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Rusty used to like the dawn. He didn’t anymore.
The early-morning sunlight spilled lazily across the yard, brightening the track. Under the darkness of night, Rusty could pretend the track led to places unknown, good places, better places than here. Places where hope still existed and Rusty’s boiler didn’t ache with grief. He could pretend that, if he stared at the track long enough, he would hear a familiar whistle and the chugging that announced an old, heavy steamer returning home.
Under the starlight, there was comfort. Under the sun, Rusty could see the track curving up the hills and into the farmland he knew all too well. No use pretending anymore.
“Rusty?”
During the day, he still went to work, talked to the freight and coaches, spent time with Pearl, went through the motions as though everything was normal, silently glaring at everyone who seemed to be moving on as though it really was that easy. At least they’d all been so kind to him these last few weeks. Even Greaseball, the disgraced former champion, greeted him with a brotherly clap on the shoulder instead of his traditional glare and punch. Small comfort.
“Rusty, have you been here all night? Again?”
Oh, Pearl. Asking as though she didn’t know the answer. As though Rusty hadn’t snuck out of their shed every day for three weeks and stood right there, staring out into the starlight-riddled sky while clutching a rusted old harmonica, right by the track where Poppa McCoy had made a normal, scheduled run from Apollo Victoria, and never returned.
“He’s not coming back…”
“I know that!” He turned to Pearl with fury in his eyes, anger that she was putting his grief into words, and his anger immediately dissolved into guilt when he saw the way she flinched.
“I’m sorry…” Pearl whispered.
His anger was gone, and it was a struggle to keep the tears away. He hugged Poppa’s harmonica to his chest. “No… no, I’m sorry, I-I… I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“Rusty…” She rolled to him, slowly, extending her arms and waiting for him to meet her embrace. Rusty didn’t relax into the hug, but he accepted it, which was more than he’d accepted ever since it happened. He hadn’t even cried yet. Would he feel better if he did?
“Poppa’s gone. Okay, honey? Why don’t you come over to see the freight tonight instead of coming back here? CB’s been on his best behaviour. Dustin keeps asking me about you. He’s been writing a song about Poppa. Flat-Top keeps telling him it’s awful but I think he’s just saying that to tease…”
“It shouldn’t have happened.”
She hugged tighter, and Rusty let her do it, pressing his face to her neck. “It happens,” she said softly. “Crashes happen. It was an accident. Poppa knew it could happen. Oh Rusty, I miss him too...”
“You don’t understand.” He pulled away from her, a pang of guilt in his boiler. Oh Starlight, she was so beautiful, and he was burdening her so much with this. Of course she missed Poppa, everyone did. But she was fine before him, and she would be fine without him. Rusty, on the other hand… “He helped raise me. He sang to me, he guided me, he taught me how to be a champion… I wouldn’t be anything right now without him. What am I supposed to do now?”
“You’re still you!” Pearl took his hands, squeezing hard, steadying him. “He guided you, but you’re still you. You’re still Rusty, my sweet dream steamer. You won the race because you’re you. Because you’re strong. Poppa helped make you strong, exactly so you’d be able to go on without him.”
Rusty shook his head. “I’m not as strong as you think I am.”
“No, that’s nonsense,” Pearl said. Against she squeezed his hands, pulling them against her chest. “Do you realize how much you helped me, too? You made me want to become a better person. I want to be a coach who deserves you.”
“You are…”
She gave him a watery smile. “You’re good at that, just like Poppa was. So, maybe it’s your turn. People are going to be looking to you for guidance now. Someone’s got to pull the freight train and keep everyone out of trouble, right? Some day, you’re going to be showing a young engine how to be a champion, just like Poppa did with you. He’ll be so proud…” She brought their clasped hands away from her chest, onto his. “Poppa’s in you. Right here. Every time you look at the starlight, he’ll be there.”
Rusty pulled her close, hugging her tight, skipping words in favour of her embrace. He didn’t trust himself not to sob, nor to look into the sky.
“Don’t come here tonight,” she whispered against him. “Go anywhere you please, but not here. You know the starlight will follow you everywhere.”
And suddenly Rusty couldn’t help it, sobbing long and deep against Pearl’s neck.
***
The next night, Rusty looked long and hard down the track, and for the first night in weeks, turned away from the path leading deep into the night. He rolled until he reached the freight yard.
The Hoppers noticed him first, bumping each other and pointing, attracting attention to the quiet steamer slowly coming to a stop on the track. Flat-Top greeting him with a nod and a tip of a brick. Dustin looked ready to leap into his arms. Off to the side and in the cover of shadows, CB sat too, acknowledging Rusty’s arrival with a small salute and a smile that was more joy than mischief.
Something was missing in the freight yard. But high above, the starlight was bright.
“Dustin. I hear you wrote a song?”
Dustin bobbed his head this way and that in what could be interpreted as a shy ‘maybe’.
“Here.” It felt strange to release his grip on the harmonica, but it was time. Dustin took it with a reverent look on his face and Rusty gave him a small encouraging smile, the first smile he’d managed in a while. “Poppa would want you to have it. He’d want us to go on and keep him alive this way. Let’s hear your song.”
Rusty moved to the middle of the group, and together they sat, listening to Dustin’s song and the dulcet sounds of Poppa’s old harmonica, under the starlight.