It was nice to see him with a genuine smile on his face. Sadie smiled back.
She looked around the Pullman sleeper. Indeed this was as fine as the newspaper advertisements proclaimed. The pair of wide seats seemed to be a private living room. And the wood paneling gleamed like a library in a fine home.
Their belongings were tucked away yet able to be accessed when needed. It was as luxurious as the hotel Sadie had stayed in during her honeymoon in San Francisco.
Sadie studied the scene out the window. The crew bustled around, preparing the train for departure. Well-dressed passengers waited to board. Down the row she saw peddlers selling food to second- and third-class passengers. They would sleep sitting up for the journey. Sadie was grateful to have the means for a sleeping car. Heinrich’s work was stressful, but it provided them all she could ask for financially.
Malcolm returned with the twine and then assisted other passengers. They kept him busy running for beverages and blankets and making reservations in the dining car. Most were polite or indifferent; a few were rude or downright cruel.
Sadie bristled when she saw a man with angry eyes pull out a ten-dollar bill and wave it at Malcolm.
“George, if I like the way you treat me on this trip, this is yours in Chicago,” the man with sandy-brown hair declared. “If not, then, well . . . I’ll be taking my wife out to a nice dinner when I get there. Understand me?” the man challenged, a smirk on his lips and arrogance shining from his eyes.
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” Malcolm grinned at the man. “My job is to make you happy.”
Sadie’s stomach turned while watching the interaction. She did not understand how Malcolm could be so calm or why he did not correct the man for using the wrong name.
Sadie leaned in and whispered to her mother, “Did you see that?”
Momma nodded without expression.
“Aren’t you outraged?” she questioned.
“Malcolm knows his job, Sadie,” Momma lectured. “People are cruel, very cruel, to servants.”
“But . . .”
“Do not make it worse for Malcolm by asking him to reassure you that he is fine,” Momma scolded.
Sadie was stunned. Had her mother lost her moral bearing? Her face must have shown her dismay.
“Sadie, I know you are not accustomed to seeing racial cruelty, but you read the newspaper enough to understand the ways of this nation. Each community has its own code. On the train we will see all of them.” Momma went on, “You cannot change that man, but you can learn the truth about the world and decide what kind of person you want to be.”
Momma patted Sadie’s leg and then looked out the window, signaling an end to their conversation. Sadie felt like a child.
Soon the train jerked and slowly rolled away from the depot. People of all ages, mostly White, but a few Negroes and Chinese, waved from the platform. Sadie didn’t know them, but she was touched by their farewell and enthusiastically returned the gesture.
The tracks pointed toward the bay and then turned a sharp right, running past Emeryville and then Berkeley. The Marin hills stood to the west, like a sentry across the sparkling water. The scene was mesmerizing, the land both familiar and yet new from this angle.
In Berkeley, rolling hills rose to the east while the bay glistened to the west. A riot of brilliant orange poppies covered the hills, contrasting with the dark-green canopy of oaks and the grass—still bright green from rain. It was a beautiful time of year.
They turned inland to their first stop, Martinez, a small community Sadie had never visited before. Many farmers shipped their produce from this station. She opened her window to get fresh air but was disappointed. The wind blew the soot from the engine through the opening, making the stuffy air preferable to the smoke.
They resumed their journey, crossing the Carquinez Strait and leaving the bay behind. Fields surrounded the train on both sides. People with hoes in their hands bent over the land. Most wore the wide woven caps that marked them as laborers from China.
Malcolm stopped in front of their seats, offering two metal cups filled with water.
“Would you care for anything else?” he asked.
Sadie shook her head. “No, thank you. This is lovely.”
She smiled at him, wanting to say more, longing to have the right words, but her thoughts were muddled. Momma was right. What could she do to make it better? This was Malcolm’s life, and she was only a short-term guest in it.
The next stop was at the capital of the state: Sacramento. Sadie had imagined it would be imposing, larger than San Francisco, but it looked less developed than even Oakland. Only the capitol building marked it as special. Soon they pulled out, heading for the Sierra and then out of the state.
Sadie had only a vague memory of their travel from Ohio to California when she was eleven. Her father had loved the scenery and spoke of their journey often in the years after. She had pictures of it in her mind but wasn’t certain whether they were recollections or pictures her imagination made from his stories.
A large granite boulder suddenly flew by only feet from the train. She jumped back and then laughed at herself. She leaned in close to the window. The train rushed past tall evergreen trees that towered over the window of the car. Some were so tight together that they blurred into one mass, and others were far enough apart to register as separate trees. Most were so close she feared they would strike the glass. It was dizzying, but quickly she adjusted to the motion.
They were in the mountains of the Sierra. She thought she would have noticed the ascent, but she hadn’t felt the train climbing higher. Only the landscape out the window told her they’d changed elevations.
The view suddenly opened to a gorge with a mighty river tumbling below, churning across huge rocks. Though it was light out, a quarter moon chased them as they rushed along the riverbank. The sight was nothing short of majestic.
“Your father teared up at this beauty.” Momma sighed. Sadie took her hand. They both missed him.
“I can see why,” Sadie replied with moist eyes of her own.
Their tender moment was interrupted by the shouting of a pinch-faced woman. “Are you testing my patience on purpose?”
The rude matron glared at Malcolm as she poured the liquid from the cup onto the floor of the train. Sadie saw him take a deep breath.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. What did you wish me to bring to you?” he asked.
“Lemonade! I asked for lemonade. And you brought me iced tea!” she exclaimed.
Sadie wanted to correct the woman; she had asked for iced tea. Sadie had heard her. The whole car had heard her. She started to rise, but Momma restrained her.
“Let him do his job without interference.”
Sadie signaled to Malcolm as he walked toward them. He stopped with his head cocked, ready to listen.
“She asked for iced tea,” Sadie said. “I heard her. Would you like me to correct her?”
Malcolm shook his head and implored, “Please, ma’am. Just let it be. If you chastise her publicly, she will complain to Mr. Smith, my conductor, which never goes well for me.”
“You cannot mean that Willie Smith will not treat you fairly,” Momma asked.
Malcolm’s head jerked back, and his face pulled inward in confusion. “You are acquainted with Mr. Smith?”
“He’s my nephew,” Momma explained. “I haven’t been in regular contact for many, many years, but we were close when he was a child. In fact, your uncle and grandmother assisted in his family’s move from Richmond, Virginia, to Oberlin, Ohio. Emily and William Smith?”