Free Railroad Man by Alle Wells Page A

time. Maybe we can get some extra money coming into the house again. I’d like to replace the wood burning stove in the kitchen with a gas burner and plaster the wallboard with the extra money. You can help Lewis do that in your spare time.”

    I shifted on the divan. I had no intentions of remodeling Mother’s kitchen. She hadn’t even bothered to teach Flo how to cook. Besides, I had a strict schedule to meet during the week. I wouldn’t be spending my time off plastering walls when I could afford to buy a brand new house of my own. I attempted to introduce the idea to Mother.

    “ It looks like construction is picking up. Jack bought a brand new house over in Decatur; new neighborhoods are sprouting up all around.”

    Mother lost interest and turned back to her secretary. “That’s nice, dear.”

    The black nose of a Decapod locomotive stared at me from the magazine cover. The headline read, Say So-Long to Steam. Guys at the station talked diesel day and night. Men threatened to leave. They said, “The Golden Age is over. Nothing will ever be the same.”

    At thirty-three, I had a long way to go in my career. The steam engine was all I knew. I worried about the change to diesel and how it would affect my future. Selling the timber would allow me to buy that house in Decatur before they retired my engine and possibly get rid of me, too. I had been a good son, helping Mother and the girls financially for almost ten years. Mother and Sadie’s attitude toward my wife was poor payment for my generosity. I decided to talk to the man alone. Maybe sway the transaction in my favor without Mother’s greed and interference.

    I turned on my way out the door. “Uh, Mother. May I have that letter? I’ll give the man a call from the station.”

    Mother stuffed the letter back in its envelope. “Thank you, Son. I can always depend on you.”

    I stuffed the letter in my pocket and smiled as I walked to the bedroom where Flo waited.

    The next day, I called the man at the Federal Building downtown before I left on my scheduled run. He agreed to see me on Friday at noon.

    Friday morning, I checked into the YMCA to bathe and change into my best suit of clothes. I felt small climbing the wide steps leading to the Federal Building, small and anxious. I hoped that the RFC would pay Mother enough money for the timber behind the home place to set me free.

    The receptionist met me with a sexy smile and directed me to the third floor. Mr. Jones, a small frail man with spectacles, sat behind his desk in a white shirt and red striped bowtie. He gave me a surprised look.

    “ May I help you?” he asked.

    I checked my pocket watch that kept railroad time, 11:55. “Mick MacDonald, here. I have an appointment.”

    The little man checked his roster.

    “ I’m here about the forty-five acres of timber in Lawrenceville.”

    The man stood and extended his hand, the top of his head barely reaching my shoulder blades. “Of course, Mr. MacDonald, forgive me, it’s been a very busy day. I’m Joad Jones. Please sit.”

    Mr. Jones settled back into his seat. “We sent a letter to every property owner in the state who had a tract of twenty acres or more of timber. You can imagine the response we’ve received.”

    I sat forward and twirled my fedora. “How much are we looking at?”

    Mr. Jones shot back. “What do you have?”

    “ Well, there’s oak, maple, and poplar mostly, full grown as far as I can tell.”

    Mr. Jones leaned back in his chair. “We’re paying top dollar, Mr. MacDonald, twenty-two dollars an acre.”

    Nearly a thousand dollars, I thought. That’s more than I put into the household in a year. Mother should be pleased with that. Now it was time to turn this deal in the right direction.

    “ That sounds more than fair, Mr. Jones. You see, I’m here on behalf of my mother, Mamie MacDonald. Mother is a country woman, unaware of business affairs. She asked me to make the necessary arrangements,