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Episode Twenty-Two: The Afterglow at the Dixie Boarding House

Piedmont Porchlight Stories — Mrs. Delphine’s Dixie Boarding House

By dawn the next morning, Piedmont was a different town,
though most folks didn’t know why.

They only knew the air tasted sweeter,
like the sky had been rinsed clean in well water,
and sounds carried farther,
as though the world was a shade lighter on its feet.

Mrs. Delphine and Percy DuBar were the only two who had the truth tucked tight inside their chests:

A ghost train had passed through her cellar,
carrying Samuel T. Norwood
and the child he died trying to save.

And when something that mighty happens,
the ground holds the memory of it.

Part I: The Railroad Men Claim Victory (of the Wrong Variety)

Down at the tracks, Cap’n Potts swaggered like he’d won a sheriff’s badge in a raffle.

“Gentlemen,” he announced,
“our track-cleaning operation was a success.”

Virgil scratched his head.
“What exactly did we succeed at?”

Potts puffed his chest.
“Why, didn’t you feel that wind last night?
That was a metaphysical express passin’ us by,
and danged if it didn’t prefer our orderly, debris-free track.”

Hank nodded solemnly.
“Course it did.”

Fiddlestick McGraw whispered, “We saved Piedmont.”

Ellis Pruitt, confused but loyal, added, “Do we get certificates?”

Later that evening, they formed a committee to award themselves commendations.

No one objected.

They’d been wrong since Episode One;
no reason to break tradition now.

Part II: Mrs. Delphine Finds the Lantern

After Percy went home for a much-needed lie-down,
Mrs. Delphine returned to the cellar alone.

The rails were still there.
Faint, quiet,
as harmless as two old pieces of scrap metal now.

She ran her hand along the cold steel.

“Rest easy,” she whispered.

Then she saw it.

Sitting on the bottom stair,
neat as if placed by thoughtful hands;

Samuel’s lantern.

But it wasn’t glowing.

And it wasn’t cold.

It was warm.
Alive with a gentle heat,
like a sunbeam saved inside brass.

She knelt and picked it up.

The glass was clean.
The soot ring was gone.
The initials S.T.N. were etched faintly on the handle
with a precision no living hand could’ve made.

Her eyes brimmed.

“Oh, honey,” she murmured,
“You left me a keepsake.”

She carried it upstairs.
Set it on the kitchen table.
And sat down with her hands folded.

“Job well done, Samuel,” she whispered.

The house, in its old bones, creaked soft as a “You’re welcome.”

Part III: Percy DuBar Remembers Something Else

That afternoon, Percy shuffled back over to the house.

He looked different.
Younger, almost,
as if shedding the weight of a decades-old grief lightened him more than ten years of vitamins ever had.

“Delphine,” he said quietly,
“There’s somethin’ I didn’t tell you.”

She gave him a chair, poured him sweet tea.

“You go on,” she said.

He lowered himself slow and rubbed his chest.

“I remember the child Samuel tried to save,” he said softly.
“Little boy named Hollis. Hollis McCreary.
Sweet thing.
Daddy worked signals. Mama made pies so good they could end a war.”

Delphine nodded.
“And Hollis didn’t make it.”

“No.”
Percy closed his eyes.
“But Samuel tried. Lord, he tried.
I was the last one who talked to that boy.
He said he was gonna wave at his daddy comin’ home on the train.”

Delphine swallowed hard.
“That’s why he was there.”

Percy nodded.

“And last night…”
He wiped his eyes discreetly.
“Last night, Samuel finally brought that child home.”

The room fell quiet,
filled with peace as soft as a hummingbird’s shadow.

Part IV: The House Gives One Last Sign

That evening, just before dusk settled yellow along the pine tops,
Mrs. Delphine walked onto the porch and looked down Center Avenue.

The air shimmered.
Just for a moment,
like heat rising off rails in July.

And she heard it:

A faint whistle.

Not mournful now.
Not lonely.

Joyful.

Light.
Free.