A Lone Star Christmas

This town wasn’t that large, and although there were at least ten people standing out on the platform, there were only four people boarding, as far as he could determine. One of those boarding was a very pretty young, auburn-haired woman, and he watched her share a goodbye hug with an older woman, who Tom took to be her mother.

One of the passengers who had just boarded was putting his coat in the overhead rack, just in front of Tom.

“Excuse me,” Tom said to him. “What is the name of this town?”

“Marshall,” the passenger answered.

“Louisiana, or Texas?”

“Texas, Mister. The great state of Texas,” the man replied with inordinate pride.

“Thank you,” Tom said.

“Been traveling long?” the man asked.

“Yes, this is my sixth day.”

“Where are you headed?”

“I don’t have any particular destination in mind.”

“Ha, that’s funny. I don’t know as I’ve ever met anyone who was travelin’ and didn’t even know where they was goin’.”

“When I find a place that fits my fancy, I’ll stop,” Tom said.

“Well, Mister, I’ll tell you true, you ain’t goin’ to fine any place better than Texas. And any place in Texas you decide to stop is better than any place else.”

“Thank you,” Tom said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

In the week since he had left Boston, Tom had shared the train with hundreds of others, none of whom had continued their journey with him. He had managed to strike up a conversation with some of them, but in every case, they were only brief acquaintances, then they moved on. He thought of the passage from Longfellow.

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other

in passing,

Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the

darkness;

So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one

another,

Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a

silence.

With a series of jerks as the train took up the slack between the cars, it pulled away from the station, eventually smoothing out and picking up speed. Once the train settled in to its gentle rocking and rhythmic clacking forward progress, Tom leaned his head against the seat back and went to sleep.

Once Rebecca boarded, found her seat, and the train got underway, she reached into her purse to take out the letter. She had picked the letter up at the post office shortly before she left Fort Worth to come visit her Aunt Mildred. The letter, which was addressed to her and not to her father, had come as a complete surprise. Her father knew nothing about it, nor did she show it to her Aunt Mildred. The letter was from her real mother, and it was the first time in Rebecca’s life that she had ever heard from her.

Her first instinct had been to tear it up and throw it away, unread. After all, if her mother cared so little about her that she could abandon her when Rebecca was still a baby, why should Rebecca care what she had to say now?

But curiosity got the best of her, so she read the letter. Now, sitting in the train going back home, Rebecca read the letter again.

Dear Becca,

This letter is going to come as a shock to you, but I am your real mother. I am very sorry that I left you when you were a baby, and I am even more sorry that I have never attempted to contact you. I want you to know, however, that my not contacting you is not because you mean nothing to me. I have kept up with your life as best I can, and I know that you have grown to be a very beautiful and very wonderful young woman.

That is exactly what I expected to happen when I left you with your father. I did that, and I have stayed out of your life because I thought that best. Certainly there was no way I could have given you the kind of life your father has been able to provide for you. But it would fulfill a life-time desire if I could see you just once. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, and to grant this wish, you will find me in Dodge City, Kansas. I am married to the owner of the Lucky Chance Saloon.

Your mother,

Janie Davenport

Rebecca knew about her mother; she had been told a long time ago that Julia was her stepmother. But she didn’t know anything about her real mother, and on the few times she had asked, she had always been given the same answer.

“Your mother was a troubled soul, and things didn’t work out for her. I’m sure that she believed, when she left you, that she was doing the right thing,” Big Ben had said.

“Have you ever heard from her again?” Rebecca wanted to know.

“No, I haven’t, and I don’t expect that I will. To tell you the truth, darlin’, I’m not even sure she is still alive.”

That had satisfied Rebecca, and she had asked no more questions until, unexpectedly, she had received this letter.

From the moment Rebecca had received the letter, she had been debating with herself as to whether or not she should go to Dodge. And if so, should she ask her father for permission to go? Or should she just go? She was twenty-one years old, certainly old enough to make her own decision.

She just didn’t know what that decision should be.

She read the letter one more time, then folded it, put it back in her reticule, and settled in for the three and one-half hour train trip.

Fort Worth, Texas

The train had arrived in the middle of the night, and when Tom Whitman got off, he wondered if he should stay here or get back on the train and keep going. Six and one-half days earlier he had boarded a train in Boston with no particular destination in mind. His only goal at the time was to be somewhere other than Boston.

Now, as he stood alongside the train, he became aware of a disturbance at the other end of the platform. A young woman was being bothered by two men. Looking in her direction, Tom saw that it was the same young woman he had seen board the train back in Marshall.

“Please,” she was saying to the two men. “Leave me alone.”

“Here now, you pretty little thing, you know you don’t mean that,” one of the two men said. “Why, you wouldn’t be standin’ out here all alone in the middle of the night, if you wasn’t lookin’ for a little fun, would you now? And me ’n Pete here are just the men to show you how to have some fun. Right, Pete?”