Melt the ice.
T
he lightning-rod salesman stood there for a long moment, his eyes quickened shut.
He let his breath out.
It was warm as summer on his teeth.
His hand touched the shop door. It swung open. Cold arctic air blew out around him. He stepped in.
The door shut.
The white snowflake moths tapped at the window.
Chapter 11
MIDNIGHT THEN and the town clocks chiming on toward one and two and then three in the deep morning and the peals of the great clocks shaking dust off old toys in high attics and shedding silver off old mirrors in yet higher attics and stirring up dreams about clocks in all the beds where children slept.
Will heard it.
Muffled away in the prairie lands, the chuffing of an engine, the slow-following dragon-glide of a train.
Will sat up in bed.
Across the way, like a mirror image, Jim sat up, too.
A calliope began to play oh so softly, grieving to itself, a million miles away.
In one single motion. Will leaned from his window, as did Jim. Without a word they gazed over the trembling surf of trees.
Their rooms were high, as boys' rooms should be. From these gaunt windows they could rifle-fire their gaze artillery distances past library, city hall, depot, cow barns, farmlands to empty prairie!
There, on the world's rim, the lovely snail-gleam of the railway tracks ran, flinging wild gesticulations of lemon or cherry-colored semaphore to the stars.
There, on the precipice of earth, a small steam feather uprose like the first of a storm cloud yet to come.
The train itself appeared, link by link, engine, coal-car, and numerous and numbered all-asleep-and-slumbering-dreamfilled cars that followed the firefly-sparked churn, chant, drowsy autumn hearth-fire roar. Hellfires flushed the stunned hills. Even at this remote view, one imagined men with buffalo-haunched arms shoveling black meteor falls of coal into the open boilers of the engine.
The engine!
Both boys vanished, came back to lift binoculars.
"The engine!"
"Civil War! No other stack like that since 1900!"
"The rest of the train, all of it's old!"
"The flags! The cages! It's the carnival!"
They listened. At first Will thought he heard the air whistling fast in his nostrils. But no--it was the train, and the calliope sighing, weeping, on that train.
"Sounds like church music!"
"Hell. Why would a carnival play church music?"
"Don't say hell," hissed Will.