Life on the Rails

Crisp; the cool morning air pressed its fingers against my skin and the hair on my arms stood at attention. Autumn had rolled in gently with the warm orange-angled sunlight whispering over the grass. Between the quiet rows of apple trees, the soft rumble of apples rolling into wooden crates will always remind me of him, having picked apples side-by-side for two months.

The quiet of an apple orchard allows one to know someone more intimately than even traveling with them in a boxcar across the country. The miles rolling by and the clatter of the wheels had always distracted me from getting to know him, from fully trusting him. Trust had come at first as a necessity rather than willingly, as his original persistence of traveling with me had my defenses at alert. But months later, it was different. The security of having someone familiar near, the comfort of a familiar voice shushed by the reverence of the air around soothed and calmed me.

We listened to the birds, the light snap and rustle of fruit being pulled off branches, and the barely audible thunder of apples rolling into bins across the orchard.

"What do you want out of life," he asked me from his ladder balanced carefully on the branches. His hands palmed a number of apples, and I watched his careful fingers drop them into the canvas bag slung around his neck.

I sat back against a branch on the inside of the neighboring tree. A cluster of leaves blocked his face from my view, but I still watched his hands. I'd taken to doing that over the past couple of months; watching them picking apples, adjusting his hat, buttoning the clips of his overalls in the mornings when he emerged for breakfast. His fingers were long and lean and seemed to be at once strong and careful.

"To feel secure," I said carefully. "That's what I really want. It's all I want right now." Knowing we'd be out of a job soon at the end of the harvest, and back into the uncertainty of riding the rails had me on edge, my mind swirling.

I saw his hands pause, lift up to a rung of the ladder, his fingers wrapping around it carefully, and then his face appeared between the leaves. His blue eyes were sympathetic and full; full of more than I had seen in them when we first met and he'd unsuccessfully tried to woo me across three states.

My stomach began to flutter before he nodded once, and then his face was gone again, his back straight, his hands working once more.

"Me? I'd like to see you in a dress," his voice asserted, and I dropped a perfectly good apple. It cracked in two on a branch on the way down, and I searched through the leaves for his face.

"That's what you want most out of life?" I asked, reaching for an apple above my head.

"Mm-hmm," he hummed, and I peeked around the leaves again to see a smile on his face.

More apples tumbled into a bin a few rows over, and I went back to work, catching up to earn my pay for my day's work.

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There was a barn dance a week later. It was dusk, and the barn at the opposite end of the farm threw a slanted yellow block of light across the ground. There was a chill in the air, but he got his wish- to see me in a dress. It was the only one I had brought with me, and I don't know why I did as I spent most of my time disguised as a boy. But it reminded me of home. It was my favorite and it was worn soft and felt nice against my skin. As I had taken it out of my bag, a whiff of familiarity floated up with it. It smelled of pie and bread and my mother's clothes-washing soap. A lump lodged itself in my throat, and he looked at me curiously with concern written on his brow as I emerged from behind the tree where I'd changed as I very much wanted to avoid comments from the other workers about my dress. My feet were bare having no shoes to match my dress; the only ones I had had were weak and had to last me the winter.

Jubilant chattering and music sounded from the barn as we approached. The air which was almost biting at night chilled me through my thin dress, but the remaining night crickets reminded me of summer and I smiled.

Swallowed by the glow and warmed by the crowd, we stepped inside. He placed his hand at the small of my back to guide me further into the midst of the spinning dancers and the tapping of feet and the rhythm of the bluegrass band. The sprinkling of un-swept hay on the ground prickled the bottoms of my feet, the calluses of last spring having softened in my shoes.

I removed my boyish coat, and we hovered near the high stack of hay bales. The air was sweet with the scent of hay and the tang of apple cider. I took a deep breath and turned to him. His eyes were already on me, and then he smiled, the corners of his mouth curling up, little crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes.

He held out a hand to me. "Care to dance?" he asked dramatically, bringing my hand up to his mouth where he kissed the backs of my fingers with barely a brush of his lips; like an English gentleman from books I'd read. My face turned hot as I blushed to the tips of my ears.

I nodded, and he pulled me into the twirling tangle of couples bouncing to the beat; of singles on the sidelines clapping their knees to the rhythm of the fiddles. His hand slid around my waist, the other wrapping around my hand.

"You look pretty," he said to me, leaning in and drawing out goosebumps on my skin before the music swept us up in an enthusiastic dance and the thrill of his compliment made me smile until we danced ourselves out of breath. We danced so long I was dizzy but too happy to stop. The people whirled by in a sweep of colors, and he tightened his arm around my waist when I began to sway. As the last song ended and the final strains of music swirled up to the ceiling, he kept hold of my hand and pulled me towards the door.

"Where are we going?" I asked, trying to keep up but staggering in my dizziness. I reached to grasp my coat from a hay bale near the big barn door.

"You'll see," he said, raising his eyebrows at me just as we crossed the threshold into the chilly night.

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The pond was beautiful. The bluish-white light of the moon bounced off the surface, bathing us in a soft light. The supplying creek bubbled and breathed, and the crickets chirped in the apple trees whose silhouettes I saw just up the hill. I sat down to take it all in, and he followed.

"How did you find this place?"

"Ah, just on one of my early-morning walks," he said. I pictured him with the pearly dawn in his hair; his tall, thin form disappearing into the mist and away from the orchard.

"Why didn't you ever show me?"

He shrugged. "Just found it yesterday."

I gazed out on the tiny ripples on the pond, and sighed. He fell onto his back and pillowed his head on his arm. Faint voices could still be heard from the barn in the distance. "Do you ever wonder where we would be right now if I hadn't followed you into that boxcar that day?"

"Not really," I said. But I really had; every day.

"No, really. I was heading nowhere. Was almost killed by railroad bulls more times that I want to think about, and I didn't have nowhere to go."

"Neither did I." I thought about my first few weeks on the trains, running from railroad bulls, afraid in the jungle at night that I'd be found out as a girl, being betrayed by the first person I trusted, and not sure where I should go.

"An' look where we are now. Wheat harvest in the summer, apple harvest in the fall... We have money to send back to our families. And for a little while, we're secure in one place."

He was right, and there was no one else I'd rather be traveling with. I lay back on the damp grass with my tattered coat wrapped around me, feeling warm despite the chilly night. I turned my head towards him, and met his eyes in the moonlight. Seconds went by and then he shifted his gaze from my face and his fingers reached out toward me. I watched as he lightly touched the skirt of my dress, pinching the fabric between his thumb and fingers, feeling its texture.

"I like your dress," he said softly, dropping the fabric, and looking at me.

I suddenly wanted him to know that I wore it for him. That it's what made me come to this dance in the first place: an excuse to fulfill his request from a week earlier. The scent of apples drifted down the hill from above, and I thought about how he looks in the sunlight.

He blinked slowly, and then his pinkie was wrapped around mine, our hands overlapping in the dewy grass.

"Do you miss your family?" I asked, looking up at the stars. The sky was dark blue, illuminated by the moon, and only a sprinkling of stars were visible.

More of his fingers weaved through mine. "Yes," he said.

I nodded and turned my hand over under his, so they were touching palm-to-palm.

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I woke up some time later. The moon was lower in the sky, but dawn wasn't upon us yet. Our fingers were still linked together, and I looked over to see that he was still sleeping.

A chill ran through me. The temperature had dropped some, and the grass was damper than when we laid down. It was time to go back to the bunk houses and get some sleep for at least a couple of hours before breakfast.

I slid my hand out from underneath his, rolled over on my side and leaned over him, propped up on my elbow. His dark eyelashes shadowed his cheeks, and his hair lay over his forehead. I reached out and brushed it to the side, said his name quietly.

He groaned after the third sweep of my hand and wrapped his arms sleepily around me. I froze. His eyes fluttered open.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.” My voice came out in barely a whisper. His nose bumped against mine.

“We should maybe start back…” I trailed off. My lips were already lightly nudging against his as I spoke, and then they were captured by his. Warmth and comfort, security, excitement; the moonlight reflected in his eyes when I opened my own, and I leaned back to let it all sink in. His arms were still looped around my waist, but held me tighter. A warm feeling of security slipped over me, and I finally felt it- all I'd really wanted since I'd left home.

I sighed shakily as the realization dawned on me. The air between us was charged and the corner of his mouth curled up in a careful smile, just a little hopeful. His hands slid from their place on my back to my sides, and ran up and down, feather light underneath my coat. His palms were warm through the fabric of my dress, and I closed my eyes, let out a shaky breath. It was swallowed by the bubbling creek, then his mouth was over mine once more.

My coat slumped limply beside us, and he left warm fingerprints on my back, my neck, where my skin was as cool as the night air. I felt safe under his weight when he rolled us over, and he was careful with me; careful with my dress too, knowing it was my favorite, and making sure not to rip one seam; not to tear off one button. Our clothes joined my coat in the grass in a soft pile.

I surrendered to the sky, and he followed, burying his face into my neck and shifting his weight to the side of me. I held onto him, wanting to keep this feeling alive: of being wanted and cherished. It was new and exciting, and my eyes flooded a little as I slipped my fingers through his hair. The pond still bubbled, and the crickets still sang, the air still breathed, and so did he against my bare skin. His eyelashes fluttered against my neck, and I kissed his head, shifted a little underneath him. He lifted up his head, then, and kissed me soundly on the mouth, lingering for a few seconds.

"The sky is getting pink," he said in a hushed tone, too afraid to break the reverence of the moment.

We dressed quietly and slowly, wanting to drag out this night as long as possible; to make it exist into the next day, in the light. If only it could be captured and frozen in time, put into a marble to wear around my neck.

He reached for my hand as I smoothed out my skirt and wrapped my coat around myself. My hair was a mess, but I didn't care as I could still feel the ghosts of his fingers gripping onto it carefully as he had cradled my head in his hands.

We walked in silence still; the apples trees getting closer. Our steps became small and slow, neither wanting to break this perfect thing we'd discovered that night. And when I reached the tree behind which I had changed out of my work clothes and into my dress earlier, he pushed me up against it and kissed me. This time it was urgent, unlike earlier when it was slow and sweet. I knew this was just the beginning.

I balled up my clothes that had been hidden behind the tree, and my fingers found his again. We were racing against the sun, and our bunk houses were in view again. Before we parted, he drew me close to the warmth of his body once more and placed a soft kiss on my mouth, on my collarbone, and then picked up my hand to kiss the inside of my wrist.

"I'll see you in just a couple of hours," I said, laughing as he hesitated again.

He smiled and I watched as he disappeared into his bunk house. I did the same and as I slipped under my scratchy blanket, I touched my lips and remembered the velvet of his skin as I drifted off for a couple hours of sleep.