Time Dancers by Steve Cash

FROM FORMER NURSE—TWO-YEAR-OLD CHILD IS WITH THEM—WILL PASS THROUGH ST. LOUIS MAY 12.”
    For the next week I went over a thousand scenarios in my mind, trying to imagine what to expect and what to do about it. Without being obvious, I tried to keep a close eye on Star and the baby Caine. I told her not to go anywhere without taking Opari or me along. I said it one too many times, however, because she finally said, “Okay, okay, Z, I heard you the first time.” Then she looked me squarely in the eye and asked, “Is there something wrong? Should I know something you’re not telling me?”
    “No, no,” I lied. “Nothing is wrong, just stay close, that’s all.” She agreed, but I don’t think she ever believed me.
    I also asked Owen Bramley if he had any knowledge of an “Orphan Train.” He had no idea what I was talking about, but Carolina did. She told me the Orphan Trains were exactly what their name implied and had been around since the 1850s. Foundlings, homeless children, and others abandoned by parents too poor to care for them were gathered from the streets and orphanages of New York and other eastern cities, then put aboard trains to be “placed out” to homes and families out west. If no one chose them by the end of the rail line, they were shipped back east to try again. The program had sounded good in theory, she said, but in practice was often another matter.
    “Do you…know someone on the Orphan Train?” she asked.
    “No,” I said. “I mean, I might. I just wanted to know what it was, how it works.”
    Carolina gave me a strange look. Thankfully, she did not pursue it further.
    On the morning of the eleventh, a day before the train was due to arrive, I was pacing the floor of our bedroom and mumbling under my breath, though I was unaware of it. Opari told me to relax, settle down. “Go to a baseball game,” she said. I argued that it wouldn’t change anything, but it was a beautiful day and I followed her advice. Carolina, Jack, and I took a taxi to Sportsman’s Park that afternoon to watch the Cardinals play the Cincinnati Reds. The crowd was sparse and there was little to cheer about. Hod Eller of the Reds pitched a no-hitter, striking out eight men and walking only three. The Reds won 6–0 and played errorless baseball.
    To our surprise, Mitch was waiting for us outside the ballpark in one of the big gray and brown Packards. “Get in!” he shouted through the open window. “Hurry—I’m double-parked.”
    We climbed inside and I told him about the no-hitter. “That ain’t really a shock,” he said. “Branch Rickey’s got a long way to go before that club is any good.” He asked who was pitching for the Cardinals and I answered, “Frank ‘Jakie’ May.”
    “Man, that cat’s only got two pitches,” Mitch said, then went silent.
    “Well,” I asked finally, “what are they?”
    He turned in his seat and grinned. “Hope and pray,” he said. I smiled to myself and had to agree.
         
    I had found only one notice mentioning the Orphan Train coming through St. Louis, a piece in the Post-Dispatch that began, “Wanted: Homes for Children…These children are of various ages and sexes, having been thrown friendless upon the world…” The article ended with the information: “…train arriving at 3:00 P.M. in Delmar Station.” That was encouraging because Delmar Station was small and within walking distance from Carolina’s. It meant Opari and I could observe everything without the additional distractions and crowds of Union Station. Opari suggested we take Willie along, reasoning we might need an “adult” with us to explain our presence, if asked. I agreed and briefed Willie on the entire event, carefully leaving out any references to the Fleur-du-Mal.
    We left Carolina’s house at approximately 2:00 P.M., saying we were on our way to the park.
    “It looks like rain is coming,” Carolina warned.
    “We’ve been wet before,” I said and tried to avoid her