The Magic of Ordinary Days Read Free

still I could not remember it.
    The train made five stops between Pueblo and my destination, including one at Nepesta, where the Missouri Pacific and the Santa Fe Railroads crossed. Outside my window, occasional ranch houses, signs of modest human habitation, dotted land that seemed most suitable for gophers and field mice. Then abruptly, outside of Fowler, the untrodden prairie ended, and miles of rowed crops in the fertile bottomlands of the lower Arkansas River began. For a few moments at a time, I saw stretches of the river—a silver-blue strand of waterway that curled back on itself and braided through stands of cottonwoods and willows. Near Rocky Ford, trucks piled high with ripe honeydew melons waited to cross the tracks, reminding me that summer was still at hand.
    The train stopped at La Junta, home to another Army air base, where pilots received training in flying B-25 bombers. I debarked along with still more servicemen. La Junta, Spanish for “the junction,” was probably named for its location at the convergence of the old Santa Fe and Navajo Trails, and still served as a transportation hub, only now for trains and planes instead of horses and wagons. The train station was huge compared to the buildings in the surrounding area and contained a roundhouse, docks, restaurants, and hotel rooms.
    I expected to see my party as soon as I arrived; however, for a time that seemed much longer than it surely was, I stood on the platform with my large traveling case sitting upright at my side, waiting alone.
    My father’s old friend from seminary, the Reverend Willard Case, was to meet me and introduce me to the man who would become my husband. I had not seen the reverend in almost twelve years and wondered if I would recognize him. But as the depot finally began to clear of uniformed men and family members bustling about, I saw him striding toward me down the platform. He looked much as I had remembered him—wire-thin with a brisk walk. He removed a felt hat, the kind men found fashionable to wear with their suits during the war years, and I saw that since I’d last seen him, his once dark and unruly hair had turned into ribbons of silver strung away from his face.
    As Reverend Case laid eyes upon me, recognition lit his face. “Ah, Olivia,” he said as he approached me with an outstretched hand. “We were late in arriving.” He took my hand in both of his. “And how was the journey?”
    â€œFine, fine,” I answered, glancing up not at him but instead at the man who accompanied him. He had a face that wasn’t unpleasant. No feature was too big or too small, but the resulting mixture was one that couldn’t be called distinctive or handsome, either, and he had thinning red-brown hair that made him appear older than the thirty years I had been told was his age. He was tall and broad and appeared strong, as I would’ve guessed a farmer to be. Dressed in a brown suit with faded knees and elbows, he held himself a step back, completely still, his hat in one hand.
    Revered Case followed my eyes. “Yes, let me make the introductions. Mr. Ray Singleton, this is Miss Olivia Dunne.”
    â€œLivvy,” I said as we shook hands. “Most everyone calls me Livvy, for short.”
    I saw the lift of a smile in one cheek, but for only the slightest second, and then it was gone. Mr. Ray Singleton, who would become my husband as of this day, provided neither of us changed our minds, simply nodded in my direction. Then he stood back again, and holding his hat with both hands now, he shuffled it about in a circle.
    He allowed Reverend Case to take the lead in conversation. “Any problems getting here?” the reverend asked me.
    â€œJust a crowded train,” I answered.
    He pointed to my bag. “Is this it?”
    Funny how I had fit what was left of me into that one case. “For now, yes,” I answered.
    Reverend Case directed our next moves.