Reading Time: 3 Minutes 30 seconds
The leaden sky bled onto the horizon, a grim promise of wind and rain. The little steam ferry, a rickety contraption burdened with a meager three souls, coughed away from the Market Street dock. Ralph, perched on a weathered bench, cradled his oyster box like a miser clutching a gold chest. The captain, a figure shrouded in shadow in the pilot house, kept his gaze fixed on the churning waves and the receding dock, shrinking into a distant smear on the shoreline. Symington, a man with nervous energy coiled tight in his gut, shuffled near the bow, his eyes constantly flicking between the approaching shore and the impatient tap of his boot against the deck. His buggy and freedom awaited him on the other side, a chance to leap off this vessel and disappear north.
Halfway across the channel, a fist of wind slammed into the ferry. A low curse rumbled from the captain's throat as they swung the bow, turning head-on to the blast. It was a desperate maneuver to lessen the broadside pressure threatening to topple the vessel. The engine sputtered, its rhythm slowing to a reluctant cough as the captain wrestled the throttle back, aiming to avoid a sickening list to one side.
Suddenly, a mournful wail, a train whistle split the air, its echo a tangible reminder of Galveston Station and Ralph's need to be on that train. He squeezed his eyes shut, a wave of defeat crashing over him. The oyster box, once a symbol of hope, felt like a lead weight in his lap. The urge to hurl it overboard, to cast this ludicrous quest into the churning water, was a dark whisper in his ear. Symington, however, felt a flicker of perverse hope at the whistle's mournful cry. Perhaps, he thought, the train would also carry some misfortune for Ralph, some complication that might free Symington from his foolish entanglement.
The wind shoved them off course, the ferry listing drunkenly away from the mainland dock. But the storm eventually sputtered, granting the captain a window. He swung the vessel back in a straighter line, aiming for the churning water below the crowded pier. Hundreds huddled under umbrellas, a dark, accusing throng. As the ferry nudged closer, fists pumped, and curses erupted, a storm of anger aimed at the small vessel and its occupants. The captain, a stoic figure shrouded in rain, took the brunt of the abuse as he secured the boat with thick ropes. Ralph and Symington, fueled by a desperate urgency, didn't wait for the ferry to fully dock. With a shared leap of faith, they vaulted over the side and landed with a jarring thud on the slick cobblestones. "Come on!" Symington roared, his voice swallowed by the din, and bolted into the churning chaos of the street. Ralph, the lead weight of the oyster box, a constant reminder of his folly, scrambled after him.
The train station loomed, a leviathan of iron and glass, disgorging a frantic mass of humanity. Behind it sprawled the vast livery stable, a cacophony of whinnies and shouts. Market day chaos. Symington barked at Ralph to wait on a splintered bench while he wrestled with the harried stable hands to reclaim his horse and buggy from pawn. Ralph, oyster box clutched like a talisman of his folly, drew scornful glances and muttered accusations from passersby who recognized him from the ferry debacle.
Minutes stretched into an eternity before Symington reappeared, a triumphant glint in his eye. A sleek, black stallion named Rex stood harnessed to a beautifully lacquered buggy. Ralph stowed the ice box and climbed into the passenger seat beside Symington. A curt, "Hey up, Rex!" and they were off, the buggy clattering through the congested streets at a breakneck pace.
Open country stretched before them, a welcome escape from the clamor. Symington pushed Rex to a gallop, the stallion's powerful legs blurring beneath them. A glint on the horizon caught Ralph's eye – the train, a puffing iron beast, hurtling along the parallel tracks. To his astonishment, the buggy overtook the locomotive, leaving it a receding speck in the distance. A grin split Ralph's face as they reached a smaller, less crowded station.
"Here you go," Symington grunted, gesturing towards the platform.
"Where's here?" Ralph squinted at the unfamiliar surroundings.
"Houston on the Bayou," Symington replied curtly. "Your train to Granbury arrives in two ticks."
With a handshake and a curt nod, Ralph retrieved the oysters and disappeared into the station, leaving Symington alone with Rex and the fading memory of their bizarre odyssey.
(To be continued ...)
D. K. Barnett
(c)2022, 2024 D. K. Barnett ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Image: "Market Street Ferry," AI by Author
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