Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2 THREE HOURS EARLIER A TRAIN TO CHICAGO Don't puke. That's what Oscar had been telling himself for the past nine hours as the train chugged and swayed and jerked its way toward Chicago. They'd crossed four hundred miles of wide open prairie. For hours, Oscar had been staring out the window. There had been nothing to see but shoulder-high grass and a few scrawny buffalo that seemed to wave good-bye to Oscar with their swishing tails. Now that they were getting closer to the city, Oscar couldn't bear to look. He slouched down in his seat and glued his eyes to his dusty boots.

"Are you feeling all right, Oscar?" Mr. Morrow said. "I'm fine, sir," Oscar lied. "Such a long trip," Mama said, her freckled face shining with excitement. "I feel like we're heading up to the moon!" Mama and Mr. Morrow both laughed, but nothing seemed funny to Oscar. So much had happened these past few weeks. He was in a state of shock. Mama had married Mr. Morrow. They had sold the Minnesota farm where Oscar had lived his entire life. And now they were moving to a strange city that might as well be the moon. No wonder Oscar felt sick. Of course the real nightmare had happened two years ago, when Papa died. He was killed in a vicious blizzard, a wall of ice and snow and wind that slammed into their prairie town with no warning. Papa had been trying to get home. His wagon crashed into a tree in the blinding snow. Even now, Oscar couldn't believe that Papa was gone.

Papa was the toughest man Oscar knew. He'd been a sheriff in Dakota Territory. He'd survived a gunfight with one of the most brutal outlaws in the West. He'd carved a farm out of forty acres of wild prairie. Papa was Oscar's hero. Those first weeks after Papa died, Oscar was sure his sadness would rip him apart. But he couldn't just lie in bed sobbing. With Papa gone, it was Oscar's job to help Mama with the farm. He made a whispered promise to Papa — to watch over the farm, to work as hard as he could to keep it going. He worked before dawn and after school. He worked so hard he'd fall into bed every night, too exhausted to think. Mama wanted Oscar to see his friends. "Maybe tomorrow," Oscar always answered. "Then come sit with me awhile," Mama would say. "Let's play cards." He and Mama and Papa used to play fierce games of hearts. When Papa lost, he'd pretend to fly into a rage, pounding the table while Mama and Oscar doubled over laughing.

But Oscar had no time for cards. All he wanted to do was work. The seasons passed in a blur of sweat and dirt and aching muscles. And Oscar would have just kept on going. But then, six months ago, Mr. Charlie Morrow appeared at their door. Mr. Morrow was an artist for a big Chicago newspaper. He'd come to Castle for his latest project, which was to paint scenes of life in a booming little prairie town. Mama was honored when Mr. Morrow stopped by and asked if he could paint their farm. Each morning for a month, Mr. Morrow would show up just after the sun rose, waving at Mama and Oscar with his paint-stained fingers. "Hello!" he'd sing out. He was a big man, with jet-black hair and a beard to match. Mama said he reminded her of a giant from a fairy tale. "But the nice kind," she explained. Oscar liked Mr. Morrow well enough. He made Mama smile, that was for sure.

Most nights after Mr. Morrow packed up his paints, he'd join them for supper. Afterward he and Mama would sit out on the porch and look over the day's paintings. "Oscar, join us," Mr. Morrow would boom. But why did Oscar need to look at paintings of his farm? He lived there! So he'd make excuses and then fall asleep to the sound of Mr. Morrow and Mama's soft laughter drifting upstairs. After Mr. Morrow went back to Chicago, Mama seemed to get a letter from him every single day. So maybe Oscar shouldn't have been shocked when, two months ago, Mama sat Oscar down under the apple tree with some big news.

"He's asked me to marry him," she said. At first Oscar laughed. Mr. Morrow? He was nothing like Papa! He was an artist. An artist! Was that even a job? But then Oscar noticed how Mama's eyes were twinkling. "Oscar," she said. "I want to say yes." Oscar stopped laughing. "He's a wonderful man," she said. "And what a life we'll have with him in Chicago." At first Oscar just sat there like he'd been smacked in the head with a shovel.