Orphan Train

shake on the shoulder. Her father was sitting
     in the chair beside her bed, swaying a little, holding a plastic grocery bag and whispering,
     “Hey there, Molly Molasses, you awake?”
    She opened her eyes. Blinked.
    “You awake?” he said again, reaching over and switching on the princess lamp he’d
     bought for her at a yard sale.
    She nodded.
    “Hold out your hand.”
    Fumbling with the bag, he pulled out three flat jewelry cards—each gray plastic, covered
     in gray fuzz on one side, with a small charm wired in place. “Fishy,” he said, handing
     her the small pearly blue-and-green fish; “raven,” the pewter bird; “bear,” a tiny
     brown teddy bear. “It’s supposed to be a Maine black bear, but this was all they had,”
     he says apologetically. “So here’s the dealio; I was trying to think of what I could
     get for your birthday that would mean something, not just the usual Barbie crap. And
     I was thinking—you and me are Indian. Your mom’s not, but we are. And I’ve always
     liked Indian symbols. Know what a symbol is?”
    She shook her head.
    “Shit that stands for shit. So let’s see if I remember this right.” Sitting on the
     bed, he plucked the bird card out of her hand, turning it around in his fingers. “Okay,
     this guy is magic. He’ll protect you from bad spells and other kinds of weirdness
     you might not even be aware of.” Carefully he detached the small charm from its plastic
     card, unwinding the wire ties and placing the bird on her bedside table. Then he picked
     up the teddy bear. “This fierce animal is a protector.”
    She laughed.
    “No, really. It may not look like it, but appearances can be deceiving. This dude
     is a fearless spirit. And with that fearless spirit, he signals bravery to those who
     require it.” He freed the bear from the card and set it on the table next to the bird.
    “All right. Now the fish. This one might be the best of all. It gives you the power
     to resist other people’s magic. How cool is that?”
    She thought for a moment. “But how is that different from bad spells?”
    He took the wire off the card and set the fish beside the other charms, lining them
     up carefully with his finger. “Very good question. You’re half asleep and still sharper
     than most people when they’re wide-awake. Okay, I can see how it sounds the same.
     But the difference is important, so pay attention.”
    She sat up straighter.
    “Somebody else’s magic might not be bad spells. It might be stuff that looks real
     good and sounds real nice. It might be—oh, I don’t know—somebody trying to convince
     you to do something you know you shouldn’t do. Like smoke cigarettes.”
    “Yuck. I’d never do that.”
    “Right. But maybe it’s something that’s not so yucky, like taking a candy bar from
     the Mini-Mart without paying.”
    “But Mommy works there.”
    “Yeah, she does, but even if she didn’t, you know it’s wrong to steal a candy bar,
     right? But maybe this person has a lot of magic and is very convincing. ‘Oh, come
     on, Moll, you won’t get caught,’” he says in a gruff whisper, “‘don’t you love candy,
     don’t you want some, come on, just one time?’” Picking up the fish, he talks in a
     stern fishy voice: “‘No, thank you! I know what you’re up to. You are not putting
     your magic on me, no sir, I will swim right away from you, y’hear? Okay, bye now.’”
     He turned the charm around and made a wave with his hand, up and down.
    Feeling around in the bag, he said, “Aw, shit. I meant to get you a chain to clip
     these on.” He patted her knee. “Don’t worry about it. That’ll be part two.”
    Two weeks later, coming home late one night, he lost control of his car, and that
     was that. Within six months, Molly was living somewhere else. It was years before
     she bought herself that chain.

Spruce Harbor, Maine, 2011
    “Portage.” Vivian wrinkles her nose. “It sounds like—oh, I don’t know—a pie made of sausage.”
    A pie made of sausage? Okay, maybe this isn’t going to work.
    “Carrying my boat between bodies of water? I’m not so good with metaphors, dear,”
     Vivian says. “What’s it supposed to mean?”
    “Well,” Molly says, “I think the boat represents what you take with you—the essential
     things—from place to place. And the water—well, I think it’s the place you’re always
     trying to get to. Does that make sense?”
    “Not really. I’m afraid I’m more