Of Wheels and Angels 1

(Part 2)
“Belgian Rail sucks.”
Preston gazed upward through the clear plastic roof over the bench where they sat. The light mist was collecting and dripping off the edges. Several people stood on the long platform with umbrellas and various other means of shedding the cool morning damp.
They had come early because they had no idea of the schedule. But apparently the schedule didn’t matter that much today, because the train was late. At least by coming early they got one of the few seats on the covered benches. Yet there was little competition for them, as they shared their bench with only one older man who chuckled at Preston’s comment.
Angie and Preston sat with their packs on the ground beside their feet. He considered himself quite fortunate their hosts had such nice camping equipment to loan them. It was all very light and easy to use, and the packs were quite comfortable.
Angie hummed some tune Preston didn’t recognize, but it didn’t matter. She had fine voice and it was soothing to hear. He reached up from behind and stroked her neck under the braided red hair. She tilted her head back just a bit and smiled, eyes closed. Yes, it was worth it all he reminded himself for the hundredth time in — had it only been ten days? The summer was still ahead of them and it appeared his dream marriage was matched with a dream job that suited them both. Even if it all came apart, having been here for just awhile was better than he deserved.
She leaned back and snuggled against him, but only for a few seconds as the sound and vibration in the ground signaled the approach of the train. Suffering the quirky service of the Belgian rail system was a small price to pay for things.
It wasn’t a long ride from Eupen to Raeren, just a few kilometers. As they stepped off the train, they noticed parts of the station appeared rather dilapidated, while other parts were quite new. Preston studied the map for a minute. On the far side of the rails was a narrow strip of asphalt. Looking back up the track, he pointed to the left side of the rails. “That’s supposed to be a part of the Venn Bahn, a decommissioned cargo line now used for recreation. Nice and flat but if we took it now, that would be about three or four times the distance.”
After looking at the map and glancing around, they decided cutting across country would risk getting them lost on some of the poorly marked trails and delaying them. Leaving the station, they stopped to consult the map posted in a large, free-standing display case beside the street. The main road to Roetgen was a fairly simple route wandering out the southeast corner of the village and it turned out to be well marked. But once outside the municipal boundary, the generous paved walking and biking path disappeared where the woods began.
The clouds drifted apart, allowing the sun to peek through in places. Damp surfaces glistened in the dappled sunlight. They shed their rain parkas. Walking from behind, it dawned on Preston that he had never seen Angie wear anything close fitting. She did have a feminine shape, but was nonetheless a bit stocky for her height.
For a while it was a simple matter to avoid the vehicular traffic by walking just off the road in the trees, but eventually the thick underbrush drove them back onto the narrow crumbling pavement. This was about the same time the other hikers pretty much disappeared, and they were alone with the sparse vehicular traffic.
When possible, they walked holding hands. “You are a heart of sweetness coated in delicious milk chocolate. Why do I get the feeling you haven’t had a long string of lovers before me?” Her blushing grin was worth the time it took to think that one up, Preston decided.
She thought for a moment. “Most men I’ve met aren’t half so interesting as you.”
“Good answer, Babe. I get along well with Dutch men, and they can be quite adventurous, but there is definitely something missing in most of them. Fellows like my friend Harry are quite unusual. But most Dutch women are, in many ways, the same. American women can be quite materialistic too, but it’s a different flavor of materialism. Your lack of it makes you a rare treat.”
“Maybe I spent too much time hanging around nuns. They are like that.”
Preston kicked at a fragment of broken asphalt in the road. “For some reason you never felt the call to be one of them,” he surmised.
Her face took on a more serious aspect. “The Catholic Church has always been a good place to find spiritual warmth and commitment, but the institution itself is…” she paused, looking for the word. “I think it’s broken, misguided. It’s like good things happen despite the system and some of the people.”
Preston pursed his lips a second. “So you stayed working in the system because you understood its flaws and knew what to expect.”
“Yes! It’s like belonging to another country. Wherever you go in Europe, you have all the advantages of whatever government rules, along with the insulation of the Church.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Preston agreed. “You mentioned the threat of molestation. Did that decline as you got older?”
She keep her eyes down the road in front of them. “It was worst right around puberty. I always kept my hair short and played lots of sports. Those who wanted boys could always get them and those who preferred girls seldom had interest in a Tomboy. Once or twice it was simply my turn. It wasn’t so much the actual sex that hurt as the sense of having no escape. Everyone pretended nothing happened even when they saw it, so we tried to deny it to ourselves.”
She was silent for awhile. Preston figured it might be the painful memories as much as the thicket of passing cars and trucks. Eventually she started talking again. “Once I was no longer a captive of the system and left the orphanage, the threat changed to an entirely different kind. The priests were all about power — you had to obey. But the other predators were simply manipulative. It was less a world of fear and more of being smarter. I decided to let my hair grow out.”
The road was mostly straight, rising slowly toward a wooded crest. There were a couple of sharp switchbacks at the peak of the climb, then a long straight decline toward the border. While hiking the Belgian back country could be a lot of fun, and some of the facilities surprisingly extravagant, most of the time it was just a bit dreary. There was simply nothing pleasant about how most of the houses sat almost on the road, little or no gardens and parking laid out with no intent to please the eyes. The weeds grew thick and tall everywhere. There were nicer homes and well kept properties, but usually off the main routes.
They were holding hands again as the street offered more chances to avoid the vehicles. “I’m still surprised you apparently never found anyone worth stalking until I came along.” He emphasized the word “stalking” in a comical way.
Angie laughed. “I had a couple of flings before, but they were typical boring Dutch men. Really, I was just trying to keep my head down and work with the children and teachers. Last year they talked about budgeting problems in a staff meeting, and it was serious and long term trouble. I started checking other jobs but it seemed like the Church was ready to abandon me altogether. The secular jobs didn’t appeal to me. I had been really praying and thinking a lot about it. Took a lot of long bike rides up and down the coast. When I stumbled across you that day in Katwijk, it was as if you were the only solid thing I had seen in ages. I don’t know why it felt like that, but I decided to fight for it.”
He put his arm around her shoulders. “Baby, I’ll try to be as solid for you as anything in this crazy world can be. You make it worthwhile, and then some.”
She wrapped her arm around his waist and squeezed.