When the Smoke Clears

Talia gazed out the window, trying to distract herself from her older sister’s sobbing by studying the green meadows and rolling hills of eastern Australia. As an adult, she realized that they must have been on their way from  Brisbane to Melbourne, but as a child, she didn’t really grasp where they were going. Naomi’s crying finally subsided, though she still huffed in sharp gasps of breath, and her nose and eyes still oozed with grief.

Aunt Miriam looked up from her knitting. “Blow your nose and stop that sniveling, Naomi, unless you want to upset your little sister again.”

Naomi broke her gaze from the window, looking with renewed concern at Talia. She untucked her hankie from the sleeve of her white cardigan and, with a clenched fist, wiped the sticky remnants of sorrow from her face. Talia, who hadn’t uttered a word in days, fixed her gaze on her older sister with curious uncertainty. Naomi did her best to smile, though her quivering lips refused to cooperate.

Talia’s gaze shifted slowly between her sister and her aunt. Where is Mommy?

Try as she might, she couldn’t recall an image of her mother’s face. She could only summon the soft, warm scent of her—the scent that would wash over her when her mother cradled her on her lap, singing her a lullaby. The soft clicking of Aunt Miriam’s knitting needles conjured the gentle noise of the long pearl strands Talia’s mother would wear around her neck. The same strands that Talia used to wrap her fingers in as she was rocked to sleep.

“Where’s Mommy?” Talia finally asked. Aunt Miriam looked up from her knitting, mouth forming an O that suggested she might speak but then saying nothing. Naomi crossed her forearms on the tabletop in front of her and lowered her head to them, trying hard to bury the sobs that were rising again, despite her best efforts.

Having received no response to her question, Talia perched on her knees and shifted her attention to the passing landscape beyond the confines of the cabin. The green meadows gave way to hillsides of long yellow grass and rocky ledges that whipped by as the train sped along its tracks. An old gum tree standing alone in a field like a scarecrow waved its arms about in the wind, as if to warn of some danger ahead on the tracks.

Talia told herself that it didn’t matter if Mommy was gone; Naomi would look after her.

Earlier that day, in fact, Naomi had done so by holding Talia’s hand when they got on the train so that she didn’t fall onto the tracks and get cut in half by the wheels—which Aunt Miriam had said might happen if they didn’t pay attention.  Talia remembered Naomi’s warning: “Train wheels are as sharp as knives, especially when they’re going fast.”

Now it was Talia’s turn to cry—not because she missed her mother, or because she and Naomi were being taken away from Grandad, but because her stomach ached with hunger. Aunt Miriam had told her earlier she couldn’t have anything to eat because she might vomit on her best dress again—which wasn’t fair, she thought. She didn’t do that on purpose; it was an accident.

At the sound of Talia’s soft whimpering, Naomi raised her head from the tabletop and did her best to distract her little sister before Aunt Miriam noticed she, too, was now crying. She cupped her hands against the window, fogging up the pane of glass with her breath. With her finger, she drew heart shapes and daisies on the misty surface. Talia watched quietly as Naomi cleared the windowpane with her sleeve, fogged it up again, and drew a new picture of the two of them. They were small stick figures with big heads, wearing triangle-shaped dresses. Between them stood a larger figure, holding their hands. Mommy. Her face was as happy as the sun, and she was smiling like a daisy.

Suddenly Naomi stopped drawing and jumped to her feet. She pointed wildly at the train window, tapping the glass excitedly. “Look, Talli! Look at all the horses!” She laughed with delight. “They’re beautiful, just like Grandad’s herd. There are so many of them!”

Talia stood up on the seat and put her hands on the window, straining to see the animals. She loved horses, more than the cattle dogs on Grandad’s farm or even the fluffy baby chicks. A herd of horses surged over the hilltop above the tracks as the train approached a wide bend. They were beautiful creatures, and they were running very fast. There were more horses than Talia could count, and for a moment, she wondered if Grandad had sent them to fetch her. Had he come to stop the train and take her back home?

“They’re just brumbies,” Aunt Miriam said with a snort, only bothering to glance out the window for a moment before returning to her knitting. “Sit down, Talia. Little ladies don’t put their shoes on seat cushions, especially when the cabin floor is so filthy.”

“But she can’t see if she sits down,” Naomi replied softly.

“Wild horses aren’t much good for anything but dog food and the glue factory. Nothing but a nuisance to the farmers,” Aunt Miriam replied curtly.

Talia didn’t know what a nuisance was, but she was sure she would like it. Sometimes Aunt Miriam called her a nuisance too.

As predicted, when she sat down, she couldn’t see the horses—but Naomi offered to let Talia sit on her lap for a better view. After she scrambled onto her sister’s legs, the two of them watched four men on horseback rise over the hillside, behind the “brumbies,” in aggressive pursuit. The herd swerved this way and that, trying to break away from the men and the rifles they held. A big gray mare led the way. Her mane and long tail were white; her belly was as round as the full moon. The girls knew this meant she was carrying a foal. She pounded at the earth with her hooves as she veered to the left and then again to the right, tearing up the tall grass as she hurtled past boulders, skirting the steep drop-offs, only to find herself hemmed in by the approaching train.

Even from afar, Talia and Naomi could see the mare was spooked and didn’t know which way to run. The men on horseback pointed their rifles into the air, and the noise they made was so loud it could be heard above the train’s rumble. Aunt Miriam looked up again. Her expression had changed from contempt to attention.

The big gray mare tossed her head furiously and darted away from the men with their rifles. Her eyes were wild with fear as she hurtled blindly toward the train. The herd followed. Talia could only think of the danger of the train’s wheels and how fast they were moving and what they might do to the beautiful horses—what they might do to the mare, with her big belly, and the foal she carried.

“Stop! Go back!” Naomi yelled as she jumped up, rolling Talia off her lap, and stood on the seat.

This time, Aunt Miriam offered no objection to shoes on seat cushions, and Talia scrambled back into her original place, kneeling on the cushions for a better view. Naomi pounded the window with her fists, screaming at the horses to turn away from the train, but the herd kept coming, faster and faster, their mouths frothing with panic, their eyes peeled in terror.

Aunt Miriam rose quickly to her feet, joining the girls at the window. The cabin rocked back and forth, and she tried to hold herself steady by grasping the overhead wooden rail with both hands. Her knitting fell to the dusty, filthy floor.

Suddenly everything went pitch black.

The terrible wail of the train whistle pierced Talia’s ears. She was going to be sick again.

Above the noise, Naomi was screaming in the darkness, and Talia braced herself for the impact of the train slicing through the herd. Her mind filled with thoughts of dog food and glue and what that stunning gray mare might look like in the wake of the train.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the darkness and cried out with Naomi, “Stop the train! We’ve got to stop the train!”

It was then that Aunt Miriam shouted over the din, her wavering voice betraying her own panic. “Girls! Girls! It’s only a tunnel. For goodness’ sake, it’s only a tunnel.”