The Man on the Train

"The Man on the Train" by Lucy Maud Montgomery is a poignant short story that explores themes of connection, longing, and the fleeting nature of encounters. It follows the brief yet impactful meeting between two strangers on a train, as they share their thoughts and emotions, revealing their personal struggles and desires. Through rich imagery and vivid characterizations, Montgomery captures the essence of human relationships and the moments that can change our perspectives, even in the shortest interludes. The narrative highlights the beauty and complexity of transient connections in life.

• Short story

								
When the telegram came from William George, Grandma Sheldon was all
alone with Cyrus and Louise. And Cyrus and Louise, aged respectively
twelve and eleven, were not very much good, Grandma thought, when it
came to advising what was to be done. Grandma was "all in a flutter,
dear, oh dear," as she said.

The telegram said that Delia, William George's wife, was seriously ill
down at Green Village, and William George wanted Samuel to bring
Grandma down immediately. Delia had always thought there was nobody
like Grandma when it came to nursing sick folks.

But Samuel and his wife were both away--had been away for two days and
intended to be away for five more. They had driven to Sinclair, twenty
miles away, to visit with Mrs. Samuel's folks for a week.

"Dear, oh dear, what shall I do?" said Grandma.

"Go right to Green Village on the evening train," said Cyrus briskly.

"Dear, oh dear, and leave you two alone!" cried Grandma.

"Louise and I will do very well until tomorrow," said Cyrus sturdily.
"We will send word to Sinclair by today's mail, and Father and Mother
will be home by tomorrow night."

"But I never was on the cars in my life," protested Grandma nervously.
"I'm--I'm so frightened to start alone. And you never know what kind
of people you may meet on the train."

"You'll be all right, Grandma. I'll drive you to the station, get you
your ticket, and put you on the train. Then you'll have nothing to do
until the train gets to Green Village. I'll send a telegram to Uncle
William George to meet you."

"I shall fall and break my neck getting off the train," said Grandma
pessimistically. But she was wondering at the same time whether she
had better take the black valise or the yellow, and whether William
George would be likely to have plenty of flaxseed in the house.

It was six miles to the station, and Cyrus drove Grandma over in time
to catch a train that reached Green Village at nine o'clock.

"Dear, oh dear," said Grandma, "what if William George's folks ain't
there to meet me? It's all very well, Cyrus, to say that they will be
there, but you don't know. And it's all very well to say not to be
nervous because everything will be all right. If you were seventy-five
years old and had never set foot on the cars in your life you'd be
nervous too, and you can't be sure that everything will be all right.
You never know what sort of people you'll meet on the train. I may get
on the wrong train or lose my ticket or get carried past Green Village
or get my pocket picked. Well, no, I won't do that, for not one cent
will I carry with me. You shall take back home all the money you don't
need to get my ticket. Then I shall be easier in my mind. Dear, oh
dear, if it wasn't that Delia is so seriously ill I wouldn't go one
step."

"Oh, you'll be all right, Grandma," assured Cyrus.

He got Grandma's ticket for her and Grandma tied it up in the corner
of her handkerchief. Then the train came in and Grandma, clinging
closely to Cyrus, was put on it. Cyrus found a comfortable seat for
her and shook hands cheerily.

"Good-bye, Grandma. Don't be frightened. Here's the Weekly Argus. I
got it at the store. You may like to look over it."

Then Cyrus was gone, and in a minute the station house and platform
began to glide away.

Dear, oh dear, what has happened to it? thought Grandma in dismay. The
next moment she exclaimed aloud, "Why, it's us that's moving, not it!"

Some of the passengers smiled pleasantly at Grandma. She was the
variety of old lady at which people do smile pleasantly; a grandma
with round, pink cheeks, soft, brown eyes, and lovely snow-white curls
is a nice person to look at wherever she is found.

After a while Grandma, to her amazement, discovered that she liked
riding on the cars. It was not at all the disagreeable experience she
had expected it to be. Why, she was just as comfortable as if she were
in her own rocking chair at home! And there was such a lot of people
to look at, and many of the ladies had such beautiful dresses and
hats. After all, the people you met on a train, thought Grandma, are
surprisingly like the people you meet off it. If it had not been for
wondering how she would get off at Green Village, Grandma would have
enjoyed herself thoroughly.

Four or five stations farther on the train halted at a lonely-looking
place consisting of the station house and a barn, surrounded by scrub
woods and blueberry barrens. One passenger got on and, finding only
one vacant seat in the crowded car, sat right down beside Grandma
Sheldon.

Grandma Sheldon held her breath while she looked him over. Was he a
pickpocket? He didn't appear like one, but you can never be sure of
the people you meet on the train. Grandma remembered with a sigh of
thankfulness that she had no money.

Besides, he seemed really very respectable and harmless. He was
quietly dressed in a suit of dark-blue serge with a black overcoat. He
wore his hat well down on his forehead and was clean shaven. His hair
was very black, but his eyes were blue--nice eyes, Grandma thought.
She always felt great confidence in a man who had bright, open, blue
eyes. Grandpa Sheldon, who had died so long ago, four years after
their marriage, had had bright blue eyes.

To be sure, he had fair hair, reflected Grandma. It's real odd to see
such black hair with such light blue eyes. Well, he's real nice
looking, and I don't believe there's a mite of harm in him.

The early autumn night had now fallen and Grandma could not amuse
herself by watching the scenery. She bethought herself of the paper
Cyrus had given her and took it out of her basket. It was an old
weekly a fortnight back. On the first page was a long account of a
murder case with scare heads, and into this Grandma plunged eagerly.
Sweet old Grandma Sheldon, who would not have harmed a fly and hated
to see even a mousetrap set, simply revelled in the newspaper accounts
of murders. And the more shocking and cold-blooded they were, the more
eagerly did Grandma read of them.

This murder story was particularly good from Grandma's point of view;
it was full of "thrills." A man had been shot down, apparently in cold
blood, and his supposed murderer was still at large and had eluded all
the efforts of justice to capture him. His name was Mark Hartwell, and
he was described as a tall, fair man, with full auburn beard and
curly, light hair.

"What a shocking thing!" said Grandma aloud.

Her companion looked at her with a kindly, amused smile.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Why, this murder at Charlotteville," answered Grandma, forgetting, in
her excitement, that it was not safe to talk to people you meet on the
train. "It just makes my blood run cold to read about it. And to think
that the man who did it is still around the country somewhere--plotting
other murders, I haven't a doubt. What is the good of the police?"

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