Distant Dreams (17 page)

James shook his head. “Do as you like, but that’s not the kind of fire I’m speaking of. I’m talking about me. About my passions and dreams. I’ve desired to be a part of the railroad for so long now that I’ve had no other focus or goal within me. I burned for that goal, and the fire of desire drove me forward. Don’t you see, Father? Is it really so hard to understand? Yes, Phineas is dead and that grieves me, but without my dream, what am I? Who am I? I lie in this bed and stare up at the ceiling, wondering what’s to become of me. Phineas’s future is decided for him, but what of me? What of my future? Does that sound selfish? Am I a horrible person for grieving more for my lost life than for Phineas’s?”

Leland grimaced. “I fear your medication has caused you confusion. I’ll get Nellie in here, and she can clean up this mess and build you a cozy fire. Would you like something to read?”

James sighed. His father had no mind for dealing with another person’s anxieties and fears. Especially when they were those of his son. “I don’t need anything”—he paused and looked away—“or anyone.”

If only that were true! He had never felt more needy in his life, not only in his body, but in his heart as well. And the worst of it was that he could not make himself believe there was hope for anything better. He feared he’d always be as he now was. Lost, impotent, angry, heartbroken. A skeleton of a man held together only by despair.

17

The Cost of Fear

Three days later the doctor visited and, for once, left the sickroom without that grim look in his eyes.

“Ah, Leland!” he said as he met the elder Baldwin downstairs in the parlor. “To be young! It never ceases to amaze me what the miracle of youth does for the healing process.”

“Are you saying James will be all right?” Leland chose his words cautiously, afraid to get his hopes up.

“The boy’s leg is mending nicely. We will have to keep it splinted and immobile for some time yet, but he is well past the worst of it.”

“He won’t lose the leg?”

“I believe I can safely say he won’t. Beyond that, of course, we must wait and see. But with proper care, I do believe he can expect full, or practically full, use of his leg.”

“Thank God!”

“I am, however, concerned with his mental healing. He seemed not nearly as elated over my news as one might expect.”

“He took the death of his friend quite hard.”

“Well, we must work on lifting his spirits.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I’m going to send over some crutches this afternoon. Getting out of that bed will work wonders, I am certain. He mustn’t put any weight on the leg, and make sure he only gradually extends his activities.”

But when the crutches arrived, James greeted them and what they represented with little enthusiasm. He did make use of them, yet he smiled little and continued to be quiet and withdrawn. Leland had no idea what else to do for his son. Finally desperate, he procured several old issues of railroad periodicals. Leland was willing to concede to James’ previous interest if it would do the boy some good. But James politely thanked his father and laid aside the material unread.

Then one day, after a week, Leland had an inspiration. He went to the rail yards and spoke to the manager who knew James. Leland was also introduced to several of James’ other friends—common sorts mostly, but if they were able to help his son, he’d be more than willing to rub shoulders with them.

James was sitting in a chair in his dark room trying unsuccessfully to focus his attention on a newspaper when the visitors arrived. He couldn’t very well refuse them, so he told Nellie to send them up. But the last thing he wanted was to entertain railroad people.

Eddie, Tommy, and Dale Collins came into his room with friendly cheerful greetings. James tried to respond in kind, but the smile he wore felt like a paper mask.

They filled him in on all the latest happenings and gossip at the rail yard. James politely nodded, pretending he was interested. He didn’t know why he wasn’t. It made him extremely uncomfortable to hear about the railroad, or even think about it. He knew there was more to it than simply his grief over Phineas, but he could not identify what was bothering him—in truth, he was afraid to identify it. Yet even before his friends had arrived, James had been experiencing an odd discomfiture whenever he thought about the railroad.

“Your father tells us you are getting up and around now,” said Eddie. “ ’Tis wonderful news!”

“We’ll have you down at the yards and back to work before you know it,” said Tommy.

“I don’t know . . .” James squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.

“Why wait? That is, if you’re up to it, Jimmy me boy,” said Eddie enthusiastically. “We got a new engine in a couple days ago. It’s only a prototype, but it was one of Phineas’s last designs.”

“Phineas . . . ?”

“It’s his design for a horizontal boiler,” Dale explained.

“They finished it?”

“Sure. In his honor, you might say.”

“Why don’t you come down and see it?” asked Tommy. “Your pa said you can get up.”

“That’s true, but . . .” James could not think of an excuse. So Phineas’s prototype was finished. James thought of Phineas’s excitement for the project and how, before the accident, he himself had longed to see it. Now . . . it just didn’t seem right when the designer himself would never see the finished result of his labors. Yet by refusing to go, James felt a bit as though he were turning his back on his friend. He was torn, wanting to go, longing to once again be among the things he so loved; yet he was oddly reluctant.

“Don’t you worry. We’ll give you a hand,” said Eddie, misinterpreting James’ hesitation.

In the end James couldn’t say no. He was growing weary of his self-pity. Getting out might be just the remedy he needed to rise from the awful slump he had been in lately. Maybe it would even help him get over his friend’s death.

He couldn’t deny the surge of excitement he felt when he and his friends arrived at the rail yard. The smells of metal and grease and the burning of the forge; the sounds of machines, men yelling, hammers clanking; the sights . . .

Yes, it was good to be back. He was almost overcome with how much he felt he belonged here. At first it was easy to ignore that gnawing disquiet he also felt.

Phineas’s engine was a beauty, a fine tribute to the man’s talent. James recognized the 4-2-0 design immediately. John Jervis had created the design in 1831, but as was often the case, he hadn’t patented the engine and freely gave it as his contribution to the industry. Now it was one of the most popular designs. Jervis, knowing that the curving uneven American tracks were a problem for many lines, had lengthened the wheel base and added swiveling lead wheels. This was a masterful stroke of genius, and while swiveling wheels had been used in England to follow the large drive wheels, no one had yet put them on the front to help guide the train on the tracks. Phineas had obviously studied this design and converted it for use with the B&O’s twisted tracks.

Awkwardly maneuvering the crutches, James approached it with a kind of reverence. His friends, flanking him, understood and beheld it in the same manner. The horizontal boiler engine seemed almost foreign in a place where only vertical grasshopper engines had traveled before. James studied the wood lagging surrounding the boiler’s waist. These narrow wooden strips were designed to hold in precious heat and conserve fuel. Even a stationary boiler could show a heat loss varying from twelve to twenty-five percent. A moving engine was a greater liability still. As air passed over the boiler’s surface the effect was heightened, and in cold weather it became a very disagreeable situation.

“Lagging, eh?” James murmured, continuing to note the differences. Glancing up he saw the large black smokestack. A steady stream of smoke oozed from the opening. She was fired up and ready for action. The very thought caused James to involuntarily shudder.

“ ’Tis too bad he never got to ride it,” Eddie said in a hushed tone.

James only nodded, a lump in his throat preventing speech.

“Come aboard, Jimmy. See her up close,” Tommy encouraged. “Duke won’t mind.”

“Duke?” James questioned in a hesitant voice.

“He’s my fireman. Hey, Duke, this here is a friend of Phineas Davis. James Baldwin’s his name.”

Duke, a coal-smeared youngster, barely old enough to be called a man, looked down from the platform and gave a nod.

“Come on, Jimmy,” Eddie encouraged, “you might as well have a look around.”

“I don’t think I could with these—” He gave one of his crutches a shake.

“We’ll help you.”

“Well—” But before he could finish, several hands were hoisting him onto the engine. He was set on the locomotive platform as smoothly as if his friends were experts at handling cripples. James’ sudden light-headedness seemed to have nothing to do with the procedure. He gripped the rail, fearing he might lose his balance. His hand shook.

At that moment the station manager ambled by. “Are you fellows going to take James for a ride?”

“There’s an excellent idea!” exclaimed Eddie. “How about it, Jimmy?”

James’ mouth was dry. He wanted to tell them no, but, again, he couldn’t. He felt himself nod.

“Get her steam up, Tommy!” called Eddie.

Tommy nodded to Duke, who began dumping even greater quantities of coal into the firebox. Swinging the coal shovel to and fro, he narrowly missed James’ crutch.

“It ain’t no race,” Eddie growled. “Watch out for his leg.”

The fireman grunted in reply, lost in the rhythmic loading of the coal. When Tommy was satisfied, he began cranking the bell back and forth.

Clang. Clang. Clang
. It was a warning to those who waited below to clear the track.

“They didn’t put a whistle on,” Eddie said, as if James had asked a question. “What with her being a prototype and all, they figured they’d save money.”

Clang. Clang. Clang
.

The sound set James’ nerves on fire. With every sound of the bell and hissing groan of the engine, he felt an odd sensation grip him. What should have been a wonderful moment was rapidly spiraling into a nightmare.

Tommy eased the lever forward and grinned. “Here we go!”

The moment the locomotive lurched, James knew it was a mistake. His stomach knotted and an awful cold chill washed over him, accompanied by rising nausea. His hands grasped the rail so tightly his arms began to ache, but that was the least of the awful physical afflictions assailing him.

Stop! James wanted to yell, but his lips were frozen; he couldn’t speak. The machine rolled forward while his chest constricted. What was happening?

In a few minutes they were away from the yard and moving into the countryside. James had not yet moved a muscle. Duke and Tommy were busy tending the engine, and even Eddie, caught up in the moment, didn’t seem to notice his distress. He tried to shake it off but with no success. It only became worse. He broke into a cold sweat, still shaking—all over now, not just his hands. He closed his eyes hoping to steady himself but was rewarded only with a horrifying image—an engine heaving up upon its rail and tumbling over and over in a deadly somersault. He opened his eyes with a strangled cry that thankfully was swallowed by the roar of the engine.

He was going to die!

His body was going to be crushed and mangled by the gears and metal of this monstrous machine. It was going to take his life as it had Phineas’s. It had already smashed his dreams, but it would not be satisfied until it had obliterated all remaining life from him.

Stop!

But only his trembling lips formed the words. He had to get off. He had to save himself. He didn’t want to die.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!”

He only realized that sound had escaped his tortured lips when Eddie appeared at his side.

“Something wrong, Jimmy lad?”

James turned his head slowly, stiffly, as if he himself were a machine. He was panting hard as if he had just run a race. But seeing Eddie’s solid friendly countenance helped snap James’ mind back to a semblance of sanity.

Still he couldn’t speak.

“Is it your leg, lad?” asked Eddie.

James grasped desperately at the excuse. He nodded, then forced out the words, “The pain . . .”

“Ah, was foolish of us to take you out. The jostling is too much,” said Eddie. “We’ll get you back right away, lad.”

The few minutes it took to return to the yard were torture, not, of course, to James’ leg, but to his mind. His distress did not cease until several minutes after he stepped off the locomotive. Eddie and Tommy felt terrible, too, thinking they might have brought on a relapse. And though James knew it was cruel of him, he said nothing to dispel their fears. How could he admit to them that his leg was not the problem? He could barely admit it to himself. The truth was too awful to face, much less speak of. Yet James knew enough to identify the cold nausea and other symptoms he had experienced as only one thing: fear.

And he realized, if vaguely, that this was the nebulous emotion that had been troubling him all along. The accident had made him deathly afraid of riding the locomotive.

Back home in the safe loneliness of his room he berated himself for his weakness. He had become as fainthearted as a woman. What kind of man was he that he couldn’t rise above a mere accident? He’d fallen from a tree once when he was a child and battered himself pretty badly, but that hadn’t stopped him from climbing other trees. Had he been braver as a twelve-year-old than he was now?

But it had been different then. He’d had no concept of death as a child. Now he
knew
. Death might be waiting around any corner to reach out and grab him, as it had Phineas. And the locomotive, as nothing else, stood in his mind as the embodiment of death. With its flaws and its belching fire and its hard crushing iron, it seemed more a weapon than a vehicle.

Yet fear of death could not be the only reason for his violent reaction to riding the locomotive. He’d had no problem riding the carriage to the yard—and heaven knew the Washington City roadways could be deadly at times!

James shook his head. He could sit for the rest of his miserable life trying to figure out what had happened, but he didn’t want to. He did not want to think of it at all. The very
thought
of the locomotive made him tremble like a silly girl. His only hope seemed to be in simply staying away from the railroad.