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A reporter follows a new drug that allows users to swap bodies … A Japanese-American woman, interned for three years, returns home after WWII … Two children track down a Victorian invention that has been polluting an entire city … A man recovering from brain surgery finds himself slipping between alternate earths … H. G. Wells gets a visit from someone with a real time machine, and who needs his help…After a global catastrophe, an Idaho mountain resort becomes a last stand … While on her honeymoon in Europe, an adopted Connecticut debutante uncovers her Nazi past.

Review

“Strangely profound.”

—Oswestryman, Amazon reader

Sample chapter: © David Andrew Westwood 2024, all rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced without written permission from the author.

The Glass Railroad

When our sparse meal is done, everyone looks at my father. He has been silent the entire time, which for him is unusual.

“The war comes closer,” he says.

We all know this to be true. Though the Rebellion is supposed to be over, the entirety of Guangdong Province is still under threat by rebels’ splinter bands. Smoke rises over the distant hills, dispirited refugees shuffle past our farm and beg for scraps, and confrontations with hungry soldiers are likely at any moment.

“They seek men for their ranks, but they also need food. They will steal our crops, yet they will expect us to grow more.” he looks at his four sons at the table—my older brothers, twenty-four and twenty-seven, and we eighteen year-old twins.

“If you all remain here,” father continues, “they will likely take two for their army and leave two for the harvest. Your mother and I do not wish to give our sons to the army, and so you two…” he indicates Wei and me, Jin, “will leave for Gold Mountain.”

Stunned silence meets this statement. Our mother dabs her eyes with a sleeve. But there is no argument. Our father’s decision makes sense, and besides, I like the idea of leaving behind the backbreaking work on the farm to seek my fortune in America.

“Recruiters will be in town tomorrow. Wei and Jin will go and sign up. I will go with them, so they are not taken advantage of.”

I stand. “We will bring honor to the family, father. And send back much gold.”

The old man’s weathered face creases into folds of rare goodwill. “I am sure you will, boys. But it will not be easy. Everyone wants to be rich, but Americans do not hand out gold to anyone who asks for it. You must work hard, and always be on your guard.” 

As far as I am concerned, nothing could be harder than terracing, sowing and harvesting rice, standing up to my knees in diluted human waste all day. Guangdong is where dreams die; Gold Mountain is where they come true.

Later, when the others are sleeping, Wei and I whisper to each other.

“Are you scared?” he asks me.

“No,” I lie. I never admit to emotions. It is always interpreted by others as weakness. “I will make much money, and in a few years mother and father can sit in comfort while others work for them.”

“Is … is it a long way?”

“Halfway around the world. They have skin like chalk, the people there. Some have hair the color of fire.”

“No!”

“It’s true. And they worship a man nailed to a wooden cross.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps he was caught stealing.”

Wei is silent, and I assume he has fallen asleep. Then he says, “Americans eat pork every day.”

*  *   *

The recruiter has a tent with a banner that reads Gold Mountain Work. Most peasants cannot read, but they nevertheless know what the sign represents. Men line up in front of several tables to make their mark. There are no women to be seen. Gold Mountain is not asking for women.

When a recruiter sees us twins, his eyes light up. “Ah, you look like strong lads. Just what they need in Peru. The mines there–”

“No Peru,” our father says, his face a fearsome mask. “My sons are not to be slaves.”

“This is not slavery; this is honorable work. And their wages are highest.”

“They go to Yee Fow. Sacramento.”