If Onions Could Spring Leeks Read Free Page A

it had not been an uninteresting one-story made of simple, boring pine planks. In fact, I remembered that at one time Jake had gone on and on about the station building and how it had been an attraction in itself, how it was something he wished could be rebuilt for the tourists to see and experience. I tried hard to remember the building details, but I just hadn’t found it as interesting as the people and the trains.
    â€œWhere are we?” I asked Grace as I peered out toward my house. It was still there in the murky distance. I was relieved.
    â€œI’m not sure,” she said. “But . . .”
    I looked at the building, searching for a name, a town, a signpost of some sort. There was nothing. In fact, there were no words anywhere.
    â€œGrace,” I said, “who is Robert?”
    She blinked and then turned her confused attention toward me. “Robert Findlay was the man I was supposed to marry. I was to meet him in Broken Rope, and we were going to run away together.”
    â€œRun away?” I said. “Why did you need to run away?”
    â€œWe had to find a place we would be accepted. I’m from Mississippi, Robert was from Broken Rope. We were going to go north, perhaps as far north as we could go.”
    â€œAccepted?” I said, but then I thought I understood what she was getting at.
    â€œYes. Of course, a white man marrying a negro woman is not welcome in many parts.”
    I cringed at the word
negro
, but I had to remember that in 1888 that word wasn’t unsettling or racist, and an interracial marriage most definitely wouldn’t have been welcomed back then, or, sadly, for some time afterward.
    â€œDo you think you didn’t make it to Broken Rope?” I said.
    Grace fell into thought and I was once again taken aback by her beauty. She was not pretty in a youthful way, but in a wise and strong but slightly sad way. It would be easy to see how men, and women too, of all different colors would have found their eyes drawn to her.
    â€œI don’t know. Wait, I do think I made it to Broken Rope.” She glanced at the building, her eyebrows coming together. “I don’t know what or where this station is, though.”
    â€œYour station, from Mississippi maybe? Was this the beginning of your trip?”
    â€œNo, I really don’t think so. I don’t remember the station from Mississippi, but something tells me this isn’t it.” She paused, stared blankly at the planks of the platform, and then looked back at me. “Something terrible happened to me, I’m almost sure. Do you know what that was?”
    â€œI don’t. Try to remember some specifics,” I said.
    A long few beats later, she said, “I was killed, murdered, I think.”
    â€œGrace,” I said as I stepped closer to her. I reached for her hand, glad it was solid. “Listen to me, you can’t die twice. You’re probably getting a bunch of jumbled memories coming at you at once, and that’s normal, I promise. But you don’t need to be sad or worried or afraid. You died a long time ago. Whatever you remember can’t hurt you anymore, and things will become clearer—if you give it time and allow yourself the memories. You will know.”
    Grace looked at me briefly, but her anxious eyes were still focused on the past. It was long ago, but I still didn’t understand how the passing of time worked for the ghosts.
    â€œI was killed, murdered, that I’m sure of, though I don’t understand
how
I’m so sure. I would never have abandoned Robert. Never.” She looked at the station. “But perhaps I never did make it to Broken Rope. Oh, dear. He must have thought I didn’t want to join him. I don’t understand. Is there any chance you can help me understand?”
    I sighed inwardly, but I tried not to let it show too much. There was a time not long ago that I would have said there was probably