What’s An Easi Wesi Rail?

This is one of the earliest parts of the story in terms of writing, but happens at around the mid-point of the narrative.
To be honest, that approach has turned out to be a huge pain in the arse, and is something I’m going to try to avoid in future, because not only will it need editing along with everything else, it’ll also need editing just to get integrated with everything else.
I’m putting it in here because this is sort of where it belongs, and so that I can continue to post the parts which come after it as I write them and type them up. I’m not doing that editing to integrate it at this time, because I want to finish the whole story, flaws and all, before going back to edit.

Luce followed the cables to find Mister Station out on the platform, looking at the Wanderer. He jumped slightly as she approached, then smiled and gestured to the figure in the tent.
“Vital signs look good; He’ll most likely survive, despite everything.”
There was an edge in his voice.
“Mister Station?” Luce began. “What … Why … ?”
Mister Station calmly waited, watching her out of the corner of his eye.
“Why are you so worried about this wanderer? It’s not just the war plague; You keep looking at their gear, and the cart, and … What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I honestly don’t know.”
Mister Station pointed at the Wanderer on his railcart.
“He shouldn’t have been able to get into the valley at all, not after we collapsed the tunnel and blew up the bridge, but … There’s something else, and I’m missing it.”
Luce sat on the edge of the platform, looking at the Wanderer, and patted the stonework beside her. After a moment, Mister Station sat, joints creaking as he shifted to find a comfortable spot.
“Him being here at all, as sick as he was” Mister Station began, “Means that we missed a path into the valley. I don’t think he could have climbed over the top, do you?”
Luce shook her head. “No. Look at his gear; There’s too much of it. You couldn’t carry that over the top in one go.”
Mister Station finished his coffee, and without a word, Luce poured half of hers into his cup.
“Thanks.”
“Is that why you don’t sleep?” She asked, still looking at the Wanderer. “The coffee?”
Mister Station shook his head.
“No, the coffee’s just because I enjoy it, and it’s easy for the pharmacy printer to produce. I don’t sleep because of the combat modifications, like I said. I have these periods of standby mode instead, where I’m not really asleep, but I’m not really awake either?”
Luce looked across at him, slightly surprised to find that she was the same height when they were both sitting down.
“But that’s just how you don’t sleep. Not why.”
Mister Station turned towards her and raised his cup in a kind of salute.
“Well said.”
He looked back towards the Wanderer and continued speaking.
“I was a pilot in an awful war. A series of wars, really, which got smaller and more awful as they went along. I saw terrible things. I did terrible things. They were probably necessary, and they probably saved lives, but they were still terrible.”
He stopped, and Luce nudged him to continue.
“Sometimes I still see those things. Or feel them. It’s worse when I sleep. They had a term for it, and there were things that could be done to try to help, but we don’t have them any more, so the best that could be done was for me to live out here, near the village but not in it.”
He shifted slightly to face more towards Luce.
“I’m not explaining it very well, am I? I’m sorry.”
Luce shrugged. “I sort of get the idea, I think. Like the nightmares my Mother has sometimes? Or why Lumpy lives out in the woods, even though he has a place of his own?”
“That’s right.” Mister Station confirmed. “The same sort of thing. We sort of … keep an eye on each other, I guess? From time to time I’ll unplug and visit Mister Langton, or your mother, or one of the others, or they’ll come and visit me; It’s all a way to try to stop it from getting too bad for anyone.”
“But they weren’t pilots. Or soldiers. They were just regular people?” Asked Luce.
Mister Station winced, then waggled his hand.
“Don’t be so sure about that, Luce. Plus, it wasn’t as clear as distinction as you might think, between soldier and civilian, particularly towards the end there, and what I’m talking about … It can affect anyone.”
Luce looked thoughtful, leaning forward, chin on hands, elbows on knees, thinking over Mister Station’s words.
“Do you mean …” She began, then trailed off, staring at the Wanderer’s railcart.
Lost in his own thoughts, Mister Station hadn’t noticed where she was looking.
“Lots of people have a history, Luce. Mine’s a lot more obvious than most, but a lot of us have things we’d like to leave …” He noticed Luce’s stare. “What do you see?”
She pointed at the cart.
“Mister Station, what’s an Easi-Wesi?”
“I … I don’t know what you mean.” Mister Station looked baffled.
“The station building has Coombe Valley Railways written on it. So do the little platforms and shelters further up, and all the railcarts, even though it’s a bit faded.”
Mister Station slowly leaned over and put his head at an angle, trying to follow Luce’s line of sight.
“But this one,” She continued. “Says Easi-Wesi.”
She got to her feet, then helped Mister Station up. He looked down at her and tried to put words to what they were thinking.
“If that’s not a Coombe Valley Line railcart …” He began.
“… then how did it get into the valley …” Luce continued.
They both turned and looked along the tracks, up towards the hills, and spoke in unison.
“And is its way in still open?”