The Christmas Train Read online

  the man, “and shoot it right into your veins with a hypodermic needle. Do it right before you get into bed, and then fly out of the bathroom, screaming and pounding your chest like Tarzan, and just jump her. I hear Asian women like that.”

  The man looked at Tom with wounded eyes, obviously seeking some gender support. Yet all Tom could offer was, “I heard that too . . . honeypie,” and then he swallowed his screwdriver in a mighty gulp.

  He ordered a glass of merlot as a chaser, then ate his meal, which was wonderful. He looked around the car and observed that at one table two Muslims and a man of Native American descent were engaged in animated conversation, a verbal sparring match. Each was smiling, so it seemed civil at least. At another table, a middle-aged and attractive African American woman was very obviously having the moves put on her by a young, handsome Korean man. She was deflecting his advances with good-natured banter, but Tom could tell that the woman was flattered. At yet another table, some businesspeople were supping with the Tarot card lady. She was examining their hands and even had her cards spread out in front of the remains of her Shenandoah Valley baked chicken. As she methodically forked the award-winning train cheesecake into her mouth, the corporate suits, their cell phones put away for now, were listening intently.

  Tom could only shake his head. Ginseng, flying Agnes Joes, passengers of every race and religion, the easy coupling of formal commercial power and whimsical Tarot cards intermingled over a hearty feast: Maybe there really was something about a train. As he finished his merlot, he marveled at how incredibly quietly and smoothly the Cap rode the rails at zero miles per hour.

  chapter eleven

  As soon as dinner was over, Tom fled to the lounge car, which, as he soon discovered, was known under a different name by all seasoned train travelers: the bar car. Years before, there’d actually been a manned bar in the upper-level lounge, but that had been lost in budget cutbacks. Tom went downstairs, where Tyrone fixed him up libation-wise, then he went and sat in the lounge car’s upper level. The train still wasn’t moving yet. He checked his watch. The Cap should have been well on its way to Connellsville, Pennsylvania, and they hadn’t even made it to Cumberland, Maryland. At least he’d stopped smelling smoke.

  The TV was on in the lounge car and showing the movie The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, the one with Jim Carrey playing the Grinch. A gaggle of kids, young and old, and their parents were gathered round watching it. In other corners of the car there were little groups of people chatting and drinking, and a few solitary types who just stared out the darkened windows at their own reflections. The lounge car too had been decorated for the holidays with wreaths, strung tinsel, and other Christmas ornamentation. Tom sipped his gin and chewed his peanuts and pretzels and focused on the group of adults sitting nearby. One was reading, one was knitting, another was listening to music through headphones. Tom kept glancing at the door to the lounge car to see if Max and Eleanor might still pop in, but so far nothing.

  “Are you all heading somewhere for Christmas?” Tom asked with what he hoped was a friendly and interested expression. He found that gin always made one appear relaxed and happy, if a bit fuzzy in the head.

  The knitting lady looked up and smiled. “South Bend, Indiana. My grandson is a sophomore at Notre Dame. I’m spending the holidays with him. I’ll probably end up cooking and cleaning and doing his laundry for him, but that’s okay. That’s grandma stuff. And it’s Christmas. Who wants to be alone?”

  “You got my vote there,” Tom said as he introduced himself.

  She reached out and shook his hand. “Pauline Beacon.”

  “You live in the D.C. area?”

  “Yes, Springfield, Virginia. You?”

  “Right in D.C.”

  “I don’t know how you take the traffic.” This came from the guy who’d been reading a book. He was midforties, balding and soft in the middle. “I’m heading back to Toledo. I was in Washington on business and had to rent a car and drive around that Beltway thing you folks have. I don’t know how you people do it. It’s like the Wild, Wild West on wheels. Crazy.” He shook his head. “I’m Rick,” he said and smiled. “Just call me Toledo Rick.”

  “So I take it you folks like trains,” Tom said.

  “I don’t like to fly,” said Pauline. “And trains are a connection to my childhood. How about you?”

  Tom said, “I fly a lot, but it got to be a little old. I thought I’d try a more civilized way of getting around.”

  “Well,” said Rick, “we’re not getting around anywhere at the moment. I normally fly too, but I got this great deal on a train ticket.” He looked outside and frowned. “Only right now it doesn’t seem like such a great deal. At least I’ll be home for Christmas.”

  “You have a family?”

  “A wife and six children. Four of my kids are teenagers, three of those girls. I don’t even come close to understanding anything about them.”

  “Girls are different,” said Pauline.

  The guy with the headphones was now listening to the conversation. He introduced himself as Ted from Milwaukee. “Boys are a tough nut too,” he said. “I’ve got four of ’em, all grown now. I had a full head of hair when I had my first, and none when I had my last.”

  At that moment Agnes Joe came in with a beer and settled down with them. Tom pushed his bowl of snacks her way. The woman cleaned it out with one swipe. She didn’t introduce herself. Like in the dining car, everyone seemed to know her already.

  “How about you, Tom?” asked Rick. “Where you heading? Family?”

  Tom shook his head. “I don’t really have any.”

  “Well, everyone has family somewhere,” said Pauline.

  “Not everybody,” said Agnes Joe. “I’m a loner too.”

  “I didn’t say I was a loner. I’m a reporter. Been all over the world. Probably have friends in sixty or seventy different countries.”

  “Friends are friends, but family is family,” stated Pauline, and maybe she was right.

  “Divorced or never married?” asked Agnes Joe, as she casually munched her almonds. She glanced at his naked ring finger in response to his surprised look.

  “Divorced. Although my marriage was so brief I never really felt married.”

  “Well, you obviously didn’t marry the right woman,” said Pauline.

  “How can you know for sure?” asked Toledo Rick.

  “Lots of ways,” ventured Agnes Joe. “Mostly it just feels right. Like you don’t care if you eat, drink, sleep, or even breathe so long as you’re with that person.” She glanced at Tom. “You ever feel that way about anybody?”

  They all looked at Tom awaiting his answer.

  “Hey, that’s getting a bit personal,” he said.

  “Well, there’s just something about a train,” quipped Pauline with a smile as she effortlessly knitted one and pearled two.

  Tom sat back, stared out the window for a moment.

  “What was her name?” asked Agnes Joe quietly.

  “Eleanor,” he finally said.

  “Been a long time since you’ve seen her?”

  “Actually, not that long ago.” He snapped out of his musings. “But what’s past is past. I’m going out to LA. To see my girlfriend, Lelia, spend Christmas with her.”

  “Is she an actress?” Pauline asked excitedly.

  “In a way, yes.”

  “Would I know any of her work?”

  Tom hesitated, then said, “You ever catch Cuppy the Magic Beaver on Saturday morning TV?”

  Pauline just stared at him blankly and actually dropped a stitch or two of her knitting. After several unsuccessful attempts at further explanation, Tom decided to drop the whole line of conversation.

  They all watched as one of the attendants, dressed as Santa Claus, came into the lounge car. In a flash all the kids, even the older ones, deserted Jim Carrey and the Grinch and gathered around the man in red. Such was the timeless and universal appeal of old Saint Nick.

  “Tha
t’s nice,” Tom said, as Santa handed out goodies to everyone.

  “They do it every year,” said Agnes Joe. “Even when the train’s not broken.”

  Tom looked at her, suddenly interested. It had just occurred to him that Regina had said Agnes Joe rode the trains a lot, to visit her family, she thought. Yet Agnes Joe had just confessed she was a loner. So where was she going on all these trains?

  “I guess you’ve been on these Christmas trains before?” he asked.

  “Oh yes, lots of times.”

  “Are you going all the way to Chicago?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Spending the holidays there?” Tom asked.

  “No. I’m heading on to LA. Like you.”

  “By train?”

  “The Southwest Chief.” She shot him a glance. “And you?”

  Agnes Joe for about two days on the Chief. He wondered what would happen if he jumped off the train right now while it wasn’t moving. Right as he was about to reply, the wonderful old Capitol Limited gave a lurch and started on its way again. A cheer went up around the lounge car. Tom just couldn’t bring himself to join in.

  A voice came on over the PA. “Sorry for the delay, folks, but we’ve got everything patched up. We have a technical team standing by at the next station stop. We’ll be there a little while to make sure everything’s okay, and then we’ll push on. We hope to make up some of the time en route. We’ve called ahead and nobody will miss train connections. Thank you for understanding and thank you for choosing Amtrak. Happy holidays.”

  Santa came over and handed out small packages to all. Tom received a miniature of the Santa Fe’s famed Super Chief locomotive. Ted went back to his headphones, while Toledo Rick and Pauline excused themselves and left.

  Agnes Joe leaned close and took a gander at Tom’s impressive model. “The Southern Pacific’s Super Chief was the precursor to the Southwest Chief, the one I’m going to be on to LA. It’s a great train with wonderful views of the mountains and the plains. Goes through eight states on its way to the coast.”

  “That’s interesting, thanks.” Tom was now convinced that she’d searched his compartment and found his train ticket for the Chief. He resolved to booby-trap his room using the heaviest object he could find. They had two engines on this train; maybe they wouldn’t miss one of them. He could probably cram it into his bath/shower and set it on a spring load.

  “Yep, it’s a nice trip. Good way to get to LA.”

  “I bet it is.” Tom put down his drink. “So, what are you heading to LA for?”

  “I have friends out there. We switch off each year for Christmas. This year it’s my turn to go west.”

  “Sounds like a nice tradition. Regina said you travel by train a lot. And it seems like people know you.”

  “Oh, I’m just a friendly sort. Always have been. Just because a gal’s petite and naturally shy doesn’t mean she has to be a meek little wallflower all the time.”

  At first Tom thought she was serious, but then she smiled at her own joke, and he reluctantly concluded that Agnes Joe wasn’t so bad. If she’d just stay away from his kidneys and personal belongings everything would be fine.

  “So this gal you’re seeing, you serious about her?”

  “Depends on what you call serious,” Tom said. “We’ve been seeing each other off and on for about three years.”

  “Off and on? What, is that a California thing?”

  “It’s our thing.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t advise you to get married. I’ve tried it twice and neither worked out.”

  “Do you have any kids?”

  “A girl, all grown now, of course. That was from my first marriage. I met husband number one when we worked together at Ringling Brothers.”

  “You worked for the circus? What, in administration?”

  “Oh no, I was one of the performers. Horsewoman, gymnast, even did the highwire in my younger days.”

  “The trapeze!”

  She stared at him. “I was a little lighter then. My daughter still works for the circus.”

  “Do you see her often?”

  “No.” With that, she picked up her beer and left. He should have been relieved, but he wasn’t. The woman seemed to be growing on him, like a wart maybe, but still growing. It wasn’t just idle curiosity either. There were inconsistencies in her background that intrigued the investigative-reporter gene in him.

  As he sat there, the train flashed through the Graham Tunnel and soon after slowed as it approached Cumberland, Maryland, once known as the Queen of the Alleghenies. The Cap jauntily made its way right down the middle of the town’s main street. Tom saw brick and wood buildings, a Holiday Inn, a McDonald’s, and a place called Discount Liquors that was probably very popular, for the town just had that thirsty look to it.

  They would be crossing into Pennsylvania soon. The state lines were all oddly configured here. Indeed, at certain times the engine and the tail of the train could be in Maryland while the middle of the Cap labored in West Virginia. This was explained by the Pennsylvania border riding a straight line with its sister Maryland, while the points where West Virginia and Maryland hugged followed the lay of the land. By the time they had quit the Gap and passed safely into Pennsylvania, Tom was altogether done with the conundrums of official state boundaries.

  As he sat there staring at the snow falling, Eleanor and Max walked in, trailed by the faithful Kristobal. Tom took a deep breath, finished his drink, and contemplated ordering up cocktails in bulk from his friend Tyrone. He figured he’d need every ounce of alcohol possible to survive this.

  chapter twelve

  Max and Kristobal were dressed in the same chic clothes, and the latter still wore his headset and cell-phone pack, swaggering in like some futuristic gunfighter looking for trouble. Eleanor, though, had changed into a long turquoise skirt and white denim shirt with a chain belt around her slim waist. Her hair was tucked up. Perhaps, Tom thought, she’d showered in her little water closet, the steamy, soapy liquid pouring down over her long, curvy . . . No, he absolutely could not go there and expect to retain his sanity. Yet the fact that she had freshened up and was here ostensibly to see him was wonderfully reassuring, until he noted her expression. It was not, to put it mildly, one of unadulterated bliss. Homicidal was actually the word that drifted through his ginned-up mind.

  “Tom!” boomed out Max, in that enthusiastic voice that said “I’m both filthy rich and fun to be around.” They all found a private corner.

  “Sorry we’re late,” said Max. “Eleanor and I had a few things to clear up. Boy, what a ride so far, huh?”

  Kristobal stared out into the darkness, his pretty-boy looks woeful. “Well, at least the thing’s moving.”

  “Your first train ride, Kristobal?” Tom asked.

  “And hopefully my last.”

  He was, Tom was sure, very much into private planes, free-flowing bottles of champagne, and no one to bother him as he fully reclined in his seat-bed and dreamed of becoming a film mogul.

  “He’s from another generation,” said Max, as he playfully slapped his assistant’s arm. “He’s not train folk; not like you and me.”

  “Well, Ellie and I took quite a few trains when we were overseas. We were on an old clunker once from Amsterdam to Paris. Got on at five in the morning with the notion we’d eat on board. We weren’t told there was no food on the train because the stewards were on strike. Then, while we’re slowly starving to death, we notice that in the fields the train is passing through, all these people are standing there, taking pictures of the train. I thought that maybe the train had been hijacked — you know, by the striking stewards — and we were hurtling to our doom at the station in Paris.”

  “What happened?” asked Max.

  “When we got to Paris, there was a marching band. And then a sleek red bullet train came sliding up to the old one we’d been on. It was the last train ride on that route before bullet service took over. That was all the commotion.
So while the band played, we spent about a billion francs filling our bellies. Remember that, Ellie?”

  “I go by Eleanor now, just Eleanor. And, no, I don’t really remember that.”

  The gin had now warmed Tom from his toes to his mouth, which had become an 80mm howitzer. “Right. Ellie, that’s clearly in the past. Out with the old, in with the new and improved.” He looked at Max. “So, you said you and Eleanor had talked.”