Nobody noticed that Sticks was missing. He didn’t say much and his figure was small and somewhat insubstantial; as a result, most of the children accidentally tripped over him rather than greeting him. The phrase “watch out for Sticks” was often spoken to someone slipping out of bed at night to retrieve or deposit something. Tholamew once tried to name him “picayune,” though everyone agreed that the word was much too long and complicated.

Before the rain began that day Sticks had taken an interest in the others’ game of marbles. Rather than watching their shots, he noticed that a couple of thin lines left in the dirt of the playing area converged at its edge. Where they joined a small branch lay. He followed its length and found that its far end lay in a long rut in the nearby road. At the end of the rut was a thick piece of string. Following that, he was taken around the side of the building and to a laundry pole. He looked back at the others, none of whom seemed to notice his wandering.

The string led up the pole, and he followed it with his eyes to the other pole. At the bottom of the far pole curled a snake. The snake noticed Sticks the moment that the boy noticed the snake, and it uncurled and began to slither away. While not fond of snakes, Sticks followed it at a distance to see where it meant to go.

Eventually it slid under a mass of dry pine needles at the base of a tall, dead pine tree. Sticks paused for a moment, looked up, then looked back down and noticed that the long shadow of the tree pointed behind him. He turned.

The shadow ended at the bottom of a wall. He was by now on the opposite side of the building from the game of marbles. As he looked over the bottom of the wall he saw a great many lines where boards met at various angles. One thing stood out: there was a scratch in the already flecked paint that began low and traveled up diagonally until it reached the frame of a window.

Thin, light blue lengths of fabric occasionally appeared from inside the window. Sticks hopped up and caught the windowsill, then tried feebly to pull himself up. His arms pulled but weren’t enough to move his paltry weight upward. His feet kicked and skidded across the wall, causing a small shower of dried paint to fall to the ground beneath him.

After a short struggle one of his feet caught on a board that had been nailed at a poor angle, allowing him to get himsef up and into the window. He realized after his head was inside and momentum began to carry him forward that he had no idea what lay in the room and how to control his eventual landing. He reached out to try to catch something, causing him to slide forward quicker and tumble onto the hard floor.

He awoke to the sounds of pouring rain. Above him stood an elderly man holding a mop, wearing black suspenders, a white shirt, and thick brown pants. The old man’s face was marked by lines, the most pronounced above his brow and extending from the sides of his long nose to around the sides of his seemingly lipless mouth. Baldness had claimed most of his head long before, and a shallow length of white hair followed the sides of his head. The old man had a slight hunch to his shoulders and nodded subtlely as he stared down at the boy.

“Papa?” Sticks said. The old man was familiar, in a way. He was a custodian that some of the children had seen before, usually engaged in some menial task. Though he bore no relation to any of them, the few children to actually speak with him instinctively called him Papa. The old man continued to nod.

“Had a fall,” Papa said. “Best be careful. Fall too hard,” he said, tapping a knuckle against his forehead and shaking his head. “Won’t stand up.” He let his arms fall to his sides, his left hand only barely holding onto his mop. He turned and began to shuffle away.

“Wait, wait Papa,” Sticks said, still laying on the floor. “I found lines outside.”

“Where’d they take you?” Papa answered, only turning his eyes to the boy.

“All around, I went all around.”

“Did you find what you needed?”

“I wasn’t looking for anything.”

“How’d you find the lines if you weren’t looking for something?” Papa’s voice was stern, but not angry.

“I…I wanted to see where they went,” Sticks said. His eyes began to water.

“They came here,” said the old man, tapping the handle of his mop against a wall as he started to leave Sticks’ view. “They always come here.”

“Wait, wait,” Sticks said weakly. He felt very tired and his eyes began to close.

“Best stay careful,” he heard.

It was some time before Jay, out for something Bones wanted, tripped over Sticks again.

“Sabotoge,” shouted Tholamew. He paced back and forth, shaking his thick hair with his hands. Between him and the front door stood the others, each tending to their clothes. Charlie’s arms were wrapped around himself, and though he looked the least wet he had begun to shiver. Bones hit a derby against his thigh to clear it of condensation, and Mike had begun to pull off his shoes. Matt “Stacka” Wood had the front of his linen shirt in his hands and was flapping it up and down, revealing a pale round stomach with each motion. Jay the Rope had his arms crossed and was leaning against the doorway with a frown on his face, staring outside.

“Just our luck, eh?” Bones asked while looking out at the pouring rain.

“Best game I ever played, to,” Jay said, shaking his head.

“Sabotoge,” Tholamew said again, still walking back and forth in a short line. “It was mine for sure, I saw it was mine, but then this cursed water came to snatch it away.” He stopped and shook a fist at the open doorway. He was skinny and in his mid-teens. His brows were dark, thick and unkempt and already he had signs of acne on his youthful face. His brown pants were rolled up to his knees, revealing long socks that went down into pennyloafers dark with moisture.

They stood in a large lobby area. At its back ascended a wide staircase which split into two smaller flights where it reached the back wall. Both sides of the lobby led into wide hallways lined with doors. As the boys stood around a woman’s voice called out loudly from upstairs.

“Bartholamew! Are you inside yet?” the voice said.

“Double sabotoge,” Tholamew said in a low voice. From down the stairs came a young woman panting and holding a bundle of blankets. Her hair was tied up with a white cloth and she wore an apron over a tall dress.

“There you are, good,” she said. “Can you come up and read to Fiona for a spell? I have to get some of the little ones into dry clothes before they catch cold. Those new boys are giving me troubles.”

Tholamew glanced to Stacka, who raised his brows for a second. “Certainly, ma’am, I’d be happy to,” Tholamew answered. “I’ll be up in a jiff.”

“Thank you, hon. She’s in her room with a couple others.” There was a shout from somewhere upstairs and the woman hurried back up and out of sight.

“Double sabotoge,” Tholamew said with a sigh.

“Who, who is Fiona?” Mike asked. He had both of his shoes off and was sitting against the wall under a painting of an old watermill. Stacka snickered.

“Only the swellest little redhead you ever seen,” Stacka started. He prodded Tholamew with his elbow. “He’s sweet on her, but he won’t say so,” Stacka said, clasping his hands next to a cheek and fluttering his eyes.

“She is nothing of the sort. Ignore the brute,” Tholamew said. “Maybe if you had the brains to read you would have the pleasure of being stuck inside with her every couple of days.” Jay snickered and Charlie smiled.

“Is, is she a little girl?” Mike asked. “I didn’t s-see any other little ones before.”

“Nah, she’s about my age,” Bones said.

“She can’t read, b-but she likes stories?” Mike said. The only answer was the sound of the heavy rain beating on the wooden roof.

“She can’t see,” Bones said after a few moments. “Had some accident before she got here, something messed up her eyes.”

“A tragedy, her story,” Tholamew began. “A child of literature, forced into a world of darkness.”

“See? He’s sweet on her, he is,” Stacka said, turning away to avoid Tholamew’s sneer.

“I just hope she doesn’t have that little rodent with her this time,” Tholamew said.

“Ha-ha, you mean Picadilly?” Charlie said.

“She’s utterly intolerable,” Tholamew said.

“She’s no harm to you,” Jay said. “She’s just sweet on your socks.” He laughed, a stilted combination of snorts and gasps. Tholamew shook his head.

“She really likes those socks, that’s for sure,” Bones said. He slapped Tholamew on the back. “You going up or not? You know Sarah’ll get after you if you don’t rush up there.”

“Fine, fine,” Tholamew said, dragging his feet as he crossed the lobby and ascended the stairs. When he had gone the others sat quietly for some time.

“S-so, what now?” Mike asked.

Bones leaned back and took a quick glance down both hallways, then bent down toward the rest. “I’ve got a swell idea,” he said.

Thomas stared down at the chipped plate that held his food. There was a wash of eggs, fluffy and golden, next to a thick mass of crudely cut and grilled potatoes. Something wet leaked from beneath the eggs and made its way slowly toward the pieces of potato.

Thomas swung his feet, which only just reached the ground of the long bench that served as his seat. He chewed quietly on his lower lip, his front teeth sticking out just a bit from years of the habit. He dug a fork into the eggs and came away with a chunk, though he only set it back down and looked around through tired eyes.

All around the large room were narrow tables and long benches, each filled with a handful of children. The twins that had arrived with Thomas were sitting in a corner laughing. They had bits of egg stuck to their plump, flushed faces and one was attempting to get a piece of potato into the other’s ear. The girl that had been in the carriage with Thomas was calmly eating, occasionally exchanging words with a couple of young girls that sat near her. Her face was beginning to lose some of its redness and she looked much less distraught than she had the previous day. Thomas looked down and narrowed his eyes, gingerly placing a hand on his stomach.

“You don’t look so good, Mike,” said someone nearby. Thomas looked up through mostly closed eyes and nodded slowly.

“Wh-who’s Mike?” he asked. A boy approached him. He looked older, just into his teens, with a ruddy, thin face and tussle of black hair. He was lanky and walked with wide steps as he made his way over to Thomas.

“Mike’s Mike,” the boy said, pointing at Thomas. Thomas opened his mouth for a moment, only to close his eyes and squeeze the bit of his shirt over his stomach.

“Whoah, whoah,” the boy said, holding out his palms to Thomas. “No need for all that. You need something, just ask. Here.” He pinched his lower lip and let go a shrill whistle. A towering man lumbered over. Thomas looked up and recognized him.

“What is wrong now, David?” the big man said. The older boy winced, then motioned his chin at Thomas.

“The boy here needs something cool for his troubles. Bring us a glass quick-like.” The big man nodded and stepped away. The boy dug his hands into the pockets of his trousers and took a seat next to Thomas.

“Kids here call me Bones. Big guy is James. He’ll take care of you for real simple things. He’s a real simple guy and all.” Thomas nodded. In a moment James returned, carefully carrying a thick glass of water. He set it down in front of Thomas, who picked it up and took a long drink.

“Can you say that you are fit or is there more that you need? I must clean up as some are beginning their mess as is custom.” He turned and looked around the room.

“Leave us be, thanks for your troubles,” Bones told the large man with a wave of his hand. James politely nodded a couple of times and waddled away. Thomas coughed and took a deep breath.

“So you gonna be all right there?” Bones asked.

“Y-yeah,” Thomas said.

“That’s good then. Sick is no way to start the day. What’s got you anyway?” Thomas finished the glass of water and loosened his grip on his stomach.

“I don’t know. I j-just, I get nervous sometimes, and when I get sick, I get, I mean when I, when-”

“Whoah, whoah, Mike” Bones said. “You just take it easy. Don’t think anyone comes to this place feeling so good.”

“Wh-where did you all come from?” Mike said, trying to take his mind off his ailment. Bones thumbed his chin and glanced around the room.

“All over, really. All over. The big sands set us off this way. It’s not so good out East you know.”

“You all Oakies?” Mike asked.

“Nah, just some. Tough times. They said this town opened up for some like us, no matter what got us here. You?”

Mike shook his head as he spoke. “Well, we, my parents, they had a place in Kansas, but-”

“That’s fine enough for me, I don’t ask too much. Don’t matter much now. We’re all stuck here.” Bones leaned forward on the table and crossed his fingers.

“Maybe so.” Mike’s eyes began to close.

“Let me point you around, keep you awake,” Bones said, setting a hand on Mike’s back. He pointed a thumb at a nearby table with a few girls. “That one girl in the middle, she’s news. Came with you I figure. Haven’t been acquainted. Little one next to her with the brown hair is Sally Schwille. The other little gal with the lighter hair’s Picadilly.”

Bones pointed to a table of boys. “That’s most I run with over there. Good guys. One on the end with the brown bowl top is Charlie, Charlie Morose. Angry-looking kid next to him with the bad face is Jay the Rope. Curly-haired one with the thick brows is Tholamew Graves, and skinny little blonde next to him is Sticks. Bigger guy with his back to us is Matt Stacka Wood. Just call him Stacka.”

Mike looked around at the rest of the room. He didn’t recognize any of the names from the day before. “The others?” he asked. Bones was looking over at his table and noticed Jay motioning for him to come back.

“Ah, I’ll tell you some time. You come by to shoot with us when you’re feelin’ better. Here,” Bones said, pulling something from his pocket. He set a large, glimmering marble on the tabletop next to Mike’s plate, resting it in a groove in the thick planks. Mike looked down into it, its form mostly green with a bright yellow and green twist running through its center.

“Thanks,” he said, though Bones had already stood and begun to walk away.

A loud horn awoke Matilda. The skin around her eyes was red and swollen and she winced as she rubbed them. The room trembled and she heard only the soft sounds of breathing from the beds near her own.


She sat up and her bed squeaked and groaned. Its cries continued as she pulled away her blanket and set a small foot on the cold floor. She tiptoed over to a window but could only see branches and leaves lit by an early dawn sky.

There was a yawn behind her. “What’s wrong?” asked a voice. Matilda stretched her feet and stood on her toes, turning her head to try to find a view through the branches.

“What’s that noise?” Matilda asked. “The room’s shaking all over.”

“Oh, you hearda horn?” There were the sounds of squeaking and Matilda saw a girl come up beside her at the window.

“What was it?” Matilda asked. She looked at the girl. She was much smaller than Matilda, only around seven years old, and had long brown hair mussed from sleep.

“It’s tha train. The long train. Everyone hear it the first morning.” The girl’s eyes only came to the bottom of the window. She yawned again.

“What’s your name?” asked Matilda.

“Sally,” the small girl replied. Matilda sighed.

“Sally? I don’t remember anyone called Sally. Were you there yesterday?”

“I was but James don’t know our real names. I think he make up one every time he see us. He’s kinda dumb.” She smiled and breathed loudly out her nose a few times.

“I’m Matilda.”

“You’ll geta real name soon.”

“Real name?”

“Yuh-huh, Bones give out the real names heah.”

“Oh…” Matilda looked back out the window. “Does the train come every morning?”

“No, tha train only come the first mowning.”

“The first morning?”

“The firs’ mowning everyone heah the train, and it don’t stop.”

“What? It doesn’t stop?”

“It’s why we all heah so long. River behin’us and train in front so we hafta stay.”

Matilda looked down at Sally and at the other beds. She sighed again and shook her head, then looked to the branches outside. She heard squeaking behind her and turned around to see Sally crawling back into a bed. She rested her elbows on the windowsill and stood listening to the sounds of the train, watching the branches lighten until the sky was a bright blue.