THE TRAIN RACE

It must've been late 1927 or early 1928 because Bill and I weren't married yet. I was 13 and Bill was 17 and we had a date. There was a dance in the Murchison town hall on Saturday night. It was a big deal.

To this day, I don't know how Mama managed to get the money for the dress but she did and it was beautiful. A pale pink crepe, dropped waist chemise with a low, pink satin sash. The scooped, round neck and sleeveless top looked good with my black hair, if I do say so myself. Satin stockings and buttoned pumps finished the prettiest outfit I'd ever had and there was no way anybody could tell me that I wasn't a sight to behold. Truth be told, I was probably a sight all right but not necessarily what you might think of right off the bat. Anyway . . . it wasn't like Mama to put up with much primping but she never said a word while I spent the whole afternoon getting ready. She even helped heat the irons on the wood stove for my hair, over and over and over again to get it just right.

Finally, it was time to step into the dress and wait for Bill to get there. It was so exciting even though it wasn't like he was some strange new person in the area. Shoot, we'd grown up together nearly all our lives. He lived just a couple of farms over from Grandpa, Mama and me. Anyway...I was ready at last and Bill drove up just before dusk. He was in a four-seater buggy instead of the wagon. He even had Bess harnessed into the rig. See, even back then, some people had a work car and a nicer one for special! Actually, the buggy and Bess belonged to Bill's sister and her husband. We had to go to their house to pick them up on the way to the dance so we'd be chaperoned properly. But that was all right. Vada and Fred were young and enjoyed a laugh and a party like us kids. I liked them a lot.

Bill looked very handsome in his starched collar, suspenders, gray-striped pants and shined shoes. His hair was slicked down with Wild Root Creme Oil. He was skinny as a rail and looked tall, especially next to me, which I liked. 'Course, next to me, everybody looks tall. Anyway...Bill was about as skittish as I was but we finally got out of the house and into the buggy. Bill clucked the horse and we eased out of the yard toward the road.

I'm sure we made small talk abut, whatever it was, it didn't matter. I was on a date! The evening was perfect, just like I'd imagined. A full moon was peeping up from the east, setting the stars to twinkling and there was just enough breeze generated from the ride that I felt cool, not sticky from being nervous. I could have been struck deaf and mute and it wouldn't have mattered. I was on a DATE!

It was about two miles to Vada and Fred's place, down the dirt road that curved left about mid-way around a hill then dropped, kinda sharp, making a slow sweep to the right just before crossing a railroad track. From the hill, you could see the track a good half-mile down below. Even before Bill turned left around the hill, we heard a train whistle blow, sounding pretty close. My first thought was, "Good. We'll have to go slow and maybe even wait at the crossing." That would give us more time to visit before reaching Vada 'n Fred's.

As we rounded the turn and the train's light appeared in the dusky distance, Bill asked me, "Do you want to see how fast Bess is?" Everybody in Giles County knew how fast Bess was; Fred took her to Ft.Worth every year for the annual fat stock show for the races. She always won. There wasn't much in the way of prizes except pride and braggin' rights but that was enough for most folks back then. Anyway...I told Bill, "NO! I don't want to see how fast the horse is. It's almost dark and something could spook her." Actually, I'd spent way too long on my hair to be taking any chances. Everybody in town would be at the dance and I couldn't make the entrance I'd planned with hair all over every where and pins hanging out.

About the time "....might spook her" came out of my mouth, Bill slapped those leather reins, clucked real loud and hollered "Bess, beat the train!" Well, let me tell you, that's all that horse needed to hear and after that, she was the one in control. It took everything I could muster just to stay in the buggy. Didn't have seat belts in those things.

Down that hill we went. I'll go to my grave swearing we took the curve on one wheel. I know we did because I had to grab Bill's right arm as tight as possible and hold on, just ho-o-old on.

Usually, the trains were long, slow moving machines, ambling through the countryside and we'd sometimes watch and chunk rocks under the wheels. It often seemed to take half an hour for a train to waller past. But not this one. It was short, just a few cars and must've had Charles Lindbergh on the throttle. But Bill didn't seem to notice that this train was moving faster than any we'd ever seen. Once, I glanced up at him and he was just a grinnin'.

As we straightened through the curve and squared up, headed toward the crossing, the train was just off to our right, barreling down on us like a, like a ... well, like a freight train. I thought then that Bill would hold Bess up and we'd have a good laugh. But he didn't. He slapped the reins again and, if possible, Bess ran even faster. She was at a dead gallop, ears back and head low. We were going to cross the tracks and the train sure had no way to dodge us! The engineer began to lay on the whistle, steady, as though that bellowing rumble would stop what was surely about to be one big mess of pink crepe and Wild Root Creme Oil.

Just as Bess's front hooves struck the crossing timbers, I thought, "Well, I'll be killed looking my best." I shut my eyes and continued screaming, which I'd been doing every since Bill took this "beat the train" notion what seemed like an eternity ago.

We crossed in front of that train close enough that...I swear it's the truth...I could've laid my right hand out and slapped that cow catcher on the front end of the locomotive. If, that is, my hand could've been pried loose from Bill's arm. If there'd been another layer of paint on those wooden buggy wheels, we'd have been dead for sure. It was that close.

Once we made it past and I realized I wasn't about to die on the night of my first big date, I got mad. Real mad. I shouted, "Bill Jones, have you completely lost your mind? Or did you have one to start with?" He just looked at me kinda sly, with a crooked little smile and said, "I thought you'd like to get to the dance quicker." Something about that just sorta killed my "mad" but the scared part hung on a bit.

Vada and Fred had heard the train whistle blasting and knew that something was wrong for it to last so long. They'd seen the whole thing from their front porch, about 50 yards the other side of the crossing. When we whoa'd up at their house, Vada pulled me off the buggy seat and took me inside to redo my hair. Fred said to Bill, "Bess sure can run, can't she?" After getting my hair back in order and settling my nerves with a glass of ice water, the four of us went to the dance. Fred drove the buggy.

It was a perfect night ...the way I remember it, anyway.

Bess takes a bow.