The Daughter's Walk - Jane Kirkpatrick [27]
I’d heard stories that the winds could be so fierce that railroad cars had toppled off the Dale Creek trestle, plunging into the hundred-fifty-foot depths below. Both my mother and I together weighed less than one good stout man, so who knew what the wind could do to us if it took a mind to.
“What is it, five o’clock?” I yawned, couldn’t get a good, deep breath.
“We do not walk in darkness,” my mother chirped, and I knew it was as much a statement of reality as a reference to Scripture.
The wind came at us in blustery gusts. In between them, the world fell silent as snow.
The thin soles of my leather shoes—my fourth pair since the journey began—gave rise to little pebbles pressed against my feet. Maybe that was good, to feel the ground so closely. It would keep me bound to earth and forbid my missteps. I could see myself dropping a leg between the railroad ties or, worse, losing my balance and tumbling to certain death. My feet attuned to earthly things might notice the vibration of a distant train, feel it strong enough and early so I’d know before we stepped onto the first railroad tie that we should wait, that there wasn’t enough time before a train came smoking around that distant bend and the engineer faced the horrified looks of two women about to meet their deaths. Could my feet save us both?
A hawk screamed overhead. Or was that a distant train whistle?
No, the wind. It seared through the iron monolith, pushing against the guy wires that reminded me of tiny threads futilely hoisting a ship’s sail. Still, I had to believe it was secure.
At the trestle’s edge, my mother halted, looked ahead, then turned. “Keep your eyes on the ties, not between them. We’ll make this. We have to.”
I set my carpetbag down, bent to flatten my hands onto the iron track, willing myself to feel even the tiniest vibration. My breaths came short, rapid. The steel felt cold and silent as a dagger. My fingers scraped the iron spikes holding the rail to the ties.
“Come along,” my mother shouted, swinging her arm forward. She didn’t look back.
My head buzzed as I stood. The world spun.
I took the first tentative step onto the railroad tie, thin soles making me aware of the ax marks struck by a Chinese worker who labored in building this trestle. The essence of another human having touched that tie gave me courage. Others had made their way on foot across here; so could I. I set the grip in front of me, took another step. Through the ties, I saw a tiny dark snake of a creek wind its way beneath me. I felt lightheaded again. Am I going to be ill? I shook my head, took the third step, then another. I got my rhythm: a step, then move the grip forward, eyes on my mother’s slender back, eyes down to the next tie, then step, grip forward. I refused to see what lay beneath us, what the sun wouldn’t hit for hours. I focused on the solid ties and my mother’s frame as we two met yet one more challenge.
I heard the shout, stunned by my mother’s body jerking forward and her, “Whoa!”
“Mama?”
My mother dropped to the rails. Before I knew what was happening, the blast of wind that lowered her struck me. I felt myself shifting, threw my arms out like a tightrope walker I’d once seen in a circus. I’d be cast aside without a net. My heart pounded in my temples. “Ooh!” I shouted. The wind pushed me down, and I squatted and gripped the sides of the tracks with my face buried in the carpetbag on the tie in front of me, sucking up air. At least it hadn’t been blown away. Tears of fear and outrage pressed against my nose. What am I doing here? Cool sweat threatened my rib cage beneath thin wool. I was frozen in place.
If I got across this trestle alive, I vowed I’d never put a member of my family in such a position; I’d never do such a foolish thing. Anger spurrred me to crawl. Being on my knees made praying easier.
“ ‘This is the way, walk ye in it.’ ” I repeated the verse