The Christmas Train (5 page)

Tom noted that he’d been right about their origins: the Virginia gal and the Connecticut boy. “So, does your family approve of the marriage?” he asked Julie, trying to defuse the tension a little.

“They like Steve a lot, but they think I’m too young. I’m in college. We both are, at George Washington University in Washington. That’s where we met. They want me to finish school before I get married.”

“Well, that’s understandable, especially if they never had a chance to go to college. I’m sure they just want the best for you.”

“The best thing for me is Steve.” She smiled at him, and Tom could tell the young man’s heart was melting at what she was going through. These two might be young, but they were old enough to be absolutely head-over-heels in love.

Julie continued, “And I’m going to finish college, and then I’m going on to law school, at the University of Virginia. I’m going to do my parents proud. But I’m going to do all of that as Steve’s wife.”

“Well,” Tom said, “it’s your life, and I think you should follow your heart.”

“Thanks, Tom,” Julie said, and she gave his hand a pat.

If only he’d followed that advice with Eleanor, things might have been different. Ironically, they too had met in college. Eleanor had been one of those incredibly smart people who graduated high school at sixteen and college at nineteen. After college, they’d done some investigative reporting in the States, and scored a couple of big stories, before taking the leap and signing on as the entire overseas bureau for a fledgling news service. They had collected the experiences of a lifetime—several lifetimes, in fact. They’d fallen in love, like Steve and Julie. They should have been engaged and then married, too, yet it had ended so abruptly that Tom still found it intensely painful to think about their last moments together.

“So, is the minister on board?” For a second Tom thought Father Kelly might be officiating, but he’d said he was retired and surely he would have mentioned a wedding.

Steve said, “He gets on in Chicago. The ceremony takes place the next day. Our maid of honor and best man are getting on in Chicago too.”

“Well, good luck to both of you. I take it everybody on the train is invited,” he added.

“We sure hope somebody will come,” said Steve.

“Right,” added Julie nervously, “otherwise it will be a pretty lonely wedding.”

“No bride should have to settle for that. I’ll be there, Julie, and I’ll bring all my train friends with me.” Tom didn’t yet have any train friends, but how hard could it be to make friends on the Cap? He sort of already had Agnes Joe in his back pocket.

“Lounge car at nine in the morning,” said Steve. “The station stop is La Junta.”

“That means ‘junction’ in Spanish,” said Julie. “Seemed appropriate for a marriage.”

“I’m curious: Why the train in the first place?”

Julie laughed. “I guess it’ll sound silly, but after my grandfather came back from World War Two, my grandmother met him in New York City. They’d been engaged before the war started but postponed their wedding because Gramps volunteered.”

“You’d think they’d want to tie the knot before he left,” Tom said.

Julie shook her head. “No, that’s exactly why they didn’t. Gramps refused to leave her a widow. He said that if he made it through the war, then it was God’s way of telling them they were meant to be together.”

“That’s really nice.”

“Well, he made it back of course, and Grandma, she’d been waiting four long years, so she went up to New York City with plans to get married up there, but so many other soldiers were doing the same thing that it would have taken them weeks. So they paid a preacher to get on the train with them, and once they crossed into Virginia, they were married.”

“And I assume things worked out?”

“Fifty-five years of marriage together. They died within a week of each other two years ago.”

“Well, I wish you both the same,” Tom offered.

“Do you really think complete strangers will come to our wedding?” asked the girl.

Tom was just a guy—with a guy’s dubious perspective on weddings—but still he understood how important it was for the bride. By comparison, the groom had it easy. He simply had to show up reasonably sober, say “I do,” kiss the bride while the old ladies in the crowd tittered, and not pass out until after the wedding night official duties were completed and the gift money counted.

Tom said, “Not to worry. There’s something about a train that opens people up. And besides, you do have a captive audience.”

He wished them well again and headed for Tyrone in the lounge-car café, but his mind was straying once more toward Eleanor. After she walked out on him in Tel Aviv, he was hurt, angry, and confused, all those things that made one completely incapable of doing anything rationally. By the time he’d gotten his head screwed on right, so much time had passed that he’d ended up not doing anything to contact her. Then the years really got away, and he felt any attempt to get in touch would be swiftly and painfully rebuked. For all he knew, she’d already married someone else.

He went through the dining-room car and nodded to the attendants there. All of them wore some holiday article of clothing. They seemed to be working hard to get dinner together, so he decided not to hit them up with a lot of questions. He ventured on to the lounge car. There a few people were sitting around watching the TV; others were idly gazing outside at the passing countryside. He made his way down the spiral staircase and found Tyrone, the lounge-car attendant.

The space he worked in was small, but neatly organized with refrigerated cabinets against the walls loaded with cold sandwiches, ice cream, and assorted cold goodies. There were also bins with other foods, chips and stuff, and hot and cold drinks. There were also cafeteria-tray rails to slide your purchases down. At the end of the hall was a door marked as the entrance to the smoking lounge.

Tyrone was about thirty, Tom’s height, and looked like Elvis, only he was black. At first Tom thought the man might be wearing a hairpiece but, upon closer inspection, confirmed it was all his own. The man was truly the King, in splendid ebony. Tom liked the effect a lot.

“I’ll be open in about twenty minutes, sir,” said Tyrone. “My delivery was in late. I’m usually up and running by now. I’ll make an announcement on the PA.”

“No problem, Tyrone. Regina told me to come down here if I needed anything.”

Tyrone looked Tom over with interest as he methodically laid out his wares. “Hey, you the writer guy Regina told me about?”

“I’m the writer guy, yes.”

“Cool. What do you want to know?”

“For starters, whether you’re an Elvis fan.”

He laughed. “It was the hair, right, man? It’s always the hair.”

“Okay, it was the hair.”

“Thankyou, thankyouverymuch.” Tyrone did a little bump and grind.

“I’m impressed.”

“I know all the songs, all the hip moves. The man could cut it pretty good for a white dude.”

“You been on this train long?”

“I’ve been with Amtrak since ’93. Been on this train about seven years.”

“I bet you’ve seen a lot.”

“Oh, let me tell you, I’ve seen some stuff. People come on a train, man, it’s like they lose some inhibition gene or something. Now, I know all the crazy stuff that goes on in airplanes, when people get drunk and stuff, but those folks got nothing on crazy train people. Hey, you want a soda or something?”

“Unless you got something stronger, and I’m really hoping you do.”

Tyrone opened a beer for him and Tom settled against the wall to listen.

Tyrone said, “My first trip on this train heading north, we’re pulling out of Pittsburgh at about midnight, okay, when I hear this yelling coming from one of the sleeper cars. Lounge car is all closed up, okay, and I’m off duty, but I go up there because there’s only one attendant per sleeper car, and I’m the new guy and wanted to make sure things were cool. Well, I get up there and you got one guy, naked as a jaybird, standing in the hallway with a nice-looking babe who’s got a little towel wrapped around her, see. And then we got one ticked-off lady in pajamas going for the guy’s throat, while Monique, the sleeping-car attendant, is trying to hold her back.”

“What had happened, a little mixup in the sleepers?”

“Oh, I bet Hubby wished that. See, thing was, the naked dude was caught in the act with his little mistress whom he’d paid to travel in her very own sleeper compartment two doors down from where he and the missus were staying. I guess he was into thrills or something. Hubby thought he slipped the little woman a sleeping pill so that he could go have himself some joy time with little miss whoopee, but the wife, she knew something was up, didn’t actually swallow the pill, followed her man and nailed them both.”

“What happened?”

“The mistress got off at the next stop. And the last I saw of lover boy, he and his chewed-up butt got off at Chicago.”

As Tyrone was talking and working, a chain necklace slipped out of his shirt. Tom noted the object attached to it.

“Where’d you get the Purple Heart?” he asked.

“Persian Gulf,” Tyrone said, tucking the chain back in his shirt. “Army. Caught a leg full of shrapnel when a round hit our Bradley.”

“I covered that war. The fighting was more intense than the reports showed back home.”

“Well, it was intense enough for me.”

“So I take it you like working here?”

“Hey, it’s a job, but it’s fun too. I got me my little entertainment routine that I’m always working on, adding, subtracting. I have fun with the passengers, and the kids, especially. Man, there’s something about trains and kids, they just go together, you know what I mean?” He kept talking as he worked. “I’m on three days and then get four off. That’s how it works for the service crew on the long-distance trains. On the really long-route trains, like the Chief and the Zephyr, you work six and then get eight days off. Sounds like a lot of downtime, and it is, but six days going up and back, up and back, it gets to you after a while. You need time just to recover. Because when you’re on this train, you’re basically on call the whole time. Goes with the territory, but I like it. The crew is a team, we all pitch in, cover each other’s back, like a family.”

“Think you’ll stay on the Cap?”

“Don’t know. What I’m really thinking about is moving up the ladder to where the real money is.”

“Where’s that? In management?”

Tyrone laughed. “Management? Get serious. The cash is in being a redcap. Them dudes make tip money like they’re printing it.”

“I want a drink and I want it now!”

They both turned and stared at the speaker. It was a man dressed in a three-piece pinstripe suit who didn’t look happy about one thing in his life right now.

Tyrone rolled his eyes. “How you doing, Mr. Merryweather?”

“I’m not doing good at all, and I want that drink. Scotch and soda on the rocks. Right now.”

“I’m not open yet, sir, if you could come back—”

Merryweather stepped forward. “This gentleman has a beer that I’m assuming came from you. Now, if you refuse to open the bar for me, a paying customer, then”—he glanced at Tyrone’s nametag—“then Tyrone , I suggest you start looking for other work because once I get off this train you’ll be unemployed.” Merryweather checked his fancy watch. “I’m waiting, Tyrone.”

“Sure, coming right up, no problem.”

Tyrone mixed the drink and handed it to the man. Merryweather sipped it. “More scotch—you people never put enough of the liquor in. What, are you stealing it for yourself?”

“Hey,” said Tom, “why don’t you lighten up?”

Merryweather turned toward him. “Do you happen to know who I am?”

“Yeah, you’re a jerk and obviously very proud of it.”

Merryweather smiled so tightly it looked as though his cheek balls might pop through his skin.

“Tell him who I am, Tyrone. You know, don’t you?”

“Look, I’m putting a bunch of scotch in your drink. Why don’t we just call it a truce?”

“I’m Gordon Merryweather. And I’m the king of the class-action lawsuit. Piss me off, and I’ll see you in court, and I’ll walk away with everything you have—although, from the looks of you, you clearly don’t have much.”

Tom stepped forward, his fists balled.

“Oh, I hope you do,” said Merryweather. “Then I get to put you in jail too.”

Tyrone stepped between them.

“Hey,” said Tyrone, “everything is so cool, it’s like it’s snowing right inside the train. Let’s all walk away now. Hey, it’s Christmas, right. You going home for Christmas, right Mr. Merryweather, to see the wife and kids? Bet you’re bringing them lots of presents.”

“I’m divorced. My children are spoiled brats unworthy of either my affection or my largesse.”

With that, Gordon Merryweather walked off, sipping his scotch. About halfway down the corridor they heard him laughing.

Tom looked at Tyrone. “I’m surprised he didn’t say ‘Bah, humbug.’”

Tyrone shook his head. “You don’t want to mess with that man. He’ll tie you up in court for years. His picture is right in the dictionary, beside the word nightmare .”