THE NOON HOUR
 

By
 

 Robin Flinchum ©2002

 

Wallie Flanders wouldn’t have noticed the girl at all if the train hadn’t been late that morning. The railroad might change its schedule with the weather, but the borax mill, where Wallie was employed to resuscitate machinery choked by the white borax powder, operated strictly by the clock. At noon every day, when the train had usually come and gone, a whistle announced dinner hour for the mill hands. The clanging of the massive ore grinders grew silent and the ever-present cloud of white dust that hung over the factory thinned out just a little. Just enough for Wallie to see the girl climb down from the late-running train and pick her way across the hard, dry dirt to the station while he sat watching her from his seat on a hummock of ore bags.

It was only a glimpse really. The girl moved swiftly and with purpose, her skirts swinging. A large hat hid most of her face but for a brief moment, when she stood still on the threshold of that passenger car and looked out at the awful, desolate country around her, he had seen her eyes. From then on his life would be different–he knew that as he sat there, covered in white dust like a pie baker, his lunch forgotten. He knew it because in her eyes he had seen not disappointment at the bleak and barren landscape, not despair at the rudeness of the young mining town, not disgust for the barefoot gang of boys hanging around the platform, waiting for a chance to sneak into the ice car, nor even revulsion for the Indian women who sat patiently on the hard ground waiting for someone to buy the delicate baskets they made.

No, in her eyes he had seen a kindling of her vitality, a spark of her courage, a hint of her smile. She looked like she had come to this place on purpose, daring it to try, just try and get her down. In the few short moments it took her to move from the train into the station her red and white checked traveling suit brightened the landscape, stirred up the air, and Wallie could see he wasn’t the only one who noticed it for the train conductor followed after her, staring as if fascinated.

And it wasn’t just that she was a woman in a camp of so very many men, for there were women here already–both the back door and the front door kind. Respectable girls with their mamas came in on the train from larger stations all along the line for the monthly company dance, but he had seen so many of them picking their way across the harsh ground of the new town with disappointment and disgust writ large across their pinched up faces.

When the girl re-emerged from the depot, still followed by the conductor who now seemed distressed about something, she turned her steps in the direction of the ramshackle parlor house that had perched on the other side of the railroad tracks the day the town was born. She marched forward with determination and the conductor stopped, throwing his hands in the air, and watched her go with a shake of his head.

Slapping the white powder from his hair, Wallie ran toward her, heedless of how ridiculous he might seem.

"Miss!" he called out. "Miss!"

She stopped and turned, fixing her wonderful eyes on him.

"Yes?" her smile was polite but not encouraging.

He stopped beside her feeling foolish, his arms dangling, white dust billowing up from his coverall. "Pardon me," he said, somewhat breathlessly, "but I thought you might be lost. Have you come to see Mrs. Gonigal, the superintendent’s wife?"

"No," she answered firmly. "I’ve come to see Mrs. Rafferty at the hotel."

He blanched at this mention of the proprietress of the town’s ‘hotel’ but would not be defeated. "You know Mrs. Rafferty?" he asked.

"No," the girl answered. "She wrote to Los Angeles that the town was in need of someone with professional training. Here I am."

"Professional training?" He was stunned. Her coat was neatly buttoned, her hat set just so, her white gloves only slightly smudged from her travels. Managing to nod while keeping her chin tilted slightly upward, she seemed entirely unlike the women at Mrs. Rafferty’s, whose clothing and whose temperaments always appeared to be slightly askew.

Wallie found himself suddenly wrapped in feeling, as if someone had thrown a bucket of emotion over him and soaked him with it. Regardless of where this girl might have been or what she might have done in the past, it seemed fatally important that she not proceed to Mrs. Rafferty’s now.

Her smile was beginning to fray around the edges as she looked at him.

"Don’t do it," he said urgently. "Don’t got to work for Mrs. Rafferty! That kind of life will wear the spark right out of you in no time at all."

"But I need this job," she said, her eyes narrowing.

"I’ve got a good job," he said, unexpectedly. "I’m the head mechanic at the mill. You could marry me and you won’t have to work."

Her eyes opened wide and her eyebrows arched up under the fringe of her thick brown hair. "Marry you?"

"Yes," he answered, so stirred up by his feelings that more of the borax powder shook loose as he spoke, lending a slight haze to the atmosphere. "I know you don’t know me at all but the minute I saw you I felt like I’d known you forever. I’d take good care of you. You could give up this awful job."

"Mister," the girl was planting her balled up fists on her hips, "just what do you and everyone else in this town have against a girl making an honest living teaching school?" Her eyes narrowed down again as she stared at him, waiting for an answer.

"Teaching school?" he repeated.

"What else?"

"Well, Mrs Rafferty is... that is she... I mean her place... there are a lot of girls working there." He was avoiding her eyes now.

"Mrs. Rafferty has five children, though I suppose you hadn’t noticed them. She wrote to the county school board asking that a teacher be assigned to your town. And here I am."

"Oh," he smiled, ducking his head.

The mill whistle shrieked out again, warning that the dinner break was at an end. Anxious to redeem himself Wallie spoke one last time, controlling the urge to run his hands through his hair or make any movement that would contribute to the dust cloud around him. "Well, there’s a social tonight in the company meeting hall–just a piano, you know, Mrs. Gonigal plays. They hold it outdoors when the weather’s fine. Maybe you’ll save me a dance? You won’t know me when I’m cleaned up." He looked into her face.

"Maybe I will," she said, relenting with a bit of a smile.

And he headed back to the clanging, banging mill to take his place in the engine room just as if this were any other day, while in his heart he knew that it most certainly was not. Let the dust fly where it would, tonight the girl with the spark in her eyes would dance with him under the stars in a clear desert sky.

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