Kathleen McGurl - The Stationmaster’s Daughter

‘M-my name is Edward Morgan. M-most people call me Ted.’ But by the time he’d got the words out, she had gone.

Nevertheless, he’d done it. He’d spoken to her. Complimented her. And been rewarded by a smile and a thank-you. She wouldn’t have heard him mumbling his name. But it was a start. Something he could build on. And what a smile she’d given him! He knew he would never forget it, even if he never saw it again.

Ted spent the rest of the day smiling broadly, watching the station clock as it ticked away the minutes until Annie would return for the 17.21. He had the station at its best by mid-afternoon. The platform swept clear of dust. A roaring coal fire in the ladies’ waiting room. Flowers – a tiny posy of winter jasmine in a jam jar – on the waiting-room mantelpiece and a cushion, borrowed from his parlour and placed on the best waiting-room chair, completed the setup. His hair was combed and uniform brushed.

But it was 5.20 and there was no sign of Annie. The train pulled in, and Ted asked the driver – it was Bill – to wait a moment. ‘A regular, she must have been held up.’ He darted out to the street and looked up and down it. The dim streetlamps meant it was hard to be sure, but he could not see anyone approaching. He waited a minute and checked the station clock. 5.23 p.m. Another minute. She’d be here.

But she didn’t arrive, and Bill was impatient, and he couldn’t hold the train forever. With a sinking heart he set the signal to clear, waved his flag (red, like her coat) and the locomotive released its brakes and puffed out of the station.

Ted was worried. Should he run down to the National Provincial Bank and check if she had left, or if there was some problem, something he could help with? It felt like something that ought to be part of his duty as stationmaster, to ensure regular passengers were safe, and caught their trains. He was on his way out, locking the station door, when he stopped. He wouldn’t do this for any other passenger. He’d just assume they’d made other plans. Maybe Annie was working late today, or going out with friends in the village. Maybe she’d be travelling home on a later train. Yes, that was it. She’d be here later. He’d keep the fire going in the waiting room, just in case.

Three hours later, when the last train had passed through the station, Ted doused the fire in the waiting room, threw the little bunch of flowers out onto the track, and locked up. Annie had not caught a train that evening. He spent a sleepless night worrying about what had happened to her.

*

It was Monday before Ted saw Annie again. She was on the usual train in the morning. His heart leapt to see her, and he rushed across the platform to open the carriage door and assist her down from the train.

‘Thank you, Mr Stationmaster,’ she said, with a smile.

So she hadn’t caught his name when he’d spoken to her last week. Or at least, she’d not remembered it. Never mind. He opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment she squealed and stumbled, tripping on a scarf that was trailing out of her bag. He caught her by the arm, saving her from falling headlong out of the carriage onto the platform.

‘Miss Galbraith! Are you all right?’ he said, as he helped her to regain her balance. He bent to pick up the scarf – a flimsy, lacy affair that could not provide much warmth, he thought.

‘Oh no! Look, my coat sleeve!’ She was wearing the red coat again, the one he’d complimented her on. She must have caught it on the railway carriage door as she tripped. It was torn – a gash of about three inches from elbow to wrist.

‘And you are hurt, too,’ Ted said, noticing blood on the silky blouse sleeve that showed through the rent.

‘Am I?’ She twisted her arm around. ‘Oh! I’m bleeding!’

‘Come, sit down, Miss Galbraith.’ Ted led her gently into the ladies’ waiting room. There was no fire lit at this time of the day. He bade her sit in the best chair, which still held the cushion from his own parlour.

‘Wait, I need to take this off,’ Annie said, unbuttoning her coat, which she removed before sitting down. She then rolled up her torn blouse sleeve. Ted knelt at her side to look at the injury. It was superficial – just a scraping of the skin – but looked sore.

Outside, the train whistled. Bill must be impatient to be off. Ted glanced at his watch and realised he needed to change the signal and let the train leave, or it would be late. ‘Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment. And I’ll fetch something to bathe and dress the wound,’ he said.

Once the train was dispatched, he fetched first-aid items from his kitchen and returned to the waiting room. He bathed Annie’s wound with as much gentleness as he could muster, inwardly cursing his rough hands and lack of nursing experience. He covered it with a bandage. ‘There, Miss Galbraith. That should sort it.’

‘You are very kind, Mr Stationmaster. Oh, I cannot keep calling you that. You told me your name last week, but I confess I have forgotten it.’

‘E-Edward Morgan,’ he stammered. ‘But most people call me Ted.’

‘Then I shall, too, if you don’t mind,’ she replied. ‘I must ask you, though, how did you know my name?’

Ted felt himself redden. Why did his skin always let his nervousness show? ‘I – I heard someone say your name. I was in the bank, where you work …’

‘Ah, yes. I see. But now we are acquainted, please call me Annie.’ She smiled and touched his arm as she spoke.

Was it possible for his face to burn any more? ‘Y-yes. Thank you. I shall.’

‘I should get to work,’ Annie said, rolling down her blouse sleeve and buttoning the cuff. ‘Too bad about that tear. I have another blouse left in the office I can change into. But my coat! It’s new, and look, it’s ruined.’ Her voice cracked, as though she was fighting back tears.

Ted inspected the rip. It was close to the seam. ‘With careful mending that wouldn’t show too much, I dare say.’

‘I am terrible at sewing. I paid no attention to it in school.’

‘Miss Galbraith – Annie, I mean, I could mend it. I do all my own mending, My sister taught me. Perhaps if you borrow an overcoat from me for today – it won’t fit but will keep you warm – y-you could leave your lovely red coat here, and I could …’

‘But surely you won’t have time to do any sewing? You must be such a busy man.’

‘Th-there are gaps, between the trains. I will make the time. Leave it with me. It would be my pleasure.’

She smiled. ‘Very well, if you insist.’

He took the coat through to his parlour and collected his own overcoat for Annie to wear for the day. The thought of her arms slipped inside the sleeves where his arms had been, her perfume rubbing off onto the coat’s collar – he had to shake his head to stop those thoughts. He took it out and held it out for her to shrug on. It was far too long, the sleeves hanging past her hands, the coat so wide it would fit two of her.

‘How does it look?’ she asked, twirling round, a shy smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

‘Well, it will keep you warm at least,’ he replied, and she burst out laughing, a tinkling, rippling sound that went straight to his heart. If he could hear that laugh every day of his life, he’d be a happy man.

‘Thank you again, Ted. I shall be back here for the 17.21 as usual. And please don’t worry if you find you don’t have time to mend my coat.’ She picked up her bag, wound the scarf that had caused all the trouble around her neck, and went on her way, leaving Ted standing in the waiting room, with the stupidest grin on his still-blushing face.

*

Annie arrived back at the station a good ten minutes before the 17.21. Ted was busy doing some accounts in the ticket office, and looked up as she walked in. She was smiling as she greeted him – a smile that lit the room.