I’m the first to admit that I have not read all of the collected works of William Shakespeare, but as friend said recently “it’s on my Bucket List”. And while I have enjoyed seeing some of his works brought to life in various theatrical productions, there’s one line that has always captured my imagination. Straight out of Romeo and Juliet, I give you “What’s in a Name?”
Now names have always captured my attention and my imagination. I was tagged with a moniker that has been joked about for years (the Mark of Love… does that mean you are a hickey?) I have been envious of cool character names, those that bring a certain image immediately to mind. There’s Robert B. Parker’s “Spenser”, Robert Crais’ “Elvis Cole”, Jim Rollins’ “Grayson Pierce” and the great John D. MacDonald’s “Travis McGee” to name just a few.
Years ago I really got interested in what those names mean. I picked up a couple of great books that gave the origin of the names as well as the meaning. There’s even a website out there with similar information. www.behindthename.com. So when I’m writing, it is part of my fun to come up not only with unique names for my characters, but those that might also have a hidden meaning for my readers. For example, in my last two posts I had the two halves of a short story called “The Game” about a vampire, his conquest and a certain stubborn guy who gets in the way. The story was set in a part of western Michigan, which has a large Dutch population. The girl’s name was Lina, which is a Dutch name that means pure. The guy who was interfering was DeVoss, which is also Dutch and means fox. And the vampire’s name was Reznik which is Czechoslovakian and it means… butcher. So that’s my way of giving the readers a clue as to how the character might behave. Sometimes it’s accurate and sometimes the author can be poking fun at the character, such as one writer of a certain young adult series does by naming her klutzy female lead Swann, which always brings to mind a graceful bird.
But sometimes, a name is just a name. I use it because I like the ring to it. Or the way it fits the character, or maybe because it reminds me of someone. In my novel “Balancing Act” Jamie, the female lead, becomes romantically involved with a guy who only uses his last name, Malone. Jamie spends a good part of the novel trying to guess what his first name is, coming up with some very bizarre names. By the end of the story, she still doesn’t know and that little mystery will keep her going. If you want to learn more about Jamie and Malone, you can find the book at www.internationalagora.com. (Yes, I know it’s a shameless plug!)
And in keeping with the pattern that I’ve established, I’m going to share the first half of another short story with you. This one is called “Alderschot” and it’s about a little train station in Canada where you can meet some very interesting people. Enjoy!
Alderschot
The train swayed into the station, jostling the passengers with a sudden stop. The conductor, a rotund woman with dishwater blond hair and an unlit cigarette clamped between her lips, trudged through the cars. In a bored monotone that had announced a thousand cities a thousand times, she called out, “Alderschot. All those connecting south must exit now. Alderschot.”
Thirteen people stumbled from the train. Most were inexperienced rail travelers, who were expecting a sprawling station of brick and wood, with uniformed attendants, a restaurant and a newsstand. Only one young woman had made this trip before and knew what really awaited them. The last of the passengers had barely touched the concrete platform beside the rails before the train started up and rapidly pulled away.
“But where’s the station?” asked an elderly man who was clutching the elbow of an equally elderly woman. “There’s nothing here but a rain shelter and a couple of stone benches.”
The young woman dropped her knapsack beside the bench on the right, resting it against the cyclone fence that extended the length of the platform. “Alderschot doesn’t have a station. It’s merely a crossing where the east-west lines and the north-south ones intersect.” She removed a baseball cap from her head and shook out her hair. It was strawberry colored and barely grazed the top of her shoulders.
“But how will we know when the train’s coming?” the old man asked.
Before the girl could answer, a speaker mounted on a pole beside the shelter squawked to life. “Estimated time of arrival for the southbound passenger train is forty-seven minutes. Repeat, forty-seven minutes.”
The girl jerked her thumb at the speaker. “Remote feed from Grimsby. It’s one location north. They actually have a station master there.”
“You seem to know a lot about this place, Miss – - -”
“Annie. Just – - – Annie.”
The old man’s face wrinkled into a smile. “We’re the Thibodeaus. Joe and Minnie. Never traveled by train before. Always took the big jets and rushed across the territory. No sense wasting time.”
“Now all we have is time,” Minnie said. She was a frail woman in a bright red dress with an enormous white bow across the waist. Minnie eased onto a corner of the bench and leaned daintily against the back of the shelter.
Annie scanned the rest of the group. There was a young couple with two small boys in matching strollers, a group of three coarse looking women trying desperately to retain their youth, and two old guys decked out in enough fishing attire to stock a sporting goods shop. At the north end of the platform sat a young black man, whose long legs dangled off the concrete while he stared at the gleam of the silver rails.
“So what do we do out here in the middle of nowhere for half an hour?” Joe Thibodeau asked.
“Forty-three minutes now.” One of the three women had drifted over to join them. She had slate black hair, cut very short. Her face was pitted with acne scars. She wore jeans and a baggy sweatshirt adorned with a pink triangle.
“Not much to do but wait,” Annie said. “There are no main roads around here. No buildings or homes. You can’t buy a ticket at Alderschot.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed as she studied Annie. “The hell are you? Railroad information?”
“I travel this route a lot. It’s cheaper than a car or plane fare.”
The woman shrugged and moved back toward her friends. The anglers joined the impromptu group and found an ally in Joe. As the conversation turned toward flies, lures and favorite fishing holes, Annie leaned against the fence and closed her eyes. A scrape of leather on concrete, close enough to stir the air on her bare leg, snapped Annie out of her reverie. It was the dark-haired woman with the sweatshirt.
“If there are no people around here, does that mean no cop either?”
Annie smoothed her hair back with the tips of her fingers. It was a lifelong nervous habit she had never been able to shake. “I’ve never seen anyone who wasn’t on the train. Why? Something wrong?”
“Nah. But the guys and I were getting a little tense waiting around. And it’s going to be a long, boring ride south. So we thought we roll a couple of joints and put a coal to them. You know, pass the time and all.” She bobbed her head and gave Annie a knowing wink. “I’m Pat. C’mon, join us if you like.”
“No thanks. I don’t mind waiting.”
Pat nodded. “Suit yourself. We’re going down to the far end, so we don’t freak out the old folks.” She contorted her face in mock horror. “They might get wild and turn us in.”
Annie watched Pat lead her companions away from the rest. The young couple had removed the boys from their strollers and watched them chase a small beach ball around the platform. Something about this little band of travelers made her uncomfortable. Maybe she was getting paranoid. But with all the craziness dominating the news lately, who could blame her. Planes being bombed. Old athletes getting away with murder. Movie stars were getting busted faster than Colombian drug lords. Maybe she should just ignore it all and mind her own business until the connecting train came.
She moved away from the shelter, swinging her pack by the strap. Annie dropped it flat on the concrete and used it as a cushion, bracing her back against the fence. This time she kept her eyes open, watching the others. Something was definitely not right.
The loudspeaker squawked to life. “Southbound train will arrive at Alderschot it twenty-nine minutes. Repeat, twenty-nine minutes.”
“Swell,” Annie mumbled. “That’s just swell.”
It was a few minutes before she realized someone was watching her, watching them. The one person she’d forgotten. Perhaps she was subconsciously ignoring him. Now with a slow rotation of her head, Annie focused on the young black man at the north end. He had one leg drawn up before him, with his arms draped around it. His chin rested on his kneecap. When he sensed her gaze, he unwound his limbs and rose easily to his feet. With a long, fluid stride, he moved to a spot a few paces from her and rested against the fence. He dropped a battered gym bag on the ground beside her.
“You feel it too?” he asked.
“Feel what?”
He raised his hands and flexed his wrists, as if he were about to perform a magic trick. “Static in the air. Or some kind of energy. It’s almost spooky.”
“It’s just the waiting. It does that to people.”
He shook his head. “Not me. I’ve been waiting most of my life. I’m used to it. Grandmother always says waiting is a virtue. But this place. It just doesn’t feel right.”
“Why not?”
“Look at this group. It’s like a poster for train travel. You’ve got your young family, the old married people, the retiree-fishing buddies, the trio of Pat—”
“They’re all named Pat?” Annie stole a glance at the women on the far end of the platform.
“Women like that are always Pat. Or Terry. Or Dale. Can’t decide if they want to be boys or girls. So they pick a name that could be either.”
Annie’s embarrassment was evident in her face. “You were saying.”
“Then there’s you, the pretty young female traveling alone, and your handsome black man, striving to meet the challenges of the modern world.” He struck a pose with his forefinger resting thoughtfully on his cheek.
“Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
He scuffed his toe on the concrete. “Don’t know about you, but I’ve never been much of a believer in coincidences. Maybe I haven’t traveled that much, but I know when something feels out of whack. Like now.”
Annie patted the concrete beside her and introduced herself.
“Name’s Maurice. Why don’t you tell me what you think of Alderschot?”
Annie played with her hair and let her breath out in a slow, whistling sigh. “I’ve been here a couple of times before. Usually it’s only about a ten-minute gap between trains. Hardly long enough for you to really notice the surroundings.”
There was a dull click announcing the loudspeaker coming to life. “Thirteen minutes for all southbound connections. Thirteen minutes to Alderschot.”
“Like the voice,” Annie said, nodding toward the speaker, “it sounds like an old tape recording. In the past, the voice was more animated, with little comments sprinkled in. And what about the time? Why not half an hour, or twenty minutes? Nobody gives thirteen minute warnings?”
“Maybe it’s a different station master with a lousy watch. Could be the other guy’s day off.”
“C’mon, Maurice. You said it yourself. There’s something wrong here. Something definitely out of whack.”
He stretched his legs out before him. “So what do we do, Annie? Climb the fence and make a run for it? Start walking down the rails in search of one of those pumper cars like in the old movies?”
“I don’t think we can get off this platform. Something tells me we’re stuck here. Whether we like it or not.”
“Looks like we’ll find out soon enough.”
The speaker clicked once more, declaring last call for all southbound passengers. As if the passengers had wandered off somewhere and needed prodding to get back to the platform in time.
Even as Annie silently studied her watch, there was no train in sight. The others shuffled closer to the shelter, anxiously awaiting the arrival. The rails shuddered and a sudden gust of wind brought the scent of diesel fumes. There was a rumble, and then the train appeared vaguely in the distance. It roared into the tiny crossing, brakes squealing and cars rocking over the rails. The train was filled with older cars, including the type with rows of seats that sat facing each other, to better accommodate families and groups traveling together. As it lurched to a stop, the side door opened on two compartments at the far end of the platform and a hinged step swung down as if by remote control.
Annie started to rise from her bag. Maurice gently closed his fingers around her arm.
“Don’t.”
Her eyes flicked back and forth between him and the train. No one was exiting the cars. Maurice remained on the ground, his back against the fence. Through the windows she could see the outlines of many people. They all appeared bored or sleeping. No one stepped forward to help the Thibodeaus or the others climb on. The father of the young family simply hoisted the strollers aboard, swinging their cases up with a well-practiced motion.
“Where’s the conductor?” Maurice whispered. “Or the porter. No one’s moving aboard the train. No one’s moving at all.”
“I want a closer look,” Annie said.
“Don’t get on.”
They moved together, peering through the windows of the first car. The Thibodeaus were already aboard. They were settling into a pair of empty seats in the front of a car, not far from the bathroom. The family with the children was in a row where the four seats faced each other. The father was stowing the strollers in the overhead compartment while the mother got the boys situated.
“This train’s jammed,” Maurice whispered in her ear.
“But everyone’s finding a seat.”
He urged her down to the next car. The fishing buddies were being reunited with another pair of anglers across the aisle, digging out pictures of past excursions. In a dark corner at the rear of the car, the trio of women had found space in another of the rows where four seats faced each other. Their bags were piled onto the empty slot, preventing anyone from interfering with their group.
“Everyone’s not just finding a seat,” Maurice said, “everyone’s finding the perfect seat. No couple or group is being broken up. It’s like the perfect traveling experience.”
