Brian slid off his seat. “Can I go play?”
“All right, but I don't want you disturbing the other passengers. Maybe you can find something to do that's quiet?”
“OK. Bye.” Brian dashed down the aisle.
Jean watched him until he disappeared into the next car. “I wonder if he'll ever settle down.” She bent and pulled a picnic basket out from beneath her seat. “Are you hungry? We still have sandwiches, fruit, and some sugar cookies.” She held out a cheese sandwich. “You haven't eaten much since we left.”
“I haven't been hungry,” Laurel said, accepting the food. Taking a bite, she said, “Daddy was right. We did have to leave. The land is never going to come back.”
Jean's eyes turned to the dead prairie. “It will—one day.” She patted her daughter's hand. “I know it's hard to see now, but time has a way of healing things—even land.”
Laurel knew her mother was referring to more than just dried-up prairies, but she didn't feel like talking about her feelings, so she took another bite of the stale sandwich and said nothing.
“Laurel, you've been awfully quiet since we left home. Are you all right? Is there something you'd like to talk about?”
Laurel could feel tears build but blinked them back. “It's just hard— leaving home and going to a place we've never seen. And the drought seems to have no end. I'm beginning to be afraid Seattle and Alaska will be like this—dead.”
“I can't believe the government would move us to another place that's dried up. Can you?”
Laurel shook her head.
“I was told Washington's always green and gets lots of rain. Alaska's even further north. I'm sure we have nothing to worry about.”
Laurel leaned her head against the window. “I wish we could have stayed in Wisconsin. I already miss home … and David.”
“Me too.” Jean smoothed a blond curl on Susie's head. “God will take care of us.”
“I know,” Laurel said, but didn't feel peace. She'd heard her parents and others say that very thing many times, but she didn't have the trust they did.
“I'm looking forward to seeing the valley. I think it's going to be a surprise blessing—beautiful and perfect.”
Susie whimpered and opened her eyes. She placed a thumb in her mouth and laid her cheek against her mother's cotton dress. Out of habit, Jean rocked gently back and forth. “Life is full of unexpected blessings.” She stood and winced, pressing a hand to the small of her back.
“Mama, I can take her for a while.”
“No. That's all right. She seems happier if we move from place to place. I think I'll walk down to the dining car and see what your father's up to.” She braced herself against the seat to keep her balance. “Why don't you come with us? You can have some tea to wash down that sandwich.”
“Maybe later.” Laurel didn't feel like being sociable.
“I'll see you after a while,” Jean said, heading toward the back of the car. Laurel took in the disorderly compartment. Clothes were strung on makeshift clotheslines, giving off a familiar odor of wet flannel and cotton. Some children cried, others played, and adults slept or visited quietly. Three little boys she didn't know were caught up in a game of hide-and-seek. One turned and faced the wall, hands over his eyes, and counted while two others ran, then ducked behind a seat. How wonderful to be a child, she thought. No worries except what game to play next.
Resting her head against her pillow, she tried to find a comfortable position. The hours of sitting were taking a toll. Her body ached, and Laurel wondered how she would tolerate three more days of traveling.
Gradually, the sun slid down the sky and touched the top of distant hills. Its light dimmed, and shadows stretched between rolling mounds. Laurel tried to sleep, but her mind wouldn't quiet so she gave up and thumbed through a magazine.
Jean returned with Susie hanging over one arm. The little girl chattered while swinging her legs and arms. “You're a busy little thing,” Jean said and dropped onto the seat. Resting a hand on her stomach, she said, “Oh, dear. I'm full. The government has certainly provided good food. You should go back and get something. Tonight it's chicken soup and biscuits.”
“Maybe later.”
Luke sauntered down the aisle and sprawled out in the seat across from Laurel. “You want to play a game of cards?” He took out a deck from his front pocket. “I learned a new game—Hearts. I'll show you.”
“All right,” Laurel said, setting her magazine aside.
Luke pulled out a game board from beneath the seat, laid it across his knees, and proceeded to shuffle the cards.
While Susie did her best to scramble away from her mother, Jean removed the baby's clothing, changed her diaper, then dressed her in flannel pajamas. “Luke, could you find your brothers before you begin? I'd like to get them settled down for the night. It's getting late.”
Luke looked as if he would argue, but instead he gathered up the cards and returned the wooden board to the floor. “All right. I'll be right back. Don't forget we have a game,” he told Laurel pointedly.
“I won't.” She stood and moved into the aisle. After stretching from side to side, she reached her arms over her head. “I'm stiff. I think I'll walk a little, maybe have some dinner. I won't be gone long. When Luke gets back, tell him I haven't forgotten our game.”
The harmonic sounds of a mouth organ began, and Laurel craned her neck around to see who was playing. It was Mr. Volasko, a man who smiled often, making his overlarge mustache move up and down like an anxious caterpillar. His eyes always seemed to be dancing.
The car quieted and people listened. Laurel leaned against the end of her seat and watched as the old man made his way down the aisle, taking time to notice and smile at each child. Some grinned at the gregarious man while others pulled back in fear.
The reporter Laurel had met at the train depot also moved about the car, engrossed in taking photographs. His camera clicked again and again, snapping pictures of Mr. Volasko, then those watching and clapping.
Caught up by the gaiety, Laurel clapped and joined in a song she'd learned the previous evening, “When It's Springtime in Alaska.” The final words of the song echoed through Laurel's mind—and we have come to stay.
Early the following morning the train stopped to take on water and supplies at a small station alongside a creek. Will and the boys headed upstream to do some fishing while Laurel helped her mother with the wash. Susie lay on a quilt in the grass, happy to play with her feet.
A breeze blew across damp grass, raising goose bumps on Laurel's arms. It felt good to be free of the stuffy train. She closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sun.
“Laurel, daydreaming isn't going to get the wash done,” Jean said with a smile.
“I'm sorry. I'm just so happy to be outdoors.” She grabbed a bar of soap and a pair of her father's blue jeans and kneeled beside her mother. Laurel gave her mother a sideways smile. “I thought you told Daddy we weren't going to wash our clothes in a river.”
