Union Station

By Linda Rettstatt

A small Pennsylvania river town that was once booming in business and commerce provides the setting for stories over a period of seventy years. The Union Station, built in 1929 on the cusp of the Great Depression, stood as a testament to growth and progress and provides the setting for these stories of families spanning seven decades.
Those who grew up in Brownsville, Pennsylvania all have their own stories to tell, many including the railroad or the businesses set within the walls of Union Station.
If only those walls could talk.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Rettstatt
• Release date: Oct 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005096809

Linda Rettstatt

Linda Rettstatt is a best-selling and award-winning author of Women’s Fiction and Mainstream Contemporary Romance. In March of 2012 her novel, LOVE, SAM, won the prestigious EPIC eBook Award for Mainstream Fiction. And in April, 2016, LADIES IN WAITING won the EPIC eBook Award for Contemporary Fiction. Rettstatt grew up in the small town of Brownsville in Southwestern Pennsylvania. After 20 years living and working in Mississippi, she has returned to the hills of PA to write and work as an editor.

Book preview

UNION STATION

~ ~ ~

LINDA RETTSTATT

UNION STATION

© 2022 Linda Rettstatt

3rd Act Books

Smashwords Edition

Cover Design: Gary Sabo

https://www.facebook.com/GsaboArtDesign

All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This book is, by no means, a truly historical novel in nature. It is a fictional work of love. I grew up in Brownsville, Pennsylvania in times when the town was bustling on any given day. Businesses lined the main street from lower Market Street through what we called ‘the neck’ to where Water Street split off and, further on, where High Street climbed. The castle stood on the bluff of Front Street, overlooking the town.

As a child, I took much for granted, including the castle. It wasn’t until I became an adult that my curiosity about the history of my hometown blossomed. While this book is a work of fiction featuring the Union Station building as both a landmark and central character and with stories reflecting the imagined lives of residents over seventy years of time, the writing required that I delve into historical facts. In doing so, I learned a great deal and fell in love with my hometown all over again.

The people and their stories are purely fictional and the product of my imagination. However, I do hope their stories glimpse the life and times of Brownsville and its people over those seventy years. And I hope that you enjoy their stories, that they give you a reminder of home.

Efforts to reimagine, restore, and rebuild Brownsville are ongoing. These efforts fuel my own hopes for this town that will always hold a special place in my heart. My gratitude to those residents who continue to work to bring new life to our little town.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I could not have written this book without the resources found in the work of journalist and historian Glenn Tunney and his wonderful collection of work in his Looking Back book series, as well as his Brownsville History HQ web site and timeline. His work helped me anchor my stories within the history.

I have to thank the staff of the Brownsville Free Public Library, Carol Baniak and Lori Barron, for their very gracious assistance when I visited the library to conduct research.

The photo exhibits at the Frank L. Melega Art Museum in Brownsville helped give me a visual sense of what the town looked like in the past.

Every book needs a cover that fits the story and catches the eye. When I saw the Union Station artwork done by graphic artist Gary Sabo, a one-time Brownsville resident, I knew I’d found my cover. Gary was very generous to allow me to use his work for the cover, and I am so grateful.

Special thanks to friend and fellow author Robin Acton for her encouragement and confidence in this book.

DEDICATION

For my father, Dale R. Rettstatt, Jr.

And for the people of Brownsville, Pennsylvania—to those who had vision and worked to manifest that vision to build this small town along the Monongahela River. Founded in 1785, Brownsville’s location on the river made it prime for growth in the steamboat industry and for the railroads.

It is also dedicated to the Union Station building for what it has meant to our town. My dad worked for the Monongahela Railroad and, for many years, in the Union Station building. The Union Station building has stood as a symbol of that growth and prosperity. Now, the building sadly reflects the ravages of time and neglect. It is one of the few buildings with historical significance still standing and, possibly, salvageable.

The Beginning

~ * ~

Will and Clare

1929

PROLOGUE

I was really something in my day, born at a time when the economy sank and life for so many took a dangerous decline. But I rose in the midst of it all and stood proud, a testament to hope. My glass panes gleamed golden in the morning sun and dimmed with its setting, like eyes drifting closed, sending out a reflection of the day’s start and end. I was the talk of the town. Like an incubator for new life determined to thrive, I held the beginnings of businesses—insurance offices, doctors, dentists, a newsstand, a hair salon, a shoeshine stand, and a floral shop. How I loved the aromas that fragranced my lobby. And, of course, the railroad.

The railroad was thriving, and that’s what brought me into being. The need for a newer, bigger, better railroad station. The Union Station. So much life came and went through my doors. So much joy and heartache. Laughter that echoed off my walls. Tears at the delivery of sad news. I bore it all, held it within my walls. I’ve heard people in passing say, If these walls could talk…

One might say it’s a sad state of affairs. But, still, I’m standing. I squint into the rising sun and take in the carnage of time around me, and I sigh and grieve for the loss. But I’m still standing. I hold the memories of a better time when the streets were filled with people, bustling with activity, and businesses thrived. When life hummed around me, and the trains chugged and screeched on the tracks at my back doors. I hold so many stories of life and change and, sadly, dying. I hold the grief of a town that has lost so much. I hold those memories for them, the people who built me, who made their place of business within my walls, who passed through my doors. The people who still look up at me, knowing the stories I could tell.

If these walls could talk.

Chapter One

William Halloran stared up at the five-story brick building with its gleaming windows and arched front doors. The chug and screech of trains could be heard from the tracks behind the structure where steam billowed in the early spring air. Businessmen hurried in and out of the doors. By afternoon, women in their best finery would descend from trains to shop in the small town that was about to put Pittsburgh in its place. The dedication of Union Station had taken place a few months earlier on a snowy January day. Men wrapped in wool coats and wearing fedoras and women with their furs and mufflers stood outside for the ribbon cutting, then poured into the marble lobby. The railroad had established their offices on the top floor. The building was now open for new tenants.

William’s father, C.T. Halloran, served as the district operating officer for the railroad and had secured William a position as a draftsman. The railroad occupied the entire top floor of the grand structure. Now other businesses were taking up office suites—insurance companies, doctors, dentists, and—in the lobby—a newsstand. William was sure the building would fill to capacity soon. The location was ideal for commerce between Brownsville and Pittsburgh. Some folks from Pittsburgh and the surrounding area were already relocating their shops to the small river town.

A hand slapped his shoulder. Good morning, Will. Are you coming to work, or are you just going to stand here and admire the architecture?

He laughed. I’ll be along in a few minutes. I want to pick up a newspaper. He walked across the lobby to the newsstand.

William greeted Thomas, the elevator operator, as he stepped inside to be transported to the fifth floor.

Have a nice day, Mr. Halloran.

You, too, Thomas. Will carried the folded the newspaper to his desk and snapped it open. A new lumberyard had opened on Water Street. William felt a frisson of excitement when he read of the new businesses coming to his small town. Riverboats had been a primary industry for the region. But the railroad was instrumental in opening the doors for this recent growth, and he was proud to be a part of it.

Jack Muncy sat on the edge of Will’s desk. Hey, Will, are you free on Friday night? Some of us are going to a club. He bent and lowered his voice. You know, a private club. Liquor, girls, poker.

You’re going to get yourself arrested, Jack.

Jack flashed his broad grin. I’ll go down smiling. Come on. You live like a priest.

I live like a man with a future. And it’s not behind bars.

Jack stood. You don’t know what you’re missing.

I don’t want to know.

Will knew about the private clubs that served bootleg liquor and the women who kept company with the men who frequented such places. He was twenty-three and tempted, but he’d seen what alcohol had done to too many families. And he respected women too much. He shook his head, wondering what had happened to respect these days. Some called Will an old soul. Others, like Jack, called him a fuddy duddy. Has had been raised to be polite, respectful, and considerate. He couldn’t find fault in any of those qualities.

William loosened his necktie, removed his jacket, and rolled up his sleeves. He lost himself in work and was surprised when the clock on the bank across the street chimed noon. He’d forgotten the lunch their cook had prepared for him this morning. But it was a pleasant day to walk the six blocks up Front Street to eat at home.

He rolled down his sleeves and donned his jacket before straightening his necktie. He picked up his hat and whistled as he headed into the hall, opting for the stairs. The lobby was busy with people coming and going for trains. He sidestepped a woman with a young child in tow and bumped into someone else.

I’m sorry.

I’m fine. Thank you.

The feminine voice first caught his attention. Then, when he looked down, eyes the color of the ocean stared up at him. They were set in a porcelain face sprinkled with freckles and framed by a mane of auburn hair.

He stepped to his left, she to her right, and they nearly collided again.

He grinned.

She blushed. I’m sorry.

No, no, it was my fault. I’ll stand perfectly still, if you’ll do me one favor.

She gave him a skeptical look. And what would that be?

Tell me your name.

Why should I do that?

He detected a hint of an Irish accent. Just a hint.

Because then I can say how much of a pleasure it is to meet you, Miss…

O’Brien. Clare O’Brien.

It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss O’Brien.

And you might be…?

William Halloran. He extended a hand, but she simply stared at it and then leveled those green eyes back on his.

Are you catching a train? He glanced at the bag she carried and the suitcase she had dropped when he’d bumped into her.

I’ve just arrived. I’m going to find my aunt’s shop.

Perhaps I can be of help, he offered.

If you could point me in the right direction, I’d be most grateful. She owns the flower shop at… She rummaged into her handbag.

I know where it is. He picked up her suitcase. I’ll take you there.

I’m sure I can find it on my own.

He grinned. I’m sure you can, Miss O’Brien. But I happen to be going that way and wish to be of service. He held out a hand in gesture toward the doors. Shall we?

Clare O’Brien was enchanting. An Irish lilt, and she had spirit.

William deliberately slowed his pace. Where were you coming from, Miss O’Brien?

Illinois. I’m going to work with my aunt for a while in her shop. She looked around at the throngs of people. This town is so much busier than I anticipated. And more modern.

We have paved sidewalks. Three motion picture theaters. And we even have a trolley. Our little town is growing by leaps and bounds.

I grew up in the country outside of Chicago, so this is new to me.

Will found her wide-eyed country-girl charm to be endearing.

I’ll be happy to show you around as soon as you’ve had time to settle in with your aunt. He stopped in front of the floral shop. Here we are.

As he pushed open the door, an overhead bell announced their arrival.

Grace Lindsey stopped arranging a vase of roses, then broke into a broad smile and came to Clare with open arms. My sweet niece. I wanted to meet you at the train, but I lost track of time. She glanced up at William. Thank you for seeing her to my door.

He nodded. My pleasure. Then he held up the suitcase. Shall I set this in the back?

Yes, in my office, please. Grace turned to Clare. I’m so happy to see you. And I’m glad you got to meet William. He’s a fine young man.

You’re going to make me blush, Mrs. Lindsey, William called out. He set down the suitcase and strode back to the front of the shop. Grace was turning the sign on the door to ‘closed.’

I’ve prepared us lunch, Grace said. Then she looked at William. "Would you join us? There’s plenty, and I’d like