Christmas Renewal, Scene 4: Old Joe and Scene 5: Reunion

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A Brief Introduction

Welcome to this episode of the Donald Jay Author Podcast titled Christmas Renewal, Scene 4: Old Joe and Scene 5: Reunion. I’m Donald Jay.

In our last scene, Lissa Dodson took George to meet her very special friend, Troy Eldridge. Troy found a new purpose for his life after losing his leg in Afghanistan. Inspired by Troy, George began to question his own limitations and found a new perspective on moving forward.

In this episode, scene four, Lissa takes George down an unlit, creepy dirt path, past the Dickens Mansion and the graveyard beyond, to meet Old Joe, Dickens Station’s spooky old curmudgeon junk dealer. Joe recognizes George Gandy and believes the retired railroader has returned to claim an old lap desk Joe found in a wrecked caboose abandoned along the tracks years ago. Seeing the caboose again forces George to relive a past that has haunted him while holding the desk in his lap reminds him of the joy he gave up that fateful night so many years ago.

In scene five, Reunion, George’s wife, Martha, and granddaughter, Sophie, have come for him. Sophie shares with her grandfather a remarkable revelation that mends George’s heart and breathes new life into his soul. Truly a Christmas Renewal.

And now, Christmas Renewal, Scene 4: Old Joe and Scene 5: Reunion.

Christmas Renewal – Scene 4: Old Joe

CHRISTMAS RENEWAL

By Donald Jay

Scene 4 – Old Joe

Back out on Market Street once more, I confessed to Lissa as we walked, “I haven’t, you know.”

“Haven’t what?” Lissa asked, though I’m sure she already knew the answer.

“Chosen to move forward.” I shook my head in thought, tapping Layla’s cane lightly beside me. “I’m afraid to move forward. I’m not what people think I am. What if I’m not a writer, either?”

We arrived at the other end of Market Street, where Back Street circles in front of the Dickens Mansion. To the left, a dirt path led into the woods and darkness. Lissa walked the trail, sure-footed and confident. I stumbled several times, using the cane as would a blind man, before my eyes adjusted to the absence of light.

A wrought-iron fence with spikes materialized on our left. Dim moonlight created shadow monsters of the eclectic collection of antiques and junk in the yard beyond. Something rustled in the tall grass, though the air was still. A moaning gate announced our arrival before we ducked behind a tattered cloth into the candle-lit foyer of a dilapidated Victorian mansion.

A whispered voice echoed through the hollow structure, “Who comes to visit old Joe this time a’ night, eh? Who be ye?”

I swallowed hard.

“Joe, it’s me, Lissa Dodson,” Lissa announced without trepidation.

A shadow floated in the hallway before us, just beyond the range of discriminating light. “Ah, the fair Lissie, come to see old Joe.”

“Joe, I brought you a loaf of Mom’s apple bread. I know it’s your favorite. Merry Christmas.”

The shadow assumed human form by stepping into the light. A hunched-over figure, unshaven, dark from soot, one eye fixed wider than the other, shuffled into the room. His long coat, open, black, and blotched with gray, dragged its unraveled hem on his lower side. He offered an eerily warm smile.

“Apple bread? Apple bread, you say. Ou, and if your mom ain’t one of the finest women on this planet, says I. And ’ooo be that with you, your grandfather?”

Lissa grinned and glanced at me. “Joe, this is George Gandy.”

“Gandy? Gandy. I know that name. I does.” A hand bearing a grimy knit glove with missing fingertips sprouted from a raveled coat sleeve to scratch his salt-and-pepper stubble. “Now, where does I know that name?” His one wide eye grew even wider. “What’s that on you ’ead, a railroad cap? Looks official, I must say.” He snapped his fingers. “Of course. You’ve come for it, ’aven’t you?”

“Come for it?” I glanced at Lissa to see if she had a clue. “Come for what?”

“Ahh,” old Joe grunted. “Old Joe’s got some’n your missin’, ain’t he, some’n you lost a long time ago.”

Before I could answer, Joe snatched an old railroad lantern from the wall and lit it. “It’s out back,” he announced before he turned and shuffled down the hall.

Lissa and I followed as best we could, barely able to see our way by the lamplight leading us. Through the dusty, creaking old haunt, we emerged through the back door and stumbled down a rickety flight of steps. We wove our way along a well-worn path through an overgrown graveyard of old cars and architectural salvage. As I was about to ask where we were going, a shadow in the moonlight took my breath and froze me in my tracks. Looming in the darkness on a slight hill, the hulk of an old caboose gradually became illuminated by old Joe’s lantern. I knew that caboose all too well.

Joe narrated. “It’s amazing what the railroad will leave abandoned by the tracks. It took forever for me to ’aul this out of the ravine and piece it back together. It was a ’orrible mess after the accident.” Mounting the hill to the rear coupling, Joe turned, swinging his lantern to shine on me. “This was your caboose … wasn’t it?”

His dramatic pause sent a tingle down my spine. I nodded.

“Ha!” Joe cackled. “I knew it when I saw that medal. Lissie, that’s George Gandy! ’E saved all those passengers, ’e did.”

Lissa looked at me and nodded with a knowing, wry smile.

“I’ve got some’n with your name on it, mate.” Joe pivoted and climbed up the ladder into the caboose.

Lissa attempted to follow. I had to hoist her up onto the first step. I climbed up behind her. Joe stopped halfway through the car. With Lissa between us, he raised the lantern high between the observation deck seats that flanked the aisle.

“It’s up ’ere, mate, right where I found it in the wreckage. It belongs there, doesn’t it?”

I parked my cane on a rung of the right-hand ladder.

Lissa touched my arm. “Can I go too?”

Joe motioned for me to start her up to the left seats. I lifted her gently by the waist until she could get her footing and climb. When she got settled, I hauled myself up into the right cupola seat facing the hog, just like the old days, caring not a bit about the pain in my back and knees.

Joe scrambled up into the left seats facing Lissa.

I saw it perched on the seat opposite me before I settled in. I caressed it like an old friend.

Lissa gasped. “Oh, wow. Was that yours?”

I nodded and sniffed. “This is the old lap desk I carried with me when I started riding the rails. In those days, I fancied myself a novelist working any job the railroad would give me to make ends meet until I could get published. I was up here, writing, the night of the accident.” I pulled the desk into my lap. “I thought I’d lost it when the caboose crashed.” I rifled through the drawer of my old friend and found a few scribbled pages of my manuscript.

“Novelist, eh?” Joe queried. “Whatever ’appened to that novel?”

“I don’t know.” I shook my head. “After that night, everything changed. I had a wife and a daughter to worry about. I guess I gave up on being a novelist and focused on being a railroader to take care of my family.”

“What did happen that night?” Lissa asked.

I shrugged. “We were running an old 2-6-0 Mogul steam locomotive pulling an excursion train between Rutland and Bellows Falls, just over the ridge from here. There was an accident on the grade. The passenger car broke free of the engine. Back in those days, the cars had no air brakes, so everything started rolling backward down the grade. We were picking up speed. I was the only one back here, so I hopped forward and jettisoned the caboose to have enough braking power to stop the passenger car by the handbrake. The railroad called me a hero.” I winced, turned away, and whimpered, “I’m no hero.” Then I admitted through gritted teeth. “I just did what I had to do.”

Joe leaned back in his seat. “That may be, mate, but if you ’adn’t done what you did, this ’ere caboose would ’ave taken all those people down with it.”

Lissa reached across the aisle and grasped my hand. “He’s right, you know?”

Joe rocked forward in his seat to dismount. “If you ask me, mate, it’s time you let that ghost move on.” He hopped down to the deck.

Lissa squeezed my hand and then followed Joe. I climbed down after them, leaving the lap desk behind.

“Let’s get outta’ here.” I snatched the cane off the ladder and touched Lissa’s shoulder to encourage her to leave.

She didn’t budge, but waited until my eyes met hers in the lamplight. “You’ve got a choice to make.”

She sounded like my wife, Martha. Martha, my rock, always told me the truth.

“Joe?” I turned on my heels. “Would you ever consider selling me that desk?”

Joe raised the eyebrow over his smaller eye. “Sell it, you say? I can’t rightly sell you some’n that’s already yours, mate, now can I?” He mounted one rung on the right ladder and pulled the lap desk from its perch in the gondola seat. “I’ll tell you what, gov’. You take this with you, and when you write that novel, remember to send old Joe a few coins, eh?”

***

Christmas Renewal – Scene 5: Reunion

CHRISTMAS RENEWAL

By Donald Jay

Scene 5 – Reunion

With my cane looped over my right arm and the lap desk hugged to my chest, I walked with Lissa in silence until we stepped off the dirt path near Dickens Mansion.

“Got a lot to think about?” she asked.

I nodded. “I wish Martha were here. I always think my best thoughts when Martha is around.”

As we continued diagonally across Market Street toward the Print Shop, I heard Martha’s voice, and my heart skipped a beat.

“George!” Martha ran to me as quickly as her arthritic knees would allow and threw her arms around my neck, almost knocking both of us down. I fumbled to set the lap desk down safely and passed the cane to Lissa. Martha and I kissed, and then she hugged me again. “Oh, my. I was so worried about you.” She pulled back and looked me over. “Are you all right? Have you had something to eat?”

“I’m fine, Martha. I’m fine,” I reassured her. “How did you know I was here? How did you even get here? The train—?”

“The Dodsons called and told me you were here,” she interrupted as Emily Dodson approached. Sophia was with her. “Sophie drove us here, all the way from Rutland, in the dark, but we had to come and get you. We were so worried.”

Sophia trotted up and hugged me around the middle. “Grandpa, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

When she pulled back, I nudged her over to a nearby bench. “Sophie, honey, I owe you an apology.” I looked up at Martha. “In fact, I owe you both an apology. I’ve been acting like an idiot lately. I’ve been in so much pain, and then the retirement thing, and then you wanting to go off to school. I’ve been through a lot, and I took it out on you two. And I’m sorry.”

Martha sat on the bench behind Sophia, and we hugged a group hug. Both women tried to tell me it was okay.

“No, family. It has not been okay. I appreciate your understanding, but it’s not okay for me to take my anger out on you. And Sophie,” I twisted in my seat to face her and hold her hands, “honey, I need to tell you something. When you said you wanted to go away to school to become a writer, I wasn’t angry just because you would be going away, although that part really hurts. I was angry because I was jealous. I wanted to become a writer when I was your age, but life got in the way.”

“Grandpa.” Her cute smile diverted a tear. “I know. I know you wanted to be a writer. Here.” Sophia reached for Emily Dodson, who handed her a book bag. “You got so angry I didn’t have a chance to show you. I brought these. This is why I decided to become a writer.”

She pulled from the bag a handful of loose papers I recognized instantly as bits and pieces of my old stories. “Grandma has been saving these. She gave them to me, and I read them. Grandpa, they’re wonderful. I’ve been writing stories too, but I thought you wouldn’t be interested. When I read these, though, I thought it would make you happy if you knew I wanted to follow in your footsteps and become a writer too.”

I held my old pages and wept. “This? This is why you want to become a writer?”

Lissa picked up my lap desk and placed it on Sophia’s lap.

“What’s this?” she asked, admiring the antique from every angle.

“That’s my old lap desk. I carried it on the railroad. The passengers had so many wonderful stories to tell and provided me with so many interesting characters, I took this with me so I could write about them whenever I had downtime.”

“What a wonderful idea!” Sophia’s face brightened. “Grandpa, why don’t you do that now?”

“Do what now?” I squinted at my beautiful granddaughter.

“Ride on the train and write about the passengers. You get free passage wherever you want to go, right?”

I glanced at Martha, who nodded vehemently.

“But,” I returned my attention to Sophia, “writing is now your dream. I wouldn’t want to interfere with that.”

Sophia raised her hands to the sky. “So there’s a rule somewhere that says there can’t be two writers in a family? Besides, you have your stories to tell, and I’ll have mine. I’ll race ya to see who gets published first.”

To this day, years later, I pray to God daily, thanking Him for the strength to manage the pain, the choice I made to move forward, another day riding the rails and telling stories, and that Sophia won the race.

The End

A Few Closing Thoughts

Thank you for listening to Christmas Renewal. I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please leave a comment, a like, a review, or communicate with me in some way either here, at DonaldJay.com,  or on a Donald Jay Author account on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram. Your feedback means the world to me. And, too, be sure to join me for the next episode of the Donald Jay Author Podcast. We’d love to have you. Until then, thanks for listening. I’m Donald Jay.