Widow Woman

The train had passed, ten minutes earlier, slowly chuffing, almost to the summit of the low pass that ran below Cole Hill. It was the first train of the day, already running late, mostly empty, taking passengers from Norwich, and cheese from Otselic Center, up the Crumb Hill grade and on to DeRuyter and Cortland. They were seldom on time and not even regular in their schedules any more. Word had it they were going to shut the line down but folks were holding out hope.

A man walked out of the mist of the meadow. He had either jumped from the slow-moving passenger car, or had come from the station at Upper Beaver Meadow. He was a little less than average height, dirty blonde hair and mustache, with broad, muscular shoulders and back from hard labor. Probably a rail road worker. Dressed in faded brown workman's clothes, heavy boots and a jacket. He wore a bowler, certainly a prize from some gambling winnings, she thought. She stood watching him from the porch but decided to go back inside to the kitchen, check on the jelly cooking on the wood stove.

From the distance he had seen here standing on the porch, a plain woman, worn dress of no particular color. Her face looked all angles, sharp eyes and nose from there. Her hands, if he could have seen them, looked worn. She was healthy if somewhat thin and overworked, he thought. Good. He watched her go back inside. That's fine. He looked at the barn and the outbuildings as he got closer. Not rundown, not new. They could use some attention. Again, good. He was just the man she needed. As he came out of the meadow and crossed the barnyard, he noticed a small flock of chickens and through the open barn door, a cow and what was probably a couple goats bleating and butting against the stall door. The smell of a pig pen hit is nose as the breeze picked up. Needed cleaning.

Seeing no one outside, he shouted a greeting at the house. No one came out of house or barn to greet him. Up onto the porch, he knocked at the screen door. It was too dark to make out anything inside. In a moment, the latch clicked, the door swung open and the woman who had been on the porch came out, sweat on her brow, wiping her hands. He took his bowler off, smiling.

"Sorry to interrupt you ma'am"

She looked up at him, "Talk fast, I'm making jelly and I can't leave the juice long."

"Heard you might have work for a man who wants to earn his keep"

She nodded and asked his name (Michael Kelly) and how he heard about the job (from the other railroaders). He said he was tired of moving constantly. She didn't respond. So he offered that he was now single: wife and only child died on the boat coming over.

Her expression softened a little, and she asked where from. He said, "Ireland". She asked if he was Catholic. He asks if it mattered. Again, she looked at him without answering For a long minute her expression didn't change, but she looked him over again. Had some meat on his bones, probably from rail work. He seemed harmless enough, if a little smart-alecky.

"Alright I'll give you a chance." She gave him directions to slop the hogs. "Leave your coat and hat on the porch," she said, pointing to a chair "Hog pen is over there..." She pointed with her chin at the barn back across the road, the direction he had come from. As he turned to go she told him she couldn't pay railroad wages, but there's plenty of food and 20 dollars a month after market day, if he stayed that long. He agreed with a nod, folded his coat onto the chair seat, and walked back across the road in the direction of the hog pen. She called after him, "I have more canning to do. I'll be in the house" She paused and added, "I'll ring the bell when the noon meal is ready." He waved.

Come noontime, he had a half cord of kindling split and stacked, and the pig pen cleaned out. The barn and the chicken coop would have to wait til after dinner.

"Must have been a while, since the last guy, eh?"

She set the meal on the table, sausage and potatoes and green beans

"He didn't last long," she said.

He tried to make conversation but she didn't have much to say. After dinner, he cleaned the barn and coop, finished feeding the cow and goats just as the bell rang. He came up on the porch, hesitated and knocked. The meal was on the table, she was at the stove. Over her shoulder she said, "No need to knock. Come in and sit down."

After she sat down herself, she asked him to say grace over the meal. Somewhat taken aback–railroad workers were not accustomed to it—he repeated a simple Catholic one he memorized as a child. She seems to approve, but said very little during the meal.

As the meal ended, she asked him, "What do you call the noon meal and the evening meal? I call them dinner and supper"

He nodded, "That's what I was raised with." That too, seemed to please her. She cleared the table as he sat there, not sure what he should do next. As she finished, he asked about sleeping arrangements. She looked at him sharply, seemed to consider something and then said, "Wait here."

She went through a doorway at the back of the kitchen, and returned with a rough sheet and a blanket.

"Have to put you up in the barn tonight. Wasn't expecting anyone. It'll be warm. Breakfast at six, I'll ring the bell. Don't come in before." She paused "Outhouse and pump are behind the house if you need them." He had washed in the barn water earlier and was happy to find out fresher water was available. He wasn't terribly pleased with the sleeping arrangement though. The railroad had given him a rope bed off the floor at least. But he found the straw was fresh and it was indeed warm enough with the one blanket.