LAST TRAIN TO PARIS
I was born on a winter night in Dallas, Texas, but the stories that shaped my life began on a rickety porch swing on a farm outside Paris, Texas, where my grandmother, Myrtle, and her younger sister, Maudie, spent every sunrise and sunset dreaming of a place they could only hear in the distant sound of the train rumbling down the tracks on its way toward Dallas.
“Do you hear that, Maud,” Myrtle said, her eyes fixed on the iron rails that sliced the horizon outside the farm’s white fence. “One day that rumble will be our ticket out of Paris. We’ll board that train and see the Dallas city lights for ourselves. Just wait and see.”
Maudie, always the quieter of the two, would reply with a smile that seemed to stretch as wide as the Texas prairie. “Just think, Myrtle: Dallas, a city where we don’t have to wake before the sunrise to milk the cows.”
Their father, a stoic man with a sun-browned face, never understood the girls’ yearning. Their brothers were content with the land, but Myrtle and Maudie dreamed of sidewalks that never ended and a life that didn’t revolve around crops.
At seventeen and fifteen, Myrtle and Maudie left the family fields to work at a cramped dry-goods store in downtown Paris. They worked tirelessly, bagging bolts of cloth, polishing brass fixtures, and helping customers. They saved every cent they could to afford the train fare from Paris to Dallas. Their hard work paid off; and after six months, they had finally saved enough to take their first train ride.
The day of their departure, they awoke early, putting on their freshly starched and ironed Sunday best dresses and hats. From the front porch, their mother waved goodbye, her voice cracking, “Remember, girls, to take the last train back to Paris.”
“Please don’t worry, Mama. We’ll be fine,” Myrtle replied, giving her mother a long hug. “We’ll bring back stories.”
The girls were ecstatic as they boarded the first train to Dallas, their hearts racing with excitement. The train hissed into Paris’ train depot, a silver serpent steaming towards something larger. By the time the train screeched to a halt in Dallas, their eyes were wide enough to swallow the entire city. “We’re really here!” Myrtle exclaimed. They spent the day exploring the city, marveling at the towering skyscrapers, entranced by department stores, movie theaters, and curio shops
When they boarded the train for the return trip to Paris, Myrtle confided to Maudie, “I swear I’ll marry a city fella and raise my family among the city lights and the skyscrapers.”
Their trips to Dallas became regular occurrences, and it was on one of these trips that Myrtle’s life would take a dramatic turn. While eating lunch at their favorite downtown diner, a handsome man wearing cuffed pinstriped pants and a crisp, navy-blue shirt approached her, his smile polite and his eyes earnest.
“Excuse me,” he said, removing his bowler hat. “I’ve seen you here many Saturdays. May I be so bold as to ask you to join me for a walk in Reverchon Park?”
Myrtle’s heart leapt. “I’d love that,” she answered, the words spilling out before she could think.
“My name’s Edwin Etgen, by the way,” he said, placing her hand in his and escorting her toward Reverchon Park. For hours they walked beneath the park’s towering cottonwood trees, Myrtle’s laughter floating through the air like a wind chime. The sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the city.
“Oh my!” Myrtle exclaimed remembering her mother’s words. “I have to catch the last train back to Paris.”
“May I see you again next week?” Edwin asked, his voice low enough that the park’s soft rustle seemed like a well-kept secret.
“Yes,” Myrtle replied.
Edwin’s hand lingered on hers a heartbeat longer. “I’ll wait for you at the diner,” he whispered, gently kissing her hand.
Every Saturday thereafter, like clockwork, Myrtle boarded the train to and from Paris to Dallas, her mind full of Edwin’s smile and gentle demeanor. The weeks turned to months, and the train rides between Paris and Dallas became a rhythm, a thread stitching two worlds together. Then, on a Saturday bathed in golden light, Edwin stopped at the park’s gazebo and knelt.
“Myrtle, will you marry me?” he asked, his voice steadier than any train’s rumble.
She whispered, “Yes,” and the park seemed to hold its breath.
Edwin and Myrtle had their wedding ceremony in the gazebo located inside Reverchon Park. Myrtle walked down the aisle wearing a simple cream linen dress that swayed like the porch swing she’d left behind. Maudie served as her maid of honor, and her fiancé, Billie Witherspoon, was the best man. After saying their “I do’s,” the couple moved into a modest duplex on Honda Street located in the shadows of downtown Dallas. Edwin started a plumbing business in their home with Myrtle taking service calls and scheduling repairs. On Saturdays she took the streetcar into town, where she and Maudie met for lunch and shopping.
Their children, Edwin Richard II, a boy with his father’s deep-set eyes, and Virginia Ann, named after Myrtle’s mother, were born with the scent of both farm and city life in their cribs. Maudie, too, welcomed three lively children into her world, each carrying the same restless spark that had driven the sisters to the train tracks.
Despite their busy lives, Myrtle and Maudie remained close, their children often playing together in Reverchon Park. They were more than just sisters—they were best friends, partners in adventure, and kindred spirits.
As I sit on my own porch swing, I can hear the train rumbling through town, and I’m transported back to the time when my grandmother and her sister were young and full of hope. Their stories became the heartbeat of my own childhood. I grew up hearing the train’s whistle as it stopped at Dallas’ Union Station, just two miles from Hondo Street. It was there that I sat in my grandmother’s porch swing, enjoying the sway and believing that any horizon—whether a farm field or a city skyline—could be crossed because two sisters inspired me to do so. I smile knowing that their legacy lives on through me and the countless stories I’ll continue to share with my family and friends.
For Myrtle who married the skyline and for Maudie who kept the porch light on.
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