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Chapter One A soft breeze suddenly appeared and brushed across Will Akers' wrinkled face. The easy moving air offered hope that the stifling heat was breaking at last. For the residents of Huntington, West Virginia, July 16, 1946 was an unusually hot day following a week of uncomfortable temperatures. The humidity added by the broad Ohio River bolstered the heat that lay bottled in a dead still atmosphere. Finally, one hour before midnight, the city was enjoying a pleasant reprieve. The
caress of a second breeze gave Will energy and urged him to step away from
the passenger side of his car and face work. He looked toward the dimly lit
railway yard. The extensive track system reminded him that Huntington was,
among other things, a railroad center. Will
left behind his house and garden in the hills south of Huntington. While
residents of the city lay in their darkened bedrooms and enjoyed the blessing
of a good night's sleep, he would enter his workplace. In a few minutes, he
would take his seat beside the hot boiler of a large steam locomotive. He
turned his creased face back to the car and raised a hand to wave at Emily,
his wife. Behind the glass in the dark, he couldn't see her wave back, but he
knew the wave was there. As he watched the departing family sedan, the
question crossed his mind. How many times had they waved goodbye? As a
railroad locomotive engineer, he accepted it as part of the job. More important,
Emily had also accepted it. She would be waiting at the railroad yard
tomorrow to meet him on his return from Hinton. It gave him comfort to know
that she would be there. Their marriage of nearly forty years had only
intensified their desire to be together. The tradition of her waiting for him
as he steamed back into Huntington was a long and cherished one. When the
kids were kids, they waited with her. The kids now had families of their own. Why was he ruminating over all of that about Emily,
the past and the kids? Perhaps he had a sense of apprehension, as if
something lurked about out there in the dim light. He didn't like the edgy
feeling. How many times had he made that run? It was a cakewalk for him.
Every foot of that track was in his mind. He could quote every curve, signal
tower and grade crossing. . . . |
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