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The freight yard was empty today. The usual clamour of shunting trucks and hissing brakes had been replaced by a kind of watchful stillness. The sheds were steeped in amber, afternoon fading into evening, and normally by now, Porter would be sat at the kitchen table with Momma, doing his homework while she cooked dinner.
Instead, he was parked neatly beside a stack of pallets, his arms and chin resting on a crate someone had left there somewhere around midday. Every so often, he fidgeted, but for the most part, he was just still. Waiting and watching the tracks.
Momma was coming home today. And this time, she wouldn't be coming back alone!
She'd been pregnant for forever! Ever since that first morning when she'd rolled up next to him, kissed the top of his head, and told him gently that she had something new in her belly. A baby, she'd said.
And at first, he'd been confused, asking her if it was like how sometimes he got to carry small piles of coal to prepare for the day he needed to work. Or like the bigger freight trucks who carried massive loads of items? It had been puzzling to him, as he tried to figure it out.
She'd thrown her head back and laughed, warm and loud, and he'd flushed with embarrassment, before she shook her head. "Oh, baby," she'd said, still chuckling. "Not quite like that, no."
After she'd explained, he hadn't really taken it well, yelling at her because he should be enough. He'd been furious that she needed another child to be happy when he was already around, and he needed her. His anger had turned to tears, face red and burning as he asked if this would mean she wouldn't love him as much. He refused to believe her when she said she'd never stop loving him, going to bed in a huff, and grumbling when she read him his bedtime story and tucked him into bed.
But over time, he got used to the idea. He saw her rhythm change, slowing down the longer she was pregnant. He'd caught her humming more as she made breakfast, rubbing the side of her growing belly fondly. And when the baby started to move, she'd let him come over and put his hand on her belly, just in time to feel a little foot bash into his palm.
He still remembered that first kick. Sill remembered the way it had made Momma laugh as he recoiled in horror. "They're already violent!" he'd declared dramatically, clutching his hand like it had been burned. "You're being beaten up by a baby! You let me be beaten up by a baby!"
"You'll live," Momma had teased, playfully nudging his shoulder. "That's your little sibling in there. They're just saying hi."
Porter had grumbled after, but it wasn't serious. Instead, he'd put his hand back on Momma's belly, and waited for another kick, before whispering 'hi' at the spot, looking up at her for reassurance that he was doing okay.
And now, months later, the wait was over. Today was the day he got to say hi, without the baby being stuck in Momma.
She'd left early that moment, breathing heavy as she explained that the baby was really eager to get out today, and that she'd send word as soon as she could come home. Porter hadn't been allowed to come. "Too busy," she'd told him gently. "Too many wheels rolling too fast, and I don't want you getting spooked."
He hadn't argued. He wanted to see his new sibling fast, but he also didn't want to be afraid when he did. He wanted to make the best impression ever. So he stayed behind, and decided to tidy the shed.
First, he'd gotten out the big broom that was taller than him, and swept the floor, crouching down with a dustpan to get the mess up. And then he'd wiped the cupboards with water, because Momma didn't like him playing with the cleaning spray without her there to watch. And finally, he'd cleaned the dishes, because he didn't want his baby sibling to come home and not have anything to eat off of!
Only when he'd run out of cleaning to do did he sit down, outside where he could watch the inbound rails.
Now, the sun was dipping low, golden light shining across the yard, and he was still waiting, eyes drooping slightly, staring at the horizon like he could summon Momma back. She'd sent a message ages ago through their radio that she'd be coming back soon.
A few freights patted him on the shoulder as they returned from their workday, and the babysitter had brought him out a sandwich that he'd been picking at. But he was too excited to really eat.
And then he heard it. A steady chugging in the distance, a whistle of greeting that had his heart racing, scrambling to his feet. She was back! Momma was back! That had to be her! He knew the sound of her engine more than any stock on this yard!
And sure enough, around the bend came a familiar shape. Momma looked tired, but steady. She was moving slower, cradling a small bundle of light blue cloth against her firebox plating. She came to a stop a short distance away, not stepping off of the rails quite yet as she beamed at him.
"Porter," she said softly, voice calm. "C'mere, baby."
He rolled closer on tentative wheels, eyes huge, suddenly feeling a little shy as he looked at the bundle. He'd never seen anything so little!
Momma crouched carefully, cradling the fabric in one arm before opening her other, drawing Porter into a hug. And then, with all the pride and tenderness in the world, she spoke. "Meet your baby brother."
His voice caught in his throat. He hadn't thought this far ahead. He hadn't considered what it would feel like when his new sibling was real and front of him. He watched as Momma carefully unfurled the fabric, tiny wafts of steam curling up. The baby inside let out a squeaky whistle, eyes scrunched shut as he protested the light.
Porter leaned in, mouth agape as Momma continued to talk.
"He was born just after lunch. Took his time too, the little rascal," she laughed fondly. "His name is Rusty."
"Rusty…" Porter echoed, eyes huge. The name sat on his tongue like a brand new word, warm and important. He repeated it again, quieter this time as he stared at the little face wrapped in the pale blue cloth.
Rusty was… tiny. Smaller than Porter thought would be possible. His hands were curled into soft fists, arms tucked close to his chest, and his chimney gave a weak little puff every few seconds as if he didn't know how to breathe right yet. He looked so much like Momma, and though his eyes were shut, they were moving as if he was dreaming.
Porter swallowed hard, suddenly unsure of what to say. All the big speeches and rehearsed lines he'd been preparing for the last few weeks — stuff like "Hello, little brother, I'm Porter, and I'm gonna teach you everything" or "Don't worry, I'll always be your brother, and I'll protect you forever" — just melted into radio static.
So instead, he leaned in and whispered, "Hi Rusty."
Momma beamed at him, kissing the top of his head. "Do you wanna hold him?"
Porter blinked. "M-me?"
"You're his big brother," she said, giving him an encouraging look. "I'll support you every step of the way."
Porter nodded, stepping aside as Momma started to skate into the shed, following after her on shaky legs. He kept following until she guided him to sit cross legged on the sofa.
He climbed up onto the cushions, not taking his eyes off Rusty, before sitting down carefully. His arms lifted, and Momma lowered the bundle into his hold. Rusty was warm, way hotter than he'd expected. And he was heavier than he looked, solid and real.
Rusty blinked his eyes open at the change in position, blearily looking up at Porter, letting out a squeaky little whistle, before sneezing a puff of steam.
Porter gasped at the suddenness, and then laughed, a grin splitting his face. His whole body shook, and he looked up in awe at Momma.
Momma grinned back at him. "Told you he was a little rascal."
Porter looked down at Rusty again. He'd already started to fall asleep again, his tiny body snug against his chest, eyes drifting shut as he dozed.
"I'm gonna be the best big brother I can be," Porter whispered up at Momma, cradling Rusty like the most precious cargo on the planet. "I'll never let anyone hurt him. I promise"
Momma sat down next to him, eyes shimmering as she smiled. "I know you will, baby. You'll be an amazing big brother."