A Train to Catch by Laura Conner Kestner

Winner of the 2024 Saddlebag Dispatches Mustang Award for Western Flash Fiction

Clayton kept close watch on the woman as she left the back door of her home and crossed the porch.

In the distance, a locomotive whistle blew. A lonesome sound that drew his thoughts to better days. The days before he’d chased after such a train looking for adventure and riches. He’d found plenty of the first and none of the second. That was when he was younger. Naïve.

Things were different now, and the ache in his heart rivaled the one in his belly.

The woman picked up a long stick as she made her way to an apple tree in a corner of the yard, stopping once to glance in his direction. Had she heard him?

Clayton eased back, into the shadow of the woods just beyond her place.

Was she worried about encountering a stranger? Unfortunately, she should worry. Strangers could rob you blind. That was only one of the lessons he’d learned the hard way.

Go on back inside, Lady.

After several moments, she turned to wave at a young boy in the doorway. “You stay back and out of the way now, hear?”

The boy nodded and she raised the stick, clumsily wielding it to thrash the tree, dodging apples as they fell.

Laughing, she began gathering them in her apron.

Leave one. Please.

Empty pockets and an empty belly had changed Clayton’s definition of riches.

Just one.

Pulling his collar up and his hat down against a sudden chill, Clayton wondered when true cold would come calling. Where would he be when it did?

Don’t think about it.

Convinced that the woman’s attention was fixed on the fallen fruit and her boy, Clayton eased forward again and watched. Smoke curled from a stove pipe of the old frame house. Perhaps she was baking today. Or canning.

Memories rained down on him, as the apples had her. Family gathered around the table, waiting for supper. Pa’s words of thankfulness before they all dug in. Ma’s smile when the old man mumbled, “Good grub” after the first bite. Love. Kindness. Things Clayton had taken for granted. Things he’d turned his back on, rejected in the name of adventure.

He missed it all with a fierceness that took his breath away at times.

But he couldn’t go home now.

Hands in his pockets, Clayton touched the two letters he’d found waiting in Fort Worth—when he’d finally checked. Both sent to him months before, care of general delivery.

The first letter was short.

Pa’s sick. Please come home. We need you.

The second one, even shorter.

Pa died.

A punch to the gut he’d remember until his own dying day.

But it wasn’t the words on the paper that bounced around in his mind now. It was words left unwritten. It’s too late. Clayton figured if he showed up at the door now, those exact words would be uttered by his Ma and his younger siblings. Could they ever forgive him?   

Throat tight, Clayton shoved the letters and the memories further down, keeping his focus on the woman in the yard. On the apples. No telling how far it was to the next house, and another chance at something to eat.

Apron full, the woman turned, calling out to the boy at the door, “We’ll have a feast this evening.”

“I wanna help gather them apples.”

“You stay right there. Perhaps you can help me cook.” She began telling the boy what she’d prepare—including cake and cobbler—as she headed inside.

Help your Ma, boy. Help her however you can. While you can.

After she’d gone, the door shut, Clayton eased forward again. There were still several apples littering the ground. Probably not prime pickings, but he didn’t care. Just one. A little something to get him to the next town.

He’d almost reached them when the door reopened. This time the woman had a sack in her hands.

She was coming back for the rest.

Disappointed, defeated, Clayton ducked out of sight again. But she didn’t glance his way this time.

She leaned the sack against the tree trunk, then hurried away.

Clayton waited, wary. His gaze swung toward the house. A hand at the window. A wave.

He eased toward the tree and grabbed the sack. His stomach growled as he looked inside. Ham. Bread. Two perfect ripe apples.

His spirits lifted as he glanced at the house again. The curtain was closed now.

But someone’s mama had cared.

Perhaps his own would, too.

Maybe it’s not too late.

If she’d let him, he’d tell her everything. His grief, his sorrow.

But mostly, his regret.

Clutching the precious gift, Clayton turned and walked away.

He had a train to catch.

Laura Conner Kestner spent 25 years in community journalism before pursuing a career in fiction. She is the author of five books—four historical Western fiction, and one contemporary. Her most recent writing endeavor is flash fiction, which she enjoys immensely. She is honored to be a finalist for the 2024 Saddlebag Dispatches Mustang Award. Laura is grateful for the opportunity to write (it’s a childhood dream of hers), and so grateful for those who are willing to read her work. She is a proud four-time Will Rogers Medallion Award finalist, winning the Gold Medallion in 2021 in the inspirational fiction category. Born in Fort Worth, Texas, Laura is a Christian, wife, mother, grandmother, and seventh-generation Texan. Find out more about Laura and her writing here: https://www.lauraconnerkestner.com/