Bear by Ryan Uytdewilligen

Ryan is this month’s winner of $120 for his beautiful story of love triumphing in difficult times. Based in York, Ontario, Ryan’s other works and awards can be found at his website:

https://ryanuytdewilligenauthor.com/

Without further ado, “Bear” by Ryan Uytdewilligen

Through wavering glass of the chugging train, wheat fields extended far past sight. Each head of grain was the momentary home of at least three grasshoppers. The infestation of the thumb-sized occupants saw to it that their symphony of songs screeched louder than the passing cars grinding against their tracks. When the train blew its whistle, only then could it stand a fighting chance against the racket produced by the brood of orchestral insects. 

But when it merely passed through, as it so often did, the uncountable number of feasting bugs was all anybody could hear. No one dared to pass through the storm of pests, soaring through the air like determined bullets. Not even farmers tended to those fields; the wheat and beans and barley were begrudgingly donated to the grasshopper’s cause to devour all in their path. Few could afford to seed their land in the first place; the ones who did hadn’t the money to harvest what managed to grow.

Inside the train was a different story; passengers—most of the passengers—wore carefully tended suits, sometimes tall hats on the men and bonnets for the women. The dirt and dust would blow in a whirling storm, coating the clothing when people waited at each platform; most would be none the wiser that the clothing had been soiled—busy hands tended to dirty clothing in the lavatories, always making sure every item looked presentable. 

It was all about image of course; pockets could be empty, but as long as a well-assembled outfit—a flowing skirt dangling above ankles or a pinstripe and pocket watch chain wrapped a hungry body—most eyes would be fooled. Each car had such a haze of cigar smoke; no one could quite view the proper details needed to size each other up anyway. 

A corner desk in one car, once stocked with candy bars and bottled sodas, now sold only the daily news. A coffee service normally ran up and down the aisles, but the gal who did the pouring called in sick that day, eight minutes before departure if you can believe it. Another car offered sips of brandy served in fine crystal snifters. The service was technically illegal, but if you got yourself in with the right traveling salesmen, one with railway manager connections and the crafty desire to squeeze an extra buck from a wet passion, well then a whole briefcase full of spirits would open up. 

For Frank O’Neil, he hadn’t a cigar to smoke or drink to sip; no pocket watch or suits worth noticing—not even a newspaper in his hand for that matter. He had a hat, though barely; its rim drooped lower than the man’s spirits. He thanked the sheer fact that everyone smoked so the dark stubble across his chin couldn’t be ridiculed. 

All Frank actually had with him was his daughter Ellie sitting next to the window on the hard, wooden, two-person seat. Six, gleefully messy, and clutching an even filthier teddy bear without a name, that girl took in the passing wheat fields and grasshoppers like it was the most magnificent show she’d ever witnessed in all her life. And that, at least, made Frank smile.

“I’m sorry,” Frank whispered. “I’m sorry things couldn’t be better for you. I’ll get you back in school one day—that’s a promise.” He received no response. “Did you hear me Ellie? After this is all behind us, I’m going to see to it you get back into class. I know how you like to read and all, and after this job’s done…”

Ellie was in her own world, the world of wheat fields and grasshoppers and whatever mythical additions she cast into the scenery she saw. Frank gave a quick snort, blowing a burst of delighted hot air down past his smile. After some seconds passed watching Ellie blow her breath against the window to fog it all up, Frank stuck his hand deep down past the holes of his wooly overcoat to fish out a delicate piece of print. His fingers had touched the paper so frequently; the ink was almost completely faded. Frank knew what it said; right from the beginning, the day he cut it out of the littered Gazette, he could recite the ad word for word.

Wanted: Experienced milkers, calvers, and drivers needed for work on large-scale dairy operation immediately—2240 Hollis Rd—$20 a week. 

Sure, Frank fretted over the fact that neither milkers nor calvers were actual words, and he wondered if the zero was in fact a zero or an eight. The whole road part of the address was simply added via methods of deduction; surely no such dairy farm in this world, Frank figured, was situated on a street. Avenues were out of the question. And the advertisement had been so well worn when Frank found it, all he could do was assume. 

Frank gulped often, thinking maybe that it was Hollis Drive, which was completely in the opposite direction. But he never knew there to be dairies in those neck of the woods though—Hollis Rd made the most sense given the sheer proximity to several other ranches and a sheep pasture. 

Ellie’s growling stomach piled on the pressure that the address was correct. There had been no contact made—though many times attempted—so Frank was now travelling a very long way purely on faith, hope, and luck to answer the call.

“What if someone already got the job?” Ellie whimpered with her gaze still forward at the window.

“It’s 20 a week Ellie; that makes it worth a shot. And the paper is only a couple days old; it’s new,” Frank assured. “Fresh print! So fresh, the ink ain’t even dry yet—it’s all melted away from my fingers.”

“But that paper ain’t from our town, right? It’s from miles away—”

“Hundreds of miles. It’s a simple stroke of luck that we ended up with it too! And I’m sure, yeah, maybe a few came poking around for a job already. But didn’t you read what it said? Milkers? Calvers? Truck drivers? They all got s’ on the end. They’re looking for lots of hands.”

Ellie finely turned, fed up with her father’s inexcusable ignorance—the kind of hope she saw many adults utter when they spoke to her—right before they all went off crying in a corner. 

“What we do if they turn you down and we have no money to get home?” the six-year-old snapped.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Frank chanted with his palms in the air. “I’m experienced in dairies. I grew up on a dairy. Ain’t no one more qualified than the many that spent the first fifteen years of his life working on one. We got lots of dough to tide us over,” he said, patting his breast pocket. “They’ll take me girl, you’ll see! You leave the worrying to me, all right?”

Ellie wasn’t convinced, although her stomach rumbling for a second time was enough to redirect her focus. 

“Is someone hungry?” Frank smiled.

Ellie smiled back, glancing at the fuzzy little passenger on her lap. “Yeah…Bear needs to eat!”

“Bear needs to eat? Bear does? You mean that was his belly rocking the train back and forth?” Ellie giggled as Frank licked his lips, trying to squeeze out a couple more notes of the high-pitched, playful voice he had in him. “Well, what does Bear like to eat? Honey? Fresh caught salmon?”

Ellie screwed up her face, thinking hard on what it was Bear wanted for lunch. After some conspiring and Bear getting propped to her ear to spill a secret, a decision was reached.

“Milk and cookies,” Ellie bravely announced. Frank couldn’t contain his laughter.

“Milk and cookies? Well, I don’t know that they have them for sale around here Bear, but you’ll be getting all the milk you can drink soon enough.”

Ellie huffed, turning back to the window to stave off her boredom again.

“What?” Frank said, doing his best to lure his daughter’s attention back to him. “I really don’t think the train has milk and cookies, darling. I can check, but for the last two years, three years even, I haven’t even seen peanuts…”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Ellie turned to her father again. “I wish it were pigs.”

“Huh?” he mumbled, dumbfounded and quite certain if there were no cookies on the train, there were certainly no pork chops to be had either.

“The dairy. I wish it was pigs. I adore pigs so much more than I do cows.”

Bless her heart, Frank thought. Some days Ellie seemed like an evenly matched accomplice since her manners and wit appeared without boundary. But she was a child after all, and Frank knew he couldn’t let himself forget that.

“I’m sorry you had to grow up in this, kid,” he whimpered again. “I really am sorry.” After a pause and a clap of his hands, Frank turned to the aisle. “Let’s see what they got to eat around here.”

All Frank saw was the conductor towering above them, face void of expression and left hand outstretched; the right one gripped a hole punch. 

“Tickets,” he said. 

Frank nodded and began an odyssey of pocket diving. He re-discovered his newspaper clipping and clung tight to a small wad of bills. Every pocket contained lint and one even stored a never-before-seen button, but Frank, for the life of him, couldn’t find the tickets. Ellie watched with saucers for eyes while the conductor grunted as he looked over the long stretch of train cars still to cover. 

Growing in panic, the hopefully-soon-to-be dairy worker clapped, standing up to search all of his pants pockets that he formally could not reach. Nothing in there either. Finally, the floppy hat atop his head slid down, almost as if it were waving for his attention. Frank laughed with delight as he removed the torn head topper and pulled out two tickets. The conductor must have only peered at them for one second before handing them back.

“These tickets have been forged,” he flatly announced. 

“What? Is this a joke? You’re just playing around with me, aren’t you?” Frank was given no indication the comment was a ruse. “But I bought them…I bought them from this fellow…”

“I’m sure you did,” the conductor replied. “You’ll be sent off at the next stop. We’ll be there in thirteen minutes.”

“No, please! There must be something that can be done,” Frank said, clamoring after the conductor who was already on his way to the next row of seats.

“Yes there is,” he said, giving Frank reason to smile. “Get yourself two tickets.”

Frank turned, feeding off the fear found in Ellie’s stare—fear mixed with disappointment and hints of embarrassment. He wished that she would go back to watching out the window as he began filtering through his bills. 

“Here. Let me buy ‘em. I’ll take two tickets please—for the last stop.”

The conductor filtered through the cash for several seconds before passing it back. 

“Not enough to get you there.”

“What do you mean not enough? That’s all I have…” Frank whispered the last part, careful that Ellie wouldn’t hear. As the conductor passed back the money, Ellie’s panic caught his attention; she looked to the floor as their eyes met. As stoic as he was, the conductor was still human. 

“Not even close, I’m afraid.”

“Please,” Frank continued. “I spent a fortune on those tickets. I swore they were real—they came from a reputable source, a friend! Well, a former friend now. But…we won’t be a bother! We’ll stand! Or…she’s small. I can just buy one seat, and she can sit on my lap. Please. I’m sure something can be done.”

The conductor turned to the trailing aisle; coughing passengers puffing away on cigarettes with evidently dry mouths. After a swallow and a peek at his watch, he actually mustered a half-smile as an opportunity presented itself. 

“Come with me.”

“Oh, thank you sir, thank you,” Frank said with a jump for joy. He and Ellie’s exchanges took a gleeful turn as she grinned and slid out of her seat to follow. “Oh, and sir,” Frank added as he stumbled after the hurried man. The conductor stopped just before entering the next car. “Do you happen to serve milk and cookies anywhere on this train?”

# # #

“Excuse me ma’am, but would you care for a cup of coffee?” Frank inquired before pouring. “And yourself sir? Nice warm freshly made cup of Joe for you? Coffee, Miss?”

Frank O’Neil traversed the rickety aisles of the train, carting an even ricketier trolley with a hefty five-gallon tin splashing around a piping hot batch of black brew. He had his own little system down pat by the team he reached the fourth row of seats; he’d sport a minuscule little Dixie cup and present the paper object with a smile warmer than the coffee itself. Almost everyone agreed to a complimentary cup except for several children, a woman who had taken ill, and an elderly fellow who simply detested the beverage and insisted there should be Blue Ribbon tea. 

Frank would do his best to steadily pour from a dented metallic carafe and pass the cups of coffee so that no detrimental drop ever had a chance of spilling. The next step was cream, which was poured at each passenger’s request from a small glass pitcher and needed constant refilling. Sugar came later, as it was Frank’s own notion that everything sweet should arrive at the very end. 

So, trailing down the aisle, sometimes three rows behind and delaying sugar-takers’ first sips, came Ellie with a bowl and spoon. She lacked the etiquette and steady hand of her father, letting the sugar sift all over the floor—sometimes even passenger laps. Precision was hindered even more so by the fact Ellie’s Bear came along for the job with her, stuffed underneath the girl’s left arm. 

Normally the coffee service would have been nearing the end of its first cycle at this point in the route. The gal responsible for the pouring had a more efficient method of her own, managing to make each cup with the right ingredients all in one go over the cart. That method never dawned on Frank, as obvious as it probably should have been. 

Frank was nervous, absolutely tickled, and evidently distracted by the chance granted by the conductor to make up for false tickets; he wanted nothing more than to succeed and do a good job. That’s why he even agreed to wear the regular gal’s pink and white apron; though it prompted some snickers, he was absolutely dedicated to following protocol. 

Frank traversed, exchanging quick conversations with the other passengers—few ranging more than just coffee talk. He’d sum up in one sentence why he was the one performing the pouring; stating nothing more than the task fell to him because the regular was sick. He heard a lot of mumbles about the use of Dixie cups and how trains used to use fine china before the country’s fortunes took a turn. Ellie received a few more energetic thank-you’s than her Pop, but words other than “spoon of sugar” failed to leave her mouth. 

“I’ll take six,” demanded a rather round nine-year-old boy in a burgundy suit jacket and blue dress shirt. Ellie figured the boy needed not a grain of sugar at all, but she didn’t dare say that, instead, fixating on his pronounced lips—seemingly stuck in a puckered state. By the time her eyes moved to his pomade-slicked hair, Ellie had forgotten the request entirely. “Hey,” the boy snapped again, holding out his cup. “I said six spoonfuls.”

“Are you sure you should be drinking that?” Ellie said with concern. “Daddy says if you drink coffee too young, it stunts your growth.”

“Never mind your Dad, I said give me six.” Ellie looked at the empty seats surrounding the boy, wondering exactly where his Mom and Dad were at the moment and if they’d have a comment or two to say about his cup of painfully sweet coffee. Her dad did give him the cup, after all, so she figured the request was all right. Two spoonfuls in, the boy’s spitting feminine image, wearing the same loud colors and harboring just a bit more make-up, tromped over and snatched the cup away. 

“What do you think you’re doing, giving my son coffee? He’s nine.”

“But he wanted…” Ellie trailed.

“Well my boy is certainly not like you, getting every little thing he wants in life,” the mother snapped. “Keep moving.”

Ellie gulped and carried on with her duties, trying to force a smile on her face by the time she arrived at the next seat. Bear did not arrive to the next row of sugar-takers with her, falling from the clutch of Ellie’s armpit to partially underneath a train seat. She failed to notice her travel companion’s disappearance and made it three rows down until beginning to ponder why her job seemed to feel easier. 

The boy noticed Bear—flat on his back against the ground—within seconds. While his mother slurped her son’s coffee, wincing at the sweetness she could barely stand to swallow, the boy collected the stuffed animal and began to maneuver it around in the air as if it were taking a stroll all on its lonesome. 

“Hey, that’s mine,” Ellie shouted, stomping back towards the boy.

“No he’s not,” the boy insisted. “I found him and the rules are finders keepers.” 

“That’s not true. Give him back!”

Ellie grabbed Bear’s leg, only to find the boy wasn’t planning to let go of him without a fight. She knew she’d need both hands to pull off the rescue, so the girl placed the sugar bowl and spoon on an empty seat beside her, grabbing hold of exactly one arm and one leg.

“Get your hands off my bear,” the boy whined. 

“Let go! You’ll break him,” Ellie warned. What did break was the sugar bowl, which hadn’t any chance of surfing atop the slick wooden train seats. The track began to take a turn, and sure enough, the spoon fell first—followed by a quick and very loud shatter of glass. 

The boy was easily startled by the noise and embarrassed by the destruction, quickly letting go of Bear and sending Ellie flying backward a few steps. The girl stayed upright, but her arms swung Bear in all directions, including the seats across from her where cups of hot coffee were sent flying. Two passengers, a husband and wife sitting across casually minding their own business and reading books, found themselves covered in piping hot stains. They shot up at the exact same time, shouting at Ellie, both in anger and in pain. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” barked the boy’s mother, readying to deliver a nasty monologue chastising Ellie. Her words were cut short when the glass of the broken sugar bowl found its way into her ankle. 

At that point, Frank casually turned to survey the commotion, excitedly dropping the carafe in mid pour when he discovered his daughter was the center of all the shouting. Coffee splashed into all directions, soaking feet that were innocently wagging and tapping on the other end of the car. As Frank ran to pull Ellie away from the commotion, the train whistle gave an elongated toot; immediately, the cars began slowing down to stop at the upcoming station. 

The change in speed naturally sent the entire coffee cart soaring down the aisle on its own. When Frank turned to wrap his fingers around the handle, the whole trolley mechanism had shot itself straight for the doorway into the next train car. It missed, smashing into the frame, tipping the five-gallon tin, and casting a river of freshly brewed java over the outfits of anyone helplessly sitting in rows one to four. 

As the conductor came galloping from one end of the train to the other, Frank let out a sigh and looked Ellie in the eye. It was as if their gaze had held an hour-long meeting, covering such topics as disappointment, forgiveness, fear, and even humor. 

“Out,” said the conductor.

“Yes,” Frank replied, busy forming a smile and scratching his chest where the newspaper advert rested in his breast pocket. “I’m afraid we are out of coffee.”

# # #

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I’m sorry,” Ellie squawked like a parrot obsessed with its own words. 

“I’m sorry,” Frank rebutted. The duo had made it about one mile down a gravel road, and all their conversation had consisted of for the entire walk was a back and forth of those two words.

“It’s just, he took Bear and I didn’t know what else to do,” Ellie huffed.

“I’m sorry I put you to work, and I’m sorry we still haven’t gotten a thing inside your belly,” Frank fretted.

“That’s okay Daddy—I think I had me at least five spoons of sugar on the train.”

Frank winced, stopping his stride to stoop down to Ellie’s level. “I really am sorry things couldn’t be better for you,” he said.

“You keep saying that.”

“Well I mean it. I’m sorry. But I tell you, when we get home, I’m going to look extra hard for a job. I’ll read the classifieds in every paper printed in a thousand-mile radius. I’ll go back to digging that canal for Mr. Rolfstead, and I’ll—”

“Go home? What do you mean, go home?”

“Well…we’re going home muffin. We don’t got enough dough to get us anywhere but back to town.”

“What about the cows? We’re not going to the dairy no more?”

“No…Ellie, I think you were right about the dairy. Someone else far closer than us got all the work they had. Next time though,” Frank assured, “next time we’ll be first.”

Tears wavered on the edge of Ellie’s eyes; they were there only for a second, but a quick wipe with her sleeve made it seem as though they had never glistened there at all. She sniffled, never taking her attention away from her father.

“I’m still game to try if you are.”

“They’re not letting us back on that train,” said Frank, rising back up to full height to survey the dusty, flat, and evidently empty road ahead. 

“We don’t need a train,” Ellie insisted. “We can hitch a ride.”

“Easier said than done. People don’t like giving out rides so much to other folks these days.”

“It’s easier for ladies than it is for men.”

Frank stifled his laughter, finding comedy and sheer terror that his child just referred to herself as a lady. “What makes you say that?”

“I saw it in a picture with Aunt Alice last Christmas — It Happened One Night with Clark Gable. Did you see that one, Pop?”

Frank kicked around a small clump of dirt, finding his mind becoming completely soothed by the sheer determination and positivity of his daughter.

“Your aunt Alice took you to the picture show? How nice. That’s nice to hear. I didn’t know that,” Frank mumbled slowly. “No, I didn’t see that one. What happens?”

“Clark Gable and his gal needed a ride and she got them one with a system all her own,” Ellie explained. It was then, both Frank and Ellie saw a cloud of dust, made only by a fast-traveling car, rise up in the distance. “Watch,” she said, skipping to the side of the road.

Frank meandered, kicking his dirt clump into a weedy ditch and moving clear out of the car’s path. He looked up to find his six-year-old lifting her skirt up to knee length, sticking her roly-poly little left leg out as far as it possible would go, and swiveling it around in the air —though she lacked the stability to keep it outstretched for more than half a second. 

As the car neared Ellie’s roadside display, Frank had to just about re-install his eyeballs as they had popped so far out of his head that their distance should have been a record. He grabbed her arm, dragging her through midair to put a stop to the show before the driver got a glimpse.

“Come on,” Frank grumbled. 

“Hey! That was our chance. What’d I do wrong?” Ellie whined. 

“Keep your feet on the group and keep walking.”

“Where are we going?”

“The dairy,” Frank snapped. “Anything to keep your filthy mind occupied. And we’ll be using my system to get there.”

# # #

“Run,” Frank bellowed at Ellie, who was already twelve steps behind him at regular walking pace. Frank had already long ago sprung into action, casting his body forward in a sprint alongside the train track. Finally, he couldn’t believe their luck. After hours of trudging over the dirt and gravel, thumbs stuck out to only three passing Chevys that all turned a blind eye, they meandered the lonely road west. 

A passenger train had chugged along about an hour or so before, a bitter sight Frank couldn’t stand to witness for too long. He made contact with a couple of pairs of worry-free eyes peering back at him through the window. Their curious gazes lasted only a split second, but the unintentional damage was long-lasting. Frank kept his head down, making a point to stop Ellie from starring out any more train car windows to prevent any pain she might inflict on weary faces wandering in the adjacent ditch. 

This train was different; no passengers to be had, or, coffee for that matter. Only closed cars of wheat and open ones stacked with boxes and crates; all of it, Frank figured, relating to agriculture in some fashion. The closed cars failed to perk up his mind, but a lengthy stretch of open ones gave him an idea. 

Frank always wanted to catch a lift from a passing train, despite it being against the law and terribly dangerous. He had read about that action in many books before, and something about riding the rails called to his adventurous nature. This train, what with its cargo and direction, looked to be that it’d get them just about to the front door of the dairy’s farmhouse; it was a gift from the heavens they could not pass up. 

He tripped and slid over the dirt, but his pace kept up; they actually had a clear shot of climbing aboard; if, of course, Frank attempted in the next eight seconds. It was six or seven steps through the weeds and then one big dive into the car; the impedance of it all being Frank would have to lift Ellie and give her a jarring toss as she could never make that leap on her own. That part of the plan made Frank cold with dread, but he knew he could do it. It was Ellie’s own landing skills that bothered him—he would be certain to warn her about keeping her head up and arms out.

When it came time to conduct the first phase of the maneuver, Frank took in a dusty breath, cracking his neck and shaking his arms as throw he was about to toss out a World Series pitch. “Okay Ellie, when I pick you up, I want you to get yourself ready for…” Frank trailed his instructions into silence as he turned to life his daughter. 

She was nowhere near his side—not even a reasonable amount behind him. Ellie was boarding on a blur in the distance, gasping for air as her little legs pumped her along. Every few steps, Bear was dropped into the dirt; causing her to have to stop, turn, and rescue the poor critter from getting left behind. The caboose quickly passed the girl by, a sight that kept her running forward at a marginally faster pace; in Ellie’s mind, it was as if she was shifting into a higher gear. 

Frank waved his arms in a signal for her to run faster, but he only did so by swaying his hands several times through the air. The caboose was about to even eclipse him—open and almost empty cars, ripe for the riding, chugged along. Frank still had ounces of hope that they could make it; “maybe if he ran to grab her and then did the running for both of them?” he thought. Logical snafus like if they would have actually gotten into the same car or if Frank would have even been able to climb inside the train at all after hoisting Ellie crossed his mind.

Doubts turned to defeat until finally, Frank’s legs stopped running. He hunched over to catch his breath—eyes glinting at the train that had now completely passed him by. Frank huffed and puffed, removing his hat to fan himself and side his sleeve against his brow. He breathed one long snort of anger before swallowing it all down to his stomach, determining it was a foolish idea to drag his daughter through something so perilous after all.

The train completely disappeared behind weeds and a lone knoll of grass and grain. By that time, Frank had caught up with his breath and returned upright. Ellie finally arrived, zipping right by her Pop and puffing along the roadside as she profusely waved him on—Bear clutched tight to her chest with her other hand.

“What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

Ellie continued on the journey, stopping for several breaths before lunging onwards for a few more steps. Frank smiled as he plunked his hat back on top of his head, watching Ellie stop and start and stop and start, calling his name in anger between every pace change. Frank sauntered on, catching up with his daughter after only a few casual steps. 

He plopped himself down in a makeshift bed of weeds and hunkered down for a ten-minute nap. Ellie kicked at him the entire time, tugging every limb while insisting that if Frank didn’t rise, they were going to miss the train.  

# # #

“What am I going to do while you’re working at the dairy?” Ellie inquired as she and Frank walked further on down the road. 

“Well you’re going to work right alongside me of course,” Frank rebutted without a beat.

“What? But I don’t know how to milk a cow,” she whined. 

“You’ll learn,” Frank laughed.

“But…what if I don’t want to?”

“Don’t want to? Millions are out of work and you won’t do a job just because you don’t want to? What kind of girl am I raising?”

Ellie didn’t respond this time. Bear dangled down from her left hand; its fluffy paw falling occasionally low enough to drag along in the dirt. She gave a long contemplation about what her father had said before her belly let out a grumble louder than a real live bear could have roared. Of course, the pair smiled and instantly started to laugh. 

“What if I’m too hungry to work?” Ellie inquired in a dead-serious tone.

“You won’t have to work Ellie; maybe they’ll know a school teacher that can read to you. Maybe you can play out in the pasture all day. You leave the work to me, all right?”

“And the food?”

“You leave that to me too.”

Ellie’s stomach roared again.

“What about for now?”

That one stumped Frank for a little while; he gazed at the dry, crisp grain that seemed like it would wither any day now; missing out on its destiny of being a hearty loaf of bread. “Maybe they could chew the grain?” Frank thought.

“Maybe we could have a couple grasshoppers to tide us over till supper?” he said out loud.

Ellie’s eyes instantly went to the ground; everywhere they stepped, a grasshopper was sure to be. She felt bad, having killed at least twenty on their walk from the train stop. Deep down, she knew that’s why her stride had been so slow when she jogged for the train; each step at full force surely spelled the end of a grasshopper’s life. She felt bad when she gave Bear a couple shakes to knock off the ones that had landed on him. But, chewing up one of the jumpy bugs was a different story; it was nature—survival, after all…

No, she figured, sticking out her tongue after a dry heave. Their beady eyes and crunchy back-wings and legs and orchestrated little songs; no way could she eat a grasshopper. During all that contemplation, Frank had caught one in his hands.

“You won’t,” she said in confidence. Frank smiled and opened his mouth as wide as it could go. “I don’t believe you,” she said again—fixated on the fist that evidently held his lunch. 

Slowly but surely, Frank lifted his arm, bringing it closer and closer to his face. Ellie shook her head, losing confidence that her father would in fact ingest the creature—but trying her best to keep a straight face so he could see she was too old to fall for his tricks.

When the fist got to Frank’s mouth, Ellie screamed and covered her eyes with Bear. Frank gave a couple of exaggerated chews and one big swallow; the slimy noise latter was enough to make the poor girl gag.

“I won’t do it,” she protested. “Go ahead and eat the whole field full, I’m not putting a single one in my mouth.”

When Ellie opened her eyes, Frank’s mouth was back open. So was his palm, which still housed the grasshopper. Its wings spread and off it flew; proudly taking itself off the menu. Ellie frowned while Frank grinned. She had a few choice words for her father, scolding him for upsetting young lady’s stomachs and dragging poor innocent grasshoppers into cruel jokes. 

“Wait,” Frank said, putting a finger to Ellie’s lips. “Look.”

A white wooden building that stood small but sturdy on the horizon was now on full display. A hanging sign overtop the doorway swung in the gentle breath of wind while two gasoline pumps sat empty a few feet away, waiting for any oncoming traffic that might require a fill-up. 

“That’s real right? That little service station there? That’s not just a house, right? I ain’t imagining things, am I?”

“I see it too, Pop,” Ellie assured.

“I’m willing to bet that he’s got milk for sale in there and a couple cookies sitting across a tray up on the counter,” Frank grinned. 

Ellie’s stomach gained a new lease on life, unknotting itself and forgetting any memory of grasshoppers. The girl jumped up and down, bouncing Bear along with her.

“Should we run?” Ellie asked.

“Well…you never know when he might close,” Frank said. “Come on, let’s eat.”

# # #

“What can I do you two for?” the aging gent behind the counter calmly inquired as he set his newspaper down. With bifocals that took up half his wrinkled face, a sheepherders hat, and a physique that told Frank and Ellie he was more malnourished than the two of them combined—their hopes remained small; figuring all he had for food and drink was gasoline.

“Were fixing for something to eat,” Frank said, catching his breath. “Think you can help us out?” 

The attendant’s hand gestured towards a glorious rack of stale chocolate bars that, by the amount of dust settled on them, look as though they belonged in a museum. Ellie rushed over, of course, with a kid in a candy shop mentality—even though she recognized only one of the brand names. Always the optimist, she figured this was a chance to try something new.

“Go on,” Frank encouraged, “pick out what you want.”

Ellie nodded, settling for a McKenzie Co. Nugget Bar for no other reason than its glistening gold wrapper and carefully designed cursive. Frank spied a couple of black bananas that he snapped up despite their condition; he figured he could talk the attendant down to at least half price. He quickly found an apple and a bag of saltines; there were even a couple cans of tuna fish for sale, and just for himself, a taffy roll. 

“You got any cookies?” Frank said to the attendant, who curiously watched on at their every move. He just shook his head in silence. Frank and Ellie shared a look and a disappointed grumble. “How ‘bout milk? You got a fresh bottle sitting around in here?”

“Don’t sell milk,” the attendant grumbled. No matter, Frank and Ellie dumped their smorgasbord of snacks onto the counter, licking their lips and counting the second until they were fortunate to dive in and devour every morsel. 

“Soda pops. You go and grab two soda pops too, won’t you Ellie?” Frank asked with an accompanying finger snap. The girl was on it, rifling through the selection of sweet syrupy beverages. 

“Where you two coming from?” the attendant asked. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, yeah…we’re doing fine,” Frank fibbed, though he knew the makeshift meal would lift their spirits in no time. “Got off at the last train station…sign said there wasn’t another one stopping here till Friday.”

“Train stops Tuesdays and Fridays…not too many people get on or off ‘round here.”

“So what? The train just goes on by Wednesdays and Thursdays?” Frank laughed in disbelief. The attendant nodded. 

“Town of Bonneydale is just a mile and half north of the train stop. They cut back on account of not too many folks living there nowadays. Keep heading west from here and there’s Iron Springs…‘bout sixty call that place home.”

“Well we’re sure in need of a ride. Can’t wait three days, that’s for sure,” Frank said, thinking to himself that he can’t wait to pay for his food either. The attendant showed no interest in tabulating the bill; he was far too focused on studying the unfamiliar faces.

“Where you headed?”

“2240 Hollis Rd,” Frank replied. “It’s a dairy.”

“Ah…Martin Brother’s dairy.”

As Ellie plopped two sodas down on the counter, Frank found himself gripping the counter, pulling his face as close as the attendant would let him get.

“You know it?”

“Sure I do…one of the biggest dairies around these parts.”

Frank clamored for the advertisement in his pocket, forgoing that action about halfway through when he figured he knew the words off by heart and didn’t need it to illustrate the reasoning behind their travels.

“They’re hiring! Looking for milkers and calvers and truck drivers I heard,” Frank explained, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible.

“Sure are. Having a heck of a time finding a reliable bunch too.”

Frank just about fell over, the weight of restored hope was too heavy to keep him upright. 

“You’ve spoken to them? There’s still work to be had?”

“Yeah…well…,” the attendant nodded. “Seems people aren’t too honest these days about their skills. Hired a handful already, Douglas told me. Barely any of them milked a cow before, despite all of ‘em saying they had.”

Frank jumped, starling the poor attendant as he laughed and clapped his hands. As Ellie looked on, her father was sure to ruffle up her hair; an action she positively detested. While the girl straightened herself back out, Frank pointed to the groceries as he cleared his throat. The attendant got to typing away on the register, coming up with a total that just about surpassed three dollars. 

Frank wanted to ask the fellow just where in the world he got off for charging those kinds of prices, but hunger and impatience got the best of him. He dug deep into his pockets for the little roll of bills he had with him, discovering it wasn’t in his left or right pocket; not even inside where his newspaper clipping was kept.

“Hold on a minute now,” Frank said as he removed his coat and began searching every possible crevice. “It’s gotta be here somewhere.”

Both Ellie and the attendant watched on as Frank dug and tore and shook and grabbed and rifled and fingered the entire parameter of his coat. He even checked in his hat and his shoes with no luck.

“Where’s the money, Pop?” Ellie asked with growing concern. “Don’t you have it anymore?”

“I…I…uh…,” Frank repeated his search, clawing inside every pocket and corner for the fourth time.

“Could it have fallen somewhere?” the attendant asked.

Stumbling off the train platform…running alongside the gravel road…plopping down for a rest in the weeds…Frank figured the last of his bills could be any one of those places. While his feet carried him towards the door in a burst of passion to go carry out a search, the man stopped himself when he realized the most probable cause. Some wealthy passenger must have noticed when Frank was serving up coffee, and helped themselves just as he was outstretched, passing around the cups. 

Frank tossed his hat on the ground. He slapped the counter and stomped his foot a couple of times. Ellie kept silent, knowing full well that it was a rare moment to see her father in a fit of anger. Whenever it occurred, she wanted nothing more than to run away and have nothing more to do with Frank—wondering deep down that if there hadn’t been a counter to slap, maybe it might have been her.

“Tell you what,” said the attendant, admiring the rare drama unfolding in his sleepy little shop, “I don’t get out the city too much and there aren’t a lot of folks that sell toys and whatnot for children. You trade me that there teddy bear for this whole lot of treats here, I’ll call it even.”

Frank turned to Ellie, who did nothing but grip Bear tighter than she ever had before. Frank looked back at the food, already tasting hints of taffy and soda pop on his lips.

“I got a grandson about the same age as you, little girl. What are you, six?” Ellie nodded as the attendant scooped the food up and put it in a convenient little brown paper bag. “He don’t got a teddy bear and I know he’d very much like to have one. What do you say? We got a deal?”

The attendant held out the bag of food, throwing in some peanuts and a couple of napkins for good measure. Ellie looked down at Bear, its beady eyes telling her nothing else but to never let go. When she looked up, trying her best to work up the courage to part with her best friend for the greater good, she found her father holding the door open. Despite there being storm clouds visible in the distance, Ellie couldn’t help but get a little teary-eyed and smile from ear to ear.

“Come on Ellie,” he said. “Let’s go.”

# # #

Frank carried a fast asleep Ellie through the pouring rain—who, in turn, carried Bear. Of course, being tuckered out and all, Ellie kept dropping Bear into puddles, forcing her father to have to trudge back and stoop down and try to retrieve the stuffed animal while balancing the girl on his back. He figured they must have walked for hours, though with the rain, minutes felt like years. It was heavy rain, not just a drizzle; the kind that seeps through, not only one’s many layers of clothing, but through their skin and deep down to the core of their bones. 

The man muttered and hummed, anything to quietly filter out his anger and attempt to take his mind off that anger through original tunes. Frank wondered if he should have bucked up and traded the darn bear. He wondered if he should have run off with a couple of chocolate bars in his pocket to tide them over—as shameful as both of those thoughts did seem. He wondered if the two of them were going to come down with a cold fairly soon. Then, Frank spotted a light and wondered just how far away it was.

A good half an hour or so more, and Frank and Ellie were right underneath it. They had found a farm; well, Frank found it, Ellie was still asleep but she was still physically present for the discovery. They found a farm which in turn, meant they had found barns, trees, and a farmhouse. Frank spent several minutes banging on the door and begging for shelter, but no answer seemed to indicate the owner was not home. He hoisted Ellie to a nice firm, luscious oak tree with thick branches where they could keep warm and dry for at least the rest of the night. Frank surveyed the place, wondering which barn they could nestle into until he spied a trash can. 

Out from the can, Frank pulled an apple core and coffee grounds. He discovered moldy bread and some kind of pasta sauce that had completely lost all-natural color. Frank poked around for anything edible and settled on the initial core, but he was certain the deeper he dove, the better the find would be. Oh, he tried to chase away the nausea, accompanied by voices that warned what he was doing was downright volatile. He didn’t care, Frank was hungry. He knew Ellie must have been even hungrier, what with her being a growing girl and all. 

He found paper and cans and butter that looked fine but must have ended up there because it had spoiled. Nothing touched Frank’s lips, but mostly because he got distracted half- way through the process of ingesting a piece of carrot. All rotten food items left his hands…even the lid to the trash can clamored on the ground as he fixated on the holy sight parked before him. 

A Ford Coupe—black—and from that year, faced he and Ellie—no one inside and with no one watching. Frank waltzed over to her, grazing the wet finish with his finger that glistened under the yard light until his hold hand made its way to the door. To his surprise, the door was open, and to his delight, the keys dangled inside.

# # #

Frank O’Neil had both hands on the steering wheel—his daughter’s head rested against the glass, still clutching Bear and possessing no knowledge of where she was or what was happening around her. He had turned on the small cab light and ran his hands over the dusty dash. Frank had turned every knob and twisted every dial. He even took the liberty of locking both doors and adjusting Ellie so she could endure all of the bumps that waited ahead so she could keep on sleeping. All the man had to do now was turn the key.

“I’m sorry,” Frank whispered, turning his attention to Ellie—though each word fell completely on deaf ears. He wouldn’t have wanted Ellie to see him cry anyway. “I’m sorry things couldn’t be better for you. After this is all behind us, I’m going to get you right back in the schoolhouse and…”

Frank mumbled, even whimpered a little, as he sniffled and wiped away his wet face. The windows had fogged up from their breaths, but he was certain, once he got the contraption going on down the road, he’d be able to see just fine. Again, his thumb and forefinger slid on either side of the keys—they just failed to move it.

“I’m sorry that it’s come to this…but…but what choice do we have? There’s no other job and there’s no other way to get to the dairy. They’ll forgive me…I have every intention of bringing it back.”

Ellie’s face, perhaps from the cold or perhaps the comfort from a goodnight’s rest, was covered in a rosy pink. Her lashes flickered as her lips crested into a faint smile. She, in Frank’s view, looked like the spitting image of innocence. She hadn’t a clue where she was or what her father was up to. Even if Frank had looked at the farmhouse door a dozen times and made sure the coast was clear, he couldn’t drag her towards the possible brink of such shameful consequences. She clung tight to Bear while Frank clung tight to Ellie.

“I’m sorry your ma had to be called away so early…I miss her Ellie. I miss her every day and I know you do too. I can’t imagine what you feel,” Frank gulped. “But I can’t imagine having the strength and view of life that you do. I’m proud of you my sweet girl…and I hope you get the chance to have money as…as an afterthought one day. I hope you get to dance and read and skate on ponds when the weather goes cold. I hope…I hope one day you meet a boy that gives you everything better than I ever could. I hope…I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for this.”

Frank took his eyes off Ellie and looked up…up past the roof shielding his head from the rain. “I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Frank pinched the keys and moved the ignition slightly—slightly, but not even one-quarter of the way. Seconds passed until he returned it to its inaugural position. He let go of both the keys and the steering wheel, huffed, and then opened the door to delicately take his daughter out.

# # #

The rain had stopped, which Frank took as a good sign. He had marched a good half mile down the road, thinking for most of the duration that as long as the skies stayed dry and the moon lit their way, it might just yet turn out to be a fairly good night. Ellie road on his back, little arms clinging around his neck for support. Frank’s arms grew tired holding up her legs, and he knew sooner or later she was going to have to wake up and march a little on her own; but he was determined to dredge on for as long as he could until resorting to it. 

Just then, Ellie woke.

“Where’s Bear?” she asked.

“I’m not sure where we are, but there’s lights down the way we’re heading, and that man at the service station said there was a village over that way,” Frank replied. 

“No…where’s Bear?” Ellie asked again.

“You don’t have him?” Frank said.

“No…don’t you?”

Frank stopped, slowly plopping Ellie to the ground—she needed a few seconds to regain her balance and fully wake. The little girl looked all over her body for any sign of the stuffed animal but came up short. Frank did the same, finding no sign of Bear. 

“Where is he?”

“He’s…he’s…”

Frank didn’t have it in his heart to say Bear was gone. That would have also been a lie, seeing as how he knew exactly where Bear sat. Stories of make-belief ran through his mind, ones where Bear went his separate ways to find a family or go collect some supper for the two of them. But when the shivering lip of his daughter began to pout and waterfalls rained down from her eyes, he knew that none of those words would ever do…nothing—no excuse—could suffice.

  Frank sighed, picking up his daughter and propping her back into position atop his shoulders, before walking back the way they’d just come. 

“He’s this way,” Frank said. 

# # #

Upon their return, the number of motor vehicles parked in the farmyard had multiplied to three; the two new ones had the word police painted on the side. Sure enough, two officers chitchatted as they casually kept an eye out for whatever the reason they had been called over there—an attempted robbery no doubt.

To make matters worse, time was now at the cusp of morning and the all-illuminating sun began to rise. With law-enforcement bodies standing mere steps away from the black Coupe, Frank had no chance in the slightest of retrieving Bear unseen.

“What are we waiting for?” asked Ellie. “Where’s Bear?”

Frank shushed her; the father and daughter stood hidden in the trees on the opposite side of the house. Frank could plainly see that he had knocked over the trash can and left the Coupe’s door ajar. He was a messy thief, that was for sure. Though he failed to actually take anything, the man felt guilty for leaving behind such a pigsty.

Three minutes or so later, the officers began to walk about—eventually heading inside the home. It was Frank’s moment; the path was clear and he knew he could be quick.

“Stay here,” he warned Ellie as he crouched down into a half-skulk half-sprint position.

“But I—” Frank shushed his daughter once more, forcefully guiding her body down towards the darker and weedier ground. 

Swiftly and silently, Frank tip-toed across the yard—about 70 feet or so—tripping over the gravel only twice. The luck of it all for him was that the passenger door still remained detached, so minimal noise would be made. A loud, rusty creak echoed when he ripped the door open, but he hadn’t much time to give it a thought. Bear was lying on the floor, waiting to be rescued.

“All right, you just stop what you’re doing there,” a bitter voice warned. Frank’s hand wrapped around one of Bear’s legs, but the sound of a pumping shotgun caused him to immediately let go.

He spun around to find a frail senior shoving a loaded barrel straight in his face. All Frank could do was whimper and shoot his hands straight in the air.

“Who do you think you are? Slipping around someone’s property and putting your fingers all over their belongings?”

“You don’t understand,” Frank whimpered.

“They’ll be no chances for you to take nothing where you’re going?” the old man spat. The two officers returned from inside the home—mouths still full with breakfast, but hands busy filling themselves with the clubs that swung from their belts.

“I can explain,” Frank screamed.

One of the officers was sure to yank Frank away from the Coupe as hard as he could, slamming the door as soon as there was space to do so, and then flipping the father around so he could pin him up against the vehicle’s roof.

“You’re coming with us,” barked one of the officers.

“I didn’t take anything,” Frank cried. “I was looking for food for my daughter. I was looking for shelter. I thought about driving off, but I didn’t. We kept going ahead on foot.”

“Liar. There ain’t no daughter with you,” the old man sneered.

“So you admit it?” asked an officer.

“Where were you off to?” asked the other.

“Work. I’m just looking for work and they’re hiring at a dairy not far from here,” Frank said with a squirm—still pinned flat against the Coupe.

“Martin Brothers dairy?” grumbled the man—still holding tight to his weapon.

“Yes! Yes! I have to get there. It’s the only place I know that’s taking folks. It’s the only way I can give her a better life.”

“Father! Father!” screamed Ellie, tumbling from out behind the brush and across the gravel. The girl stampeded towards the commotion; the officers were at first startled and ready for an attack before the sunrise revealed just who exactly was launching it.

“Eleanor! I told you to stay put,” Frank snapped. “Don’t hurt her! Please don’t hurt her.”

“Partner in crime?” inquired an officer.

“Her bear,” Frank replied. “We came back for her bear.”

Both officers looked at each other before turning their attention to the completely befuddled old man.

“What bear?” all three collectively shouted together.

Frank squirmed all the more as he heard Ellie slip and slide over towards him. The officer holding him could sense his fear and even he couldn’t stand to separate the two. He let go of Frank, trusting that he wouldn’t go for some kind of weapon, and instead hold tight to his young child. The officer’s theory was naturally correct. 

Frank and Ellie held on to each other as if they were two connective pieces made whole. Both cried and shook and nuzzled and squeezed. The three men standing around had to turn their heads, otherwise memories of their own children threatened to put a complete halt to the arrest.

“What’s going to happen?” Ellie whimpered.

“You don’t worry about a thing. I ain’t going to let nothing happen to you Ellie! I promise.”

“For real…for real father,” Ellie said, wiping her tears. “I’m getting older now. You can tell me. I’ll understand. Why are they after you? What’s going to happen?”

Frank stuttered, searching for an explanation that colored over the harsh realities of prisons and fines. Before he could find one, the officer cracked open the Coupe’s door and found a child’s stuffed animal. He cradled the critter—Bear—for a moment or so as he determined whether it could be used as evidence or a gift for his three-year-old niece.

“I think this might belong to you, little girl,” the officer said, extending his hand with Bear dangling down.

Ellie wiped her tears and clutched it tight against her chest.

“Thank you,” she said.

The farmer started by pointing his shotgun down towards the ground. Then he turned his attention to the lump in his throat that felt rounder than a plump red apple. He itched his cheek and scratched all down his neck, trying to distract himself and make it so that no one could really tell that he was trying to wipe away tears of his own. After a couple of deep breaths and a few glances at his dark and empty home, he moved forward.

“That was the Martins’ dairy you said?”

“Yeah,” Frank nodded, taking out the newspaper clipping from his pocket. The elderly farmer read over it at least a dozen times as he dug his heels deep within the dirt.

“No need to stick around her officers,” the man assured. “I think I can handle it from here.”

The pair took a couple steps back, hanging around to observe just exactly what it was the old man planned to do.

“It just so happens I got a load of hogs due to ship out in a couple hours from here. They’ll go right past that dairy. No room in the cab I’m afraid…but if you two don’t mind riding in the back…”

Frank looked at Ellie—both eyes restored with complete wonder and joy.

“Pigs,” she mouthed in complete amazement—certain it was to be the highlight of her life.

“Bless you sir,” Frank said, shaking the man’s hand. “The back will be just fine.”

# # #

Frank and Ellie were sure to give the truck driver a courteous wave; even a couple vocalized “thank-a-millions” and a “so-long” as he pulled away. Ellie blew kisses at each hog, waving and shouting as she jumped for joy, reveling in her fortunate hours spent rolling around with them in piles of hay. Both smelled of swine and manure; Ellie was practically covered in it, but the girl had so much fun chasing the animals and pulling their little tails, she didn’t mind a bit. 

Frank took one look at the gates ahead and instantly went for Ellie’s hair, licking his palm and trying his hardest to straighten what he could. 

“How do I look?” she asked.

“Never mind how you look, just mind what you say. We’re asking for work and they’ll be watching us, so let your Pop do the talking, all right?”

Ellie nodded as Frank swept the dust and dirt and hay and excrement off of his clothes. He removed his hat and straightened the thing up as best he could. A quick check of the piece of newsprint in his pocket that read Wanted: Experienced milkers, calvers, and drivers needed for work on large scale dairy operation immediately—2240 Hollis Rd—$20 a week, and they were good to go. Frank nodded to Ellie and Ellie nodded to Frank.

“You got Bear?” Frank asked, knowing full well the answer. Ellie grinned and waved Bear all throughout the air. “Good,” he continued. “Good. Good.”

With that, Frank cleared his throat and pressed the little green button on the wooden intercom box. He had never seen one before, but he read about them in a magazine. Possessing such a futuristic gizmo told him all he needed to know about Martin Brothers’ dairy. A golden sign swaying above spelled that very name in large letters, in case he needed more to go on to form an opinion. 

“Hello,” beckoned a flat voice on the end of the intercom line.

“Hi. Yes. This is Frank O’Neil. I’m here…here with my daughter Eleanor O’Neil. We’re just…I’m just…I’m inquiring about the advertisement I saw in the newspaper.” Silence. Frank wondered if he needed to hold down the green button again or if speaking into the contraption actually did the trick. He delivered his entire spiel once more while pressing all of the buttons underneath. “We’re looking for work,” he added.

“I heard you the first time,” the voice on the other end said. “I’m sorry, but all the jobs we got here have been filled.”

Frank’s feet stumbled, but he didn’t fall down. His throat gulped down a large portion of pain, but he didn’t choke. He looked back at Ellie, who was still busy watching the truckload of hogs finally disappear out of sight. She was mostly oblivious to the intercom conversation. 

 “There must be something that you can do? We came a long way just to find work.”

“I’m sorry, but you should have called ahead,” the voice snapped instantly back.

“Well…” Frank mumbled, looking his faded paper up and down, “there was no number.”

“What?”

“There was no telephone number to call. The advertisement only gave the address,” Frank responded. 

“That’s ‘cause we don’t have a telephone line running out here right now. Closest phone’s in town four miles to the west,” the voice explained.

“Then it seems to me I did the responsible thing. Look, we’ve been on the road for two days now, just to put our names in for a job. Least you could do is grant me an interview of some sort…seeing as how there was no number and all,” Frank fumbled out of his mouth. 

“I thought you said I didn’t have to work,” Ellie said, now a full member of the conversation. 

“Huh?” 

“You said we, but I ain’t working.”

“It’s just a phrase. Make ‘em think they’ll get two workers for the price of one,” Frank laughed, looking his messy daughter clinging tight to her old, ratty bear up and down. “It’s all about making yourself look presentable.”

The voice didn’t return on the intercom box. Instead, a loud buzz swung the gate open automatically. Behind it, rows and rows of dairy barns came into view with storage tanks on the side of each one and a fleet of milk trucks parked all down one allotted side. 

Both Frank and Ellie’s eyes were wide open; they couldn’t believe the automatic gate first of all, but the dairy ahead truly was a spectacle to behold. With one more look at each other, Frank stretched his hand out for Ellie to grab. She did, staring ahead at the sprawling farm she now hoped to call home.

They stepped forward with the gate closing firmly behind them. 

# # #

“Well I wish I could help you two out,” Douglas Martin sighed. “But you’re just too darn late.” He was a portly fellow who seemed as though he drank nothing but cream. He had a cigar between his lips and overalls that accentuated his sagging belly. He cleaned his spectacles constantly with a filthy handkerchief and wheezed between every third word. He waddled from one end of the room to the other, attempting some movement perhaps to shrink down his weight; whatever his pacing was for, it wasn’t helping.

“But Mr. Martin,” Frank begged.

“No, no, no, no. I won’t have any groveling and whining in this office now,” he interjected with a raised hand. “We put that add out more than a week ago now and had folks like yourselves coming from all corners of the country. True, we turned more than a few away because they just didn’t have the experience, but we’re all finished hiring now and I’ll have to, I’m afraid, see you on your way.”

Frank and Ellie could barely hear a single word Douglas Martin said. A girl one or two years younger than Ellie ran about the entire office, playing with as many dolls as she could possibly fit in her arms. She had at least twelve scattered all across the floor. Each one seemed to be part of her little production and each one had its own unique voice that she was sure to perform at the top of her lungs. Even Ellie couldn’t stand the fact that she would run in between them while Mr. Martin tried to talk.

To make matters all the more confusing, a tray of chocolate chip cookies sat atop the desk in the dairy owner’s office. Between every sentence or so, Douglas Martin would pick a new cookie up and chomp away while he was still spitting out instructions. 

“Now I don’t like being the bearer of bad news,” he continued, swigging back a glass of milk that he filled from a pitcher placed next to the cookie tray. “How about I give each of you a cookie before you get on your way, huh? How does that sound? And you, fellow? How about a coffee? Can I get you a coffee?”

Frank shuttered at the mention of the word coffee. “No, no coffee.”

As Douglas smiled at Ellie and turned to retrieve a cookie, the energetic little girl’s dress caught on the handle of the cookie tray and took the whole thing with her. What was left of the treats all when bouncing across the floor, breaking into small pieces and landing in bits of mud tangled in the carpet.

“Oh, now look what you did,” Douglas mumbled. “How many times have I told you not to play in my office?” The girl continued to bounce around, throwing her toys all about and creating an absolute racket. 

“Do you think there’s any chance at all that you might be hiring in the near future?” Frank inquired. 

“What’d’ya say now?” Douglas replied.

“I said, any chance there might be an opening here in the future?”

“Huh?” Douglas said again, leaning his right ear towards Frank so he could hear him over all the screams and shouts and giggles and stomps. 

“I need work, Mr. Martin. Don’t you see we’re desperate here?”

“The whole country is desperate,” the man replied, sucking back a good drag of his cigar and leaving a mouthful of cookie crumbs behind on its soggy end. “Desperation does not mean endless handouts and an outpouring of pity.” 

“Say that again, please,” Frank asked.

“I said this isn’t the time for handouts and pity.”

“Yes, it is a pity.”

“What’s a pity?”

“I grew up on a dairy Mr. Martin. I know how to milk a cow just as well as I know how to walk,” Frank assured.

“I wish I could help you out, but there just ain’t no space for you. Come back next year, we’ll see what we can do for you then.”

“When?”

“Next year!”

“When next year?”

“I said come back and try again next year.”

“Again, please!”

“OH FOR THE LOVE OF…JOANNE, WILL YOU PLEASE QUIT THAT RACKET AND PLAY SOMEWHERE ELSE SO THE TWO OF US CAN HOLD A CONVERSATION.”

The tears were turned on at full capacity the moment Douglas Martin raised his voice. The little girl—Joanne—sobbed as if the world was coming to an absolute end; and that, was even louder than the noises she made while playing. Of course, Douglas whimpered as if he was going to shed a stream of tears himself. He rushed over to the girl and tried his best to rock her back and forth and hold her and hug and shush her—none of his efforts made a difference. 

“I’m sorry. Uncle didn’t mean it. You can play. You want to keep playing, right? Play anywhere you like!” Even Douglas holding up a variety of different dolls to sway Joanne’s attention failed to console her. She cried so deeply, Frank feared she was going to start to drown in her own tears. 

Before he was able to turn to Ellie to tell her they should leave in that moment, Frank found that his daughter had stepped forward and approached the emotional scene.

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to cry,” Ellie said to the girl. “My name’s Ellie, what’s yours?”

“Jo-Jo-Jo-Joanne,” Joanne sniffled with a quivering voice.

“Nice to meet you, Joanne. Would you like to play with my bear,” Ellie asked, holding up the dusty creature. It was that gesture that stopped the flow of tears and actually cast a small smile on Joanne’s face. She gripped Bear tightly with both hands as she wiped her face with her sleeve.

“What’s its name?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t have a name. I’ve just been calling him Bear. You can give him a name if you like.”

“Really?” Joanne said, regaining the energetic twinkle in her eye. “How about…Timothy?”

“Timothy…I like it,” Ellie said.

“Can I keep him?”

Ellie could have used that moment to create a scene, even let the tears in her eyes flow like a river. She could have snatched the bear back, or worse yet, entered into a physical fight with Joanne. In fact, all of those scenarios were what Frank was waiting for. 

Instead, a single tear formed in the girl’s eye as she pet Bear for the final time. She smiled as she stood up and let out a little sigh. “Yes,” she said. “Of course you can keep Timothy.”

Joanne shrieked as she clutched Bear against her chest, laughing and wiggling as she prepared to send him on a loud and chaotic adventure around the room. Frank stared at his daughter while Douglas stared at Frank.

“Maybe…maybe we have some work on the dairy that needs a few extra hands after all. Why don’t the two of you follow me? I’ll give you a tour.”

# # #

“Ellie, why? Why in the world did you give Bear to that little girl?” Frank inquired as the two of them slowed their pace to trail far behind Douglas Martin, too immersed in his dairy barn tour to notice his words were falling on deaf ears. Ellie smiled as the dairy cows passed in the pens, concluding that it was absolutely pigs that she preferred. “We went to the ends of the Earth for that thing! I don’t understand.”

“She was crying, Pop. She was crying and she couldn’t stop no matter what Mr. Martin did. I thought, someone who’d have themselves a cry like that must have a real rotten life,” Ellie explained. 

Frank was speechless. He had a thousand words ready in his head to correct Ellie and set her opinions straight, but no word could trickle past his tongue. They kept walking on past the dairy cows in silence. 

“I just wanted to cheer her up. You and I have got it good, haven’t we Pop? We don’t have a reason to cry like that…so…so whatever’s bothering that Joanne, well, I sure hope we’ve helped her a little by giving her Bear.”

“Yeah…we got it good Ellie,” Frank flubbed out past his own trickling tears, placing his hand on Ellie’s back as they walked along. Frank looked up at all the workers in the distance; the milkers and calvers who were covered head to toe in mud, cream, and sweat. Not one of them stopped to have themselves and conversation with each other. Not one had a smile on their face.

“You happy you got the job?” Ellie asked.

“Oh…I don’t know Ellie. I was wonderin’ what you’d think about the two of us sneaking off and getting back on the road?”

“But we need the money! Pop you need the job!”

“We need each other Ellie. And as long as we have each other, we got everything the two of us will ever need.”

Frank stopped moving. He tipped his hat and turned towards the barn door, ready to bolt straight on out from the dim, dark place. Before he could, Ellie grabbed onto his hand and pulled him close. Frank lowered himself down to the ground so the two of them could meet eye to eye. In the corner of his vision, Frank saw that Douglas and noticed them stop and began tromping back their way. Beyond all the ruckus his steps made and the cattle mooing, Frank could clearly hear his and Ellie’s stomachs rumble.

“Dinner first,” Ellie suggested. 

“You’re right. Fill up. That’s the smart thing to do. You still feel like milk and cookies?” Frank asked.

“For dessert,” the girl replied. “We should ask and see if he’s willing to cook us up a steak.”

Frank laughed, messing up Ellie’s hair with a rub of his palm. “You? You wouldn’t even eat a grasshopper and now you’re talking about eatin’ a whole cow.” 

“Everything all right?” Douglas Martin asked, huffing and puffing from the tour.

“Yeah,” Frank said, rising to his feet and grasping his daughter’s hand, looking back at the illuminating light—the only light—from the barn’s exit. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

THE END