Destination Hope - Book 5 - Reconciliation - Chapter 12

Well, the 2018 elections are behind us. I pray that God will move on the hearts and minds of our elected leaders to govern wisely and be public servants - not abusers of power.

I want to thank Todd, Victoria, and an unknown reader for leaving me encouraging comments. For new readers of the story, I linked Chapter 1. Chapters 2 - 4 are linked under September and Chapters 5 - 11 are linked under October.

Destination Hope – Book 5 – Reconciliation

A Novel By:

Charles J. Patricoff

Copyright © 2014 by Charles J. Patricoff. All rights reserved.

Chapter 12

A Stranger in A Strange Land

Nathaniel stepped from the train onto the station platform and scanned the mass of travelers, greeters, and coachmen scurrying, hugging, and arranging luggage as far as his eyes could see. He stood still, half hoping to find one familiar face.

“Excuse me, Mister,” a man with yet another strange Northern accent shouted. He hoisted two bulging bags above his waist as if to say he wanted to pass.

Startled back into his present reality, Nathaniel almost jumped into nearby free space. “Pardon me, sir. I didn’t mean to block your path. I don’t know which way to go.”

“It’s alright, buddy.” The man slipped by Nathaniel. “You sound like a Southerner, and you look lost.”

“You are correct on both counts, sir.”

“Well, the station is this-a-way.” He jerked his head hard to his right, and hustled into the stream of humanity rushing toward the lone building ingesting most inbound travelers through one set of double doors and expelling some out of another.

Nathaniel adjusted his shouldered duffle bag and took an unaccompanied step through the excess released engine steam, toward the train station and downtown Chicago. He passed through the Union Station scanning hundreds of faces, wondering. Reaching the doors leading to the city, he stepped outside into the mid-morning sunshine and a refreshing, steady breeze. He never saw anything like what distracted his progress again.

The four-buggy wide, brick horseshoe-shaped lane filled with people coming and going in all directions. Some carriages dropped off passengers while others retrieved weary, new arrivals. He took note that the traffic flowed in one direction around the horseshoe. Beyond the entrance and exit of the horseshoe, buildings towered in comparison to the station behind him. He muttered, “I haven’t seen this many people in one spot since the fields surrounding Gettysburg.”

He observed a line of buggies in the far lane, which seemed to cater to men dressed in business attire. As the one in the front of the line picked up an apparent fare and rolled away, the other drivers would urge their horses to take a few steps forward. “I guess those are cabs for local transportation.” He limped toward one, which occupied third place from the front of the line.

Knowing his limited resources, Nathaniel hoped for the best. Before he reached the intended cab, the driver switched his reins and called to his horse, “Walk on.” Nathaniel waited for the next in line to close on his position.

“Where to, pal?” the driver shouted.

Nathaniel stood amazed at the aggressiveness of the driver. He gawked.

“I said, where to, pal? Didn’t you hear me? Climb aboard. I ain’t got all day, you know.”

Nathaniel stepped closer. “Do you know this address?” He handed the driver a slip of paper.

The cabby took it, read it and said as he handed it back to Nathaniel, “Yep, I know the street.  I’ll be happy to take you there.”

Nathaniel let his head drop, and he searched the bricks below the cab’s front right wheel. The horse swished its tail, shooing a large fly from its hindquarter. Nathaniel raised his head and let his gaze meet the driver. “Do you mind me asking how much the fare would be to take me there?”

“Can’t be exact, but I’m guessing if the traffic isn’t too bad, it might be around two dollars.”

That would leave me with three. I wouldn’t last a week. He swallowed some more pride.  “Uh, do you mind pointing me in the right direction?”

“Where you from, pal?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“You sound like a Southerner. Don’t get too many of your kind ’round here. Yep, your accent is a dead giveaway.”

“Yes sir, I’m from Tennessee. Never been to a big city like Chicago before.”

“And you’re low on cash, I take it.”

Nathaniel nodded.

“Well, I’ll charge you two bits for directions.”

“Two bits? How much is that, exactly.”

“Twenty-five cents.”

I can handle that.  Nathaniel reached into his left pocket and grabbed some coins. He found a twenty-five-cent piece and handed it to the cab driver.

The cabby took the coin, glanced at it in the palm of his hand, and pocketed his small gain. “Now, listen up. I don’t have time to tell you twice.”

Nathaniel nodded, this time trying to express gratitude.

The cabby pointed with his whip. “You see that street to your right heading west?”

Nathaniel found it and acknowledged, “Yes sir.”

“Follow it until you come to Grand. It will head northwest. I’m guessing you’ll need to cover about five miles and you should come to…”

The directions received, Nathaniel thanked the cabby, shouldered his bag, and began the long limp ahead of him.

The enormity of the buildings barring his way took him back. He hoped the canyon set before him would permit passage as predicted. “Dear Lord,” he prayed aloud to still his uneasiness. “Jedediah told me about the large buildings in Northern cities like this, New York, and Boston, but I never imagined them this big. If I remember right, the tallest building in Nashville is around six or seven stories.”

He gazed upward and counted. “That one must be twenty-four floors. Do people climb,” he approximated the number, “over three-hundred stairs every day?” He marveled at the thousands walking the street’s brick sidewalks, the hundreds of horse-drawn carriages rolling east and west. He came to an intersection and watched a uniformed officer directing the traffic, keeping the north-bound and south-bound carriages at bay. He started to cross the street.

“Hold up there, Mister,” the officer yelled at Nathaniel.

It was the first time since his release that he felt like a prisoner again. He complied, almost like a manipulated puppet. As he stood at the street corner surrounded by a dozen or more other pedestrians, the clouds parted behind him and rays punched through.

A flash of light reflected off another tribute to man’s ability to build smaller scale towers of Babel. The beam penetrated his conscience in an odd way. If asked to testify, he would swear he saw the image of a man embedded in the glass.

“What, Lord?”

A gentleman standing to Nathaniel’s right, dressed in a gray, pin-striped suite and sporting a bowler hat, twisted his head left and asked in a harsh tone, “You talking to me?”

Nathaniel kept his gaze fixed heavenward and did not respond. The uniformed officer signaled for the west bound traffic to proceed including the crowd of pedestrians. Nathaniel stood like a marble statue. The businessman’s face scrunched, and as he stepped forward he gave Nathaniel an angry stare. “Did you escape from the asylum?” Receiving no response, he shook his head and addressed another man who parted past the fixed figure. “Can you believe that guy?” He cocked his head in Nathaniel’s direction. “Did someone leave the door open at the loony lounge?”

The other foot traveler shook his head and responded in kind as he rushed across the street. “Maybe he’s a monument from the state of confusion.”

Needling each other along, the first man added as he reached the far side and their conversation faded, “He must be a nomad from the nut farm. Although a man I know from Georgia tells me there is good money to be made with nuts.”

Nathaniel kept staring, perplexed. At last he said, “Yes, Lord.”

The light faded, covered by another eastbound cloud, and Nathaniel heard the officer shout, “Are you deaf, man? I said you can cross now.”

Startled, Nathaniel processed the command and took a step forward, deeper into the surrounding stone and brick canyon.

He found Grand without any difficulty, and after maybe a mile of progress a carriage pulled alongside the boardwalk and slowed its pace to match Nathaniel’s hobble. The driver called, “I figured I would find you somewhere along here.”

Nathaniel twisted his head to the left, searching for the voice and wondering if the announcement came for him or someone else.

“Yeah, you pal.”

Nathaniel recognized the man as the one who had given him directions for twenty-five cents.

“After I dropped my last fare, the man gave me a nice gratuity. I figured I could afford to help a stranger. Hop in.”

Surprised and grateful, Nathaniel simply said, “Thanks, Mister.”

Mrs. Emma Moody’s favorite clock struck its noon chorus. Reverend Dwight Lyman Moody stopped his pacing and pulled out his pocket watch as if he questioned the accuracy of the parlor’s timekeeper. He snapped the watch closed, pocketed it, and continued his vigil.

“I can hear Mrs. Moody’s complaint even now.” He attempted to imitate his wife’s tone and inflection, but, he could never come close to sounding like the voice he loved. “Dwight dear, there is no need to wear a rut into the floor. All your pacing won’t make the baby come any faster. Why don’t you sit down and relax for a while?” He stopped for a second, maybe two.

“Rest? How can I rest at a time like this? Poor Ellie, I thought she would have the baby in the restaurant’s kitchen when she doubled over in pain and crashed to the floor. I hope they made it to the hospital.”

He gazed toward the room’s ceiling, “Thank you, Father, for letting Little Emma nap.” He glanced at the aging grandfather clock donated by a grateful Federal Colonel who told everyone he would be dead if not for Reverend Moody’s effective prayers for his salvation. “I’m sure something has happened by now. Why doesn’t Mrs. Moody send word?”

He paced, hands folded behind his back. New lines appeared on his forehead. The heat of mid-August rose causing beads of sweat to appear. A drop rolled down the back of his neck.

He heard footsteps ascend the front steps, cross the porch, and then a rapid knocking followed. Whoever interrupted his reverie, pulled the bell rope. Reverend Moody raced to answer the door, hoping to prevent Little Emma from waking.

A boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, presented a most anxious countenance.

Reverend Moody spoke softly. “Yes, young man, what can I do for you?”

“Are you Reverend Moody, sir?”

“I am.”

“I have this note from Mrs. Moody, sir.”

Reverend Moody swung the door open wide. He took the folded page from the boy’s hand. Before he could read its contents, the boy said, “Mrs. Moody seemed upset about something and she insisted that I find you right away, sir.”

Reverend Moody scanned the paper. “Can you take a message from me to Mrs. Moody, son?”

 “Yes, sir.”

Reverend Moody motioned with his hand. “Come in, please.” He rushed into his office opposite the parlor and scratched out a quick message. He folded the sheet and he handed it to the boy, with a gold twenty-five-cent coin. “Be sure to tell Mrs. Moody I will be there as fast as I can.”

The boy nodded, accepted the note and tender, and hurried out of the house.

Reverend Moody watched the boy run in the direction leading to the hospital. Then, coming from an upstairs bedroom, he heard the sound of Little Emma fussing. As he ascended the stairs, her cries grew louder. He pushed his exhausted body up another step. “This may take a little longer.” 

The cab pulled in front of the Moody’s residence. Nathaniel got out, grabbed his duffle bag, and thanked the driver for his kindness.

“Do you want me to wait—make sure someone is home?”

“That won’t be necessary, sir. You have been more than generous with your time.”

“All right, then. You take care of yourself, pal.” Nathaniel stepped away from the carriage and the driver shook the reins. “Walk on there, Blue.”

The horse blew and snorted, threw his head up, and pulled. In seconds, Nathaniel stood in front of the house—alone, again, but thrilled with happy anticipation.

Grinning from ear-to-ear, he hurried for the house’s front door. He knocked, and knocked. He rang the bell.

Nothing.

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