Three Mokes East

By Philip Revene

Two decades after world disaster, 20-year-old Arby Sterling, just released from a brutal stint in the Federal Army, is desperate to restore some semblance of normalcy to his fractured life. Heartened by the thought of reuniting with his sibling and enticed by the offer of a hard-to-find vehicle, he agrees to accompany younger his sister, Ivy, home to Virginia once she completes her obligatory Citizen Service at an outpost in drought-stricken Arizona. But his plans are disrupted by a conniving cousin, who dupes Arby into serving as prisoner escort on the train trip west, and soon the deadly consequences of this deception are realized. Arriving in Phoenix, Arby takes possession of his truck and after an en route interlude at a desert community of female zealots, he finally rendezvous with Ivy and her feral cargo of rescued equines.

Played out to the backdrop of decimated, under-populated America of the 2030’s, their journey becomes an odyssey of life-threatening adventure; exposing them to the best and worst of man and nature as they make their way eastward through parts of the old U.S. and across territories of the fledgling Commonwealth of American States.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Philip Revene
• Release date: Jul 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9780985858100

Book preview

Chapter 1

Arby did not mind the layover. It would give him a chance to visit some sights around the Mall and pay his respects at the Capitol Memorial. The trip had taken only four hours, and included stops at Fredericksburg, Quantico and Alexandria, plus a short delay at the bridge that crosses the Potomac. They were over the river now, and slowly winding their way through the eastern part of the city. The litter-strewn embankments restricted Arby’s view, but he managed to catch fleeting glimpses of the upper floors of derelict buildings and slum tenements where, here and there, shirtless men or sleeveless women appeared at open windows, their elbows supporting them as they leaned out in search of any breeze that might be hiding in the stagnant August air.

Arby spent the final moments of the trip reviewing his plans for the five hour stop. First and foremost, he thought, is to confirm that the trunk he checked at Richmond is taken off this train and staged for the next leg of the journey. Except for the few items he carried with him, the chest contained everything he needed for the return trip and it would be a bad omen if he were to lose it so quickly. After seeing to the trunk, he would get directions to the Capitol.

As the train moved from hazy sunlight into the blackness of a tunnel, Arby’s thoughts were interrupted by a voice from the overhead speaker. Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please, this stop, Washington, Washington, D.C., a rich baritone announced, Passengers disembarking at Washington, this is your stop. Please collect all of your personal items before exiting the train. This is Northeast Route 154 with continuing service to Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York City and Boston. This is Washington, D.C.

Brakes scraped as the train slowed to full stop beside a poorly lit concrete platform. Arby looked around the car; first to see if anything needed to be put back in his haversack – it didn’t, then to see if others were preparing to get off – they were. He rose, slipped past the boney knees of the old man in the aisle seat, retrieved his hat and backpack from the overhead bin, and joined the queue of passengers waiting to exit the coach. Stepping onto the platform, he took a quick look around before awkwardly shouldering his carry-ons and walking toward the baggage car at the front of the train.

He could see activity even before he reached it. Efficient men dressed in smoke gray coveralls were already busy unloading crates, luggage and trunks from the wide door at the middle of the car. He watched the operation for a time, then saw two of the burly handlers heft a black chest down. There was no question it was his trunk. Before leaving Richmond, Arby had stenciled a large orange circle on each side of the chest so it could be easily recognized, even from a distance. He watched the handlers drop the trunk onto a paint-chipped pushcart and then produced a faint smile when he noticed that the cart was labeled 29 - Chicago, the route number and destination for next part of his journey. So far, so good, he thought as he turned and headed into the station.

Throngs of people confronted him in the terminal where a semi-organized line of passengers, most of them dressed in the traveling equivalent of their Sunday best, stood in the waiting area’s main aisle preparing to board the northbound train he’d just left. Through a series of sidesteps, half-steps and shuffles, he negotiated his way through the group and merged into an even larger mass of people moving along a wide promenade. Arby allowed himself to be carried with the crowd until he spotted a sign indicating a passage to the street. Maneuvering his way into the corridor, he followed it as it led into a two story concourse lined with shops and ticket counters. He crossed this space and continued on toward what he could see was a much larger area. Passing through a set of heavy glass-paneled doors, he found himself in a huge open hall with a high arched ceiling and walls of elaborately cut stone.

He walked several more yards into the gigantic area, then turned in a slow circle to get a panoramic view of the place. People, moving in every direction, were dwarfed by the mammoth proportions of the room. He saw a number of storefronts at both ends of the great hall and a large clock high on the wall. Arby noted the time, 10:50, then turned to the street entrance where he spotted a kiosk with the word INFORMATION posted above it.

He walked to the booth, removed his hat and asked the lone receptionist if there was a place he could leave his baggage while he did some sightseeing. With perfunctory pleasantness, the elderly woman pointed him to the east end of the building, where he could see a bay of rental lockers located next to a post office. Arby thanked her and as an afterthought asked for directions to the Capitol.

Old or new? … I mean, she corrected herself, the original Capitol or the temporary one? They’re both within walking distance of here, she said.

Actually, I’m looking for the Capitol Memorial, Arby replied hesitantly, whereupon the receptionist produced a black and white printed map of the Mall area, marked a route on the sheet with her pen and slid it across the counter towards him.

Go out that door, she said, pointing to the entrance in front of them, and get on Louisiana Avenue ... across the street, her extended arm sweeping to the right, That’ll take you down to the Mall. You know you can’t actually go in the Capitol grounds without a pass from a Senator or Congressman. Do you have one? she asked.

No, he replied in a disappointed voice.

In that case, I suggest you go here, pulling the map towards her to circle a location before sliding it back to him, You can get a good view of the whole Capitol Hill from there.

Arby again thanked her and walked to the rental area where he stowed his backpack and canvas haversack in a self-service locker marked 50¢ for 24 Hours. As he pocketed the locker key and headed for the front door, he wondered if everything in this city was going to be that expensive.

Outside, Arby headed across an open lot past tables of sidewalk vendors selling food and sundries and worked his way through the crowd, all the while surrounded by a group of rowdy street urchins who tugged at his clothing, pleading for change or candy or anything they could get. Shaking himself free of the din at the station, Arby easily found Louisiana Avenue and walked southward, eventually catching sight of a huge dome through the trees on his left. By the time he reached the barricades at Constitution Avenue, most of the Capitol building could be clearly seen, but Arby chose not to look at it too closely. He stopped for a time to study the map and get his bearings, then proceeded in the direction the receptionist had marked. Crossing Constitution, he passed a group of four uniformed policemen who seemed to be dividing their time between talking and joking with each other, and monitoring pedestrians entering a fenced walkway that led to the Mall. Arby followed this pathway as it cut through a small park, crossed over Pennsylvania Avenue via a mesh-covered bridge, and terminated near a shallow pool situated in front of Capitol Hill. There the walkway emptied out onto the open expanse of the National Mall, a broad swarth of open land that stretched westward past the Washington Monument and on to the Lincoln Memorial some two miles away.

He followed the receptionist’s suggestion and headed west, crossed 7th Street, and walked another two blocks along a tree-lined dirt path. It was there that he stepped out into the grassy center of the Mall and turned east to take his first deliberate look at the Capitol.

The sight could only be described as majestic. Framed by mature trees and a hazy blue cloudless sky, the massive white edifice glared brightly in the midday sun. Arby found himself scanning the façade in a futile attempt to detect some outward sign of the catastrophic event that occurred there some twenty years earlier. Like every American, he knew about the tragedy that had taken place within the House Chambers during a joint session of Congress. He also knew that while the loss of lives was devastating, the structure itself had sustained no physical damage. Since then, the House Chambers had remained empty: a solemn memorial not only to those who died there, but also to the millions of others who perished during the dark times that followed.

Chapter 2

Arby stared at the great building, trying to picture that tragic day. He stood motionless for a time, shifted his posture, and stood awhile longer. After a few minutes, an absent smile formed on his lips as he remembered something his sister had recently written to him.

Our trip to the Grand Canyon was long, dusty and bumpy, but the magnificent view from the South Rim made it all worthwhile, she’d said. But – and I know this sounds irreverent – I have to confess that after about fifteen minutes of looking out over the vast canyon, I’d pretty much taken-in everything I could. It’s just too big for a person to fully comprehend. That is the same feeling I have about this place, thought Arby. He grimaced up at the broiling sun and then took a last respectful look at the Capitol before retreating to the shade trees on the opposite side of the Mall, just east of the red brick Smithsonian castle.

He found an empty park bench and sat. Hot and muggy, no different from Richmond, he muttered to himself. Removing his salt-stained brown fedora, Arby shook a cloth from his back pocket and wiped the perspiration from his face and neck, then lazily swiped the rag around the sweatband of his hat and sat back, wishing for a breeze.

A fair number of people were taking advantage of the shaded pathway. Some dressed casually, like tourists and hikers, while others wore business clothes – neat cotton dresses, pressed cotton shirts. Some tourists walked confidently along the path, as if certain of the next destination on their tour; others moved with an air of disorientation and fatigue, perhaps wondering if all of their sightseeing was worth the trouble. Some people, working types mostly, loitered in small groups smoking and talking. A few families picnicked on blankets under the trees; while other people sat on park benches, like Arby.

A man dressed in business clothes and carrying a grease-splotched brown paper bag strode past. A short time later, the same man walked back along the path and casually approached Arby.

Mind if I sit there? the man asked, motioning towards the other end of the bench.

Not at all, answered Arby.

The new arrival nodded his head gratefully and sat. Within seconds, Arby was taken hostage; not by the middle-aged man sitting beside him, but by the contents of his paper bag. As the man tore the sack open and spread the food before him, Arby’s senses were captivated by a seductive waft of grilled onions and green peppers and the come-hither tease of greasy gray sausage on sopping bread. He tried to resist staring at the food, but couldn’t.

Excuse me, Arby said to the man, your sandwich looks good, did you get it around here?

Thanks. Yeah, there’s a stand on Independence, about a block down that way, he said, gesturing to the south and west of where they sat.

Thanks, Arby acknowledged as he stood to leave.

Order the sausage with extra onions and peppers … there’s no charge for the extra, the man suggested helpfully.

There must have been a dozen food and souvenir stands on Independence Avenue, but only one that sold sausages. It was lunchtime and lines had formed at each of the food stalls. Arby placed his order and paid an inflated price for the sandwich and drink. He couldn’t find a place to sit and eat, so he returned to the shade trees of the Mall.

As luck would have it, the seat he’d left was unoccupied and the same man was still there. He approached and jokingly inquired if he could share the bench. The fellow smiled and welcomed him back.

After placing the bag on the vacant space between them, Arby unwrapped the sandwich and took a few hungry bites before saying, This is great, thanks for the tip. I haven’t eaten since early this morning, and this is just what I needed.

The man grinned and said, It’s good stuff, isn’t it? I try to have one at least once a week for medicinal purposes. The grease plugs-up any holes that might be forming in my arteries.

They both laughed and after a few silent moments the man asked, Are you sightseeing?

Sort of, Arby replied, I’ve got a few hours to kill before my next train, so I thought I’d see the Capitol and visit a few monuments.

Ah, on a trip. Do you do a lot of traveling? the man politely inquired.

Not as much as some, but more than most, I guess. I just finished my Citizen Service, and they moved us around quite a bit, Arby said.

So you’re on your way home?

No, I’ve been back home for a couple of months now. I’m going out to Arizona to pick up my younger sister ... Ivy. She’s just finishing the last part of her Service there.

Arizona’s a pretty desolate place. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s she doing out there? the man inquired, obviously interested.

Ever since she was a kid, she’s always loved working with animals, and her Service assignment is along those lines. For the past year, she’s been at an outpost near a place called Sedona, helping to round up and relocate some of the wild horses and donkeys … burros they’re called out there …caught in the drought.

That’s exciting, the man replied, I work for the Department of Agriculture. My office is just down the street, throwing up his thumb to gesture behind him. He extended his hand to Arby My name is John Lancaster, call me John.

Arby fumbled for his napkin and wiped the grease from his hands before shaking, I’m Russell Sterling, but most people call me Arby.

Nice to meet you, Arby. Do you mind if I ask you a little more about what your sister is doing?

I don’t mind, Arby replied, but I really don’t know much more about it. All I know is that she’s bringing back a couple of feral burros to breed on her farm in Virginia. She thinks that some new blood will produce a better line of guard stock. Sheep ranching is a profitable business up where she lives, but they’ve got a problem with coyotes and wild dogs tearing up the herds. A lot of the ranchers use donkeys to guard the sheep, but their animals have gotten a little docile because of over-breeding of the local stock, so she wants to add some new blood to the mix. She figures any burro that’s wily and ornery enough to survive around cougars, coyotes and Mexican gray wolves has exactly the qualities she’s looking for.

As they talked, the topics of conversation broadened. Arby learned that John was the son of a Pennsylvania farmer and had taken a job with the Department of Agriculture just out of college. He was married with two children; a nine year old daughter and a twelve year old son. John learned that Arby and his sister, Ivy, had grown up in Richmond and spent all of their summers in Rockbridge County in the heart of Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. After high school, he’d chosen the Federal Army to fulfill his Citizen Service obligation. He’d gotten his honorable discharge just a couple of months earlier.

It’s great that you’re willing to travel so far to help your sister. You said that she’s younger than you; how much younger? John asked.

Arby looked the man squarely in the eyes and dryly quipped, Twelve minutes.

It took a second for John to process this. Twins! How delightful, he laughed.

In the blink of an eye, Arby’s somber face broke into a toothy, mischievous grin and John realized that he’d fallen victim to a gag that Arby – and probably his sister too – played on new acquaintances.

You’re quite the jokester, Arby, he said cheerfully.

Most people find it funny, replied Arby, but sometimes it also helps me size a person up. Some people, like you, get the joke right away. For others, it takes awhile for them to get it. And then there’s those who ask the question, but aren’t really interested in what the answer is. It’s the last kind I try to stay away from.

I know what you mean, said John, nodding in agreement. They talked for awhile before the man glanced at his watch and sighed, "Well, I wish I could stay longer, but I’ve got to get back to the office to finish some work before the mainframe goes down for the day, and you’ve got more sightseeing to do.

What time is it? asked Arby, looking through the cracked crystal of his wristwatch to notice that it had stopped – again.

Almost two. What time is your train?

Four-forty, but I’ve got to meet up with my cousin before then. We’re traveling part of the way together.

Well it should be nice having a traveling companion for at least some of your trip, remarked John.

I hope so, Arby answered without enthusiasm.

Here, let me give you my card. If you have time when you get back, I’d be very interested in hearing about your trip. By the way, you might remind your sister that the railroad won’t allow animals to be shipped unless they have ownership papers and health certificates, especially negative Coggins tests. We get complaints all the time from ranchers who weren’t allowed to transport their livestock because they didn’t have the proper paperwork, John said as he dipped into his pants pocket for his wallet.

My sister mentioned she was getting all that stuff together last time she wrote. Besides, we’re not coming back by train … we’re driving back. My older brother, Glen, arranged for me to purchase a truck when he was out there visiting Ivy. I’m picking it up in Mesa, near Phoenix, then heading north to Sedona. My sister’s already bought a two-horse trailer to carry the livestock.

Wow, that’s an ambitious plan, John said, astonished that a person so young would attempt such a daunting and potentially dangerous trip. Most of the people he knew had never ventured more than a hundred miles from their home and would have considered such an undertaking impossible. He found himself experiencing simultaneous emotions of wanderlust, concern and admiration for the unassuming young man sitting beside him.

How long do you expect the trip to take? asked John.

Ivy wants to take it pretty slow for the animals. But if the roads are decent and we have a little luck, we should make it back East in a week … maybe two.

Hold on to my card, it’s got my work phone and POEM … Post Office Electronic Mail … address, and I’ll put my home phone on it too, he said, pulling a pen from his shirt pocket and scribbling numbers on the card before handing it to Arby. Feel free to call or send me a POEM if you run into trouble on the road. Agriculture is one of the few federal agencies that still has field offices in all the states, so I might know someone who could help you if you get into a jam.

Thanks, I really appreciate that. I hope I won’t have to bother you, but you never know what’ll come up when you’re on the road. Arby studied the card, then tucked it in his shirt pocket and glanced back at the man. John, there’s one final favor I’d like to ask before you leave. I’ve probably only got time to visit one monument before I head back to the train station … any suggestions?

John thought for a moment before speaking. There’s only two Smithsonian buildings still open, and they’ve got too much to see in such a short time. The Jefferson, World War II and Lincoln Memorials are too far and in the wrong direction. John thought for a few seconds more and then lit up. I know just the thing.

John plotted the location on the map and gave Arby some verbal directions. They parted with a handshake and Arby’s promise to contact John after the trip – or sooner, if necessary.

Chapter 3

Arby stood on the sidewalk and looked up at words engraved on the stone portico, ARCHIVES OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. He climbed the steps, entered the building and proceeded on to the Rotunda, or Rotunda for the Charters of Freedom, as it was officially designated.

It was a large room, but the high domed ceiling made the floor space seem smaller than it was. The place was softly lit and quiet, conveying a solemn mood. Around the curved wall were murals depicting scenes from the founding of the country. Across the room stood an imposing stone altar set between massive marble columns. Two uniformed guards flanked the exhibit, making it obvious that the most important items were kept there.

Arby took only a few steps toward the shrine before a flush of embarrassment warmed his face as he became conscious of the thunderous clumps his heavy brogan heels made on the stone floor. He worked at quieting his steps across the room by walking slowly, ball-first.

He moved closer until he reached the heavy glassed bronze frames that protected the most important icons of the Republic: The Declaration of Independence, The Constitution, and The Bill of Rights. Arby took a few moments to study each of the documents. Beyond their bold lettered titles, he was not able to read many words on the faded parchments, but he felt a great reverence just being in their presence. He wasn’t sure if it was the ambiance of the room, the documents themselves, or the thought of what the documents represented; but whatever it was, Arby felt a swell of pride within him, and he knew that he was privileged to be so close to these important symbols of his nation.

He lingered a few minutes before moving away to view some of the other historical documents arranged along the back wall. He finished his tour by visiting the gift shop located at the front of the building.

He picked out a postcard-fan with a stylized picture of Capitol Hill on the front – Mom would like this one best. Arby’s Mother loved these souvenir fans and was always thrilled when he gave her a new one for her collection. While in the Service, Arby had made it a point to mail her a postcard-fan whenever his unit was transferred to a new location. East Texas, Mississippi, Arkansas, Georgia, even Florida – he’d moved so often that he lost track of how many he’d sent her. It wasn’t until he returned home, and his Mother proudly showed him her collection, that he realized where all he’d been over the past two years. Arby paid the cashier, walked out of the building, stopped at the bottom of the high granite steps and unfolded his map.

He headed east on Constitution while he debated whether to mail the fan, or present it to his Mother when he returned from the trip. He decided not to decide until he got back to the station. Farther along, on the opposite side of the street, he passed the heavily guarded Smithsonian Museum building that, for the last twenty years, had served as the temporary location for the Chambers of the U.S. House of Representatives.

He crossed Pennsylvania Avenue and hiked on to Louisiana Avenue. From there, it was a straight shot to the station. He gazed at the stone statues of above the entrance and passed a monument to Christopher Columbus – things he hadn’t noticed when he’d left a few hours earlier – and entered the station at its eastern end. Fishing the locker key out of his pocket, he was just ready to retrieve his haversack and pack when he heard the page; Russell Sterling, Russell Sterling, please meet your party at the Information Desk.

The dreaded time had come, thought Arby. He was not looking forward to seeing his cousin, Will. No, not Will, he corrected himself; it’s William now. Will was the name of the guy he’d last seen years ago. Just before the trip, Victoria had informed Arby’s Mother, Louisa, that Will now insisted on being called William. It sounded more formal – more consequential.

Chapter 4

The story of William Henry Wakefield’s life could be summed up in five words: Willie, Billy, Bill, Will, and now, William.

Willie was the only child of Louisa Sterling’s first cousin Victoria and her dutiful husband Henry. Willie was a chubby, temperamental little fellow who, if not for the constant ministering by the ever-vigilant Victoria, would have been a skinny, sickly child. Or at least that’s how Victoria saw it and, since she was a force of nature, that’s how everyone else was made to see it too.

Billy was the name Victoria assigned to Willie at around age five. Billy was a dislikable brat, prone to violent temper tantrums, possessiveness and bullying if, by his selfish reasoning, the situation demanded it. Victoria declared Billy high-strung and precocious, and stridently defended him against any criticism or blame.

By age eleven, Billy had honed his interpersonal skills to the point where he no longer needed to curse or swear or resort to tantrums – in public at least. He also found that bullying was not always to his advantage since some children, even small ones, had the audacity to fight back. Instead, he relied more heavily on his other acquired talents, such as underhandedness, lying and manipulation. Like Victoria, he had a natural aversion to work and employed all of his skills to avoid it. It was not unusual for him to spend hours figuring out a dishonest way to escape a few minutes of honest labor. But Billy considered this as time well spent since he could apply the knowledge to future situations. As if to commemorate this shift in strategy, he chose to shorten his name to Bill. The name was crisp and sturdy, and conjured up notions of honesty and dependability. And that was exactly how Bill wished to be perceived by others. He left it to Victoria to inform the family.

The name Bill was retired just after his sophomore year of high school. By then Bill was confident of his abilities. He took pride in being able to charm the pants off certain types of girls, incite mischief in many types of boys, and hoodwink almost all types of adults. He was without conscience or remorse, and did whatever he needed to advance his agenda. His agenda? Keeping Bill happy.

It was during high school that he realized that the name Bill was too mundane. After all, he thought, there were at least three Bills in his class alone and who knows how many more were running around the country? How could he expect to rise to greatness burdened with such an unremarkable name?

It had taken years of design and development, trial and error, defeat and victory; but in junior year, he rolled out a sleek new product. Its name was Will. The boy formerly known as Bill had calculated that the new name would bring him many benefits. While the replacement name retained all the intrinsic qualities of Bill, it also hinted at some new virtues like drive, determination, stick-to-itiveness. But more importantly, the new moniker represented self-recognition of his advancement to what he considered a journeyman’s proficiency. He was now competent enough to execute a myriad of sociopathic exploitations such as blackmail, extortion, plausible deniability, deceit-by-proxy, incrimination-by-rumor, untraceable retaliation and many, many more.

He toyed with the idea of going straight to William, but decided against it. Changing names was not something one did lightly. He would approach it slowly and deliberately. Anointing himself William was his ultimate objective, but it would have to wait – he still had a few tricks yet to master.

The Sterling’s saw less and less of the Wakefield’s over the years and by the time Will was a senior, Victoria declined all family invitations. Her perennial excuse: Will’s very busy and Henry and I must be here in case he needs us.

Chapter 5

Victoria rarely contacted family members anymore, and so it was a surprise when she appeared at Louisa’s front door.

Victoria! Louisa said in an astonished voice, How nice to see you. Come in, come in.

Hello, Louisa, Victoria replied as she stepped past the threshold and turned to watch Louisa close the door before giving her cousin a careless hug.

At a glance, Louisa could see that Victoria looked much older than when she’d last seen her. There were more wrinkles, more sags, more circles.

Come in, Come in, Louisa repeated as she led Victoria to a matching pair of upholstered chairs in the front room. Sit down. It’s been awhile, I hope everything’s going well for you and your family. Can I get you something … coffee, tea, water?

Perhaps some coffee. Yes, coffee would be nice. Then, if you have a few minutes, I’d like to talk to you about some things.

By Victoria’s tone, Louisa knew that the woman was on a mission.

Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll be back with the coffee. I think I’ve got some cake, I’ll bring that too, Louisa said cheerily as she disappeared down the hall and into the kitchen.

Louisa returned carrying an enameled platter. It held two steaming mugs, a small knife, two forks, cloth napkins and three china plates stacked on one another. Half of an iced pound cake rested on the top plate.

I remembered you take sugar with your coffee, so I fixed it that way for you. It’s always a treat for me to be able to share coffee with someone. I remember all those years when drinking a cup coffee was only a delicious dream, and I feel so fortunate that it’s available again. To tell you the truth, I kinda got used to the taste of chicory. I still have a cup every once and awhile.

I don’t recall ever being out of coffee, Victoria thought to herself before saying, Yes, it’s wonderful, aloud to Louisa. After taking a sip, lowering her cup and smiling coolly, she continued, I’d like to talk to you about Will.

Louisa concentrated on her own demeanor. She did not want her facial expression to give away her disappointment about the subject to be discussed. Will was one of her least favorite people. She had known him since he was a baby and had watched him grow into a self-absorbed, deceitful young man. He had always treated her children badly, and probably hadn’t treated his own parents any better.

Oh. How’s Will doing? Louisa asked with artificial interest.

Well, he’s in a bit of a situation, said Victoria, getting straight to the point.

Nothing serious, I hope, said Louisa, expecting the worst.

No, no … it’s more like an opportunity. As you probably know, Will is doing his Citizen Service with the Virginia Department of Corrections. He’s got a very important position there.

Yes, Aunt Gwynn mentioned that to me awhile back, Louisa said as pleasantly as possible. This response helped Victoria move quickly to the point of her visit.

Funny you should mention Gwynn. I happened to be talking to her a couple of days ago and she told me that Arby will be traveling to Arizona soon. Something about Ivy being out there? Is that true?

Yes, Arby just got out of the Federal Army and … Louisa started to explain before Victoria cut her off in mid-sentence.

That’s wonderful! blurted Victoria, hearing nothing beyond the initial Yes. Without hesitation she continued, I think I have a plan that will work out for everybody, she smiled broadly.

My Will just learned that he has a chance to interview for a very prestigious position with the federal government … Can you imagine!? Oh, I’m not surprised that they’re interested in recruiting him. I’m just thrilled that they heard about him so quickly. He’s just been in Citizen Service for six months, and he only transferred to Corrections three months ago! Will says there’s a position in Chicago that he’d be perfect for … and it would also fulfill his Citizen Service obligation. The only problem is that he’s got a prior commitment to do a very important inspection on one of the Corrections programs; prisoner transport, prisoner exchange … something like that. In any case, the inspection involves the movement of convicts. He has to monitor the prisoner’s treatment while they’re being transported to Kansas or Oklahoma or somewhere out there. Anyhow, it turns out that this inspection might, just might, interfere with Will’s chance to interview.

Here it comes, thought Louisa, and took a deep breath.

Victoria continued with her self-serving agenda, It occurred to me that if Arby’s going out West anyway, we could coordinate their trips so they can travel together. It would give them a chance to catch up on what they’ve been doing. It’s been too long since those two boys have seen each other.

Not long enough, thought Louisa. She searched her brain for a diplomatic way to decline the suggestion outright – but came up with nothing. Louisa knew that no good would come of any plan that involved Will. Still, Victoria was family, so she tried to delay giving an answer by politely responding, I’m not sure what Arby and Ivy’s plans are. Ivy hasn’t given him a definite date yet. I’ll have to check with them and get back with you. Louisa hoped this would buy enough time for the idea to fade harmlessly away.

But Victoria, hearing only what she wanted to hear, took Louisa’s response as tacit approval of the plan. Excellent, she said enthusiastically. I’ll just set things in motion on my end.

The result was inevitable; as inevitable as any plan that Victoria put her mind to. The trip was set for the third week in August, which just happened to fit Will’s schedule. Louisa tried desperately to discourage the trip, but Victoria managed to successfully contradict any reason Louisa came up with.

The schedule was almost a week after Ivy’s Service separation date? No problem, Victoria countered. The extra week would allow Ivy time to explore the Great Southwest. After all, how many chances would she have to see such a faraway place? In a rare display of generosity, Victoria even offered to give Ivy a few extra dollars to spend during that week. In reality, Victoria had coldly calculated that Louisa’s good manners would compel her to politely decline any offer of money. After all, Louisa practiced respect and civility, while Victoria only regarded the good will and generosity of others as things to be manipulated or exploited in pursuit of her own selfish ends.

Arby’s presence might interfere with Will’s important work? Nonsense, Victoria scoffed. Will was a professional. He could perform his job more effectively than anyone, and still make time to visit with Arby. Victoria went on to suggest that Arby’s presence might even help Will in his work, but offered no specifics about this last point.

To hell with Victoria and Will, Louisa said that evening after putting the idea to Arby and seeing his face turn sour. If we don’t agree to her stupid plan, she’ll make it a point to make us seem like selfish snobs to the rest of the family, but to hell with her!

Arby had no doubt that Victoria would do just that. Louisa Sterling was a person who cared about the members of their extended family and went out of her way to maintain close relationships with all of them. She’d never admit it, but Arby knew that his Mother would be devastated to think she had turned her back on any relative. The fact that she’d devoted her entire adult life to protecting her family and improving her community was not lost on Arby. He appreciated her sacrifices and considered it unthinkable to directly or indirectly cause his Mother any further distress about this issue. Will was a jerk – Arby was certain nothing had changed there – but surely he could endure a few days with him for his Mother’s sake. Besides, if the truth be known, he had his own personal reasons for taking the trip.

He thought he could do it. He thought he could shed the military like a snake sheds its skin. He was sure that if he could just get home, he’d be able to banish the nightmares that plagued him. But he was wrong. Nothing seemed to work. Seeing his family and immersing himself in familiar places was comforting, but not cathartic. And reuniting with childhood friends turned out to be more awkward than pleasant; especially when their innocent inquiries forced Arby to answer in uneasy generalities about his experiences in the Federal Army. He knew that everything he’d done was legal, sanctioned and necessary, but there were no words he could use to make what he’d done sound honorable. It had been two months since he’d left the Service, but try as he might, the disturbing memories of the past two years were as vivid as ever. More time, more travel and Ivy, he thought. All he needed was to see Ivy again and just a little more time and distance to allow things to sort themselves out.

And so he told his Mother a white lie. He said he looked forward traveling with Will. It had been a long time since they had seen each other, and perhaps Will had outgrown his obnoxious ways. Maybe he would be pleasantly surprised to find that Will had changed and become all the good things Victoria said he was – maybe.

Chapter 6

Arby did not go to the Information Desk. Instead, he opened the locker and removed his haversack and backpack. Dropping the pack to the floor, he squatted, and slowly undid the drawstring that held it closed. He made space at the back of the main compartment and carefully slid the postcard-fan inside. He retied the pack and stood.

He thought about ignoring the page. He could wait until after they’d boarded the train to find Will –William. After all, there was only one Washington-to-Chicago train daily, so there was no chance of mistakenly getting the wrong connection. But in the end he decided not to procrastinate; best to get it over with he thought, and reluctantly headed for the Information Desk.

Hi, I’m Russell Sterling, you paged me a few minutes ago?

It was the same receptionist he’d talked to earlier, but she didn’t seem to recognize him from before. Yes Mr. Sterling, the gentleman over there paged you, she said, pointing toward a bench near the front entrance.

Arby turned, but did not see Will. Which gentleman? Arby asked, a bit confused.

The man in the suit, she replied.

Thank you. He began to move away, then turned back to the receptionist. By the way, you gave me a map earlier. I just wanted to thank you for your directions, they were a big help.

You’re quite welcome, the woman smiled, her perfunctory tone softening a little.

Arby walked toward the man. He was sure he’d never seen him before, and wondered what business he had with him. Hi, I’m Russell Sterling, you paged me a few minutes ago?

The man stood up, gave Arby a quick once-over and extended his hand. Hello, my name is Lee Madison, I work with your cousin, William Wakefield.

The man sounded formal and a little stand-offish.

Nice to meet you, sir. Is Will with you?

I’m afraid William missed the train, he said in a mild Piedmont accent. He was supposed to meet me in Lynchburg, but he never showed up. I let the other escort go thinking that he’d probably just boarded a different car, but he never showed up. Then when I got to Washington, there was a message saying he’d gotten delayed, but that he’d catch up with me before the Chicago train leaves. The message also said he was meeting you here, and asked me to contact you and let you know.

Gee, that doesn’t sound like Will, thought Arby sarcastically. Thanks for telling me, Arby said aloud. They’re probably getting ready to board the train. If you want the company, we can walk to the gate together.

Sure, why not, Lee Madison said. OK fellas, time to go.

Two men stood up. Arby looked at them and nodded. They nodded back. Both were young, one appeared to be in his late teens, the other looked to be a few years older. The younger one was tall and powerfully built; the other was shorter and lean to the point of being skinny. Both wore identical long-sleeved khaki shirts, beltless khaki pants and black canvas topped, rubber soled slip-on shoes. Each held a denim jacket with both hands. No, they weren’t holding the jackets, Arby noticed, the jackets were strategically draped over handcuffs.

Obviously under the white-suited man’s control, the two convicts walked a short distance ahead, looking back frequently to make sure they were still heading in the right direction. The four men headed for the ticket office located in the middle corridor. Lee Madison stepped away from the group and stood at the far end of the counter. A ticket agent immediately recognized him, gave him a nod of acknowledgement, and picked-up the phone. Within the minute, another agent appeared from the back room and greeted him. A short time later, Lee Madison was back with Arby and the men.

We’re going to get a little special treatment. You can wait with us until William boards, Lee Madison said to Arby as they walked to the gate area.

They headed in the direction of the tracks, but turned into the vacant waiting area just before their departure gate. A second or so later, a door opened and a portly man in a jet black conductor’s suit greeted them.

Hello Lee, always nice to see you again. You’ll all need to show your tickets and some identification. Sorry to ask, but you know the rules.

Hello Warren. No problem, said Lee as he presented the conductor with his ID, three tickets and some official looking documents for the two convicts.

Arby produced his ID and ticket. The conductor inspected the papers and then looked quizzically at Lee.

It’s OK Warren, Mr. Sterling is boarding with us. I’ll make sure he gets to his right seat. Lee said casually.

Your word is good enough for me, replied the conductor.

Thanks. By the way, has a Virginia prison officer by the name of William Wakefield checked in yet? asked Lee.

Haven’t seen him, but we don’t leave for another seventeen minutes, so there’s still plenty of time for him to board.

The conductor showed the group through the door and led them to a wire-meshed cabinet where Lee and the convicts had stored their baggage. The conductor unlocked the door and each man grabbed his own luggage. For Lee, it was a well-traveled metal suitcase that resembled a small trunk. For each convict, it was a white canvas drawstring bag. The conductor walked them part of the way.

We’ve got a good-sized train for this run; four sleepers, five coaches, a diner, a sightseer lounge, a baggage and mail car. You’re on the third sleeper, the conductor said, pointing to a silver double-decker located several cars down the platform. I trust you can find your way? he said jokingly.

As many trips as I’ve made, I could find my car in my sleep … and have, Lee joked back.

Lee, the convicts and Arby walked to the car, entered the center door, and climbed stairs to the second level. Lee directed them to the right and they continued down a narrow passageway.

Gentlemen, this is going to be our home for awhile, so let’s treat it that way, Lee Madison said to the two convicts after they’d entered the compartment.

Yes, sir, replied the convicts, almost in unison.

Sit down Mr. Sterling, make yourself comfortable. I’m sure William will be here shortly. Excuse me for a few minutes while I get these fellas settled in.

Arby took a seat on the upholstered couch and looked around. The accommodation was spacious by railroad standards. It consisted of two combined bedroom compartments with each side having a broad sofa that converted into a bed, as well as a pull-down upper bunk wide enough to sleep one person. Both rooms were clean, but everything had that well-worn look and the mingled smell of pine disinfectant, mildew and humanity that was common to all public transportation. The walls were covered in a beige fabric framed in metallic trim and there was an enclosed combination toilet/shower stall that also served as a separator for the two sections. Arby noticed a small counter and sink that wrapped around the outside wall of the toilet stall. He guessed there was a similar arrangement in the adjoining room. Each side had other creature comforts including its own armchair and a fold-down table situated between the couch and chair.

Arby glanced at the activity underway on the platform outside, then found a moment’s entertainment watching a housefly pounding against the picture window, trying to bully its way through the glass. He lowered his eyes and happened to notice the dried coffee stains that spackled the wall above the folded table. He slowly looked around to resurvey his surroundings and conjured up a mental picture of traveling in such a comfortable compartment, then felt a tinge of envy knowing that the coach seat he’d soon be occupying would be cramped and uncomfortable by comparison. Arby couldn’t help but overhear Lee Madison talking to the convicts in the adjacent room.

OK fellas, I’m going to remind you of what we talked about earlier. I expect both of you to be on your best behavior during this ride. You got a big break getting chosen for the relocation program, and I’d hate to see you mess up now. As soon as the train is out of the station, I’m going to un-cuff you. As long as you behave yourselves, you won’t need to be cuffed again until we go back out in public. Y’all will be sleeping in the compartment without an outside door. You see I closed the aisle-side curtains? … keep them closed. You decide who sleeps up and who sleeps down. I need to see you at all times and hear every word you say to each other. Don’t enter my side without asking, and don’t use the facilities without asking. If you’re not sure of what to do, ask. Understood?

Yes, sir.

We’re getting our meals served in here, so you’ll be in this room until we get to Chicago. You’ll be passing through some country you’ve never seen before, so settle in, relax and enjoy the trip, said Lee, the last part spoken with the conviviality of travel guide.

Yes, sir.

Lee Madison stepped back to where Arby was sitting and was about to say something when the car lurched. Hooking up the engines, he mumbled absently. We’ll be pulling out in a couple of minutes, so William should be showing up any time now, he added in an unconvincing voice. He was about to say something else when a tall slender man in a steward’s uniform appeared in front of the compartment windows. The man knocked with a couple of quick raps of his knuckle, smiled through the glass, and slid the door open.

Hello Lee, nice to see you again. Where to this time? the attendant asked.

Hi Hurley. Kansas. I’ve gotta make two stops there.

Well it’s good to have you aboard again. Sorry to bother you so early, but I was given this POEM for you. Hurley said, handing Lee a folded sheet of paper.

Lee took the unopened note and casually responded to the attendant, Thanks, Hurley. Any regulars aboard this trip?

Don’t know yet, I just came on duty. I’ll check and let you know when I bring dinner.

As the steward left, Lee fumbled out a pair of glasses from his coat pocket, unfolded the paper and read the message header, then the contents:

"Lee, I don’t know how to apologize, but I can’t get to D.C. in time