At the Station by James O. Melita

Second Place, Adult Fiction

War is seldom kind to its surroundings or participants.  It doesn’t matter if you are active in the fighting, or a casual bystander. If you are a witness to war you are scarred. Either physically, emotionally or mentally. 

The war had been especially unkind to Major Hiram Johnston.  He had been disfigured by some shrapnel that hit him on the left side. A couple of fingers and an eye missing and a hitch in his step when he walked. The searing pain he had experienced from the blast was inconsequential compared to the loss he experienced watching the men under his command perish. But he considered himself fortunate compared to others he knew, most of the few dozen men left alive were injured far more seriously than him. Legs or arms amputated, some totally blind, a few committed suicide, and more than one got lost in the bottle. But not Hiram, he had put the money he had saved while in the war, and his veterans’ benefits to good use. He bought some land to farm. This allowed him to be away from the world and attempt to find peace.

He got lucky, the land was easily tilled and already had a house on it. He worked the land hard and got quite good at not only keeping himself fed but had enough extra to sell.  He expanded his acreage and started raising livestock. Hired a few workers to help tend everything. He became … successful. 

As time passed, it became a lonely existence. He was busy during the day working, and keeping the farm in good order was a full-time job. But the nights were brutal. No one was there to ease the burdens he carried from his time in the war.  The one thing he did not have, the one thing he needed was a friend, an ally, a confidant, a partner. Someone to talk him down from the night terrors. Someone to hold his hand while he wept from the anguish of remembering his fallen brothers. The one thing that was glaringly absent in his life was a woman. 

Saying his disfigurement was off putting did not quite describe the severity of his scars.  In business, and in his personal life, he always presented his right side to whomever he was addressing so as not to distract from the conversation.  He wore the finest clothes he could afford to help ease the brutality of his injuries. But these strategies did not assist in courtship. Most budding courtships did not make it past the introduction. But then Niamh Quinlin came into his life.

Niamh was orphaned at the age of 14. She had no money or family to help her. She didn’t want to become a ward of the church, or worse. Working in the backrooms of the more well-to-do people, she managed to survive by doing the work that was beneath the paid staff. Her reward was the leftover food from the dinner tables, a place to sleep in the barn, and whatever clothing she could salvage from the rags. 

Occasionally she would end up at a place where one of the older chambermaids would help and protect her from being abused. Niamh always felt blessed when she found these women and called them her guardian angels.  But almost every time she would be cast out by someone who would accuse her of stealing what would end up being a misplaced item or costing too much feed her. She was desperate for peace and longed not to always be in fear for her safety. Through the years she had made some money selling her hair, when it was long enough, and working during harvests. It was after being accused of being a home breaker, again, she decided to take a leap of faith. Niamh used her meager savings to go to Galway and signed up to be a mail-order bride. She was short, stocky, with bright red hair, and not traditionally pretty to the point of being considered awkward. She too wanted to find a partner and was having difficulty finding someone who would accept her. Not much to look at in her hometown, but maybe far more attractive to a lonely farmer. 

Letters and pictures were exchanged. The time between letters was measured in weeks or months. The courtship was agonizingly slow for both. Eventually an agreement was reached. Money was sent to the agency that would arrange her passage from the middle of Ireland to the middle of Iowa in the middle of America. They were officially engaged.

Hiram stands squarely on the train platform waiting for the train to arrive. He wants Niamh to see exactly what was in store for her when she gets off the train. The train is 15 minutes late and he is impatient. Being a good Christian man, he wants to be married before taking her home and there is a preacher waiting.  Finally, the train whistle screams in the distance and Hiram gets nervous. Falling back on his military experience, he calms himself. He goes back to the bench to fetch the flowers he will present to his intended and waits.  A few men and one couple with three children get off the train, and Hiram waits. What if she saw him when the train pulled in and refuses to get off the train because he is so hideous? 

Niamh spied Hiram standing on the platform through the dirty windows of the train. He was taller than she imagined, well dressed and standing at attention he appears to be inspecting every person who leaves the train. She is frozen in place. She has never felt so unattractive and disheveled in her life. Her heart racing and fear paralyzing her. What if Hiram is disgusted with her stained and wrinkled clothes or the fact he towers over her. If she stays on the train what would become of her, she had nowhere else to go.  If she gets off the train and he abandons her there on the platform, all would be lost. 

Finally, Niamh musters the courage to move and appears in the doorway of the train with her single overloaded bag. Hiram hobbles over to help onto the platform. He takes her bag and extends a hand to assist her down the stairs.  When she is firmly on the platform, Hiram releases her hand. Bowing Hiram presents the flowers while addressing Niamh.

“My dear, I am Hiram Johnston, and I am to be your husband!”

He takes her hand and kisses it gently. Niamh blushes for she has never had the romantic attention of a man before.  Smiling she responds with a curtsey,

"A mhuirnín*, I am Niamh Quinlin, and I believe I am to be your wife.”

Smiling, she puts her hand on his left cheek and gives him a quick kiss. Hiram offers her his arm, and they walk off to the waiting carriage arm in arm to start their lives together.

*Darling