Ezekial's Train, Epilogue

Ester hears the door open from the kitchen and puts the bowl of bread dough down, listening for foot steps. “Pa, that you?”

Waiting a few moments without answer, she peaks around the corner of the kitchen door and down the hall towards the front room, curious who it could be if not the Reverend. He shouldn't be home from the church for at least a few more hours, anyway. Leaving this morning he'd said that they'd be finishing that new sign he's been talking about for months.

A slight worry creeping into her voice she shouts out as the screen door slams, “Who is it?”

Words float down the hallway toward her and she knows the voice immediately. “Hey now, 'lil girl, don't be frettin'. Is just me.”

“Zeke!”

Dropping her spoon and running as fast as she can to the door she tackles her brother, wrapping her arms around him and making him drop his duffel bag to the floor with a thud.

Responding in kind he smiles down at her. “Man, y'all must be excited to see me, huh?”

“Oh, Zeke! We all been so worried!” She chokes the words out with a mix of happiness and frustration. “Why didn't you tell you was comin' back?”

Pulling back and looking at him again, noting the colorful purple pip on the front of his uniform she sees that his face is marred by a long grisly scar which crawls its way down his neck and under his dress shirt. “Zeke . . .?”

“Ah, that ain't nothin'. Jus' got hit by some shrapnel in that 'splosion in California, thas' all.”

“But you're alive! Do papa and mama know? He's at the church and she's out buyin' groceries.”

“Nah, thought I'd surprise 'em.” Smiling broadly down at his little sister, Ezekial Thompson sniffs theatrically. “Smells like you cookin' somethin' good anyway and I'm fit to eat a horse.”

“Oh Zeke, we thought you were dead!”

Wrapping her arms around him again, tears running down her cheeks and spreading into blotches on his white uniform she clutches him tightly enough that he coughs.

“Me too, 'lil girl, me too.”

“What happened?”

“Well, you heard about the big 'splosion at Port Chicago?” She nods and he goes on as if it's a story he's told many times before.

“I was workin' the docks with the other coloreds and that's what got me. Three hundred twenty men dead, and me alive. They says if I'd a been fo' feet to the right I'd a been cut right through by that flyin' piece a iron but right before the ship blew up . . . it was the strangest thing.” He pauses long enough that Ester looks up at him again and sees that his eyes are gazing into a place far away.

“Right 'fore it all blew up I had this vision. Musta been a guardian angel but he just looked like an old white man to me. Thought he was sayin' somethin' about you, but I couldn't make it out. . . Whatever which way, wasn't for that vision stoppin' me, y'all wouldn't have no big handsome brother no more.”

“Oh Zeke, that's all that matters. You can tell us all the rest after Ma and Papa get back. You okay though right, other'n that big scar?”

“Sho' nuff. Fit as a fiddle and hungry as hell.” Picking up the duffel bag once more he moves toward the kitchen, Ester trailing behind him. “Been havin' some right strange dreams since though. Thought I'd talk to Papa about 'em . . .”