By A name misspelled only adds to the mystique of an obscure West Virginia monument. We can’t know just how cold it was in the Northern Panhandle on Christmas Eve, 1852. We can guess it was wintry. We can also guess that, although their breath surely rolled thick in the air,
Steam in Their Blood
Cass Railroad workers keep the trains running and family legacies alive. Small beads of sweat roll from under the edge of Danny Seldomridge’s black cap and rest upon his brow. The morning sun shines down, breaking the chill of the early autumn air in the valley, where the fall colors
