Free Elm Creek Quilts [10] The Quilter's Homecoming by Jennifer Chiaverini Page B

Simi Valley station. Almost before the train halted, Elizabeth and Henry leaped to their feet to collect their bags. As they waited for their trunks to be unloaded from the luggage car, Elizabeth paced along the platform, taking in the sights and unfamiliar smells, breathless from excitement. The station lay in a broad, flat valley surrounded by low, arid mountains. Just over the ridge was the Arboles Valley.
    Henry set Elizabeth to counting their pile of trunks and suitcases while he went to hail a cab. She sat down on the largest trunk and watched arriving passengers being met by family as outgoing passengers climbed aboard the train. The conductor called out his warning; shortly after, the engine started up again and the train chugged out of the station. Elizabeth sat alone on the platform.
    She rose, shaded her eyes, and looked around for Henry, but all she saw was a man working inside the ticket booth. In a moment, even he disappeared from view. Elizabeth began pacing again, but did not stray far from their belongings. Finally Henry appeared. “There’s not a cab anywhere.”
    “Well, we are out in the country.”
    “Sure, but this is a train station. We can’t be the only passengers who arrive here without anyone to pick them up.”
    Elizabeth glanced around the platform but decided not to point out that they certainly seemed to be, at least for that train. “Could we send word to the ranch? If they know we’ve arrived, I’m sure they’d send someone for us.”
    “If we had someone to send word to the ranch, we’d have our ride.”
    “Of course,” Elizabeth murmured. She sat down on the trunk again, planted her elbows on her knees, and rested her head in her palms.
    “I’ll find us something to drink,” said Henry in a kinder tone, as if to apologize for his impatience. He went off again and returned with two paper cones of cool water. Elizabeth drained hers quickly and wished for more, but Henry was in such a sour mood she didn’t want to inconvenience him.
    A few minutes passed and Henry went off to try again to find a cab. Elizabeth wished him good luck with more cheerfulness than she felt. Nearly an hour had passed since their arrival, and a trickle of people had begun to gather on the platform to await the next train. Before long Henry hurried back, grinning. “I helped a farmer unload his cargo in exchange for a ride,” he said. “Our hotel for tonight is out of his way. Let’s hurry so we don’t delay him any longer than necessary.”
    Elizabeth quickly rose and took two of the lighter suitcases in hand while Henry hefted a trunk onto his shoulder. She followed him off the platform and around the corner, where a tall, thin man in faded overalls and a plaid shirt waited beside a wagon, holding the reins of two draft horses. The weathered lines of his face spoke of hard times and disappointment, but his gaze was steady, though unsmiling. Henry hurried through introductions, and while Elizabeth shook Lars Jorgensen’s hand, her husband returned to the platform for their remaining luggage.
    “Can you hold a team?” Lars Jorgensen asked Elizabeth gruffly. When she nodded, he helped her up onto the wagon seat and handed her the reins. One of the horses stomped an enormous hoof and shook his shaggy mane. The farmer said something to him in a language Elizabeth did not recognize and went off to assist Henry.
    The Nelsons’ belongings took up nearly half of the wagon bed, much more territory than that claimed by the few wooden crates of supplies and cans of kerosene Lars Jorgensen had already stowed there. Lars took the reins from Elizabeth, who moved over to make room for him on the seat. Henry climbed into the back with the cargo. “Thank you for the ride,” he said to their host. “We’re obliged to you.”
    “Yes, thank you very much,” Elizabeth added. Lars nodded and shook the reins to start the team forward. The wagon lurched and headed off down the road toward the west.
    Elizabeth