Sharon Poppen by Hannah

strength of character and goodness of heart had rubbed off. This baby would need it.
    After a quick burp and a satisfied sigh, Hannah set the baby in the milk crate they’d converted into a crib. It snuggled into its pink blanket as Hannah caressed its cheek and wondered who’d tell this child how she came to be an orphan. Maybe someone would create a story and the child would never know the truth. Life brought on enough misery when adulthood arrived. Hannah thought that one’s childhood memories should be as pleasant as possible to sustain them when they faced the often ugly nature of man.
    Yes, a happy story, like the one Sister Margaret told . Hannah smiled down at the sleeping infant and thought about the nun’s story. She claimed that an angel left Hannah at the orphanage one Christmas Eve. The nuns and orphans had been draped in sorrow, no holiday spirit. An elderly nun had died that morning. After evening prayers, the nuns were serving cookies and milk when Sister Margaret heard a knock. Opening the front door, she found a small basket. Moving the coverlet, she found blue eyes smiling up at her. An abandoned child on their doorstep was not uncommon, but this was Christmas Eve and they’d just laid Sister Hannah to rest. They were convinced the new baby was an act of love. God was easing their loss. It was agreed that the infant be named Hannah and she’d share her birthday with Jesus. Even now, she didn’t care if it was true or not, Hannah loved the story and the special way it always made her feel.
    She looked over at her fellow stranded travelers. They were huddled near the large boulder resting on the tracks. Liam seemed in charge. He had a presence that drew people to him. Yes, she thought, Caleb had that presence. It hurt to remember that without a backward glance, on her eighteenth birthday, she’d left with the young man who delivered milk to the orphanage. His dream was to go west and start a cattle ranch. Her eyes swept to the horizon, toward San Antonio, toward the men who’d destroyed that dream. Her smile faded as she walked over to listen to Liam and the others.
    “Might work,” the conductor nodded.
    “Might tear up my engine.” A spit of tobacco punctuated the engineer’s concern.
    “Might,” agreed Liam. “But, if we don’t try, that engine won’t be any help when we’re dead of thirst.” He glanced around the circle of men. “Look, if we dig the trench and nudge the boulder along with the engine, it might roll off so we can use the track.”
    The railroad men exchanged glances. Finally, the brakeman spoke up as he began to rub his hands together. “Let’s give it a try.”
    Hannah watched the men tear into the littered baggage and railroad cars. Soon, using strips of wood, a couple of coal shovels, flat rocks and even shoes, they were digging a trench alongside the track and under the portion of the boulder not directly on the tracks. They worked into exhaustion and darkness set in.
    Precious water from the damaged water vat was meted out and all foodstuffs were collected from the baggage car, passengers and railroad men. Their meager supper consisted of such varied items as taffy, home-canned zucchini, several apples, a few oranges and canned beans found in a shipping crate. Thankfully, there were also a couple of cans of milk for the baby.
    Scattered among the seats in the passenger car, the men slept fitfully. Hannah frequently fed and diapered the baby to keep her quiet. Liam lounged in the seat across the aisle. Several times during the night, he offered help, but Hannah assured him the baby was fine and for him to sleep. Hannah was awake more than asleep and sensed Liam was too.
    After a breakfast mirroring their supper, the digging continued. Finally, it was decided to fire up the engine. The engineer and brakeman climbed into the cab while everyone else stood alongside the tracks. Their silence was a prayer of hopeful reverence. The engine roared to life. Over the din of