Page 43 of Our Own Light

As Oliver made his way to the train station, he thought back on her advice to him. At first, Oliver thought she may have been encouraging him to insert himself into Floyd’s love life like a stick of dynamite and blow it all to hell. But the more he ruminated on it, the more he realized that she had only been advising him not to fight his feelings because of the “supposed to’s,” not offering him wisdom about what to do with those feelings.

So, if Oliver let himself fall in love with Floyd, where did that leave him? Hopefully, Floyd would still have him as a friend, though probably nothing more. Which, Oliver supposed, was fine, in a way, since he hadn’t even thought he could ever fall in love with someone else, let alone fuck them. Could he settle for friendship? Maybe? Probably?

Oliver really liked Floyd. God, they had only known each other for a short while and already Oliver couldn’t imagine life without him. What a mess.

By the time Oliver was nearing the train station, he was mentally worn out. Since the train wasn’t supposed to arrive for a little while, he sat on one of the nearest benches. Listening to the sounds of the city—the hustle and bustle of the folks walking past—Oliver’s thoughts kept returning to Floyd—his sweet dimples and his big laugh and the way they liked to be playful with one another.

Oliver’s thoughts were interrupted when someone caught his eye. Less than a block away, there was a little girl with long blonde hair who was wearing the very same pink and white dress that Josephine had worn to church that morning. Oliver squinted to try to see her better. It was Josephine!

Without a second thought, Oliver leapt to his feet and started toward her. She continued meandering farther from the station.

“Josephine!” Oliver cried out.

Why was Josephine here? Where were Floyd and Effie? Had they come looking for him or something?

“Josephine!”

Josephine stopped and turned toward him. God, the sight of her took Oliver’s breath away. Her eyes were pink, her cheeks were puffy and red, and her pretty blonde hair was a complete mess.

As soon as Oliver was close, he knelt in front of her.

“Mister Oliver, can you take me home?”

“Home? Josephine, how the hell are you here? Where are your parents? Why were you crying?”

Tears started to pour from her eyes. “I don’t want to go to the circus no more.”

“Circus?!” Ah, Jesus Christ, of course, this was Oliver’s fault, too. Why’d he have to crow about the fucking circus? And to a child who had probably never even left her tiny unincorporated mining town, too. “Where’s William?”

“Home.”

“So, you came here by yourself?” Oliver asked, and Josephine nodded, tears pouring from her blue eyes. “How?”

“I took a train.”

“They let you on a train? By yourself?!”

But that only made Josephine cry more.

“I’m not...” Oliver sighed. “Jesus Christ, Josephine, I’m not scolding you. I’m trying to understand how Don Chafin’s men supposedly have time to scrutinize each and every person who hops on a train to Rock Creek, but they can’t be bothered to...”

Ah, but she hadn’t been taking a train to Rock Creek, but to Charleston. And she was no union man. She was a tiny little thing. It was possible they hadn’t even seen her. Or, worse, they had seen her, but they hadn’t cared. If coal operators were happy to let boys only two years Josephine’s senior toil away in the mines, risking their lives, then why would anyone care about a well-dressed little church girl stowing away on a train heading toward the city? It was very possible that it simply hadn’t been of interest to them.

“Alright, Josephine, you can stop crying now,” Oliver said, reaching inside his suit jacket for a handkerchief and handing it to her. “Dry your eyes. I’ll take you home.”

Josephine wiped her face and blew her nose. “Thank you.”

After she handed the now-wet handkerchief back to Oliver, he took her hand, and they walked to the train station together, where they sat on one of the free benches. Watching Josephine swing and kick her legs back and forth as they dangled over the side of the bench, Oliver was reminded of how Goddamn young she was. He had to fight the urge to make a comment about it. Floyd probably wouldn’t appreciate Oliver calling his missing child “brave” for hopping on a train. He was curious, though, how she had known what to do.

“Why a train?”

“What?”

“How did you know to take a train?”

“Well, you said, ‘take a train to Charleston.’”

“I told you to take a train to Charleston?”