Excerpt from Chapter One: Leaving Gray Gables
A mysterious looking man, dressed entirely in black
with a wide brimmed hat on his head, sat at the counter of a diner near the
tiny Gray Gables railroad station at the entrance to Cape Cod. Rays of light from the morning sun pushed
their way past the greasy windows as he nibbled on his spare meal, consisting
merely of bread and coffee. Awaiting the early morning train from Boston, he
was the only customer.
He drained the last of his unsweetened coffee and his cup
was quickly refilled by a fidgety young waitress who appeared to be nervous and
troubled. Observing redness around her eyes, he politely asked “Are you all right?
You can tell me. I’m a friend.”
The young woman knew of no earthly reason why she should
unburden herself to a total stranger and yet there was something familiar about
the man – perhaps it was that he reminded her of a kindly uncle, who helped her
when she was a young girl, and had fallen and bruised her knee. More likely, he provoked a memory of someone
who recently had been very close to her heart.
For whatever reason, she unleashed a torrent of tears and
spilled her whole sad tale to the bearded figure in black. His attire could
equally have been worn by a sailor, a minister, or an undertaker.
He listened wordlessly, only nodding now and then in the
proper places. When she had finished, he
said simply…. “Everything will be all right.
All you have to do is get on the train with me when it arrives here at Gray
Gables.”
A few minutes later when the Cape Cod Railroad’s Engine
Number Two steamed into the station, pulling a passenger coach, a mail car, and
two freight cars; she decided to do it.
Pulling off her white apron, she tossed it on a hook. With only a brief
word to the cook in the kitchen, she followed the man of mystery to the
boarding platform.
From the mail car, the postal attendant pushed out bundles
of the early morning broadsheets from Boston and New Bedford. Dated July 4, 1910, the headlines screamed -
“First African American Boxing Champ!
Jack Johnson Wins Heavyweight Title.”
“I have no idea why I’m doing this,” she said as they walked
gingerly around the piles of newspapers.”
Moving quickly up the three steps, she walked into the coach
and sat in the first empty cluster of seats.
The figure in black sat beside her and said…. “Yes you
do. You’re desperate and there is
nothing but trouble for you in Gray Gables.
No family, no husband, nothing in your future but the prospect of the
growing shame as you trudge to work day after day in that dingy restaurant.”
“How do you know this?”
“We have things in common” he answered. “People who have similar problems know such
things without being told.”
“You cannot have any problem like mine,” she insisted.
“Misfortune and ill fate know no gender. But never mind
that. I have good news for you. The solution to your seemingly impossible
situation is no further away than the very next stop – Monument Beach.”
She asked again - “How can you know this?”
“I cannot explain it to you, except to say that I do. When we reach Monument Beach you will remain
in your seat. I will get off the
train. A man will board. He will be carrying something that’s
difficult for him to manage. He will sit
in the opposite seat, facing you and set his burden down. Speak with him. You will help him and he will help you.”
“Monument Beach! Next
stop Monument Beach,” barked the conductor, as he worked his way through the
coach, dressed in his dark blue uniform with gold buttons.
As the train noisily squealed to a halt, the enigmatic
figure in black made a silent, unnoticed exit.
Almost immediately the young woman forgot about him and
began to fret about why she had abandoned her job on a whim and boarded the
Provincetown train with no destination in mind and very little in her handbag
other than a lipstick, a small case of powder, a handful of coins, and five
wrinkled, dollar bills.
She was so wrapped up in her predicament that she failed to
notice when a young red headed man carrying a fairly large bundle in one arm
and a hefty suitcase with the other, sat down in the seat across from hers.
He set his burden down and the howling that came from it
jarred the young woman, whose name was Lucy Malone, back to reality.
“I’m sorry for the noise miss, I just don’t know how to keep
her quiet,” he said as he fumbled to pick up an infant, wrapped in a snowy
white blanket. The crying only intensified when the child was held by the
large, calloused hands of the man.
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