paper had written. He was quite knowledgeable about the problems in Europe.

"This is our ride coming in," Gene stood and watched as the huge black engine roared into the station. He didn't mind train rides, but he would be glad to get to his destination!

"By this time tomorrow morning we should be drawing near Broad street Station in Richmond. Just a little over twenty-four hours," Mr. Armwel stood up, watching the approaching train.

"I'll still be in the middle. Not home, but not sure where," Gene remarked.

"At your age--it should be an adventure. At one time I enjoyed adventures."

"It won't be so bad," Gene said following Mr. Armwel down the aisle between the seats. "It's just the uncertainty."

"That's what makes it an adventure, Laddie! Would you like to peruse the newspaper when I'm finished?"

"Yes, yes, I would..." Gene sat down in the seat in front of his companion. Turning sideways in his seat, he leaned against the window in order to look behind. "What do you think of this article here?" He pointed at the bold headline: "France Blames U.S. For It's..."

"Well now, read it to me. A lot of young men your age wouldn't really care," he leaned back slightly in his seat. "But they ought to--"

***************************************************

Gene sighed as he looked over the letter he was writing. The large many paned window overlooking the rugged back of the estate drew his gaze. His eyes restlessly flitted over the expansive back yard as he sat at the desk in his bedroom. This room was almost as large as the whole downstairs back home.

It had been a long two weeks since he had arrived in Richmond, Virginia. What to tell his aunt and uncle? Would it worry them to know the flighty nature of the young people in his current society? Every evening there were opportunities to attend parties. The people in this society seemed bent on running themselves into early graves. Gene did not notice that he sighed again as he pondered on what message to send.

There was a soft tap at his door. "Who is it?" he answered.

He could not quite hear the soft reply. He slid his chair back from the desk, went to the door and opened it a slight space. A vision of soft blue and gold, stood in the hall.

"It's me," Angela said. "I wanted to talk to you...privately." Her blue eyes had a troubled look.

"Sure..." Gene said stepping out into the hall beside her. "Let's go...," he hesitated looking both ways up and down the wide hallway. "There's a library this way...we should have space for a private conversation," he took her by the elbow and guided her down the hall and through a door.

"This is sure a warm winter," he said as he shut the door behind them and they crossed the room toward the window seat.

"It would be back where you're from, but it's normal for here...Oh Gene! I'm so glad you've come," she turned toward him.

"So, what's the problem?" Gene came to a sudden stop to avoid running into her.

"I...I'm not sure." she sat down on the pillowed seat carefully as the light of the large lattice window filtered softly into the library. Her long silken hair was like spun gold, her eyes sky blue. Sighing and looking out over the front lawn, where a slight skiff of snow lay melting, she played with the fringe on a pillow.

"Not sure?" he raised his eyebrows.

"Go ahead, sit down," she motioned. "I don't think it would cause a scandal if you did..."

Gene looked around at the neat orderly room full of books, a large desk, a settee with a few small tables... Close to the fireplace there were a few scattered chairs. "I'll just--," he walked over and picked up a light graceful Queen Anne style chair. Carrying it without effort, he placed it by the window. "Put this here...So, what do you need to talk about?" he sat down and leaned slightly forward in the chair and waited.

Angela thought how wonderfully strong and capable Gene was. Much more than most of the young men she had lately been exposed to. Memories of Gene sitting astride powerful, beautiful horses--even dressed in a farmer's clothing he had style--or dressed in his tuxedo for the dinner party, or just a regular suit leading singing or prayer in church services. Cherished memories of their times together before...

"I guess I am sure. This whole situation is so confusing to me! Back home I knew who I was. Now I don't know. I feel like I've been cut loose from everything, and everyone I know. I need someone I can talk to. Until you came there wasn't anyone."

"This certainly isn't like home, is it?"

"No, no, it isn't! I miss Father and Mother. I miss our home, our way of life..." her lips trembled and tears spilled down her cheeks. "I'm sorry...I didn't intend to blubber," she pulled a snow white handkerchief from a pocket in her gown and dabbed at the unbidden tears. She looked quietly out the elegant window framed by the elegant lace Austrian blinds.

"Tonight we are to attend the theater," she heaved another sigh. "Don't be concerned, I'm not going to carry on again..." she sniffled and tried to control the sob that rose into her throat.

"We all have to have time to grieve. Time to adjust to loss."

"Oh, Gene, I needed that! That is...I needed to hear that. Even if..." Angela paused slightly, "Even if William and Edna Dorking weren't my real parents, they were my real family for all of the life I remember," she quietly sobbed into the pillow.

"Go ahead--have a good cry. You'll feel better, and think clearer afterwards," he handed her his clean ample hanky.

After a bit the tears and sobs came less and less. She wiped her eyes, "You're right, I did need that. How do men do it? They don't ever cry, but they still go on strong as ever! I don't believe I'll think any clearer though. There isn't anything to think."

"That's not true."

"What?"

"I've seen several men cry. Men do cry."

"I thought they always have to be strong."

"Men can laugh, why couldn't they cry? Tears don't show weakness. Men just cry about different things--and in different ways."

"Oh--I see. You never cry--"

"Of course I have...my father used to say he thought I'd never stop wanting my midnight feeding when I was a baby!"

"You--!"

He laughed as he reached out and grabbed the pillow she threw at him. "Now, now! Be careful--we don't want to break that graceful vase of flowers!" he tilted his head up and mimicked some of his English speaking friends.

"You know what I mean. You are always so invincible."

"No one, Angela, is ever invincible. Everyone has at least one weakness."

"I don't believe you. What is your weakness?" she sat back studying him.

"Well, really, I am pretty close to perfect," he laughed again and tossed the pillow back at her.

"No, really, what is your weakness?"

"Ah, ha! Delilah, for what purpose do you ask?"

"Oh, Gene! You are so perplexing!"

"We came here to talk about your problem, remember? Not about me--or even men in general," he said.

"That is so."

"A few weeks ago I had an unusual visitor at the farm. I was just finished with chores, and just before I finished preparing breakfast there was a knock on the door."

"Oh, were your Aunt and Uncle not there?"

"No, they had gone on a visit to Uncle Jed's step-mother. Just a short visit--and I was taking care of the farm...."

"That's so impressive. The young men here--many of them have quite an allowance--but they aren't trained in any area of life. None of them could do what you have done--but I'm sorry--who was your visitor?"

"It was Mr. Dorking. I'm not at liberty to disclose our conversation, but...have you had any word from them? Do you know how they are doing?"

"No, I have heard nothing," she sighed again and shook her head.

They both looked out the lattice window. The sunshine was playing peek-a-boo with the clouds. It was a peaceful scene that did not solace either party as they watched the shadows flit across the lawn.

"I will speak to Mr. Henrey..." Gene could not betray the message he had passed on, yet he was torn between loyalty to all three people. "If I hear any more from the Dorkings, I will pass it on through him. You may have to wait until you turn eighteen...I think legal age is eighteen," his thoughts wandered in all directions. "David and Bessie have moved as well."

"They have?! I feel like all are abandoning me!"

"Well, I'm here for a short time at least, and I'll keep you in touch as much as I can. I have their address, and I can see no reason why you wouldn't be allowed to correspond...maybe even visit them. They are living in Tennessee, so they aren't as far away as they were."

Angela's features went from drained, ashen white to rosy and full of hope. "Oh, do see if it will be possible! "I think I've missed them almost as much as Father and Mother! Are you going to the theater tonight?"

"No, I have a job interview in the morning, and I have other plans for tomorrow. I need to get a good night's sleep."

"I wish I didn't have to go either," she began to pull at the tassels on the fringe.

"Then why go?"

"I'm expected to go."

"Are you so sure? Walter doesn't enjoy attending these things either. At least so he says."

"So, he's going because...?"

"So he says."

"How queer! Both of us going because we think the other wants to go!" her laughter rang out. "Thank you," she said with a glimmer of her old playfulness. "Gene, I need prayers. No one around here is very religious. They only go to church because it's a status symbol."

"Many folks are like that. Maybe not the status symbol, but people go for different reasons--but going to church even for the wrong reason, is better than not going at all."

"Aren't they being hypocritical? That doesn't do any one any good...does it?"

"I asked David's step father that question once. His answer was that just like a little bit of salt will help flavor a piece of food, as long as they are hearing the word of God...God's principles will flavor their life, and in turn flavor our society. Once they totally turn from listening to God's principles...we're in for a bad time. That's what Alistair said...and I see what he's saying."

"I can see that," Angela hugged the pillow to herself as she contemplated on the thought. "I'll have to think on it, but it makes sense."

"We could have Bible study here on Sunday afternoons. I don't know that anyone except you and I would be interested, but that would be alright I guess," he said with a shrug.

"I think I would enjoy that."

"We'll plan on it then. I think I'll put this chair back now. Do you need to talk to Walter?" he lifted the chair again and easily put it back in its original spot.

"About Sunday?" she stood up and put the pillow in its place.

"No, about the theater."

"Yes, it's time to change streams, I think."

****************************************************
"Oh, Franklin, you are so-so clever!" Cathy snickered.

"Of course I am," he smiled agreeably.

"I think it's mean..."

"Oh, Trudy, lighten up! It's just a joke!" her twin sister chided.

"I still think it's mean. I don't think it will come to anything good! I warn you," Trudy pointed at her sister, Judy, "I warn you, nothing good will come of it."

"You can count me in," Cathy volunteered.

"Me too," Judy said.

"What about you, Jim? Jerry?" Franklin DeFoe asked.

"No, I have other things to do--" Jim declined the offer.

"I'm not interested. Sounds dry as dead leaves to me..." Jerry said.

"Besides," Jim waggled the ice in his glass..."We all know that Cathy is just miffed."

"Miffed?!" Cathy's green eyes blazed open wide. "What on earth do you mean?"

"You've been trying to get this new fellow to fall for your charms, and he's not taking the bait." Jim Wiggins laughed and took a drink.

"That greenie? I should say not! Why I could have had him wrapped around my finger..." her face flamed as the group laughed. "I could have!" she insisted.

"How about a wager?" Jerry Shore asked with a cunning look.

"Ladies don't wager," Cathy answered coolly.

"Okay...challenge then," he said smooth as velvet.

"I may be interested," she smiled.

"Cathy, you remind me of mother's Persian cat...except you're much prettier," Jim said as he admired her soft flawless features.

"Prettier, but more dangerous," Franklin added under his breath. "So, I'll let Walter know that I'll be there, as well as Judy and Cathy."

chapter 44 Mr. Barlow and Beyond

"Gene Wade," Gene shook the man's extended hand, but with out much emphasis. "Yes, it was some send off..."

"Where you off to? I thought you were older...looked older back at the station. I'd say you couldn't be much over twenty...so, where you off to?" he repeated himself.

"Well, I'm heading to Chicago..."

"I see. I get off before that. A little stop just over the river...I bet you're glad to be out on your own. Kick up your heels a little bit now that you're away from home..." he said with a wink.

"I guess you could say that," Gene wished he could turn this guy off. He had some thoughts running in his mind, but he could not think because this fellow was like a non-stop gusher.

The man pulled out a gold cigarette case, "You want a cigarette?" he flipped it open.

"No, thank you, I don't smoke."

"Well, who's to know...you sure? I've heard it's good for your health..."

"No, I'm sure," he held up a hand in protest as visions of his Aunt venting her opinion of 'those stinking, dirty things!' ran through his mind.

"You don't mind if I smoke, do you?" he chose a cigarette, and not waiting for a reply tapped it on his case, stuck it between his lips and lit it with the matching gold lighter. He took a drag on the cigarette, then exhaled the smoke. "We've got a couple of hours before I get off...you play poker?"

"No, I've never played cards."

"Never played cards! Say, I can teach you. Let's start with..." he reached into the inside pocket of his suit and pulled out a deck of cards.

"That's alright. I don't want to learn."

"What? You know if you want to get on in the world you're going to need to..."

"Sir, would you please extinguish your cigarette...this is not a smoking car," the conductor punched Gene's ticket, and frowned as he waited for Mr. Barlow to squash out his cigarette. "Your ticket, please," he held out his hand for the ticket.

"It's right here!" Mr. Barlow handed it to him then stuck it back in his pocket when the conductor returned it. He glared after the man as he moved down the line of seats.

Gene winced at the curse words that came out of the man's mouth. "If you'll excuse me, I believe I'll change seats," he tried to appear genial. The sour look on Mr. Barlow's face spoke of ill will as Gene picked up his satchel and moved up two seats and across the aisle. Someone had left a newspaper on the seat...he picked it up and began to scan the columns.

Mr. Barlow's eyes roved over the few passengers then he moved up the aisle to sit beside a lone man. Soon the two were occupied in a game of cards. After a bit Mr. Barlow pulled out a flask and offered his new acquaintance a drink from it.

They were situated so that it was impossible for Gene to avoid overhearing the occasional outbursts. At first the single man seemed to be doing well in the game. With each nip at the flask he became over confident and rude. As his luck changed, his face grew flushed, and some of his words were angry...

With the continual motion of the train, and the fact that his aunt had tried to prepare every one of his favorite dishes for his send off celebration, he was feeling like a well-fed child being rocked to sleep. He folded the paper, and leaned his head against the window...clack, clack, clack, before he knew it he was napping.

Gene woke with a start. He looked at his pocket watch...he had slept soundly for a couple of hours. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, ran his hands through his hair, and stretched. Both of the card players were gone. The car was quiet. He reached for the newspaper beside him on the seat. He frowned as he picked up his ticket, and put it back in his inner coat pocket. He read for a time then headed for the latrine. With each stop along the way the train picked up more passengers.

"Is this seat taken?" An older man paused beside Gene.

"No, go right ahead..." Gene moved slightly in recognition.

"Thank you," the man lowered himself onto the seat.

Gene observed the man's well tailored, faded black suit. His quiet demeanor spoke of cultivated manners: he was the exact opposite of Mr. Barlow.

"Are you traveling far?" he asked.

"I'm heading to Chicago, then on to Richmond. How about yourself?"

"It's a small world! I also am going to Virginia," a smile tugged at his weathered face.

"Charles Armwel," he introduced himself. "I'm actually from Virginia, but was employed at Rock Island, Illinois. Now, I'm on my way back home..."

After they exchanged a few pleasantries, Gene went back to reading his newspaper and Mr. Armwel began reading on a pamphlet he retrieved from his inside pocket.

Gene yawned and pulled out his watch. "We still have six hours until we reach the La Salle Street exit...I think I'll finish my nap."

"Yes, the next few days will be long. I have a pullman reserved for the last evening, but not tonight. Too expensive after being out of work for a year."

"I had some money saved up, but not an unlimited amount...my Uncle told me, 'You're young...you can sleep on the train!' I'll be staying with a friend of mine while I work on getting my pilot's license, but I'm hoping to find a job and earn some money while I'm there...to defray the cost..."

"That should be lucrative employment. Flying is the wave of the future."

"You think so? I rather enjoy it anyway. Well, I'm going to catch a few winks at any rate..."

"I probably will as well in a bit...do you mind if I borrow your paper?" Mr. Armwel asked.

"You are quite welcome to it--it was here on the seat when I got here," Gene handed the paper to him.

"Thank you," Mr. Armwel opened the paper and began reading.

Gene rolled up his already folded coat to use as a pillow and leaned up against the window.

The sky was beginning to lighten outside his window when he next opened his eyes. His seat companion was nowhere to be seen in the car, but Mr. Armwel's belongings still remained in the seat.

Gene sat up and gazed out the window at the houses rushing by. He stood and began making his way toward the back of the car as Mr. Armel came out of the toilet room. "Good morning," they exchanged greetings. After using the restroom and briefly combing his hair he closed the door behind him and in spite of the lurching and swaying made his way back to the seat.

"We're almost to the station," Mr. Armwel smiled at him as they picked up their belongings. "I see you brought a satchel with you...good idea!"

"I didn't think I would ever say it again after the meal my aunt cooked before I left, but I'm hungry!" Gene laughed. Should be able to catch something for breakfast somewhere around the station..."

"We can get our luggage tagged, and moved, to the next train. Then we have about two hours till old number 10 comes in," Mr. Armwel smiled his warm smile.

"Looks like we'll have to wait for a porter..." Mr. Armwel said as they stood on the platform waiting as the handlers unloaded their belongings. "Doesn't look as if you've brought much with you."

"No, I don't need but one trunk, not like some people I've traveled with."

"Porter!" Mr. Armwel hailed a black man wearing a sharp red and gray uniform.

"Yes, sir! Where you off to?" he asked with a tip of his hat.

"We need these bags over to the B&O Chicago New York Express number ten heading for Washington, D.C."

"Sure nuff, sir...You need anything else just call on me," he finished stacking Mr. Armwel and Gene's luggage.

The uniformed man led the way to the correct platform pushing his cart at a fast clip through the terminal.

"You take care of these for us, now," Mr. Armwel dropped a tip in the man's hand. "Is there a good place to eat you can recommend?"

"Yes, sir! Thank you, and I certainly will!" the porter slipped the money into a pocket. "Most folks go to the Harvey House. Reasonable prices, good food, and lots of it!"

"Are you ready for breakfast now?" he turned to Gene.

"I sure am! My day is all out of kilter...I've overslept, now I'm underfed," he grinned. "Let's find that Harvey House so we can be ready when the next train arrives."

"Harvey Houses are known for their good service. There shouldn't be a problem, but we want to get our breakfast out of the way, just to be sure..."

"Ham and eggs for your sir...and sausage and eggs for you," the pretty young waitress, in her starched black uniform and white apron, wrote their order down and bustled off to the kitchen.

"Thank you, miss," Charles said as his cup of hot black coffee appeared. He spooned two teaspoons of sugar into his cup and poured cream in as well till the coffee was a warm brown color. "Cream? Sugar?" he offered to Gene.

"Thank you, don't mind if I do," Gene stirred about half as much sugar and cream into his coffee as Mr. Armwel had put into his. "Sure good coffee. Good to wake up to! My uncle makes coffee so strong you can chip the cup away and it will stand by itself..."

"You're pretty fond of your Aunt and Uncle aren't you?"

"Yes, sir, I sure am! I don't much care for traveling. I like the farm."

"Here comes our breakfast. I had heard they had good service!" he moved back as the waitress placed the plates of ham and eggs with hot buttered toast in front of him.

"And here is your sausage and eggs, sir," she placed Gene's in front of him.

"Miss, would you have a bit of jelly somewhere for this toast?" the older man's eyes twinkled up at the young woman.

"I will see what I can do, sir," she smiled back at him.

"That would be appreciated. Now, before we dig in, we need to remember our manners..." He bowed his head not waiting to see if Gene did as well, and began reciting, "Our Father in heaven, for what we are about to receive, we truly thank thee...In Jesus name, Amen."

They both lifted their heads as the waitress brought the jelly for their toast.

"Here you go!" she said placing it between them. "And are you ready for more coffee? More cream? I see you found the sugar," she said as she refilled the two cups.

"What sort of employment will you be looking for while in Richmond--while you try to obtain your pilot license?" Mr. Armwel leaned back slightly after the last of his food was finished. He brushed the few crumbs from his lapel, stirred the light brown coffee in his cup, and placed the spoon on his saucer.

"I have experience in several areas. I've worked for a number of businesses at home. Errand boy, bell boy at the hotel, I even helped at the newspaper office...but it will only be for a short spell...while I get my license. My aunt and uncle need me to help with the farm, and I'm not sure how I'll be able to work things out..."

"You look like an entrepreneur--an up and coming young man. Let me give you my name and address," he took a book of blank paper out of his vest pocket and began writing. "If you're really interested in work...I may be able to help."

"Thank you, sir," Gene spoke gratefully. He took the paper the man handed across to him and read over the name and address noticing the neat precise handwriting.

"So many young boys--well they believe themselves to be men..." Charles Armwel frowned in thought. "I digress, many young lads of today are mindless nincompoops! If you've half as much brain as you appear to have...I suppose it is time to be finishing up here," he pulled his wallet out of his inside suit coat pocket.

Gene also reached into his inside pocket for his traveling money. He pulled out his train ticket, but where was his money? Something in the back of his mind clicked as he remembered picking up his train ticket off the seat...