Member-only story
Escape from the Grassland
A nineteenth century girl flees by train
Scurrying across the train platform, Lydia glanced over her shoulder. Dark grey clouds stretched from the horizon, barreling her way. An icy prickle of anxiety snaked up the back of her neck. She paused on the platform. What was she forgetting…She’d been so worried they’d catch her as she left.
A burly shoulder knocked her aside.
“Move long, Miss!” barked the conductor from his perch atop the steps. He jabbed a thumb skyward. “Cain’t you see a storm’s a’comin’?”
Tightening her grip on her valise, Lydia stumbled and nearly fell into the second-class coach. Ten pairs of male eyes slowly and appreciatively looked her over. A roley poley woman in a plum-colored coat patted the seat beside her. Relieved, Lydia plopped down and adjusted her bonnet. Across from them a tow-headed boy, with dimples matching his mother’s, guarded a splint-wood hamper.
“Oh!” Lydia exclaimed.
“What is it, dear?” asked the woman.
“Nothing,” Lydia fibbed, remembering her own basket of food left behind in the hurry to leave. A blast of wind rocked the coach, one of its freezing fingers sneaking in through the window’s edge. With a cacophony of clanging bells, a shrieking whistle, and rumbling pistons, the train lurched forward.
