“How do people know which house is theirs?” Nick glanced from one side of the street to the other as they weaved toward the thundering whoosh of a train.
Aaron pointed to one of the front porches with three steps leading up to the door and a little overhang like every other porch. “They have numbers.”
The little black numerals nailed above doors counted up as she passed—1021, 1022, 1023, 1024. They turned the corner—932, 933, 934. A train rumbled by in little flashes of brown and red between houses.
They came out onto the town’s main street running parallel to the railroad tracks. Two women left a building, labeled Market, with baskets over their arms. A man entered the hardware building and two young girls looked into the window of a dress shop. The cold, quiet train tracks beckoned fr
