Kate Shelley and the Midnight Limited

Would you like to hear me tell

Of train that didn’t fall from grace,

Like meteor strike, like Lucifer fell,

The night they stared Death in the face?

The thunder boomed, the lightning flashed,

The river churned, the skies they roared,

But Kate Shelley could not be fashed.

Steady on her deadly chore.

To hear it now, you’d find it strange,

The terror of River Des Moines,

She’d come alive in times of flood

And sweep away all kin and blood,

She’s sleepy now, lies bound and chained,

Oxbows straightened, swamps all drained,

But then, she was a fearsome one.

July sixth, nineteen eighty one:

Kate Shelley, her given name,

Huntress for her father’s brood,

Strong of arm, sure of aim,

More spit and fire, chaotic good,

Saw the rain come pouring down,

She got to work, no time to dally,

Floodwaters rose, surprised the town,

And soon covered the valley.

Of broken bridges floating past

She’d already counted ten,

But with the water roaring past,

T’would soon become eleven.

She’d worked all day within the barn

to set their livestock free,

Even piglets, safe from harm,

And river’s deadly fee.

Soon, river took the barn away,

Like it took father, brother,

Tried to secure with no delay,

So it would take no other.

With an hour to noon’s nadir,

She heard a mighty crash,

And she knew her mighty fear

Had come to pass at last.

The pusher engine sent to test

The bridge at Honey Creek,

Found the trestles all upset

And then, a mighty creak-

Kate came upon the wreckage site,

And rails all twisted sore,

Two of four stared up in fright,

But she could do no more.

Not so! They urged, while dangling free

Above an angry river,

The midnight train will be debris!

Their charge, it made her shiver.

She must cross upon the rails

Twisted in the rain,

Braving trials that make men quail

To stop the on-time train.

Did she balk at being sent?

Was there hesitation?

We’ll never know, but off she went

To reach that far-off station.

The wind did moan, the rails were slick,

Lantern, only guide,

She had to crawl, her breathing thick,

Unknown what would betide.

Somewhere on the buckled span,

The wind took out her light,

She must go on like she began,

No release from her plight.

She made her way with lightning flash,

And grim determination,

Plus a two mile hike to boot,

To make it to the station.

Two hundred souls within the cars

Of the Midnight Limited,

Who got to live under the stars

Each day a privilege.

Kate Shelley, our heroine,

Neither saint nor maid,

Our admiration genuine

For spunk in double spades,

Poor, female, and immigrant,

Did the task at hand,

Her bright flame of courage can’t

Be dimmed by wind or span.