Grand Island

Mary took in his awestruck admiration for her body and could not repress a nervous laugh. "I take it you approve, doctor," she quipped.

"Lovely," he exhaled softly as he removed his shirt and reached to pull off his undershirt.

"Delighted to learn someone still thinks so," Mary said. "And since you find it so beautiful, you get to wash it!"

Wash her he did, gently and reverently, splashing the cool fresh water all about her body just before and after soaping up every inch of it a bit at a time. She giggled occasionally at his intimate touch and his obvious delight with his task, but not a word was spoken. He saved her hair for last, exulting in the luxurious feel of the soapy curls wrapping at random around his fingers as he scrubbed it and poured the clean water over it while she leaned over the basin. When he was finished, he patted her dry with a railroad issue towel. "Now," he said, handing her the washcloth, "Will you return the favor?"

Mary made no effort to hide her interest in Bill's hard cock. "He never let me play with his," she explained as she rubbed it gently to his audible pleasure. "Perhaps if I had stopped at that...but he wouldn't even allow it."

"Wouldn't allow it?" Bill repeated incredulously, struggling to maintain his balance with the intense pleasure she was giving him with her strokes.

"You don't want to know what sort of absurdities he fed me to talk me into his bed," Mary said. "And then he just wanted to go straight to the main event. Nothing like I'd heard from the older girls in the street." As she spoke, Mary took the cake of soap in her hands, and soon had Bill's pubic hair awash in suds. She ran her fingers through the soapy wonderland, further inspiring groans of joy from him.

"Heavens, I hope you are enjoying this as much as I am," Bill said, holding onto the washstand for balance.

"You have no idea," Mary cooed. At long last she tore her attention away from his hard cock and rubbed upwards over his torso and chest. She turned him around and scrubbed his back with a cheerful flair, and gave each of his legs a quick rub up and down. Still nude herself, she lost no time in rinsing him off and patting him dry, and then taking him in an eager embrace.

"Oh, that feels wonderful," Bill purred. "I've never felt anything like it before."

"Doesn't it, though," Mary agreed. Shyly she added, "Your response when I was playing with you was ever so lovely. Men are so lucky to get so much feeling out of such a simple touch."

"Surely you know women can, too," Bill said, surprised.

"How?" Mary looked down at her own body, still something of a mystery to her."

"Through the clitoris, of course," Bill said. Seeing her perplexed face, he went on, "Good heavens, you didn't know...?"

"I don't think a man would understand," Mary said.

"You're probably right," Bill admitted. "Come lay down and I can show you if you like." He led her back into the bedchamber and she lay back on the clean linens. Bill spread her legs gently and placed his right hand gently on her vulva. "May I?"

"Please do," Mary said.

Gently Bill felt around with his thumb until he had found it. He had more than one reason to know he had found it, for Mary let out a surprised yelp when he rubbed it. "That's it," he says. "The only part of the body made for pleasure only, and only women have one." He paused his rubbing to explain.

"Don't stop!"

Bill laughed, but he resumed his stroking. He also continued explaining. "The clitoris has more nerve endings than any other part of the body. That's why it feels so intense when you touch it the right way. Now, some doctors think the nerves reach all the way to the wall of your vagina, so if you rub inside as well..." To illustrate, he reached one finger in and rubbed in circles against her moist inner flesh.

"Oh, Bill, I understand!" Mary shrieked joyfully. "Don't stop!"

"I won't, not until you come," he promised.

"You mean women can..." Mary's question was interrupted by a non-verbal but unequivocal 'yes,' and Bill smiled as he admired her reaction to the orgasm. He then excused himself to rinse his hands off in the basin, and then returned to hold her for the afterglow. "Thank you," she whispered.

"My pleasure," he said.

"No, my pleasure, and thank you!" Mary retorted, and they laughed together.

They fell asleep in one another's arms, and Bill awoke to find the train stopped with the curtains still open. Fortunately they were on the far side of the station, and he had time to jump up and draw the curtains with no one the wiser. A sidelong glance down the track told him they were in Lincoln, indicating it was lunch time. They could brave the crowds in the dining car once the train started up again.

"What time is it?" Mary asked in a sleepy voice as she sat up on the bed.

"Not quite twelve," Bill said. "Maybe we can meet the Brockways for lunch."

"That'd be lovely," Mary said. "I take it we can't tell them yet about your plans to help them, though."

"Oh, that reminds me," Bill said. "I did find a few things to give them, but I forgot all about looking up my friends in California to help Ben with his job search. Let me..." he looked warily at the door. "Let me see if I can get past my parents to get my address book. With any luck they'll have stepped off the train to get some fresh air."

Evidently they had done just that, for Bill was able to slip back into their suite undetected. Back in the relative safety of his tiny chamber, he once again opened the trunk and reached down the back to the corner where he had stashed the book for his own future reference should he be fortunate enough to make the escape from his parents. That idea grew in his mind as he flipped through the book for his friend Kenneth Rodney, whom Bill remembered being well-connected in San Francisco. At last he found the address, although now it occurred to him that the building might well not even exist anymore. There was, of course, nothing to be done about that.

As Bill copied down Ken's contact information, another name registered in his peripheral vision just below in the R's: Daniel Romer, Denver, Colorado. Daniel's father was a doctor and, like Bill himself, Daniel had talked of following in his father's footsteps. The train would be passing through Denver tomorrow, Bill mused. Perhaps...

His brainstorm was interrupted by the sound of the suite door sliding open. "I was his age once, dear," Father was saying. "Once we get him away from her, you will be amazed at how quickly it is forgotten."

"You were his age but her class, Horace," Mother sniffed, a sarcastic twist in her voice when she said his name. "You know nothing about what a well-bred young man will do for a harlot like that."

Bill, frozen in his fright, suddenly found himself more curious than scared. Her class?

"That's enough of that!" Father thundered. "That's in the past, and he never need know the truth!"

"No, but you always shall, shan't you, Horace?" Mother needled. "Or should I go back to calling you Harry?"

"That's enough!"

"Harry Johnson from Wheeling, West Virginia," Mother went on. "You'd still be in the gutter if it weren't for my charms and Father's money, and you think you can save your son from the same fate just by a gentle talking-to! Like father like son, once a gutter-rat, always a gutter-rat. Not if I have anything to say on the matter!"

Bill was livid, and his earlier fear was forgotten. He jumped up off his bed and, still holding the contact book in his hand, tore open the chamber door.

"Oh dear God," Mother said, her rage of a moment earlier now forgotten.

"You little sneak," Father said, lunging at Bill, while Mother sat on the newly laundered bed and broke into sobs.

Bill ducked just in time and had no trouble pinning the older man against the doorjamb. "I was only looking for a name of a friend from Yale to give to a friend from here," he said in a husky whisper. "For a job. Now, I'm going to let go and you're going to leave me alone." He did as he said, and gave his father a rough push that landed him beside Mother on the bed. "Speaking of Yale, Father, have you ever even been there?"

"Only to observe it before we would spend our money to send you there," Mother admitted through her tears. "Your father barely made it out of high school, Bill. His father worked in a cigar factory. But you know he's always been a big talker. After the great fire in '71, he ran off to Chicago with his life's savings and started giving loans to families who couldn't get credit at the bank. Crazy terms and ridiculous interest rates, but you know your father could sell snow to Eskimos. My father got word of what he was up to and offered him a job, and the rest is history."

"Why on earth did you have to lie to me about that?!" Bill demanded.

"To keep you from making exactly the mistake you're making with that miserable little slut!" Mother screamed.

"Why you --"

"Bill!" Father interrupted, jumping up; now he took his son's shoulders in his hands with a conciliatory look. "We lied to you for your own good. If anyone in our neighborhood, any of your friends at Exeter or Yale -- if they knew the truth, heaven only knows what doors would have been slammed shut in your face?"

"Do you think I'd be ashamed of you, Father?!" Bill was also in tears now, though he kept his voice steady.

"I would be," Mother sniffed. Bill ignored her.

"I never gave that any thought," Father said. "All that mattered was that I had left my poverty behind. There was no need for you to be concerned with it at all."

"Then why lie to me about it?!" Bill snapped.

"Because we didn't want you to turn out just as you have!" Father yelled, pulling away in disgust. "Flirting with scum from the streets like --"

"Like you were?" Bill demanded.

"Precisely," Mother said crisply, having put a stop to hear tears. "We all have our place in this world, and I thought your father and I had shielded you from the one we had rescued from. Now I see you belong there after all."

Bill looked at his mother in silent bewilderment for an uncomfortable moment. Then he turned and went back into his chamber. He pulled on his greatcoat and tossed the few loose articles of clothing into his trunk, set the book at the toys atop all the folded clothes, and locked it. Then he lifted the trunk and, wordlessly and without making eye contact with either of his parents, he carried it out of their suite.

Mother and Father said nothing as well. Bill heard only the sound of one or the other of them slamming the door behind him.

Mary sat at the mirror brushing her hair when Bill burst in with his trunk. She had dressed in his absence and looked lovely as Christmas itself in her fresh frock -- until she saw the look on Bill's face. "Oh my God, what happened?" she asked.

"I've just learned something I should have figured out years ago, if I weren't so snobby and naïve," Bill said.

"Are you all right?" Mary asked.

"Never better," Bill said. "I'm free. For the first time in my life, I'm free."

"Free of what?"

"I'll explain later," Bill said. "Let's go meet the Brockways for lunch."

But the Brockways weren't in the dining car when Bill and Mary arrived, and so their Christmas surprises were left to wait in Bill's coat pocket while they ate their sandwiches and drank their tea. Bill was finally prevailed upon to tell Mary all he had learned. "All the clues were there!" Bill said now. "The way Mother was always so much more zealous about our lifestyle, the pitying looks Father gave the kids in the street while Mother just had her nose in the air all the time...and I did notice he never seemed to have any fond memories of Yale. All the boys whose fathers had been there back in the seventies had all sorts of stories of the place. But not him."

"I'm sorry, Bill," Mary said.

"No need to be," Bill reassured her. "The old ways, they're dying anyway. You look around at all the poor folks struggling just to make ends meet, and we had rooms in our house we never even opened! That can't go on forever, it just can't. Even if it could, it always made me feel so horribly guilty...now suddenly, that's gone!"

"I wish I could let go of my guilt that easily," Mary said, her wretched luck having been brought back to mind by a dirty look from the waiter as he refilled their teacups.

"You can!" Bill took her hands in his. "Where we're going, no one needs to know where you've been or what you've done. It's a new year and a new world! Oh, speaking of which, what do you think of getting off the train in Denver?"

"Denver?" Mary repeated. "All I've heard of that country is the mountains. It is supposed to be lovely, isn't it?"

"I have a friend from college whose father is a doctor. He might be able to find me a job, and yes, it is beautiful. You could go to school too if you wanted, to be a nurse perhaps? Women can even vote in Colorado, you know."

Mary was laughing by the time he was done. "Is this the pace I can look forward to with you? A life-changing idea every day?!"

"I'm afraid so," Bill said with a grin. "At least until I get used to knowing who I really am."

"I might just have to hold you to that, Bill."

They returned to Mary's suite -- now their suite -- for the afternoon. Mary lost no time in convincing Bill to give her another anatomy lesson, and Bill almost hoped his mother could hear Mary's lusty screams as he rubbed her to four more orgasms by midafternoon. There was talk of going further, and after some coaxing Bill was able to persuade Mary that it was probably the wrong time of the month for there to be any real danger in it; but the horrors Mary had endured over the past year were not to be that easily forgotten. "Let us wait on that until we've been married," she told him as they snuggled nude on the bed in the bleak afternoon sunshine.

"Oh, so now who is having lots of big ideas all at once?" Bill retorted, though he harbored no objection to marrying her.

"Takes one to know one, doesn't it?" Mary challenged him.

"Indeed," Bill said, giving her a gentle squeeze.

After several more minutes of pleasant silence, Mary sat bolt-upright. "What time is it?"

Spooked by her urgent tone, Bill got up and fished his watch out of the pocket of his long-discarded pants. "Just past four o'clock," he said. A glance out the window confirmed that the winter sun was sinking, though it would linger for some time yet on the endless Midwestern horizon.

"We're due in Grand Island at half past five," Mary said. "My...my would-be husband will be waiting."

"I guess it won't be a very merry Christmas for him, will it?" Bill meant it as a joke, but on hearing his own words he felt terribly guilty. He sounded far too much like his mother.

"Heavens, what a shame," Mary said. "It'll break his heart if I don't get off the train."

"It'll break yours if you do," Bill pointed out. "You're not meant to be a farmer's wife, Mary, you know that. Especially not for a farmer you don't even know."

"I know. But..."

Mary looked near tears. Bill said nothing, for he knew there was nothing worth saying on the topic. He held her while she allowed the tears to run their course. Once she had regained control of herself, Bill asked, "Would you like me to go have a look for the man when we stop?"

Mary shook her head. "What will you be able to tell about him from one look? If he's ugly, does that make it okay for me to break his heart? If he's an axe-murderer, do you think you'll be able to tell from one look? No, we just need to stay here and wait for the train to start up again."

Bill nodded his agreement. If there was one thing he was learning this Christmas, it was that first impressions could be very, very wrong.

They spent the next hour comparing memories of their favorite childhood Christmases, imagining what Denver or San Francisco or wherever fate led them would look like this time of year, and discussing anything that could keep their minds off the event that had to take place shortly. When the train did pull into Grand Island, the sun was down and there was little sign of life on their side of the station. Neither of them had the resolve to bother with conversation for those five long minutes, and so the distant sounds of the conductor announcing the stop and the few passengers getting off the train echoed all too well to their room. If there was any commotion out on the platform, they were never aware of it.

When the train started up again, Mary clamped her hand over her mouth as if she were once again going to cry, and Bill held her other hand in silence.

"It's over," she finally said.

"He can always send for another wife," Bill said.

"What good will that be to him now?"

"It only would have compounded the tragedy if you had joined him."

Mary nodded. "Let's go find the Brockways." Forcing a cheerful tone, she added, "Won't they be surprised to find me still on the train!"

Surprised they were. "Mary!" Marlene exclaimed with unguarded joy when they walked hand in hand into the dining car where the family was waiting. "I was afraid I wouldn't be able to give you that dress after all." Then she frowned. "But if you're still on the train, does that mean..."

"It means I'm still getting married," Mary reassured her, looking proudly at Bill."

"Well done, you!" Ben said, shaking Bill's hand. "Someone certainly found the perfect gift under his tree this year, didn't you?"

"It certainly looks that way," Bill said.

"Who's getting married?" asked a bystander who was also waiting for a table.

Before Bill or Mary could put a stop to it, Marlene answered the query loudly enough for several other parties to hear, and in no time the entire dining car was awash with congratulations and toasts and cheers. To Bill's delight and Mary's uncomfortable bewilderment, many of the passengers who had recoiled in disgust from her earlier in the journey now offered their compliments and well-wishing. Though he was now well-aware that his bankroll would have to last him a long time now that he was on his own, Bill shelled out the cash for a bottle of champagne, and the waiter was able to find a table for him and Mary and the Brockways well ahead of schedule.

Later on in the joyous dinner, Marlene asked, "So will you both be going on to San Francisco?"

Bill and Mary looked at one another. "We haven't decided," Bill said.

"It must be wonderful to have such flexibility!" Marlene said.

"It's a blessing and a curse, I think," Mary replied.

"Oh, and that reminds me," Bill said, pulling the scrap of paper out of his pocket that he had placed there a lifetime before, earlier in the afternoon. "My friend Ken," he said, handing the paper to Ben. "If there's work to be had, his father will know where to find it for you."

Ben looked at the name and address. "How can I thank you, Bill?" he asked.

Bill looked down at Candy and Billy playing happily at the end of their table, again with the makeshift marbles game he and Mary had created the night before. Then he looked at Mary. "I think you already have," he said.

"What do you mean, Bill?" Marlene asked.

"Never mind that," said Ben, who sensed that Bill was neither able nor willing to explain just what he meant. "Bill, thank you."

When at last they stood up to part ways for the night, Marlene insisted upon Mary coming to collect the dress on her own. "You know the husband shouldn't see the dress before it's time," she admonished Bill. And so Bill and Ben were left to linger by the bar for one final drink of the evening.

"Now you can tell me, Bill," Ben said as they sipped their whiskey. "What did you mean, I already had thanked you?"

"You set an example," Bill said. "You and your wife got off on an unlucky start together, but you've made a lovely young family all the same. That means Mary and I can do it too."