It was a homesick night, she thought, feeling minuscule amidst the buildings rising high above her. She didn’t have homesick nights often, anymore, not like she used to when she first came to Minneapolis. Overwhelmed by the incessant clang of streetcars and traffic, and the crowds of strangers, she used to cry herself to sleep each night, just thinking of the quiet, the hemlock trees, the burbling of the Bear Trap River. Of Ty, Muriel, her parents—yes, even her father. But she had gotten used to the city, she supposed. She had shoved all of her homesickness into a pot and put the lid on it. Now, though, with the anticipation of going home—home, for the first time in two years!—it was all bubbling over. Although the downtown street was quiet, peaceful, this time of night, she suddenly felt certain that she couldn’t stand one more minute in the city, and she couldn’t walk fast enough to suit her.

She reached Fourth Avenue and the streetcar stop just in time: The streetcar was approaching, its headlight blazing, quiet motors droning. Its bottom half was still adorned with the message BUY WAR BONDS & STAMPS. She climbed aboard, paid her fare, then made her way down the aisle and chose her seat. There were only a handful of other people on board; all looked as tired and as garishly exposed as Elissa felt. She was certain everyone could read the childishness, the homesickness on her face.

When the car purred to a stop in front of the depot’s Washington Avenue door, she disembarked and hurried into the station, desperate with anticipation for a breath of home.

Even this late, the train was packed from one end to the other, weary travelers filling all the seats and standing shoulder to shoulder in the aisle. Elissa, not having traveled for so many months, had not expected the car to be so crowded—she had heard the stories, but not really believed them—but she was fortunate that a dimpled, gum-snapping sailor, seeing her standing in the aisle, gave up his window seat for her, making sure to brush against her with a mischievous grin as they passed. She could see where sailors got their reputation. The sailor leaned against the seat opposite with his hips thrust out casually and his arms folded across his chest; she could feel him watching her and trying to catch her eye, but she was too tired to object. She just wanted to close her eyes and be home. Clutching her ticket in her fist, she leaned her head against the cold window, taking care not to smash her beret. She was asleep by the time the train groaned out of the station.

Chapter 49

PINE RAPIDS DEPOT
Wednesday, November 21, 1945