The Untimely Journey of Veronica T. Boone - Part 1, Laurentide

Chapter 11 - Helpers

Improvise, indeed. When Molly reappeared in the parlor car she wore a nightdress, slippers, and a flowery bathrobe that was three sizes too big.

"I look like a clown," she said. "Even my grandmother wouldn't wear this."

"Maybe your great-grandmother would," Veronica suggested. "I couldn't find any sleepwear from the 1950s but that robe was all the rage back in 1922. And anyway you can't wander the train in your nightgown. We must speak to the Navigator, so let's go."

The coach in front of the parlor car was divided into the kitchen galley and three offices. When Molly and Veronica entered it they stepped into the first office, a nearly empty room where a young man wearing suspenders sat at a table tapping away on a telegraph key. He leaped to his feet when they entered.

"Hello, Lewis," Veronica greeted him.

"Hello, Miss Veronica! Do you have a message for me to send?"

"No, not yet. Lewis, this is Molly. She'll accompany us on our journey."

"Hello, Molly. What a beautiful robe! Do you have a message for me to send?"

"What kind of message?" Molly asked.

"Any kind. I'm a certified telegrapher."

"A what?"

"A certified telegrapher. A Keyman 2nd Class. And I'm a member of the Order of Railroad Telegraphers," Lewis added proudly.

"What does that mean?"

"Lewis sends and collects messages," Veronica explained.

"Oh," Molly said. "Do you have a telephone?"

Lewis looked down his nose. "Of course not. Telephones are unreliable. We have a telegraph. It's as dependable as the first day it was used in 1844! Before the telegraph people had to use the Pony Express, where a message was passed from horse to horse. But then this little miracle changed everything."

He pointed to the telegraph key on the desk. It looked like a mousetrap with an arm on one side. When Molly pressed on the arm there was a satisfying tap.

"Everything on this train is old, isn't it?" she commented.

"But efficient," Lewis claimed. "Here, I'll show you."
He slid into his seat and tapped out a quick message in dots and dashes.

"There," he said happily. "I've sent a message to our dispatcher that you are on the train: To Dispatch Office – stop – We confirm arrival at Laurentide – stop – Miss Molly safely on board – stop."

"Lewis, we don't have a dispatcher," Veronica reminded him gently.

Lewis' face fell. "But I can pretend," he insisted. "It gives me practice. And if you do have a message, Molly, I can send it wherever and whenever you would like."

"We'll think about that," Veronica promised. "Come along, Molly. Lewis, keep up the good work."

"Thank you, Miss Veronica. It's good to meet you, Molly. Remember, when you have a message, I'm your man!"

The girls moved on to the next office. In contrast to Lewis's orderly room, the Navigator's workplace was an explosion of paper. There were maps and diagrams everywhere: tacked to the walls, pinned to an easel, and even stuck to the ceiling. There were stacks of charts and schedules and on a desk a great mound of paper was in the process of sliding off onto the floor. A speaking tube ran along the wall above a scratch pad where one handwritten note after another was crossed off. In the middle of it all was a portly man with curly hair and eyeglasses perched on his nose. He rushed from one map to another muttering to himself.