Sunday Stories features original fiction every weekend by 91原创 writers.

Bear

Written by Ryan Uytdewilligen

Through wavering glass of the chugging train, wheat fields extended far past sight. Each head of grain was the momentary home of at least three grasshoppers. The infestation of the thumb-sized occupants saw to it that their symphony of songs screeched louder than the passing cars rubbing against their tracks. When the train blew its whistle, only then could it stand a fighting chance against the racket produced by the brood of orchestral insects.

But when it merely passed through as it so often did, the uncountable number of feasting bugs was all anybody nearby could hear. No one dared to pass through the storm of pests, soaring through the air like determined bullets. Not even farmers tended to those fields; the wheat and beans and barley were begrudgingly donated to the grasshopper鈥檚 cause to devour all in their path. Few could afford to seed their land in the first place; the ones who did hadn鈥檛 the money to harvest what managed to grow.

Inside the train was a different story; passengers鈥攎ost of the passengers鈥攚ore carefully tended suits; sometimes tall hats on the men and bonnets for the women. The dirt and dust would blow in a whirling storm, coating the clothing when people waited at each platform; most would be none the wiser that the clothing had been soiled鈥攂usy hands tended to dirty clothing in the lavatories; always making sure every item looked presentable.

It was all about image of course; pockets could be empty, but as long as a well assembled outfit鈥攁 flowing skirt dangling above ankles or a pinstripe and pocket watch chain wrapped a hungry body鈥攎ost eyes would be fooled. Each car had such a haze of cigar smoke, no one could quite view the proper details needed to size each other up anyway.

A corner desk in one car, once stocked with candy bars and bottled sodas, now sold only the daily news. A coffee service normally ran up and down the aisles, but the gal who did the pouring called in sick that day, eight minutes before departure if you can believe it. Another car offered sips of brandy served in fine crystal snifters. The service was technically illegal, but if you got yourself in with the right travelling salesmen, one with railway manager connections and the crafty desire to squeeze an extra buck from a wet passion, well then a whole briefcase full of spirits would open up.

For Frank O鈥橬eil, he hadn鈥檛 a cigar to smoke or drink to sip; no pocket watch or suits worth noticing鈥攏ot even a newspaper in his hand for that matter. He had a hat, though barely; its rim drooped lower than the man鈥檚 spirits. He thanked the sheer fact that everyone smoked so the dark stubble across his chin couldn鈥檛 be jeered.

All Frank actually had with him was his daughter Ellie sitting next to the window on the hard, wooden, two-person seat. Six, gleefully messy, and clutching an even filthier teddy bear without a name, that girl took in the passing wheat fields and grasshoppers like it was the most magnificent show she鈥檇 ever witnessed in all her life. And that, at least, made Frank smile.

鈥淚鈥檓 sorry,鈥� Frank whispered. 鈥淚鈥檓 sorry things couldn鈥檛 be better for you. I鈥檒l get you back in school one day鈥攖hat鈥檚 a promise.鈥� He received no response. 鈥淒id you hear me Ellie? After this is all behind us, I鈥檓 going to see to it you get back into class. I know how you like to read and all, and after this job鈥檚 done鈥︹��

Ellie was in her own world; the world of wheat fields and grasshoppers and whatever mythical additions she cast into the scenery she saw. Frank gave a quick snort, blowing a burst of delighted hot air down past his smile. After some seconds passed watching Ellie blow her own breath against the window to fog it all up, Frank stuck is hand deep down past the holes of his woolly overcoat to fish out a delicate piece of print. His fingers had touched the paper so frequently; the ink was almost completely faded. Frank knew what it said; right from the beginning, the day he cut it out of the littered Gazette, he could recite the ad word for word.

Wanted: Experienced milkers, calvers, and drivers needed for work on large scale dairy operation immediately鈥�2240 Hollis Rd鈥�$20 a week.

Sure, Frank fretted over the fact that neither milkers nor calvers were actual words and he wondered if the zero was in fact a zero or and eight. The whole road part of the address was simply added via methods of deduction; surely no such dairy farm in this world, Frank figured, was situated on a street. Avenues were out of the question. And the advertisement had been so well worn when Frank found it, all he could do was assume.

Frank gulped often, thinking maybe that it was Hollis Drive, which was completely in the opposite direction. But he never knew there to be dairies in those neck of the woods though鈥擧ollis Rd made the most sense given the sheer proximity to several other ranches and a sheep pasture.

Ellie鈥檚 growling stomach piled on the pressure that the address be correct. There had been no contact made鈥攖hough many times attempted鈥攕o Frank was now travelling a very long way purely on faith, hope, and luck to answer the call.

鈥淲hat if someone already got the job?鈥� Ellie whimpered with her gaze still forward at the window.

鈥淚t鈥檚 20 a week Ellie; that makes it worth a shot. And the paper is only a couple days old; it鈥檚 new,鈥� Frank assured. 鈥淔resh print! So fresh, the ink ain鈥檛 even dry yet鈥攊t鈥檚 all melted away from my fingers.鈥�

鈥淏ut that paper ain鈥檛 from our town, right? It鈥檚 from miles away鈥斺��

鈥淗undreds of miles. It鈥檚 a simple stroke of luck that we ended up with it too! And I鈥檓 sure, yeah, maybe a few came poking around for a job already. But didn鈥檛 you read what it said? Milkers? Calvers? Truck drivers? They all got s鈥� on the end. They鈥檙e looking for lots of hands.鈥�

Ellie finely turned, fed up from her father鈥檚 inexcusable ignorance; the kind of hope she saw many adults utter when they spoke to her鈥攔ight before they all went off crying in a corner.

鈥淲hat we do if they turn you down and we have no money to get home?鈥� the six-year-old snapped.

鈥淗ey, hey, hey,鈥� Frank chanted with his palms in the air. 鈥淚鈥檓 experienced in dairies. I grew up on a dairy. Ain鈥檛 no one more qualified than the many who spent the first fifteen years of his live working on one. We got lots of dough to tide us over,鈥� he said, patting his breast pocket. 鈥淭hey鈥檒l take me girl, you鈥檒l see! You leave the worrying to me, all right?鈥�

Ellie wasn鈥檛 convinced, although her stomach rumbling for a second time was enough to redirect her focus.

鈥淚s someone hungry?鈥� Frank smiled.

Ellie smiled back, glancing at the fuzzy little passenger on her lap. 鈥淵eah鈥� bear needs to eat!鈥�

鈥淏ear needs to eat? Bear does? You mean that was his belly rocking the train back and forth?鈥� Ellie giggled as Frank licked his lips, trying to squeeze out a couple more notes of the high-pitched, playful voice he had in him. 鈥淲ell what does bear like to eat? Honey? Fresh caught salmon?鈥�

Ellie screwed up her face, thinking hard on what it was bear wanted for lunch. After some conspiring and bear getting propped to her ear to spill a secret, a decision was reached.

鈥淢ilk and cookies,鈥� Ellie bravely announced. Frank couldn鈥檛 contain his laughter.

鈥淢ilk and cookies? Well, I don鈥檛 know that they have them for sale around here bear, but you鈥檒l be getting all the milk you can drink soon enough.鈥�

Ellie huffed, turning back to the window to stave off her boredom again.

鈥淲hat?鈥� Frank said, doing his best to lure his daughter鈥檚 attention back to him. 鈥淚 really don鈥檛 think the train has milk and cookies darling. I can check, but for the last two years, three years even, I haven鈥檛 even seen peanuts鈥斺��

鈥淣o, it鈥檚 not that.鈥�

鈥淭hen what is it?鈥�

Ellie turned to her father again. 鈥淚 wish it were pigs.鈥�

鈥淗uh?鈥� he mumbled, dumbfounded and quite certain if there were no cookies on the train, there were certainly no pork chops to be had either.

鈥淭he dairy. I wish it was pigs. I adore pigs so much more than I do cows.鈥�

Bless her heart, Frank thought. Some days Ellie seemed like an evenly matched accomplice since her manners and wit appeared without boundary. But she was a child after all, and Frank knew he couldn鈥檛 let himself forget that.

鈥淚鈥檓 sorry you had to grow up in this, kid,鈥� he whimpered again. 鈥淚 really am sorry.鈥� After a pause and a clap of his hands, Frank turned to the aisle. 鈥淟et鈥檚 see what they got to eat around here.鈥�

All Frank saw was the conductor towering above them, face void of expression and left hand outstretched; the right one gripped a hole punch.

鈥淭ickets,鈥� he said.

Frank nodded and began an odyssey of pocket diving. He re-discovered his newspaper clipping and clung tight to a small wad of bills. Every pocket contained lint and one even stored a never-before-seen button, but Frank, for the life of him, couldn鈥檛 find the tickets. Ellie watched with saucers for eyes while the conductor grunted as he looked over the long stretch of train cars still to cover.

Growing in panic, the hopefully-soon-to-be dairy worker clapped, standing up to search all of his pants pockets that he formally could not reach. Nothing in there either. Finally, the floppy hat atop his head slid down, almost as if it were waving for his attention. Frank laughed with delight as he removed the torn head topper and pulled out two tickets. The conductor must have only peered at them for one second before handing them back.

鈥淭hese tickets have been forged,鈥� he flatly announced.

鈥淲hat? Is this a joke? You鈥檙e just playing around with me, aren鈥檛 you?鈥� Frank was given no indication the comment was a ruse. 鈥淏ut I bought them鈥� I bought them from this fellow鈥︹��

鈥淚鈥檓 sure you did,鈥� the conductor replied. 鈥淵ou鈥檒l be sent off at the next stop. We鈥檒l be there in thirteen minutes.鈥�

鈥淣o, please! There must be something that can be done,鈥� Frank said, clamoring after the conductor who was already on his way to the next row of seats.

鈥淵es there is,鈥� he said, giving Frank reason to smile. 鈥淕et yourself two tickets.鈥�

Frank turned, feeding off the fear found in Ellie鈥檚 stare; fear mixed with disappointment and hints of embarrassment. He wished that she would go back to watching out the window as he began filtering through his bills.

鈥淗ere. Let me buy 鈥榚m. I鈥檒l take two tickets please鈥攆or the last stop.鈥�

The conductor filtered through the cash for several seconds before passing it back.

鈥淣ot enough to get you there.鈥�

鈥淲hat do you mean not enough? That鈥檚 all I have?鈥� Frank whispered the last part, careful that Ellie wouldn鈥檛 hear. As the conductor passed back the money, Ellie鈥檚 panic caught his attention; she looked to the floor as their eyes met. As stoic as he was, the conductor was still human.

鈥淣ot even close I鈥檓 afraid.鈥�

鈥淧lease,鈥� Frank continued. 鈥淚 spent a fortune on those tickets. I swore they were real鈥� they came from a reputable source; a friend! Well, a former friend now. But鈥� we won鈥檛 be a bother! We鈥檒l stand! Or鈥� she鈥檚 small. I can just buy one seat and she can sit on my lap. Please. I鈥檓 sure something can be done.鈥�

The conductor turned to the trailing aisle, coughing passengers getting satisfaction from their cigarettes, but evidently dry mouths. After a swallow and a peek at his watch, he actually mustered a half-smile as an opportunity presented itself.

鈥淐ome with me.鈥�

鈥淥h, thank you sir, thank you,鈥� Frank said with a jump for joy. He and Ellie鈥檚 exchanges took a gleeful turn as she grinned and slid out of her seat to follow. 鈥淥h, and sir,鈥� Frank added as he stumbled after the hurried man. The conductor stopped just before entering the next car. 鈥淒o you happen to serve milk and cookies anywhere on this train?鈥�

.

To be continued鈥� The next installment of Bear by Ryan Uytdewilligen will be published by the 91原创 Advance Times, Sunday, Feb. 9.