Chapter Text
Grandma Bess whistled, and Blondell stuck her head out the door at it.
A train man, a white one, was coming up the way, and he tipped his hat to the both of them.
“Missus Irons, Missus Irons!” he called.
“’Lo, sir, how are you today?”
“Alright, I suppose.” He approached the porch and removed his hat. “These Jemahl and Natasha?”
“Sure are.” Blondell couldn’t believe Natasha was nearly walking now- when she didn’t find it more effective to just point and scream for Jemahl to get what she wanted for her. Right now she played with blocks- or hit two of them together, at least, while her brother played.
“I worked with John Henry, he talked about them a lot.” He smiled, then shook his head. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’m James Henton, I don’t know if your brother- and grandson- talked much about us at home. But he was a kind, clever, strong young man.”
“He’s a good Christian man.” Grandma Bess agreed.
Mister Henton smiled. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know much about that, but I know he was good, real and true. Sharp as a needle, and always fair.” His smile fell a bit. “’cept the Company wasn’t fair to him.”
Blondell exchanged a look with Grandma Bess.
“No? We haven’t heard anything about what happened, Mister Henton.” She said, careful. ‘Heard’ was right and true, at least.
He sighed. “I know, and I can’t stay for sure, but I should have insisted on him staying instead of taking the brakes. But the others- he saved Nathan’s life, and we all want to help make things right in what ways we can. So we all pitched in.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket and held it out.
Ah.
In the last month, they’d been inundated with gifts and charity. Missus James and Missus Freeman had spent a week cooking for all of them, and Missus Martinez just as long doing all their washing. Miss Lang had brought over an entire case of honey, Miss Hart’s girls had given soap, and ever since Missus Kent’s boy Clark had left town last weekend she’d doubled her attempts to getting the children sweets.
“Oh, no, we couldn’t.” Grandma Bess pushed his hand away.
“Ma’am, please,” Mister Henton insisted. “It’s been a month, and this honestly isn’t enough, but we want to help.”
“It won’t make what happened right. But we’re doing fine without.” Grandma Bess said, a bit sharper, and pushed his hand away again.
“I don’t think he’d agree. You don’t have to take this, Missus Irons, of course.”
“Of course I don’t, I’m glad we agree, Mister Henton.”
“But if you don’t, I’ll hide it somewhere for you to find later, or give it to the Rosses for your credit, or ask Lang to give it to your landlord, or something.”
Grandma Bess crossed her arms. Jemahl stopped playing with his blocks to look up, confused.
“You’re a mighty stubborn fellow.” She said.
“It’s a good trait for trainmen to have.” Mister Henton agreed, taking no offense. “And your grandson was stubborn too, but I think it only tempered his best traits.”
Grandma Bess nodded slowly, but her arms were still crossed. “Sure as steel, that one.”
“Think his nephew and niece will be the same?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, they must be. Runs in the family.”
As if on cue, Natasha tired of smacking her blocks together and threw one at Mister Henton’s leg.
Jemahl took the other one to add to the tower.
Their visitor nudged the block over to Natasha when she stretched out her little fingers and waved at the block like that alone would pull it to her hand.
She took it, considered it, and smacked it back against the first one- which was now in the tower, which then fell over.
Jemahl watched this with an open mouth, then grinned, and knocked the rest of the blocks down with a cheer.
Grandama Bess stood with a sigh. “I need some water, be a dear and switch with me, Blondell. It’s real kind of you to visit us, Mister Henton.”
Blondell stepped out and let the older woman through to the house, then offered Mister Henton a smile. “I’m afraid John Henry was more interested in telling us about the train than the other people in it, but thank you for being so kind to him.”
For the strangest second, the man looked only relieved, then nodded. “Of course. I… I really thought he’d be an engineer, a proper operator, one day.” He looked down at the envelope in his hand. “I wish I could offer more, or tell you what really happened, but Nathan- Mister Warbow- wasn’t even sure what he was telling us. But it still ain’t right. Still just ain’t right.”
“I was widowed before my daughter was born, Mister Henton.” Blondell said, crossing her own arms. “I know what’s not right. What’re you here for?”
Mister Henton looked at her, then nodded. “I’m here because I owe your brother. For his kindness, for his discretion, and for me telling him I’d teach him what I could of the engine, but we just never had enough time. I can’t give that to him now, but I saw him save what he could for his family, and I can pass that on before…” He looked a little rueful, now. “Well, after this week, none of us will be working this line or train anymore. Mister Warbow’s got a job in Metropolis, and Mister Scott and I are planning on leaving too. East coast, probably. But I can’t leave without offering what help I can.”
“You’re serious about setting up credit or some such instead, aren’t you?”
“Well, Ma’am, I could give Mister Scott his portion back, but Mister Warbow’s already left, and I won’t be taking his money he intended for you, no, so at the least I’d have to set that up with the Rosses.” Blondell imagined being stuck in an engine room for hours at a time with this man. It sounded horrible. No wonder John Henry had thrived in it.
“What my Grandma said is still true, too, though.”
He nodded. “I swear, none of this comes from the Rail Company, and they know nothing of it at all. I’d say this won’t ruin any chances in court, but…”
“But we both know we ain’t getting that far anyhow.” Blondell agreed. “Well, I’ve been thinking about leaving Smallville too, maybe.”
“Then this could be useful.”
“Yes. But it’s no sure thing.” It really wasn’t. They’d traveled so long to get here, after all, and her grandparents were old. To move again, now, without John Henry’s help… On the other hand, perhaps it would be better to leave. They’d really only ended up staying here because Natasha had arrived. “If it isn’t, I could set it aside for the children.”
“I think he’d like that.”
“Or, I could take it, then wait until you’ve left town to give it away again, where you can’t stop me by going over my head with the landlord or grocer.”
Mister Henton nodded. “Touche. You could, Missus Irons. But only if you take it.”
She took it.
“Will your grandmother mind?” He asked, glancing to the doorway.
Blondell shook her head. Bess had known what she’d do when she’d left, that’s why she had.
Natasha swept another block off the porch, and Mister Henton retrieved it for her.
“Do you have any young ones of your own, Mister Henton?”
“Oh, no, I’m afraid spending my days in a train car makes for poor opportunities to court any women. I doubt I was much made to be a husband or father.”
“You seem good with them now.”
He simply shrugged. “You’re very kind too. My condolences, again, for your brother-in-law. May his memory be a blessing.”
She liked that. It was certainly true, and it would be with what she knew. With the note she’d read just hours after the Lang’s call, placed in the place the plans for the steel horse had been. The note that explained in blurred hand why John Henry had to play possum and leave, the note that had been burned right away.
That man was a blessing.
“Thank you, it is. I wish you luck in your travels and finding a job back east. Any’d be in a good spot to have you on the payroll.”
“And good luck with you, where’ver you go next, to your whole family.” Mister Henton bowed his head, then returned his hat as he turned and went back down the road to town.
“He leave?” Grandma Bess ask as she returned from the kitchen, handing Blondell her own cup, filled with cool water.
She took a sip happily- it’d be a hot, fresh summer through September, she was sure.
“Yes.”
She took another sip.
“Grandma?” She asked.
“Yes, Blondell?”
“Do you think we’ll hear from him again?”
She wasn’t talking about Mister Henton.
Grandma Bess nodded. “Oh, I’m sure of it.”
She wasn’t either.
“I just hope he’s not alone out there.”
“Don’t worry, knowing him? If he is, it won’t be for long at all.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Always am. Always am.”
Blondell returned inside as the tower of blocks fell again, picking up the file and pot Grandpa had soldered this morning. She started to rub it even.
As Blondell worked, John Henry Irons was indeed not alone- One Henry Johnson was getting a job and shaking hands that moment. Three states away, Clark Kent was embracing his cousin, Kara Zoriodottir. Lois Lane was sneaking out her window while her mother was out at the shops, James Olsen was getting his photograph taken for the first time, and Perry White was sending a story about Alexander Luthor’s fall from grace down to print. Jemahl and Natasha Irons played with blocks and laughed on the porch.
It'd all turn out alright.