Dark, dripping trees, blurred masses of houses, fields, hills--framed by a wet window. Jim's thoughts were like the passing scenery--hazy and changing, misting over with fears and uncertainties.

Maybe they would want him. Maybe it would work this time. Maybe he could settle down and stop the constant moving, the endless changing of hands. Atlanta to New Jersey, new Jersey to Somerville, Somerville to Chattanooga, and now Chattanooga to New York City.

He would miss Milton. Milton had been about his age. But he had no regrets about leaving his aunt and uncle, with their stern faces and strict rules. He remembered the few times his mother had visited and how she had to hide in the bedroom so that his uncle would not see her reading the paper on Sunday. He remembered the small country town and waiting in the car during the tend meetings, cabin churches, and hospital visits that were all part of his uncle's life as a Protestant minister. And he remembered the beatings and harsh words, the resultant feelings of anger, despair, and emptiness.

Jim hadn't meant to make his uncle angry so many times--things just seemed to happen that way. Like that time they had the party for him. Uncle Harold had told him who to ask, but he didn't think anybody would mind if Joey came. Sure, Joey dressed kinda funny, and he didn't live in a very nice house, but after all, Joey was his friend. Jim had been upstairs getting ready when Joey got there. He hadn't seen the look on his uncle's face when he let him in, but Joey didn't stay too long. Uncle Harold took care of that.

Jim straightened up in his seat and turned his gaze away from the dripping scenery to the inside of the train. A blur of colors and sounds vibrated all around him, yet he was not part of it. White-haired gentlemen, crying babies, angry mothers, laughing lovers, and sleeping children blended into one united whole, living and breathing in a world he could not enter. He felt empty, hollow, an outcast--a boy of 10, traveling not as a beloved grandchild, pleasant companion, or even annoying son, but alone. He was without a role, without a purpose--a burden being shifted from back to back, carried only until his weight became too heavy.

This time they were passing him to his mother. He didn't know the identity of his father, and never would. He bore the last name of a man his young mother had married after his birth--David Finley. Mr. Finley was twenty-five years older than his mother, and a Yankee at that! But he would learn to call him Dad. He would have to.

Abruptly the conductor's voice broke into Jim's thoughts. "Last stop. Washington, DC! Everybody off!"

The passengers reached for carrying cases, pocketbooks, and briefcases as they buzzed excitedly in anticipation of their visits or homecomings. Jim gripped his bag and stood up with the eager crowd, wanting only to execute the changing of trains and slide back into the isolation of another train seat. He felt numb after hours of sitting. His head throbbed dizzily, and he hoped he could manage. They had said a Traveler's Aid would be here to help him. But how could he be sure of anything?

He climbed down the stairs, and the surging crowd pulled him forward. There was an empty place on one bench, and he made for it. Sitting beside a smiling mother and her son, he thought passers-by might consider him part of a family. But the next instant woman and boy were running happily toward a tanned blond man. The perfect family re-union. How would his own be?

When he turned back, a trim brunette woman in a tailored blue uniform was watching him carefully. He was dressed very neatly in laced brown shoes, knee socks, brown shorts, white shirt, and even a tie. His blond hair was cut short above the ears and combed smoothly to the side. His eyes looked at the woman questioningly through dark-rimmed round glasses--glasses that somehow shielded his sensitive face, shutting him out somewhat from the noise of the people all about him. The woman smiled, not a pitying smile as he had expected, but one that almost seemed to signify respect.

"James Finley?" Her voice had no edge of condescension.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I'm Joan Adams, your Traveler's Aid. Your next train will be leaving in a little more than an hour."

Jim wondered how she'd been able to spot him in the crowd. Maybe they'd sent his picture or something. She seemed friendly. It was good to have someone to talk to.

"Would you like to get up and walk around a bit? You must have been sitting for an awfully long time, riding all the way from Tennessee." She looked down at Jim.

Had they told her he was from Tennessee, or was his accent giving him away? He hadn't realized he had an accent until he heard her voice.

"That would be nice, ma'am," he said, trying to sound polite. It would have been nicer just to rest somewhere. Even though he'd been sitting for twelve hours, he didn't feel the need to stretch. He felt tired and groggy. But Joan Adams walked briskly, and he hurried to catch up.

Although the rain had stopped, the sky still held no promise of blue. Small gusts of wind blew bits of paper about and brushed his bangs against his forehead. His numbness was being gradually replaced by an awakening of the senses, and he remembered it had been a while since he'd eaten. Uncle Harold had given him a little money for food.

"Miss Adams, do you think I could stop somewhere and get something to eat?" Jim tried not to sound too anxious.

She smiled at him, revealing a set of straight white teeth.

"Of course. What sounds good to you?"

"Do they sell hot dogs around here?"

"Sure, that's a universal favorite. Come on, I'll take you to Joe's. They have the best hot dogs in town!" She spoke lightly in a carefree style he was not used to. He wondered whether she ever worried about things like budgets, bills, being sick, or losing her soul.

The meal passed quickly, and with it the hour of respite from the dulling journey. From the train he watched as Miss Adams' waving hand faded out of sight, and once again he settled back in his seat as an anonymous stranger in an indifferent crowd.

He thought about her for a while--was she nice only to strangers? Was there a reason for her good mood or was she always like that? He wondered what she did when she was upset--whether she ever got upset. He recalled his uncle's anger the time when the key got buried too deep. Jim hadn't done it on purpose. They always kept the key in the flowerpot. He knew he was supposed to bury it there after he used it, and he had just wanted to make sure it wouldn't fall out. He had figured if he buried it as deep as he could, nothing would happen to it. He hadn't realized they'd want to get in the house in a hurry and wouldn't be able to find it. Would Miss Adams have been as angry as Uncle Harold? Would she have been determined to set him straight for his tomfoolery? He didn't think so. No, she probably would have just smiled or even laughed.

But everybody got angry once in a while. Surely Miss Adams wasn't perfect. She'd probably have given it to him the time he came home with his new riding pants wrecked. After all, they were a present and brand-new--never been worn. He should have been more careful, even though Charlie was the one who had picked the fight with him. He could have gotten out of it somehow or at least stood up for himself. If he had given it to Charlie right from the beginning, he wouldn't have been knocked down and Charlie couldn't have wiped up the whole schoolyard with him. He tried to give him one in the nose, but he was scared, and, besides, Charlie was a lot bigger. Jim straightened up and pounded his fists into the seat in front of him. Well, he should have known better than to wear his new riding pants around Charlie's house anyway. Yes, Miss Adams would've been angry about that. Nobody's perfect.

Even principals aren't perfect. Jim hadn't known why the teacher made him stand out in the hall. But the principal said he must know. He said every boy standing out in the hall knew very well that it was because he was bad. But Jim really didn't know what he had done wrong. The principal said if he didn't want to tell why he was standing out in the hall, then they'd just have to go right into the classroom and ask his teacher. He was scared when the principal opened the door. But then they yelled "Surprise!" At first he didn't understand. But then someone started singing "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow," and they all yelled out, "We're gonna miss you, Jimmy!" A going-away party--for him! It had almost made him want to stay.

He laid his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. The train rolled on, its wheels beating out the cadence of his troubled sleep.

When he awoke, someone was shaking him.

"Last stop, sonny. Jersey City. Ain't you gettin' off?"

He looked around frightened. The other seats were empty. Was this where they said to get off? The conductor motioned him to the door, and with shaking legs he stepped from the train.

People bustled in every direction. Suddenly he knew no one would be there to meet him. With the weight of the trip heavy upon him and the fear of being lost in a strange, crowded city, the reserve of ten hard years fell away, and he began to cry.

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and allowed himself to be led into the depot. He told them his name and waited while phone calls were made. He listened while they explained, and once again he was on his journey. Wrong stop . . . should have been New York City. . . a half-hour bus ride.

He was scared now. He didn't want to live in the city. It didn't matter if Uncle Harold beat him once in a while. He hoped the bus ride would last a long time. He hoped it would last forever. He couldn't face that crowd again. His mother didn't care. She wouldn't be there.

"Thirty-fourth Street--here's where you get off, buddy."

He gripped the railing with a sweaty hand as he went down the steps. People, more people than he had ever seen before, milled about in every direction. He recognized no one. He looked about in despair until he saw her striding heavily toward him. Beulah Finley had come to meet her son, who involuntarily turned his back and ran away from her into the surging crowd.