Catching A Train
Shaking the light April snow off my Wellies, I walked into the Scottish station at Crianlarich, certain I had plenty of time to catch the train, even if the weather was a bit unseasonal. With my tattered bag clacking across the wooden floor, I made my way to an empty seat near the ticket counter.
I planned to catch the West Line at Crianlarich and head to Oban for what I hoped was a new start for my weary soul.
In Scotland, everyone took holiday in August, but this year I missed the leisure. I was caregiving, until the leaves began to fall. As summer fled to autumn, my beloved husband Joe lost the decade-long battle with heart disease. Now, I longed for Oban and the Caledonian ferry ride to Iona where I grew up. I hoped the spring breezes would lift my cares away.
Companions and Conversation
I shook my head to free my mind from the cocoon which so easily enwrapped it these days. Instead, I took in my surroundings, a welcomed distraction from disease and depression. A few travelers checked watches, phones, or tickets. A set of twin girls basked in the light dancing through the windows.
“Oban should be beautiful this time of year.” A voice clear as the Falls of Lora interrupted my thoughts. I turned to my left to acknowledge the speaker.
Looking into intelligent amber eyes, I agreed. “Yes, it will be.
“May I?” She indicated the empty seat.
“Certainly.” I sighed. Conversation was not on my list of favorites. Every pore in my being oozed fatigue. But I wasn’t rude. “Your train arrives soon?”
A smile flitted across her features. “Not yet. I’m content to wait awhile. You?”
“The West Line from Glasgow is never late. So maybe 30 minutes?”
“Family in Oban?”
I could smell the sea air and taste Cousin Jane’s stew. “I’m headed to Iona. Grew up there.”
The woman leaned in to catch more of my story. Before I could help myself, I was telling a stranger about rugged Iona, how I met my husband Joe, and the difficulties of the past few years. Sorrow poured out of me like the River Awe. Life wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“You’ve been through a great deal.” She faltered, looked away momentarily. “It’s like stumbling through a fog.”
I pressed my hands together, determined to keep my emotions in check. “Your compassion is appreciated, but life brings both good and bad, so I must accept it.”
Her composure returned. “Perhaps we can accept. But sometimes we rage against the suffering. God is not blind nor deaf to our grief.” She shifted and gestured in appeal toward me. “Forgive me if I’m too forward.”
“No, it’s alright.” Pulling my sweater closer, I longed to leave misery and jump on the train sweeping beneath the shadow of Kilchurn Castle and distant Ben Cruachun.
Tea and Scones
She shared some hot tea from a well-worn thermos. “Milk? Sugar?”
Was that the whiff of fresh blueberry scones from her weathered bag?
“Care for one?” she smiled.
Food and drink were tangible reminders of solace from the community of the earth. I took the elements as she passed them. The warmth of the cup and sweetness of the scones felt like gentle hands on my shoulders.
“I have a good friend who’s making a wonderful journey. She’s gone ahead of me. I’ll join her at some point. But until then, she’s sightseeing.” Her laughter lightened the mood.
My interest was piqued. “You know the highlights of my story. What about your friend?”
She stirred her own steaming tea. “Amonda and I met in college. Once she took me to the courts to teach me to play tennis. What a joke I was! She was so kind. Always trying to teach and encourage a sports failure like myself.” She hesitated. “You cannot imagine the things I learned or the ‘firsts’ she made possible.”
“Sounds intriguing.”
Amonda
“Once we went camping and a friend fell into the rapids. Without a thought for herself, Amonda jumped into white water and pulled him to shore. A harrowing moment I’ll never forget!”
A chill washed over me. “Sounds like a hero.”
“That unselfish hero was a college professor and health care worker. We raised our children together. Always one step ahead of me. Like her present journey.”
“I love that you still travel together.”
A guttural shout from the back of the station. “Oban. First call.”
Going and Staying
The shared moment ended. Strange how a trickle of sadness came when the light retreated. She would go her way, and I would go mine. And yet, she was leaving me with something palpable. Something I’d felt before.
I gathered belongings and returned the cup. Her fingers brushed mine and emanated a warmth against the chilled Scottish air.
“You’ll be alright, you know.”
She pronounced it with such certainty. “How can you be so sure?” Raw pain stifled words in my throat.
“I just know.” She patted my hand. “Now go catch that train. Better days await.”
As I came to full height, the second and final call for Oban sounded.
“Thank you.” I realized I didn’t even know her name. And she never asked for mine. The only name uttered was Amonda.
I checked my belongings and offered my thanks. “So, when will you board?”
She loaded her tea items in the canvas bag and looked up with the shadow of a smile.
“I’m not leaving Crianlarich today.”
“No travel information from Amonda?”
“I know where she is.” A sadness touched her countenance.
“I don’t understand.”
Kindness Without Agenda
“This morning and other mornings, I hear a whisper in my heart to bring tea and scones to the train station. The first time I heard it, I wondered at my sanity. After all, grief can make you question everything. But on a whim, I came. And found someone who needed a boost, an encouragement. Some touch of human kindness. Out of my own suffering, I slowly began to live again. Every time I hear the whisper, I come.”
“Because of Amonda?”
“Yes. She would want me to give kindness without agenda. It was her way of life.” A tear glimmered. “You don’t relinquish 45 years of kinship. You absorb it and know it will come again.”
“It will?” I murmured.
“She’s just a little ahead of me, enjoying time with her Heavenly Father.”
He Makes All Things New
With a gentle smile, my companion slipped a piece of paper in my hand and was gone.
As I melded with the other travelers boarding the train, I unfolded the note and read, “Don’t forget. He comes to us in whispers and makes all things new.”
I settled into the old leather seat, anticipating stew and strong tea, the crash of Iona’s waters breaking on shore, and the comforting hearth of my cousin’s stone cottage.
I would remember. Always.
Copyright 2023 Diane H Pitts
In remembrance of Noel Amonda Phillips Fell. 1952-2018