Dreamrail

by Michael Ripley

“Jim, it’s your third haircut this week.”

“What the hell do you care? Trim it up.”

Ed Stintson, the local barber for these past thirty-five years put the apron over Jim Cross, and turned to get the new scissors from the package that he just opened today.

“Might as well use these. They’ll do nobody any good just sitting in that box.”

“New scissors?” asked Jim, looking a little concerned.

“What’s the problem? You think I used the same ones all these years?”

“Well, haven’t you?”

“What?”

“I mean, don’t you have your favorites, and stick to them?”

“Yeah, until they’re dull as a butter knife, and I’m gnawing away at someone’s hair.”

“I just thought that you would stay with ones that feel right.”

Jim Cross stayed with his tools all these years. His band saw, his cross cut, miter, level, and mostly his hammer. A good craftsman takes to his tools like a writer to a favorite typewriter, or a hunter to that same bow that took down that buck sixteen years ago. A good craftsman, with his trusted tools, and a little imagination can build anything. Jim considered himself a great and loyal craftsman, who now sat in this chair, in this lonely barbershop being trimmed by a man who abandoned his tools without a second thought.

“You know Ed, that’s the problem these days.”

“What’s that, Jim?”

“Nobody cares about staying with anything anymore. You know what I mean?”

“Well, not exactly, but I guess… You want me to get those eyebrows again?”

“Do they need it?”

“No, but that hasn’t stopped you yet.”

“Anyway, you know what I mean about nobody sticking to anything anymore?”

“Yeah I know. Look at this town. Where did everybody go?”

“Exactly. Watseka was good enough for us, and all the others. Remember that Wilson family? They ran around like they owned the place. We hated them, remember?”

“Yeah, where did they go?”

“I don’t know, but I guess I kind of miss them now.”

“Look, I think you’re done. You want to take a look?”

“What for? Just let me up. I bet we numbered about a thousand in the heyday.”

“Eleven hundred, forty seven, at least that’s what Henry said.”

Henry Stevens had been the Mayor of Watseka from around nineteen-fifty, up until two years ago. He never lost an election. He just finally died in the year two thousand and one. Watseka thrived as a small town midway in between two highways. People pass through all day and all night, but lately, fewer and fewer stop to stay a while. Most of Jim and Ed’s generation died over the past ten years or so, and the younger kids want to go somewhere other than this town between the highways.

Ed stayed and kept his barbershop open up until now, and Jim still keeps a flyer posted on the bulletin board claiming to be the best carpenter in fifty miles. He probably is the best, but there is no construction going on within sixty.

Half of Watseka is boarded up. New roads have sprung up north and south, offering better routes between the highways. Only the locals come into the stores, and their numbers never were enough to keep everything going. Watseka needs the traveler business. Even the gas station closed about three months ago. They had to dig up the tanks and fill them with sand to satisfy the state. Once a town like Watseka goes down, nobody looks for it to come back.

“Have you seen Henry’s brother lately?” asked Jim.

“Yeah, he came in to say goodbye before he left.”

“He left? How the hell did I miss that?”

“He stopped in early one morning, just last week. I thought you knew. Why I think we talked about it.”

“No we didn’t.”

“Well alright, but he’s gone none the less. He stopped in; his son dropped him off for a few minutes and waited for him in the car. He just stayed long enough to shake my hand and tell me he’s off to Wisconsin to stay with his son’s family.”

“Damn, he seemed nice. I didn’t get to know him all that well, since he stayed to himself.”

“He didn’t stay to himself all that much.”

“Well, he sure didn’t hang out with the rest of us.”

“He just came to stay with Henry a few years ago. I’m surprised he stayed as long as he did after Henry died.”

Jim had moved from the barber’s chair to one of the four waiting chairs. They sat empty now, and he had his choice. Ed and Jim had been alone here all week.

“This will be my first week without a single customer in thirty-five years,” said Ed dropping his scissors into an alcohol filled jar.

“What am I?” asked Jim.

“What, you paying today?”

“Hell no.”

“Then you aren’t a customer.”

A railroad had roared through Watseka for almost a hundred years. Every day, no more than forty-five minutes apart, the gate dropped, and trains of all types and purposes chugged at high speed just thirty feet to the side of Ed’s barbershop. Up until ten years ago, it stopped about once a week to drop a car off at Bunyun’s Lumber, located just two blocks south of here. Going back even further, there had been a station, and a passenger stop made it quite a busy place. Going forward to last year, the train traffic stopped.

The track still stood, a mighty testament to iron, spikes, and craftsmen that knew what they were doing. The railroad markers still guarded the intersection, but the gates only pointed toward the sky these days. The railroad, like the people of Watseka had found better stomping grounds, and left without concern for staying with their hard worn tools, tracks, or homes.

“What do you plan on doing? You going to stick around?” asked Jim.

“Well I don’t expect to be the last one, but I’m not ready to go. How about you?”

“I’m not going nowhere. My home is right over there. I built it myself, and I’m too old to start over. You are too.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got Joan. She said I could go down to Champaign and stay with her.”

“You want to be a load on your daughter like that?”

“I’m not a load. Besides that little one isn’t so little anymore. I could see her more often. Joan doesn’t bring her around too much these days. I wouldn’t mind being there.”

“Well, just don’t give up your shop too quick.”

“Too quick? That would have been about five years ago. Today isn’t too quick.”

“Just you wait. There are still some pretty smart people here. That Johnson boy said that we just need to get the Smith-Jones fellow over here from Kankakee. He’ll bring people in like he did up there.”

“Why would he want to do that?” asked Ed.

“Why hell, to make money. Why does anybody do anything today?”

“How’s he going to make money here?”

“You see all those old buildings out there?”

“Yeah.”

“They aren’t in that bad a shape. They can be opened up. People buy baskets and pictures, or crafts and such, don’t they? Some people love to go to places like this and shop. That’s how some old towns make their money. Then people come back, and other things start over again.”

“You’re really dreaming, Jim.”

“Yeah, well you just wait. Johnson said all we have to do is get them over here.”

“Why Smith-Jones?”

“Because they have the money. Hell, they could make it all happen if they wanted to. Jones is the one that Johnson said had to come. He said that Smith is a silent partner, if he even exists, but Jones is for real. He has the cash too.”

“Why would he come here?”

“You just wait. You’ll see. He’ll be here, so don’t close up right yet.”

Darkness came to Watseka at about eight o’clock. That was about right for the middle of May, when the nights started to get milder. There hadn’t been too many storms this spring, and tonight was what Jim called a Heaven’s Candelabra. Every star was shining bright, the moon would not be around during this cycle to blight them out, and the sky looked like candles were lit everywhere that you could see. It would be a special night.

The next morning, Ed Stintson woke at five o’clock, just like he had every day for as long as he could remember. His house was cool like a normal morning chill during the springtime, and he set his coffee brewing to get the day started. He always opened the shop at six forty-five, but didn’t quite know why anymore. Like every recent morning, he wiped that thought away as quickly as it reared its head. It kept pushing its way into his routine, but he managed every day until now to shut it down before it gained much momentum. He would open today like every day before.

The shop was three blocks from his house. He walked up Elm Street, past several vacant and boarded homes, but also past the Riley house where Mrs. Riley always waved out the front window as he went by. The people that stayed were nice folks, and the thought of leaving them crept in again, and Ed stashed it away as fast as he could.

He rounded the corner at Main Street, turned west towards his shop, and froze in his tracks. He could see Dan Johnson running across Main, and several other people were yelling, and pointing towards where he was heading. He saw Jim Cross, who started jumping up and down, well not exactly up, but he waved his arms, and yelled for Ed to get down here. Ed still couldn’t believe what he saw.

He gathered his composure, and slowly started going towards Jim. He gained a little speed, and saw that Jim had started coming his way, yelling something.

“You believe this….?” He heard part of Jim’s question.

“What’s that all about?” he replied.

“I said, do you believe this showed up here? Hell, this train is from the sixties, or even earlier.”

“Where did it come from?”

“I don’t know.”

Jim turned and walked with Ed towards the tracks, and the barbershop, and the gathering group, now numbering at least twenty to marvel at the locomotive that sat straight across Main Street on the abandoned tracks. The gate had lowered, and the lights flashed red.

“That bell is kind of sickly, isn’t it?” asked Ed.

“It’s the rust,” replied Jim. “But everything else worked just fine.”

“Dan, hey Dan, what do you think?” Ed and Jim caught up with Dan Johnson, standing just on the east side of the crossing, and Ed started up this conversation.

“Beats me,” answered Dan.

“Whose is it?” asked Ed.

“How should he know?” Jim jumped in. “We all just got here ourselves.”

“He’s right,” said Dan. “I don’t have a clue where this came from. I need to get to Gilman though, and I don’t have the time to use Eight Hundred North to get around this thing.”

The Main Street crossing provided the only route over these tracks within Watseka proper. Eight Hundred North was only about a mile away, but you had to go back a ways to catch a cross road up there. The closest one happened to be on the other side of the tracks.

“Well, I guess we need to find out who owns this engine,” said Dan.

A few townspeople had already approached the steps, and one even yelled inside to raise somebody’s attention. The Engine, inside and out, remained silent.

“You go aboard and check it out,” said Jim.

“Who?” asked Ed.

“Well, sure the hell not you. I mean Dan. You go check it out, see if you can figure out whose it is.”

“Ok, but I really do have to get going. I’m going to be late now as it is.”

Dan Johnson joined the group crowded at the steps located near the back of the Engine. They cleared a path when they saw him coming. He approached, looked around for one last sign of anything, grabbed the stainless steel rail, and pulled himself up to the first step. He squeezed past Bobby Drake, who had been peeking inside, and disappeared into the locomotive.

Outside, Jim and Ed started to check it out more closely. “Look, does Lackawanna still run?” asked Ed.

“Hell if I know.”

“Well, maybe that’s who we should call. Right there, Lackawanna 91007. What do you think that is?”

“It’s the car number, or engine number. Lackawanna used to run on this line, didn’t it?”

“I don’t know, Jim. What’s this?” Ed had bent down, picking up a metal object, and now both men examined his treasure.

Inside, Dan Johnson found an empty conductor’s compartment and a cockpit of levers, knobs, gauges, and buttons that reminded him more of an airplane. He slid open a window on the east side. “Hey guys, where are you?”

Ed and Jim were still examining the side of the train. “We’re up here,” said Jim.

“Well, come on in, and look at this.”

Bobby Drake had already followed Dan in, and the whole group now waited in line to board the engine. Ed and Jim stood their turn.

“Look at this,” said Dan. “Have you ever been in one of these?”

Several of the men confirmed that they had before. One even said that his father worked for the railroad, and he had been in plenty of these.

“Well, where’s the key?” asked Dan.

Nobody knew.

“How do you start these things?”

“Hell, Ed,” Jim said while working his way through the crowed compartment. “Where’s that key you found?”

“You sure it’s a key?” asked Ed.

“Sure it is. Maybe it works this train.”

Ed made his way to Dan, and held up the metal rod that did somewhat resemble a key. “I found this outside. What do you think?”

“I don’t have a clue,” started Dan. “We need to figure out where it might go.”

“Why, you know how to drive these things?” asked Jim.

“Well, not exactly, but we need to move it.”

“Wait a minute,” said Ed. “We need to call somebody. We don’t need to be moving anything.”

“He’s right,” added Jim. “Call Lackawanna.”

“Lackawanna? Who are they?” asked Dan.

“They are the railroad line,” said Ed.

“Well, alright, let’s call them. But, you’ll have to do it. I need to get over to Gilman. I’ll be back later.”

They all de-boarded the train engine, and gathered again on Main Street. Dan took off, heading out of town towards the east in his nearly new Buick LeSabre. Ed and Jim walked towards the barbershop, Ed unlocked the door, and open for business at seven twenty-five.

“Where’s your phone book?” asked Jim.

“Under the phone, where it’s always been.”

The group from outside started coming through the door, one by one. “You doing hair cuts today?” asked one of the guys.

“Sure. Don’t know why not,” replied Ed.

“Hey, there’s no Lackawanna in here,” said Jim, still thumbing through the phone book.

“Check the yellow pages,” piped in one of the group. “You making coffee this morning, Ed.”

“What do I look like? Elmer’s Café? Go find Elmer.”

“I’m right over here, Ed. You know I closed it down.”

“Well, you still got coffee in there?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Get some. I’m all out,” said Ed.

“It sure as hell isn’t in the yellow pages, either,” yelled Jim over the din of the crowd.

“Call directory assistance,” advised Elmer as he walked out the door.

“They charge for that now, you know,” said Ed.

“Somebody give Ed there a quarter.” Jim laughed as he picked up the phone.

“I’ll give you five bucks if you shut up and cut my hair,” said the patron who had sat down in the barber’s chair, waiting for Ed to go to work.

“Yeah,” started Jim. “I want the number for Lackawanna Railroad Company. Lackawanna, I don’t know.” He spelled it out the best he could remember. “You sure? There’s nothing like that. Maybe I spelled it wrong. Bobby go out and get the spelling off that train.”

“You did it right,” said Ed.

Jim hung up the phone. Elmer walked in with a can of coffee, and one of those large coffee pots that holds about forty cups.

“Plug it in over there,” said Ed pointing to a table in the middle of the waiting chairs. “Just throw that one away. It’s broke. Set it down there.”

“I’ll need water.”

“Use the big sink,” said Ed. “Hey, everybody, look at my first customer of the week. Not counting Jim, that is. What can I do for you, young fellow?”

Ed fell into the routine that he had used for thirty-five years. Elmer had the coffee brewing. The shop buzzed with a near capacity crowd, and Jim scratched his head.

“When did Dan say he’d get back?” Jim asked.

“He didn’t,” said Bobby Drake.

“Well, we sure as hell won’t be getting anybody from Lackawanna down here. Who you think we need to call.”

“Call the state,” said Ed looking up from his customer.

“What will they know?” asked Jim.

“No, Ed’s right.” Elmer jumped in. “When we had that problem with old man Thompson’s warehouse building, I called the state office down in Springfield. I still got that number. They sent somebody out, remember?”

“Yeah, well go get it,” said Jim.

Several cars now were lined up in front of the barbershop. “Hey, look at those folks,” said Elmer as he opened the door once again. They’re waiting for the gate to go up. Bobby, go tell them that train’s not going anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

Bobby Drake went to each car, bent down as they lowered the window, and told them there’s no use waiting here. “That train isn’t going anywhere,” he said. “You’ll need to go back about three miles to Coal Springs Road, take a left, and about a mile down you’ll see Eight Hundred North. Take it to the left, and cut back any time after you cross the tracks.”

All, but one of the cars got turned around and headed out of town. One couple pulled over, and got out of their car. “Any place to eat?” The man asked Bobby.

Elmer was walking out of his café, and back over towards the barbershop. “Hey Elmer,” Bobby yelled. “You gonna open today?”

“I might as well. Let me get this number over to Jim. Be right back.”

“Well, I guess you’re in luck, folks,” Bobby told the couple. “If you can wait a little while, Elmer can fix a mean breakfast.”

“We’ll wait,” said the lady. “Let’s walk around. I love these little towns.”

Another car came up. Bobby decided to stay outside and serve as the traffic cop. That gave him an idea. After he dealt with his traffic business, he ran over to the barbershop door, opened it, and yelled inside, “Hey, Jim. Call the Sheriff’s office. They’ll know what to do.”

“Hush down, Bobby,” said Ed. “He’s already got the state on the line.”

“Hey Elmer,” said Bobby still way too loud. “Those people want some breakfast. You opening or not?”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” said Elmer.

“You’re open today?” yelped four or five in unison.

“Follow me boys. We’ll get something on the stove real quick. Nothing fancy, but I can cook up some sausage and eggs. I thought everything would go to waste. One of you go get Shirley, ok? Tell her she’s working today.”

Ed finished up the haircut, and quipped, “Next!” His second customer for the week settled into the chair.

“I’m still on hold,” said Jim. “Wait a minute, yeah. Well, I don’t exactly know who I need, but there’s a train on the tracks blocking Main Street here in Watseka. Alright.”

Jim pulled the phone from his ear, and looked over at Ed. “Back on hold. Whose idea was this, anyway?”

“What else you got to do here?” asked Ed. “You sure don’t need a haircut.”

“Yeah, I’m still here.” Jim spoke back into the phone. “We’re in Watseka. There’s this train that’s just sitting on the tracks right at the crossing, the only crossing in town. It’s blocking everything up.” Jim shook his head towards Ed and his customer. “No, it’s empty. It’s not the whole train, just an engine.”

Jim covered the handset, and said to Ed, “She doesn’t believe me.”

“Yeah, I’m here, and really,” he said back into the phone. “No, it’s shut down, empty, and just sitting there blocking the street. There’s nobody around that knows anything about it. Yeah. It says Lackawanna on the side, but I already tried to find them. There’s no listing. I don’t even know if they still exist.”

Jim pulled the phone away again. “She put me back on hold.”

People were now meandering back outside. Some went into Elmer’s Café, and others walked back to take another look at the Lackawanna Locomotive. Bobby stayed at his station, having assumed a role in this adventure, he stuck to it. The couple that had gotten out of their car, walked back towards Elmer’s and turning to Bobby, the lady said, “Does anybody own that store on the next block?”

“I don’t know,” replied Bobby. “It used to be Plump’s Hardware, but it’s been closed for quite a while. Why?”

“Oh, we’re just talking,” she said. They went on into Elmer’s for breakfast. Other people joined in, not wanting to backtrack to Coal Springs Road. Bobby had become the town tourist guide to go along with traffic cop.

Back inside, Jim was talking again. “Well alright. I can’t tell you anymore about it. You get somebody to come over here when they can. People can’t get through here, and they’re starting to line up. Alright thanks.”

He hung up the phone, and walked towards Ed. “I don’t know. They didn’t seem very concerned. More like confused, but she did promise to get somebody on it. She wasn’t quite sure who.”

“Well, that’s all we can do,” said Ed.

“Hey did I hear Elmer say he was opening up? I didn’t have any breakfast.”

“Yeah, go on over. I’ll be there when I run out of business.”

Jim started towards the door. There were only four guys left in the shop, drinking coffee, and waiting for a haircut. “Hey Ed,” he turned back before he got to the door. “Where’s that key?”

“Over here, on the shelf. Why?”

“Let me have it. When they get here, they may need it.”

Jim picked the key up himself, went back to the door, hesitated, then opened it up. He went to Elmer’s smiling widely to Bobby as he passed by.

The tables and all six counter seats at Elmer’s Café were full for the first time in years. A new pot of coffee had brewed, sausage already filled the warmer, Shirley had arrived with her waitress dress on, orders were taken, and the eggs were frying. Chatter filled the cozy room.

All eyes turned to Jim as he walked through the door.

“Hey, any word yet?” somebody asked.

“No. No idea. I did get somebody in Springfield though. They’re putting somebody on it. Is there a seat in this place?”

“One over here.”

Jim sat down. “Hey Shirley, the usual.”

No meal had tasted as good as this breakfast for ages. Jim beamed with a sense of the adventure that the day had brought to Watseka. Everybody else seemed to feel it too, as a good mix of strangers and local faces filled Elmer’s and for the next two hours. Nobody left, only more new and familiar faces showed up for a seat in the hottest place in town. It had become standing room only, until Ed finally ran out of customers and brought folding chairs that he kept stored in his back room.

Elmer and Shirley fed everybody, and eventually ran out of eggs, sausage, and toast. When that happened, the crowd started to thin. Jim and Ed walked outside together. Bobby still worked the traffic jam, having taken only a fifteen-minute break for food. “Looks like Mrs. Riley opened up her antique store,” said Ed as they walked into the street.

People walked up and down both sides of Main Street, and checked the abandoned buildings, the few open businesses, and of course, Mr. Riley’s antique store. Those in a hurry simply turned around, and followed Bobby’s directions. Everybody that stayed seemed to be content with the interruption of their day.

Somewhere just before noon, Dan Johnson arrived back in town. Jim saw him first walking around the train engine with another man. He and Ed went in their direction.

“Hey, guys,” started Dan. “Came in the other way. We’ve got a bunch of cars over there. Whew, look at all the people.”

“Yeah, been quite a day, Dan,” said Ed. “Who’s your friend?”

“Fellows, this is Douglas Jones. He’s from Smith-Jones up in Kankakee, and I ran into him over in Gilman. People coming through there were talking about our little dilemma here, and Mr. Jones wanted to see it for himself.”

“Well, this is about all there is to it,” said Ed. “That train is making our little town a busy place again, but I guess we’re going to have to get it moved.”

“Well, I know the Sheriff’s on his way over,” said Mr. Jones. “Have you guys called the railroad or anybody?”

“I tried to find Lackawanna, but they don’t seem to exist anymore,” said Jim.

“No, they merged in with somebody a while back,” replied Mr. Jones.

“I did get somebody in Springfield on the line. They are working on it.”

“They probably just called the Sheriff on you,” said Dan.

“Yeah, I know they got a call,” chuckled Jones. “The deputy I saw didn’t believe what they told him, but he said he’d be over after he checked into the jail for instructions.”

“They’ll be a lot of help,” smirked Ed. “I hope that’s not who the state is counting on.”

Bobby walked over to nose his way into the conversation. Douglas Jones was already walking towards the steps leading up into the engine, and Dan joined him.

“Hey, who is that guy?” Bobby asked Jim and Ed.

“That’s Mr. Jones from Smith-Jones Corporation,” responded Jim with a broad smile. “I was just telling Ed here yesterday how we needed him to come over, and help us with our town flight problem, and bingo, here he is. What the hell you think of that?”

“I thing he’s here for a laugh,” said Ed.

Just then the train whistle blew, and scared the three men. Dan and Mr. Jones were looking out the window, and didn’t hide the fact that they were laughing.

“See,” said Ed. “Making fun of us right out in the open.”

“He’s just having a little fun. That’s different. Hey Bobby, who stopped the bells?”

“They were getting on my nerves. I pulled the cables hours ago, just disconnected them. Wasn’t any problem.”

Dan and Mr. Jones came walking down the steps. “Sorry about that guys,” said Jones. “I couldn’t resist pulling that chain. I didn’t think about what it would do to you three. Really, I just always wanted to do that.”

The couple that had stopped by over two hours ago, were still in town. They wondered over to the group talking by the train. “Hi there,” started the man. “Have you figured out when this things going to get moved?”

Jim spoke up. “We haven’t even figured out why it’s here. I guess a sheriff’s deputy is on his way. Maybe he will know something by the time he gets here.”

“Well, I guess we need to get going. We’ve enjoyed your town.”

Bobby zipped through his route instructions like he had a hundred times today. “You should get back to the highway in about ten minutes. It’s not much of a detour, just kind of a pain, if you know what I mean.”

“Sure, and thanks for all the hospitality today. We have really enjoyed Watseka. Is that how you say it?”

“You did fine,” said Ed.

“Do any of you know who to talk to concerning that storefront building on the next block? My wife has always wanted an artist shop. This town is right between a lot of places, and people would come here to take lessons, and buy supplies. We are interested in buying it, but we don’t know who owns it.”

“Well, I guess Jack Stevens still owns it. It used to belong to his brother, Henry. Henry was the mayor around here for a long time, but he’s dead. Jack just moved up to Wisconsin about a week ago. I’ve got a number over there in my barbershop. Stay here, and I’ll get it for you.” Ed went back to his shop, opened the unlocked door, and stepped in to get the number for this couple.

Douglas Jones picked up the conversation. “So, where are you two from, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Not at all,” he replied. “We’re from Fairbury. It’s just further down the line, West of here.”

“We’re looking for somewhere new to settle down though,” the lady added.

“Settle down?” asked Dan.

“Yeah, I’m retiring. We love small towns and want to settle down. My wife will open her store and teach a little, bring artists together, and just enjoy life a little. I’ll just hang out and watch.”

“Sounds pretty good, but we don’t have a lot going on around here,” said Dan.

“Looked pretty exciting today.”

“Well this isn’t quite normal for Watseka.”

Finally Mr. Jones stepped back in to Jim’s delight. “It looks to me like it could be a normal day around here. This train idea is really something. I love those things. If we find who it belongs to, I may just buy it.”

“What would you do with a locomotive?” asked Jim.

“Well, these tracks are still good aren’t they?”

“Yeah, at least around here they are. I don’t know how far they go.” Jim couldn’t quite get a handle on the direction of this conversation.

“They go to Kankakee, don’t they Dan?”

“Yeah,” replied Dan. “They go to Kankakee.”

Jim finally started to catch on. Ed came back out and handed a piece of paper to the couple.

Douglas Jones unveiled his plan. “What if we added a couple cars, and ran a train down here a couple times a day. We could have a lunch train, a dinner train, a murder mystery train. You name it.”

The lady jumped in. “What about an art train?”

“Yeah,” said Jones. “We could do that. We would need more people to get shops and stores going again. I could do some of that.”

“We may know some people too,” the couple replied together.

“I’ve still got my tools,” said Jim. “I’m a craftsman. I’m a carpenter.”

The sheriff’s deputy arrived as Douglas Jones was walking the couple back to their car. Jim saw that they exchanged information, Mr. Jones giving them a card, and the lady writing on the back of a flyer. The deputy saw Dan Johnson, and approached him.

“I guess I see the problem,” he started. “You have a train going right through town.”

“Very funny.”

“Only it’s not really going very far, is it?”

“Now we’re saved,” quipped Jim. “They sent the Mounties to rescue Watseka.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“I’m not sure. We had hoped that you came over with a plan,” said Dan.

“We didn’t even know what we had. How could I have a plan?”

“I told you about it over in Gilman.”

“Let’s see, there’s a name over here. Lackawanna. Let’s call them up, and tell them to come get their train.”

“Good idea,” said Jim. “Ed, let him use your phone book.”

Ed led the deputy into the barbershop. They kept looking back and talking as they went through the door.

“Maybe Ed will at least get another customer out of it,” Jim said. “We aren’t getting anywhere with this guy.”

“Now come on, Jim. He’ll at least make some calls through the police ranks. They’ll figure something out. It may just not be today.”

“That would be cute to have this thing here all night. Bobby couldn’t stay out here all night.” Jim looked back down the street where Bobby had drifted back to his post with traffic patrol. “I think we know what Bobby can do in the new, revitalized Watseka. He’s our town greeter.”

“Good idea,” said Dan. “Does Ed have any coffee in there?”

“Yeah, but it’s probably pretty bad.”

“Let’s get some.”

“OK.”

After six phone calls, they had somewhat of an answer, and the deputy relayed the information. “They said it’s going to be tomorrow. Somebody from the Department of Transportation is coming down from Chicago, but it’s already getting late. They won’t be here today.”

“That’s it?” asked Dan. “Just wait until tomorrow. I thought you were crazy, Jim. It is going to be there all night.”

“He is crazy, the old hoot,” said Ed.

“Yeah, maybe, but I’m also right. It probably won’t even be gone tomorrow. Just because somebody is coming in from Chicago doesn’t fix the problem, does it? Where they taking it.”

“Well, they can at least get it off the road. If they can move it thirty feet, it’ll pretty well fix the problem.”

“That’s the first smart thing that Mountie said,” mumbled Ed.

“What did you say?” asked the deputy.

“I said would you like a haircut as long as you’re here? Best and cheapest in the area.”

“At least it really is cheap,” added Jim.

Fewer cars came through Watseka as night fell. The deputy had radioed to have detours set-up to route traffic around town. Bobby said that he would stay on duty through the night, and Shirley brought him dinner. Elmer didn’t stay open. He ran out of anything good to cook, but planned to go into Champaign early tomorrow morning for supplies, and reopen for good. Shirley took her own home cooked meal to Bobby. She topped it off with a full half of a blueberry pie, and he managed to eat every bit of it. By nine o’clock the traffic had dropped to zero. Nobody had been by in the past forty-five minutes. Bobby sat down with his full stomach, slouched into the folding chair that belonged to Ed, and fell asleep.

At eleven o’clock, Jim woke him up. He hadn’t been able to sleep himself, and went for a walk. “When you get my age,” he told Bobby, “you don’t sleep all that much. Why don’t you go get some rest? I’ll stay the rest of the night.”

“No, it’s alright, Jim. Let me do it. It’s my job. I took it on, now I have to do it.”

“Come on Bobby, go get some sleep. If it’s your job, how are you going to do it tomorrow if you don’t get some rest? This thing is still going to be here, and people are going to be coming through.”

“No, they put out those detour signs.”

“That will just bring some people here. They’ll want to see what’s going on. Don’t kid yourself. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”

“Alright, but I’ll leave my coffee. Here it is. I ate the pie. Sorry about that. Are you sure you want to do this.”

“I am absolutely sure, Bobby. This has been one fine day, hasn’t it? And look at those stars, Heaven’s Candelabra again.”

“It sure is beautiful out here.”

“It’s a shame you didn’t do something about those red flashing lights when you silenced the bell.”

“I can before I go, Jim.”

“No, go to bed. Besides, somebody would probably run right into the train then. Goodnight Bobby. Good work today.”

“Thanks Jim. Goodnight.”

Bobby went down the block, heading east. He turned out of sight, and Jim leaned back to look up at the sky. He loved the outdoors, and he loved the sky. His favorite place to watch it from happened to be anyplace in Watseka.

The next morning, Ed Stintson woke at five forty-five on the nose. He got out of bed, and put on some coffee to warm his insides. He quickly got ready for the day. He barely waited for the coffee, and ate nothing. Elmer would be open today. He couldn’t wait to get to Main Street, but who would be there at six in the morning. At least Bobby would still be around. He left early. Mrs. Riley waved from the window. Everybody would be early today. The excitement had caught them all.

Ed rounded the corner to Main Street, and again stopped dead in his tracks. He blinked twice, and looked again down the empty street. He couldn’t see Bobby. He couldn’t see anybody, and more importantly, he couldn’t see a train. The main part of town and the railroad crossing sat as empty and lonely as it had every day leading up to yesterday when life showed its face again in Watseka. Where did it go?

Ed starting walking fast towards his shop. His mind wondered. He felt a twinge of concern for Bobby. What might he have seen? Where did he go? Then he wondered if yesterday had been a dream, his dream. Maybe it didn’t happen. There never had been a train.

He arrived at the barbershop, opened the door and went in. The large coffee pot still sat on the table where Elmer had put it. That much had happened. He ran back out, went around the side of his building, and looked up and down the tracks. They were as empty as the street as far as he could see.

The next thirty minutes seemed an eternity. At about six thirty, people finally started to wonder into town. Everybody asked the same question. Ed felt better knowing for sure that yesterday had occurred just as he remembered it. Finally Bobby burst in through the door.

“Where is it?” yelled Bobby. “The train. It’s not there.”

“We know, Bobby,” answered Ed. “We’ve been waiting for you. I said that you would know. You were watching the town last night.”

“Jim came by, and relieved me. He took over. The train hadn’t disappeared before I left. Where’s Jim?”

“Have some coffee, Bobby. He’ll be here soon.”

“I better fix those bells. I disconnected them yesterday.”

“Don’t worry about those bells.”

“I have to fix them. I took the cables off.”

Bobby left the shop, and fixed the bells, as he had felt obligated to do. Several of the men watched him from inside the shop, and commented that it looked like he had tears in his eyes. Nobody laughed at that.

Jim finally walked in. “Hi everybody. I smell coffee,” he said.

“Jim, we’ve been waiting for you,” said Ed.

“Yeah, well let me to that coffee before you start in on me. I know what you want, but I can’t help a lot. I fell asleep.”

“You fell asleep?”

“Yeah,” he said taking his first sip of coffee. “Didn’t make any of this at home, I hoped you would have some. This tastes great. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Sure, but what happened about the train?”

“Like I said, I fell asleep. I don’t know what happened.”

“It didn’t wake you up?”

“No. I woke up around four thirty, and the light had stopped flashing. I thought at first that it finally broke. Then I noticed that the train had disappeared.”

“Well, what did you do?”

“What kind of question is that? I looked around for a few minutes, and then went home. What could I do? I felt funny, but there wasn’t anything for me to do. I went home and went to bed.”

“That is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard of,” said Ed. “A train starts up, pulls away, and never wakes you. You had to be about twenty yards away from it.”

“Imagine what I went through when I woke up. You think it’s crazy. I lived it. I felt crazy. I woke up, and thought that maybe I had been sleeping, and this never happened. I miss that train too.”

“Well, I didn’t say I miss it,” said Ed.

“Well, you know what I mean.”

Bobby walked back in. Jim had to go through the same routine with him. Both men talked that morning until their throats were sore. Everybody wanted an explanation, and they were the only two involved during the night.

Bobby and Jim sat together at noon in Elmer’s Café. “I guess I should still stay open for a few days,” said Elmer.

“Why?” asked Bobby. “It’s gone.”

“Wait a minute,” snapped Jim. “That train had to be moved some time. It wouldn’t have done any good just sitting there. You’re missing the point.”

“Actually, I think I’m missing the train,” said Bobby.

“Here, here.” resounded around the room.

“Look out the window, group,” said Jim.

Outside, on Main Street, Douglas Jones had arrived in his white Lincoln. He had gotten out of his car, and was looking at the building across the street, next to Mrs. Riley’s store.

“See, he’s here,” said Jim with a satisfied smile. “I don’t know why this is happening, but he’s here. That’s what Dan said would fix our problem, not a train, but Mr. Jones from the Smith-Jones Corporation.”

“You really think it’s going to get better, Jim?” asked Bobby.

“Yes, son I do. Forget that train. It’s that man, and others like him that will fix things, along with you and me. This will be a great place to live. Hell, it is a great place to live.”

“I’m still gonna miss that train,” said Bobby.

“Hey, wait a minute. He said he would have one run from Kankakee to bring people in, right? You won’t have to miss it. It’ll just do something besides sit there on the track.”

“And I’ll direct traffic when it pulls in.”

It took about two years for the vision to be fully in place. The Smith-Jones Corporation with Douglas Jones fully involved, had the train service running. Jim, Ed, and Bobby were invited for the first ride. The couple that had happened by that day, set up their artists shop. Others like them came in, and bought properties, fixed them up, with Jim’s capable assistance, and reopened businesses there. At first, only tourist type shops opened, but pretty soon a pharmacy, a hardware store, and a new gas station with a convenient mart opened as well. The town thrived beyond anybody’s dream.

Then, the day came when Jim passed away. He and Ed had joked about this a number of times. Who would go first? Well, as Jim would have said, “Hell, I knew I’d lose.” He was eighty-one at the time, and right up till the day he died, he swung that hammer, the same hammer for all those years. He was a craftsman.

Late at night, after the day they buried Jim, Ed went back to his grave. The sky lit the cemetery with the sparkle that only comes from Heaven’s Candelabra. He carried a fancy shopping bag from one of the new shops in town called DreamRail. In the bag he had a replica locomotive, built in one thirty-second scale, with the inscription Lackawanna 91007 clearly visible on the sides.

A small ledge jutted from the front of Jim’s gravestone. This pushed out right above the words ‘A Craftsman.’ Jim had insisted on the ledge, and upon it he set the replica Lackawanna locomotive engine that he pulled from the bag. He had an idea that somehow, Jim had gotten that train there. A fine craftsman, with his trusty tools, and a little imagination had made all the difference in the world.
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Watseka
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