Wishing Cross Station

Chapter Nine

I awoke to discover I was still in Wishing Cross, and not the one of J. Howard Fox's imagination, either, but as living and breathing a town as I'd ever encountered in my own time.

I lit the candle on the bedside table again, the room so simple it didn't even have a gas-lit lamp in it. I used the cold water in the washstand pitcher to soap up my new shaving brush. I was glad I'd been taught by my Grandfather to use a razor when I was younger; he'd believed it was the 'only way' for a man to get a close shave. His beard was heavy, as was mine, and he never liked the stubble when I wore it.

Maybe that was why I wore it, just to give him something to gripe at me about. Or maybe I'd just grown lazy.

My skin felt unnaturally soft after the shave, as unnatural as the whole of the situation I found myself in.

I hurried to dress and made up the bed before I took the candle with me and exited my room.

I stumbled into the kitchen, seeking something to put in my growling stomach before I left for my first day of work in 1880. I found a note waiting for me on the kitchen table and strained to read it.

There is bread and fruit in the larder. Help yourself for breakfast and even take some extra with you for lunch, if you like. Good luck on your first day. Don't forget to take your key, which I've left with this note. See you at dinnertime. ~Best

I made as little noise as possible in the kitchen, especially considering that the appliances and cupboards created a racket of differently pitched squeaks no matter how gently you opened their doors.

I found the key and tucked it into the pocket of my coat. The coat was too big for me, just like the rest of the clothing, and it would make getting around difficult until I became accustomed to its weight. It was, however, much too cold outside to go without it.

Then I remembered we'd never settled the matter of my first week's rent. I had no change on me, so I took two dollars out of my wallet and left them on the table. I turned his note over, and used the other side of the paper to write to him, explaining.

Per our agreement, thank you again for your kindness and hospitality. K.W.

I was soon walking quickly across Main Street; fortunately, the General Store was just a half a block away from my new, temporary residence.

I was early, so I waited outside in the chill for Mr. Wilson to arrive. I rubbed my numb hands together. I definitely needed to get a pair of era appropriate gloves first thing before heading out to work for the day. I knew I'd better leave my leather ones with the rest of my things at the apartment, including the book that had brought me here, the book I still had no idea how to properly replace in its own time.

"You're early," Mr. Wilson said, as he ambled down the sidewalk toward me, key to the shop in hand. "Shows good intentions. Let's see if your work ethic holds up to your punctuality."

"Yes, sir."

The bells on the door jingled their happy tune as he moved forward and switched on the gaslights. "Hope to have this place set up with electricity soon. For now, the lamps have to do. But they're awfully old fashioned, by my standards."

I wondered what this guy would think if he saw my flashlight, so bright and with completely self-contained power from a battery. Then I realized...I'd left my flashlight above the pit back at the roundhouse. Damn, that might have come in handy here.

"Now, this is my Postmaster's desk..." He took me over to the back corner, where there was an elaborate set up: desk, slots on the next wall for sorting mail, yet there seemed to be little room for sorting packages.

"Small space to do the job in, but it works. This is why we need to get the packages out of the store and to their recipients as soon as possible, instead of waiting to have them picked up here."

"What if they're not home?"

"Leave a card for them in the door, like this..." He took out a little book of receipts and handed it to me along with a pencil. "Fill it all in and tell them when you were there, that you tried to deliver a package, and they should pick it up at their earliest convenience at Wilson's General Store."

"Yes, sir. Wait, sir? How do the packages get to us?"

"From the train station, of course. The Stationmaster's brats deliver them most of the time, but in truth I've been wanting someone who could go to the station and pick them up earlier, instead, since most days they are late. Do you think you could take a wheelbarrow over there and wait for the first shipment of the day? Then bring it back, and I'll process it. By the time I do that, you should be able to go back for another batch. Then you can deliver the first. See what I mean?"

"Alternate picking up packages and taking them to deliver. I understand." I frowned suddenly. "But I'm new in town, how will the people at the station know to trust me with the packages?"

"I'll go with you the first time this morning, talk to the Stationmaster myself. Introduce you. He's a formidable man. Be prepared. He likes little in this life and it shows, clearly. Don't let it bother you any, just go about your business, stay out of his way, and you should do fine. If you're as hard a worker as you say."

"I will work harder than I ever have, Mr. Wilson. My word."

He glanced at me sideways. "We'll see."