Short Story

The sun is sinking into the horizon as our steam train, its whistle blowing, enters Kroonstad. Mom stands up. Carefully, she buttons her wool sweater, brushes it, and moves close to the door. I remove our luggage from the shelf above our seats, and just as I’m taking the last cardboard box…

She jumped and took her groceries with both hands from the floor, then staggered a little as the bus came to a standstill. She was moving too slowly under the burden of her parcels.