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temper tantrum, and hurl a few things I didn’t like, anyway.
    Looking backward to that night ride on the train, I realize that was the very night I began to grow up, and philosophize. With everything you gained, you had to lose something—so I might as well get used to it, and make the best of it.
    While my brother and I speculated on how we would spend the money when it came to us, the portly, balding conductor entered our small compartment and gazed admiringly at our mother from head to toes before he softly spoke: “Mrs. Patterson, in fifteen minutes we’ll reach your depot.”
    Now why was he calling her “Mrs. Patterson”? I wondered. I shot a questioning look at Christopher, who also seemed perplexed by this.
    Jolted awake, appearing startled and disoriented, Momma’s eyes flew wide open. Her gaze jumped from the conductor, who hovered so close above her, over to Christopher and me, and then she looked down in despair at the sleeping twins. Next came ready tears and she was reaching in her purse and pulled out tissues, dabbing at her eyes daintily. Then came a sigh so heavy, so full of woe, my heart began to beat in a nervous tempo. “Yes, thank you,” she said to the conductor, who was still watching her with great approval and admiration. “Don’t fear, we’ll be ready to leave.”
    “Ma’am,” he said, most concerned when he glanced at his pocket watch, “it’s three o’clock in the morning. Will someone be there to meet you?” He flicked his worried gaze to Christopher and me, then to the sleeping twins.
    “It’s all right,” assured our mother.
    “Ma’am, it’s very dark out there.”
    “I could find my way home asleep.”
    The grandfatherly conductor wasn’t satisfied with this. “Lady,” he said, “it’s an hour’s ride to Charlottesville. We are letting you and your children off in the middle of nowhere. There’s not a house in sight.”
    To forbid any further questioning, Momma answered in her most arrogant manner, “Someone is meeting us.” Funny how she could put on that kind of haughty manner like a hat, and just as easily discard it.
    We arrived at the depot in the middle of nowhere, and we were let off. No one was there to meet us.
    It was totally dark when we stepped from the train, and as the conductor had warned, there was not a house in sight. Alone in the night, far from any sign of civilization, we stood and waved good-bye to the conductor on the train steps, holding on by one hand, waving with the other. His expression revealed that he wasn’t too happy about leaving “Mrs. Patterson” and her brood of four sleepy children waiting for someone coming in a car. I looked around and saw nothing but a rusty, tin roof supported by four wooden posts, and a rickety green bench. This was our train depot. We didn’t sit on that bench, just stood and watched until the train disappeared in the darkness, hearing one single, mournful whistle calling back, as if wishing us good luck and Godspeed.
    We were surrounded by fields and meadows. From the deep woods in back of the “depot”, something made a weird noise. I jumped and spun about to see what it was, making Christopher laugh. “That was only an owl! Did you think it was a ghost?”
    “Now there is to be none of that!” said Momma sharply. “And you don’t have to whisper. No one is about. This is farm country, dairy cows mostly. Look around. See the fields of wheat and oats, some barley, too. The nearby farmers supply all the fresh produce for the wealthy people who live on the hill.”
    There were hills aplenty, looking like lumpy patchwork quilts, with trees parading up and down to separate them into distinct sections. Sentinels of the night, I called them, but Momma told us the many trees in straight rows acted as windbreaks, and held back the heavy drifts of snow. Just the right words to make Christopher very excited. He loved all kinds of winter sports, and he hadn’t thought a southern state like Virginia