Celia perched herself at the far end of the No Creek platform, then decided it might be best to wave from farther up the hill since she didn’t really want the train to stop. She wasn’t quite sure she wished her daddy returned home just yet. Even with the shame of it all, life was a sight easier with him gone, though she daren’t say that to her mama. Celia wished, more than anything, that she could leave her life and step into a story—a new world, just for a time.
It was dusk, and Celia knew the chances of anyone seeing her ran slim to none, which suited her just fine for this practice race. She waited until the train crested the hill before stretching her arm to the sky and waving with all her might. She expected the train to zoom on by; then she’d run like the wind, chasing it, just like in the book. Hardly anybody got on or off in No Creek, and if there was no one with a ticket and no one standing on the platform, the train never bothered to slow.
So she waved her heart right through her arm and out the pocket-handkerchief. A woman pressed her face against the glass and peered out the train window toward her. Tentatively, the woman raised her hand in return, much to Celia’s surprise.
The train slowed, spluttering and choking. Celia stopped waving. Realizing she might be the cause of the slowing train, she began waving both arms, running full tilt down the hill and screaming, “Go on! Don’t stop! I didn’t mean it!”
The train stopped dead and a passenger, helped by a porter, stepped down the stairs, right onto the platform—the young woman who’d returned Celia’s wave.
The woman must not realize she was in No Creek. This was something Celia could do to help. “You don’t mean to get off here, lady!” she yelled. “You want to get back on the train—now! Quick! Go on!” Celia raced on, fearful that the train would pull away before the woman realized her mistake.
The woman evidently heard her and glanced, worriedly, back toward the train. Celia reached the far end of the platform just as the conductor hopped aboard.
“No, wait!” Celia panted, still running, still waving the woman onto the train and begging the train to hold. But neither happened. By the time Celia, doubled over with a stitch in her side, reached the woman, the train door had closed. The engine gave a lurch and pulled away. “This is No Creek, ma’am! You don’t mean to get off here!”
“What’s the matter with No Creek?”
“Nothin’s wrong with No Creek!” Celia huffed indignantly, still unable to catch her breath.
“Then why mustn’t I come here?” The woman tilted and pulled back her head. She had skin like cream. Her hair, wound up in a loose knot, was the color of chestnuts full ripe, and her eyes the color of the Blue Ridge come dark—just the skin and eyes Celia had always dreamed of having. But her own pale skin freckled mightily in the sun and she couldn’t deny the brown eyes and silk brown hair of her family.
Celia stopped short. She recognized that quizzical lift of one eyebrow. Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of this before? “You’re Miz Hyacinth’s guest, ain’t you?”
“Aren’t you,” the woman responded as if correcting grammar came automatically with speech.
“Yes, you are.” Celia was sure of it. Only a teacher or a teacher’s kin would talk like that to a total stranger.
“How did you know?”
Celia couldn’t believe the woman was serious. As if anyone new came to No Creek. As if anyone passing through might care about Celia’s grammar or dress like city folk—other than a woman of Miz Hyacinth’s caliber. “Mama said to keep an eye out for you. Miz Hyacinth told her she expects you any day.”
“She did? She’s expecting me?” The woman sounded relieved, then alarmed, all in one breath—a curious thing and one Celia would have to think on later. The woman seemed to catch herself and extended her gloved hand. “I’m . . . pleased to meet you.”
Celia remembered her manners and extended her own hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m Celia Percy, only daughter of Gladys and Fillmore Percy, sister to Chester.”
The woman smiled, pressing her lips together. Celia nodded, thinking “pleased to meet you” was no kind of name, and why did the woman not say?
Celia’s mama had told her that Miz Hyacinth’s own mama had been Miz Rose and that her sister had been Miz Camellia. Miz Camellia’s daughter, the niece Miz Hyacinth had raised and who’d run off, was Rosemary. A flower or flowerlike name, a name that rang with music, was only fitting for the Belvidere women. Celia loved words and had been guessing all afternoon what this new person’s name might be, sure and certain that if she was kin, she, too, would have a flower name. And now, not to know after meeting her—well, that was exasperating. But her mother had told her not to ask questions if she met Miz Hyacinth’s guest.
Celia’s breath came a bit steadier. She was glad to be the welcoming committee for such an important person. The lady looked suddenly pale as a ghost but like she’d stepped out of a New York magazine, dark tweed suit with black hat and gloves and all—only tired and rumpled from traveling.
“Well, I’m glad to meet you, too, Celia Percy. How do you know Hyacinth Belvidere?”
“Everybody in two counties knows Miz Hyacinth.”
“Oh. Who were you waving to just now?”
“The owner of the railway line.”
“He was on the train? I didn’t see him. I thought I was one of the last ones off.”
“Most likely. Not many stops left before the train finishes up in North Wilkesboro.” The woman blinked as if she didn’t quite understand, but Celia, knowing time was of the essence, rushed on. “Dark falls fast and when it does, it’s pitch-black here. You want to get on up to Miz Hyacinth’s. Not much moon tonight.”
“Yes, thank you. It’s been so long since I was here, I’m not sure I know my way. Could you direct me?”
“Sure! It’s on my way home.” It wasn’t, but if they hurried, Celia hoped snooty Janice Richards might see them pass by from her front window, or Ida Mae, postmistress and proprietress of the general store, might not have locked up. She’d see and tell. Either would get the word out in a flash and raise Celia’s status in the community watch. “Don’t you have a bag? A trunk? Miz Hyacinth figured you’d stay awhile.”
“No, I—I didn’t bring my things. Perhaps later.” The woman sounded uncertain.
There was something curious about that but pleasing. Celia liked to travel light through life, too. Carrying stories in the head didn’t take much luggage but they were powerful company.
“I don’t want to frighten her, coming in so late in the dark.”
“She’ll never know.”
“You said she was expecting me.” The woman’s anxiety pricked Celia.
“She is.” Celia walked ahead, trusting her to follow. “But dark is dark.”
The lady didn’t appear to understand that either, but Celia knew they’d best get on with it. “If the road gets wiggly in those high-heeled shoes, you can take them off. Nobody’ll see now.”
Halfway up the dirt road the woman asked, “Do you know the rail line owner, that you were waving to him?”