quickly with only a few seats left in the rear.
Rachael made her way back to find one unoccupied seat. Before she could settle in it, an older woman slipped by her and took the seat without hesitation. Her companion took her by the arm and led her to the other side, where a gentleman stood and let her have his place. The streetcar began to move, passing the area where groups of people had set up camps that people had started referring to as Shantytowns or Hoover Towns. Separate units were covered with slabs of wood, old burlap, or cardboard to house those who had no other means of shelter. Smoke from a tall metal drum swirled up into the growing night and dissipated high above as it reached for the sky.
“There ya’ go.” He assisted her in settling in the offered seat. “By the way, my name is Stanley but everyone calls me Stan. I hope you don’t mind me talking to you like this.” He pulled the cap from his head, letting his curly locks fall loose around his face as he squatted down in the aisle beside of her. His eyes now in line with hers, he apparently waited for a response.
“No, I don’t mind.” She scooted back and let her hands drop to her lap. “My name is Rachael and everyone calls me . . . Rachael.” Blushing, she let out a little giggle and laced her fingers together in a nervous hand hold. The woman next to her glanced over at Stan and gave him a shattering look of disapproval then turned her head and stared out the window.
“Do you have far to go?” he asked.
“About three stops from here, at West Baker Street.”
“I think that’s right where I’ll be getting off too. Maybe I can see you to your door. Is it a ways from the stop?” he asked as he continued to squat beside of her.
The bell on the top of the car sounded, sending the alert of an upcoming stop, and the conductor shouted out the location. The car slowed and came to a complete standstill. When the doors opened, a rush of cold air swept in, hitting the passengers huddled in the aisles.
Once the ones who had exited were safely out, the doors closed, and with a jerk, the car started forward again.
Stan resumed his position, crouching in front of Rachael. He let his eyes drift to her hands. She got the idea he might be looking for a wedding ring. He looked up at her and smiled. He seemed to want to know everything about her, but all he asked was, “Do you come downtown often?”
She leaned over to speak to him with more privacy. “Yes, I work at the market three or four days a week. Do you come down often?”
“I deliver newspapers to the stores. It doesn’t pay much but I’m just happy I have a job. There were over two hundred people applying for it when I went to see about it and I got it over all of the others. I think it was because I showed interest in the news business. I only work the two days a week when the Herald comes out.”
A little shy to ask, Rachael stammered through her next question. “Do you live in this area?”
“Not exactly, but close enough to see you to your door with no problem. That is, if it’s all right with you.” He reached for her hand, but she drew it up closer in her lap away from him.
The snow flying past the window to her left had her wondering how cold it would be walking to her house about a block away from where she’d be let off. She glanced over at Stan’s lightweight jacket and felt bad he’d be escorting her in the winter storm brewing outside. The jacket didn’t appear to be very warm.
When the streetcar came to the next stop, many of the passengers exited through the back doors while others moved up front where it was a little warmer. Rachael stood to let the older woman next to her out, then slid in to take her place by the window. The next stop would be hers but she wanted to allow Stan to sit the rest of the way. He took the seat next to her.
He seemed to be interested in learning more about her and he kept on talking. “Have you lived here long?”
“All my
Rachael made her way back to find one unoccupied seat. Before she could settle in it, an older woman slipped by her and took the seat without hesitation. Her companion took her by the arm and led her to the other side, where a gentleman stood and let her have his place. The streetcar began to move, passing the area where groups of people had set up camps that people had started referring to as Shantytowns or Hoover Towns. Separate units were covered with slabs of wood, old burlap, or cardboard to house those who had no other means of shelter. Smoke from a tall metal drum swirled up into the growing night and dissipated high above as it reached for the sky.
“There ya’ go.” He assisted her in settling in the offered seat. “By the way, my name is Stanley but everyone calls me Stan. I hope you don’t mind me talking to you like this.” He pulled the cap from his head, letting his curly locks fall loose around his face as he squatted down in the aisle beside of her. His eyes now in line with hers, he apparently waited for a response.
“No, I don’t mind.” She scooted back and let her hands drop to her lap. “My name is Rachael and everyone calls me . . . Rachael.” Blushing, she let out a little giggle and laced her fingers together in a nervous hand hold. The woman next to her glanced over at Stan and gave him a shattering look of disapproval then turned her head and stared out the window.
“Do you have far to go?” he asked.
“About three stops from here, at West Baker Street.”
“I think that’s right where I’ll be getting off too. Maybe I can see you to your door. Is it a ways from the stop?” he asked as he continued to squat beside of her.
The bell on the top of the car sounded, sending the alert of an upcoming stop, and the conductor shouted out the location. The car slowed and came to a complete standstill. When the doors opened, a rush of cold air swept in, hitting the passengers huddled in the aisles.
Once the ones who had exited were safely out, the doors closed, and with a jerk, the car started forward again.
Stan resumed his position, crouching in front of Rachael. He let his eyes drift to her hands. She got the idea he might be looking for a wedding ring. He looked up at her and smiled. He seemed to want to know everything about her, but all he asked was, “Do you come downtown often?”
She leaned over to speak to him with more privacy. “Yes, I work at the market three or four days a week. Do you come down often?”
“I deliver newspapers to the stores. It doesn’t pay much but I’m just happy I have a job. There were over two hundred people applying for it when I went to see about it and I got it over all of the others. I think it was because I showed interest in the news business. I only work the two days a week when the Herald comes out.”
A little shy to ask, Rachael stammered through her next question. “Do you live in this area?”
“Not exactly, but close enough to see you to your door with no problem. That is, if it’s all right with you.” He reached for her hand, but she drew it up closer in her lap away from him.
The snow flying past the window to her left had her wondering how cold it would be walking to her house about a block away from where she’d be let off. She glanced over at Stan’s lightweight jacket and felt bad he’d be escorting her in the winter storm brewing outside. The jacket didn’t appear to be very warm.
When the streetcar came to the next stop, many of the passengers exited through the back doors while others moved up front where it was a little warmer. Rachael stood to let the older woman next to her out, then slid in to take her place by the window. The next stop would be hers but she wanted to allow Stan to sit the rest of the way. He took the seat next to her.
He seemed to be interested in learning more about her and he kept on talking. “Have you lived here long?”
“All my
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