9. Westward Bound

In the hours and days immediately following Mary’s death, Cassie struggled to keep it together. The first order of business was to tell Lizzy that her mother had died. It was difficult for Aunt Beebs to find the right balance between allowing Lizzy time to process the horrific news and yet hastily getting down to Havre de Grace to handle things.

Sadly all too familiar, Cassie had no difficulty managing yet another Mourning Week. For Mary though, there would be no cremation. Cassie wanted Mary buried. “A gravesite for Lizzy and me to visit from time to time.”

Father Patrick O’Rourke– who succeeded Father Mac, after Father Jesse transferred to Sioux City – helped with arrangements, with writing the newspaper obituary, and with picking out a nice casket.

The service was beautiful. Well attended by the community, although few faces were especially familiar. Lizzy and her Aunt Beebs sat close and silent, clutching each other’s hand. Afterward, there was a small wake at the main house, where several female residents, themselves the victims of life’s sufferings, showed Cassie and Lizzy compassion and solace.

Over the balance of the year, Cassie struggled to cope with the loss of her sister, and the unfamiliar duties of being a mother to a most resistant niece. Cassie managed to maintain her job, handle estate matters, and participate in the trial that eventually sentenced Jordan Sparks to 30 years without the chance of parole.

As for Lizzy, well she was slipping farther and farther away. In the immediate aftermath of the tragic event, Cassie’s niece was understandably depressed but often unbearably irritable and difficult to communicate with.

 At Cassie’s insistence, Lizzy joined a bereavement support group for children. At first, she attended under duress, but before long she met a young girl named Dianna Manchester who in short order became her best friend.

The girls talked openly to one another about any topic. There were no boundaries, no secrets. What Cassie could not know, was that at one point Lizzy told Dianna she was thinking of running away. Her motivations were noble, she had wanted to spare her aunt the burden of raising her.

In September the new school year started, and Cassie enrolled Lizzy at Harrisburg Senior High as a sophomore. Fortunately, Dianna was in the same grade, and they shared many of the same classes.

One day, Cassie came a bit early to pick up Lizzy from school and caught her sitting on a low brick wall while kissing one Tommy Somebody. Lizzy claimed not to know his last name, which assertion itself did not sit well with her aunt. Tommy appeared to be a couple of years older than Lizzy and this observation was enough for her to forbid Lizzy from getting any more involved with the young man. Lizzy, of course, readily obliged her aunt. Not!

Unbeknownst to Cassie, by late September their budding romance was in full bloom. Tommy had tried one time to make a move on Lizzy, but she rebuffed him. Yet there was a part of her that very much wanted to feel the love of someone, even a guy with some rather smarmy tattoos and overcharged ego.

The school dance was on October 3rd, and Cassie felt that there would be sufficient chaperones for Lizzy to be safe with Tommy. She permitted them to go together, and even have a nice dessert afterward at the iHop. If only Cassie could have known how consequential this evening would be, she would never have agreed.

Even while they were dancing, Tommy burst with pride as he talked about having met the road manager for the Flying Wallenda’s, the highwire phenomenon known all over the world. Quite serendipitously, both Tommy and the manager were at The Spot, a greasy spoon known for its sloppy Spot dogs slathered in chili and topped with fresh onion. The circus was doing a cross-country tour, and “We’re short a few carnies,” the man said. Before the man could even finish his vague offer of employment, Tommy shouted, “I’m in!.”

Lizzy’s reaction was both surprise and hurt. Here she was, with her first real male companion, and he was about to leave her for parts unknown. “Come with me, Liz. It’ll be fun,” Tommy shouted over the painfully offkey band that was blaring in her ears. “We’ll see the world together.”

“What’s here? I’ll tell ya. Nothing! That’s what you have here.” She sat expressionless. “You said you didn’t want to burden your aunt, right?” Once she nodded, he knew he was making headway. “Listen, I’ll be going in a few days. We go to Pittsburgh next, and then I think twenty more cities to the west coast.”

“I don’t know, Tommy. If I do this, I’m gonna need some time to scrape money together. To make plans, you know. Doubt I’d be outta here before Christmas.”

“Well, here’s our brochure. Let’s see,” he said, his finger tracing down the glossy trifold. “We’ll be in Denver in mid-January. You can meet me there. That should give you enough time. Right?” She shook her head again, with about as much conviction as her previous nods.

By the end of December, Lizzy had managed to pilfer enough money from her aunt to pay for about half of the train ticket from Harrisburg to Denver. Her close friend, Dianna, covered the remaining half.

The idea was for Dianna to buy the train ticket under her name, but not use it. Instead, Lizzy would assume Dianna’s identity. They believed this would give Lizzy a jumpstart and provide her with a slight advantage by confusing and delaying Aunt Beebs’ efforts to locate her niece.

A slight hiccup in their scheme arose due to a recent train derailment that had caused significant damage to the tracks along the Harrisburg-Pittsburgh route. As a result, Amtrak offered a solution by providing a free Greyhound bus ticket between those two cities.

A couple days before, Dianna had been persistently pushing for the family to attend Christmas morning church service. While her mother found the suggestion a bit unusual, she cheerfully agreed. However, her father and younger brother were not as excited about the idea.

On Strawberry Lane, Lizzy sat on her bedroom closet floor with a pencil and pad, writing a farewell note to Aunt Beebs. She found it challenging to express the words she wanted to convey.

Without allowing time for second thoughts, she took one last look at her bedroom and headed to the kitchen. There, on the dinette table, she placed the note that she hoped would say more, and quietly exited to the front door.

Lizzy pedaled her bike to Zion Lutheran Church on 4th Street and securely parked it in the back alley. This church was proud of its rich American history. According to a historical marker out front, “The Whig Convention of December 1839 met in this church and nominated William Henry Harrison for president, and John Tyler for Vice President. Popularized as Tippecanoe and Tyler Too, they were elected in 1840.”

Lizzy stashed her small suitcase behind a dumpster and strolled to the front of the building along sidewalks lightly dusted by overnight snow. She climbed the tall stairs and entered the church’s front vestibule. As she and Dianna had previously rehearsed, Lizzy promptly ascended the stairs that led to the balcony.

After the church service concluded, Dianna hurried to the balcony, while her parents and brother lingered to greet the pastor and extend their Christmas wishes.

“I’m really going to miss you,” Dianna sobbed, embracing Lizzy tightly. “Please take care and send me a message as soon as you arrive. I’ll be keeping you in my prayers, Liz.”

The two friends remained locked in their hug, their tears racing to be the first to fall to the floor. “I’ll be okay, Dee. I couldn’t have done this…” Lizzy said, looking down at the ticket Dianna was handing her, “on my own. You’re giving me my freedom. You’re giving me my life. And you’re giving Aunt Beebs hers, too. God bless you.”

“I need to leave before they get suspicious. Take care,” Dianna whispered. “Is your bike in the back?” Lizzy nodded. Moments later, Lizzy observed from her elevated vantage point as Dianna reunited with her parents near the exit. Dianna shot a godsend wink up at Lizzy before vanishing from sight.

The distance from the church to Harrisburg Station was short, just across the street. By her watch, she had about a half-hour before they would start boarding.

At 1:40 pm, Lizzy boarded the bus headed for Pittsburgh. From there she would take the Capitol Limited line to Chicago. There she would take the California Zephyr train, its final destination two days later being Union Station, right in the heart of downtown Denver. Upon arrival, her sole responsibility was to keep a low profile and patiently await the arrival of the Flying Wallendas in town.

Lizzy deliberately packed light so she could stay nimble and move quickly if the need arose. As a result, her suitcase was small enough to carry on board. When she reached the front of the line, she presented her ticket to the bus driver, who stood at the door like a bouncer for a private club. Lizzy’s eyes suddenly teared up thanks to the smoky odor emanating from his crumbled clothes and disheveled salt-and-pepper hair. Lizzy ascended the tall steps and was confronted by a crowded aisle.

Once the way was clear, she double-checked her ticket and found seat 9C. The man in 9D noticed her struggling on her tiptoes to fit her bag into the overhead bin. Jumping up he said, “Here, let me help you.” She watched as he made space for it by adjusting other bags. “There! That should work,” he remarked, sliding back into his seat after removing the newspaper he had left there.

From her aisle seat, Lizzy watched as the driver made last-minute adjustments to his chair, closed the door with a pull on the lever, and reached for the microphone hanging just above his head.

“Good morning, everyone. I’m Alvin Henson, and this is the bus headed to Pittsburgh.” Despite speaking in an overdramatic broadcasting voice, his roots in the Louisiana bayous were unmistakable. “The journey will take just shy of 17 hours. That includes a 45-minute layover in Breezewood, Pennsylvania, around 5:30 this evening, to accommodate connecting routes. So, relax, get comfortable, and enjoy the ride. Thank you.”

Obeying his instructions, Lizzy attempted to recline her seat but struggled. The man next to her leaned over and pointed out, “You have to release the catch,” as he pressed the button on the armrest closest to the aisle. “First time on a Greyhound?”

“Yep,” Lizzy responded quietly. She felt quite paranoid about someone noticing her solo travel and raising questions. Her goal was to keep a low profile and avoid drawing any attention, so she kept her response to just that single word.

“I’m Michael Farley,” the man offered, reaching out his hand. Lizzy had practiced her response in advance. “I’m Dianna Manchester,” she replied.

“Dee-ah-nah,” he echoed, repeating her precise pronunciation. “That’s a beautiful name. Is it of German descent?”

Eager to deflect attention, Lizzy asked, “Why do you think that?”

“I’m a language professor, fascinated by words and their origins,” he explained.

Lizzy inquired, “Where do you teach?” glad to shift the focus away from herself.

“I’m a tenured professor at the University of Denver,” he shared. Seeing her confusion, he clarified, “I know I could fly, but I much prefer the train. Great for leisurely visiting with fine folks like you. And you can’t beat the scenery!” Then, he added, “Although this bus arrangement is fairly uncommon.” He scratched an itch on his forehead and then inquired, “And what about you? Is Pittsburgh your hometown?”

The word ‘home’ unexpectedly stirred queasiness in her stomach. “No, I’m heading to Denver, too. I’ll be changing trains in Chicago. Weird, huh?” His eyes pleaded for more information. “That we’re sitting next to each other on a bus for Pittsburgh, both headed to Chicago by train, to catch another train to Denver? Weird, huh”

“Definitely weird,” he echoed, emphasizing her choice of words.

Having navigated his questions and wanting to be left alone, Lizzy said, “Well, I think I’ll take a little nap while you read your paper.” He grinned, neatly folded the New York Times to the puzzle page, and retrieved a mechanical pencil from the pocket protector on his crisp, white shirt.

As he tackled the daily crossword puzzle, his peripheral vision noticed Lizzy craning her neck to look out the window. “Want to switch seats?” he asked, not waiting for her response. He stood crouched, holding onto the seat in front of him as he waited for Lizzy to step into the aisle. “I’ve seen this route too many times.”

After a few minutes, both had dozed off. The man’s right hand mindlessly held his reading glasses, bouncing up and down on the crinkled newspaper in his lap. Leaning against the window, Lizzy’s head bumped on the fogged glass as the train clickity-clacked across the joints in the tracks.

The rhythmic rumble of the train lulled Lizzy into a profound slumber. She could hardly hear the train whistles and mingled passenger conversations beneath the piercing cries of agony from ghostly figures with contorted faces. Lizzy wriggled in her seat as her daydream-nightmare played out in her sleeping head.

In her imagination, dark clouds swirled over a snowy scene. Floating just above a graveyard silhouette, a group of Christmas carolers sang an eerie verse:

Towering shadow from piercing steeple,

Points out among the sleeping people;

Frozen tears on a broken bench,

Stirring tormented Anna Mench

Loud crackles from the conductor’s microphone abruptly broke the silence, jolting everyone on the train awake. “Hey folks, it’s Alvin Henson again. We’re getting close to Breezewood, and we’ll be pulling in within ten minutes. We’ve got a 45-minute layover. Feel free to get out, stretch your legs, grab a bite, or go for a walk. Just make sure you’re back in time. We will depart promptly at 6:09 pm. This is bus 2203.”

“Well, that was rather sudden,” Michael said. “You okay?” he asked, Lizzy’s face looking especially pallid.

“Yeah. It was just a bad dream, that’s all. You ever have strange dreams?” Lizzy inquired.

“Dreams are a captivating subject, pondered for thousands of years,” the professor began.

“Are they messages from God, or are they just our imagination?” Lizzy asked.

“Well, Dianna, that’s the heart of the debate. Plato believed gods communicated their intentions through dreams. Aristotle, on the other hand, thought they were reflections of our daily experiences. In general, the Greeks saw dreams as divine. Socrates believed they came from the gods and could guide us if interpreted correctly. Nietzsche, however, dismissed them as pure fiction, meaningless.”

“What’s your take?” Lizzy asked.

“For me? I lean towards Carl Jung. He believed dreams serve as a means for our conscious and unconscious minds to communicate. What about you?”

“Sometimes, depending on the dream, I think it might be my mom or dad talking to me.” Lizzy’s expression suddenly turned somber.

“Have your parents transitioned, Dianna?” The professor delicately and cautiously posed the question.

“Transitioned?”

“Passed away,” he clarified.

Lizzy’s eyes welled up. “My mom has. She was killed by my father. He’s in prison… hopefully for life.”

The professor was left speechless. “I’m truly sorry to hear that. But I share your belief. I think your mother, in heaven, receives valuable guidance from God and is trying to lead you.” He paused, handing her a handkerchief as he observed her wiping her nose. “The crucial part, though, is to accurately interpret those dreams. Isn’t it?”

“Well, Professor Farley, I’m quite certain my parents didn’t send the dream I just experienced. Or, perhaps I should say, nightmare. It was dreadful!” Her voice faded, and Michael decided not to press further. He had suggested she address him as Michael, but she insisted on the formal title, “out of respect.”

Taking a second look, Lizzy carefully noted her bus number and parking space, before heading out to the street. Stepping onto the sidewalk outside the truck stop, she surveyed both north and south before doing a double-take towards the north. Was that a church steeple she spotted?

She checked her watch. Still 40 minutes, she said to herself. Tempted by her dream, Lizzy decided to check out the church. Her truck stop was one of a dozen, all bustling with trucks, cars, trailers, and people. People everywhere. Chaos everywhere. Noise everywhere.

Heading north, Lizzy strolled past the 7-Eleven and auto repair, observing that the recently paved four-lane highway by her side was transforming into a worn two-lane road, marked with more tar patches than smooth asphalt.

As she passed the Quality Inn, the church gradually became clearer in her view. At the foot of the driveway was a marquee that read, Zion Lutheran Church. How coincidental is that? she mused.

Perched on a hill in the countryside, there stood a classic wood-framed church, radiating timeless charm through its simple yet elegant design. The steep-pitched roof reached for the heavens, complemented by a modest steeple that pointed upward like a beacon of faith.

Gravel crunched with a muted sound as she walked up the driveway, lightly covered in overnight snow. She paused to admire the charming architecture of the building itself. The exterior boasted warm, weathered wood, its peeled white paint whispering tales of time’s passage and the enduring strength of the community it served.

Lizzy’s gaze was drawn to the front porch which featured a wearied wooden door and its well-used doorknob, a reminder of the countless hands that had touched it over the years.

Adjacent to the door sat a broken bench, tempting Lizzy to take a seat. Smartly, she hesitated, fearing it might collapse under her weight.

Stepping onto the porch, she turned around, taking in the panoramic view of the landscape as the day waned. The sun cast a late afternoon shadow from the steeple overhead, seemingly directing attention to a specific gravestone.

Descending the porch steps, she approached the marked grave. A small pedestal, approximately four feet tall with a flat top, held a wicker basket filled with plastic flowers. Intrigued, she felt compelled to investigate further, lifting the basket.

What she discovered beneath it startled her, causing her to drop the basket and hastily retreat down the hill. Engraved into the top of the pedestal was an inscription: “Anna Mench, 1829-1871.”

Breathless, she got on the bus, located her seat, and sank into it. The professor hadn’t come back to the bus at that point. Her heart was still trembling from the experience, which she could find no way to reconcile. The nightmare daydream. The eerie poem predicted exactly what she encountered. Where is all of this coming from? she wondered.