The Christmas Train Part 7

Julie gripped Eleanor's hand. "You came from where I did, and look how you turned out. It drives me crazy that his parents can't see that it doesn't matter where you're from, it's where you're going."

Eleanor said, "You're not marrying Steve's parents. And it may be that they think no one is good enough for their son. Moms tend to be that way especially. But give them time, and you may see them come around. If they don't it's their loss, and it's your life together."

"Growing up there made me so strong. I feel I can do anything," said Julie.

"Having to depend on yourself for just about all you have, it does make you strong, especially when people never bother to get to know you, just label you dumb country." Eleanor added, "But that just makes it all the sweeter when you prove them wrong."

Julie looked very determined. "You got that right. And I've got a long list of people who'll be getting that comeuppance."

Tom nudged Steve. "Have you been practicing your 'Yes, Dear' and 'No, Dear' lines? I think you're going to need bunches of them with this woman."

Father Kelly walked in and inquired as to their availability in the lounge downstairs, where a high-stakes poker game was taking place. They adjourned from further talk of nuptials and repaired to the adult section of the bar car.

chapter thirteen.

Tom had walked into many poker war zones in his life; these places were usually inhabited by cagey, stone-faced, underpaid journalists looking to supplement their income as they hunkered in their paper-lined foxholes. While a beat reporter for the Territorial Enterprise Territorial Enterprise, Sam Clemens had also engaged in many gentlemanly games of cards. He routinely carried his old Navy revolver with him during these "friendly" matches, presumably in case a partic.i.p.ant drew the wrong conclusion from a high card placed in error in one's boot or sleeve.

On the surface, the group in the lounge car looked fairly innocent, but these were the types one had to watch out for, Tom knew. The most money he'd ever lost in a game of cards was at a dear little convent in a foreign location he absolutely refused to disclose out of sheer embarra.s.sment. The Mother Superior had drawn to four consecutive inside straights, a record surely unmatched in poker history. Tom drew some comfort from the fact that no cardplayer, however exalted, could hope to best an opponent who had the Almighty behind her.

Since the "chips" being used in the game were actually potato chips, they bought several bags of Doritos, and on a dare from Tom, Eleanor even purchased one of Tyrone's Boiler Room concoctions. The ebony Elvis and the journalist shared a triumphant look until the woman downed it in one swig, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and sat down to play some cards.

"That just ain't human. You telling me you know that lady?" Tyrone whispered.

"I'm not sure," Tom replied.

They raced through poker, blackjack, hearts, spades, gin rummy, euchre, and other a.s.sorted family entertainment, and finished with about as many Doritos as they'd started with, plus lots of material for both Tom's story and Eleanor's movie. There was one gent with six fingers who won far more than he lost. Tom was guessing it had something to do with that extra digit and perhaps an ace or two secreted there somehow, though he couldn't prove it beyond a reasonable doubt, which was the prevailing legal standard on board, he was informed. There was also an obnoxious type who snorted every time he took a pot, belittled his neighbors' cardplaying errors, and generally made himself a nuisance. Eleanor leaned over at one point and whispered into Tom's ear, "That guy gets butchered in the film's first act."

As they rose to leave, Tom pulled out his Havanas and pointed at Father Kelly, who'd proved himself a nimble cardplayer as well; his explanation was: "Too much free time in the rectory during my formative years in the priesthood."

"The smoking lounge beckons, Father."

Eleanor followed them, though Tom knew she didn't smoke, at least she hadn't when he'd known her. He glanced at her with a questioning expression.

She shrugged. "Max is the boss. In for a dime, in for a dollar."

There were ventilation fans inside the lounge that were theoretically supposed to rid the atmosphere of any smoke within a short period of time. However, judging from the thickened atmosphere, the machines had given up the fight and gone home with their blades between their legs.

Most of the seats were taken, but they found three near the back. Some of the smokers had placed a piece of plywood on top of one of the ashtray stands and were playing checkers on this makes.h.i.+ft table. Another group was discussing the upcoming football playoffs. Although the sign on the door had said no food or drink allowed, everyone had something they were munching or sipping. One man said that it was okay unless the conductor came by, and then everyone with contraband should hide it post haste. Tom looked at the beer bottles, superlarge ice-cream sandwiches, and big jugs of homemade concoctions that didn't quite look like Kool-Aid and wondered exactly how those items were to be effectively concealed.

They sat and attempted to soak it all in without too much damage to their lungs. Father Kelly and Tom coaxed their cigars to life while Eleanor sat back and closed her eyes.

"Tired?" Tom asked between puffs. "You must still be on West Coast time."

"Actually, I spent a week in D.C. before we started."

"What's in Was.h.i.+ngton?"

She never opened her eyes. "Somebody."

Tom lowered his Havana and let his gaze idly wander over the people in the smoking lounge. Somebody Somebody. Eleanor had somebody. Well, why shouldn't she have somebody? She was still young and smart and beautiful and probably rich with all her movie work. And he had somebody, sort of. What was her name again? Linda? No, Lelia. He didn't take that memory lapse as a good sign.

Tom's pursuit of Eleanor had commenced the moment he saw her. As she'd walked by that first time on campus it seemed everything slowed, and that it was just the two of them in the whole world. It wasn't just her beauty, it was all of the usual suspects: how she carried herself, how she spoke, how she looked you in the eye and really listened to what you had to say. Yet it was more than that even. As Agnes Joe had said, Tom didn't care if he ate, slept, or even breathed so long as Eleanor was around. And her temper - and she had a well-nourished one - exerted its own attraction. Her opinions were uniquely her own, and she would draw and fire them off with deadly accuracy and unwavering impunity. Almost always an eruption was followed by the gentle touch of her hand and eventually her lips against his, for he'd at last won her heart over the strenuous attacks and counterattacks of several serious rivals.

Tom's musings were suddenly interrupted by the man's appearance at the doorway. He was six-feet-four, and slender, about twenty-five or so, and appraised them all with a very smug look. He had chic beard stubble, faded jeans, and a tattered belt. Yet his silk s.h.i.+rt was an expensive designer production and his hair had the appearance of being professionally tousled and his jeans seemed expertly if prematurely aged. A fake slob, Tom deduced, who obviously thought way too much of himself.

Under one arm the man was carrying a chessboard and box of chesspieces. Tom watched as he methodically set up shop. Eleanor's eyes were now open, and she studied the intruder as well. Over the next hour he vanquished all comers. As Father Kelly explained it, lots of amateur chessplayers rode the rails. "There's something about a train that brings them out, particularly in the smoking car," he said. "I've even heard that chess grand masters ride the train incognito and play anyone who wants to, just to stay sharp. And they occasionally lose too."

Why would chess grand masters have to travel incognito incognito? wondered Tom. Yet he kept his mouth shut and watched. The guy was good, really good. The average match time was only ten minutes. With each defeat, as his foe stalked off in disgrace, he'd laugh. Laugh! And then call out in a loud, condescending voice, "Next victim!" If Tom had had any chance of beating the guy, he'd have gone for it, but even checkers taxed him too much.

After a while Father Kelly left. Tom didn't expect to see him back because the priest had imbibed quite a bit, and the smoke chaser had apparently finished him off. "If I had to conduct Ma.s.s right now, I'm not sure I could. I'm not even sure I could tell you how many components there are to the Holy Trinity, even with a clue or two."

Tom bid him goodnight and then watched as Eleanor rose and challenged the chess king, whose name, they'd learned, was Slade. She was the only woman in the smoking car, and thus all eyes turned toward her as she sat down across from the hated one. As she made the first move, Slade's expression was so confident that Tom wanted to make him eat a couple of rooks as penance. He hadn't even known that Eleanor played chess, and then it came back to him. When they'd lived in Israel, they'd become friends with a rabbi who was an exceptional chessplayer. He'd taught Eleanor one strategy - only one - yet it was almost foolproof. You'd be able to tell in about three moves if your opponent had bitten on it. And it seemed to work best against the most talented players, particularly if they were overconfident.

Three moves later, Tom saw just the tiniest hint of a smile from Eleanor and he found himself smiling conspiratorially in return. Four moves after that the mighty Slade and his tousled hair was staring in disbelief. Eleanor had his black king in check with nowhere to flee except into the embrace of her white queen or bishop. A hoa.r.s.e cheer rang through the black-lunged smokers and they even gave her a standing ovation. Spurred on by drink and a confluence of emotions, Tom clapped until his hands were blood red. Slade grabbed his chessboard and pieces and stalked out, muttering something about beginner's luck. If Eleanor hadn't had somebody somebody in Was.h.i.+ngton, Tom probably would have kissed her. in Was.h.i.+ngton, Tom probably would have kissed her.

As he stared at her, all sorts of possibilities raced through his mind. He was twenty-five again, and he and Eleanor were taking on the world, one cover story at a time. Nothing was beyond them.

He'd hold this wonderful feeling for about four more minutes, and then it would be gone.

chapter fourteen.

The figure who entered Tom's sleeper was dressed in black, and intent on plucking an expensive-looking pen; then Father Kelly's silver cross was swiped. After that the thief flitted to the other first-cla.s.s sleeper suites, pinching Max's gold-plated money clip, Eleanor's silver brush, and Kristobal's four-hundred-dollar designer sungla.s.ses. The last target for now was Gordon Merryweather's suite, where the thief stole the lawyer's fancy watch, cash, and Palm Pilot. The crimes took all of ten minutes, for the person was much practiced in the art of felony. No one observed the thefts, and by the time Regina walked down the corridor to refill the coffeepot at the head of the stairs, the person was gone, together with the loot.

The first train robbery in the United States occurred in Indiana in 1866 along the old Ohio and Mississippi Railroad line. The two robbers, exCivil War soldiers cast helplessly adrift after Lee's n.o.ble surrender, were quickly caught. Numerous robberies followed by other criminals, but the rise of the well-funded Pinkerton Detective Agency - whose men, per capita, wielded their firearms far better than the men they hunted, which included Jesse and Frank James' gang - soon put an end to that lucrative line of larceny. The thief on the Capitol Limited had made a decent haul without one shot having been fired. Poor Jesse would have no doubt been envious.

Tom and Eleanor stood outside the smoker car taking deep breaths to clear their lungs.

"You nailed that guy. The look on his face, it was beautiful." He gave her a hug that she only partially returned. "Thank G.o.d for a chessplaying rabbi in Tel Aviv. What was his name?"

"I don't remember," she said quietly.

He looked at her and all his fine spirits melted away, replaced by something vastly harder. Rabbi Somebody, Tel Aviv, the scene of the final meeting - final b.l.o.o.d.y battle was more like it Rabbi Somebody, Tel Aviv, the scene of the final meeting - final b.l.o.o.d.y battle was more like it.

He shouldn't do it, he knew he shouldn't do it, but he was going to anyway; it was as though his mind and tongue were wired for bad timing opportunities. "Can you tell me now, since you've had all these years to think about it?"

"Tell you what?"

"Oh, I don't know, why don't we start with why you walked out on me all those years ago? That seems like a good enough place, and we'll work forward from there."

"You're saying you don't know why?"

"How could I? Not one thing you said made any sense."

"Because you weren't listening, as usual. That's not my problem."

"That's a crock and you know it."

"I don't have to stand here and listen to you raving."

"You're right. Sit down on the floor and I'll keep going. I've had years to prepare. In fact, I can keep raving until the good old Southwest Chief runs into the Pacific Ocean three days from now!"

"I knew this would happen - as soon as I saw you, I knew it would. You haven't changed a bit."

"What exactly did you expect, Ellie?"

"It's Eleanor Eleanor."

"Forgive me, I was living in the past for a moment, when you were just Ellie."

"You're so incredibly maddening, so off base. Don't you ever take off those enormous blinders you wear and see the world as it actually is?"

"I've seen plenty of the world, far more than most, and I wasn't wearing rose-colored gla.s.ses during any of it!"

"That wasn't my point. You saw what you wanted to see, that was all."

"Was it another guy, was that it?"

Eleanor rolled her eyes and waved dismissively. "Why do men always think it's another guy when it's usually men who cheat?"

"I never cheated on you! Ever!"

"I never said you did. And I can say the same."

"Then why did you walk out on me?"

She shook her head wearily. "Tom, if you don't understand why by now, there's nothing I can say that would clear it up for you."

He stared at her. "I'm sorry, I'm sort of rusty on female-encrypted speech. Can you help me out here? What the h.e.l.l did you just say?"

She shook her head. "Even after all these years you still haven't managed to accomplish it."

"Accomplish what?"

"Growing up!" she snapped.

Before he could answer, they heard singing. The next minute the pair watched as a group of Christmas carolers, composed of both train crew and pa.s.sengers, gathered around them. Tyrone had taken a break from the bar and was leading the pack with a hearty rendition of "I'll Be Home for Christmas," though in respect for the more prim members of the caroling company, he kept his pelvic gyrations within strict statutory limits. Agnes Joe was in the back, carrying the entire ba.s.s section all by herself.

"You two want to join in?" asked Tyrone. "A lady who can slam back a Boiler Room like that is a lady I need to get to know."

Eleanor stalked off, arms folded across her chest.

Tyrone stared after her and then looked back at Tom. "Hey, man, was it something I said?"

"No, Tyrone, it was something I I said." And then Tom walked off too. said." And then Tom walked off too.

He thought about going after Eleanor and resuming the "discussion" but couldn't find the energy, and he was afraid too, more of what he would say than she. On the way back to his compartment he heard laughter drifting up from the lower level of his sleeper car. Laughs - he could use some right now. He hurried down the stairs and headed right, following the sounds. These were less expensive sleeping accommodations, smaller than his and with no shower, but each compartment had a toilet and a drop-down sink. At the end of the corridor, he saw Regina and the Tarot card lady standing outside one compartment and talking with someone inside the s.p.a.ce.

Regina saw him and waved him over. When he walked up he saw that there was an older woman sitting on a seat in the compartment. Then he noticed the wheelchair folded up and placed against the facing chair situated against the other wall. He turned and studied the Tarot card lady. She still wore her multicolored headdress, but she'd taken off the dumbbell shoes and was in slippers. That made her about four inches shorter, and she turned out to be rather pet.i.te. Up close she had intensely luminous blue eyes filled with both mischief and charm, and a warm smile. He noted that the compartment across the hall had a brightly colored beaded door, where the curtain had been pulled back and secured. He also thought he smelled incense, although he a.s.sumed that would be strictly against Amtrak policy.

"I'm a.s.suming those are your digs," he said to her.

"Why, Mr. Langdon, you have psychic powers of your own," she said with a throaty laugh.

"How did you-" He stopped and looked at Regina. "Okay, no aliens need apply. You told her."

Regina said, "Meet Drusella Pardoe, Tom, and you don't have to tell Drusella anything, she already knows it."

Drusella put out a dainty hand. "My good friends call me Misty. And I already know that we're going to be good friends, so you just go ahead and call me that."

Misty had a Southern accent augmented by something a little spicier. "New Orleans?" he said.

"By way of Baltimore. Very good, Tom." She drew closer to him, and he concluded that the incense smell was actually Misty's perfume.

"Misty used to be a CPA there in Baltimore," said Regina.

"I found I had a gift for numbers, and gifts should be used for a higher purpose than the avoidance of taxes, don't you think, Tom?"

"Undoubtedly."

"You're right, he is is cute, Regina," said the wheelchair lady. She was just finis.h.i.+ng up her dinner, which was on a tray in front of her. cute, Regina," said the wheelchair lady. She was just finis.h.i.+ng up her dinner, which was on a tray in front of her.

"I didn't know there was room service on this train," said Tom smiling. "I had to schlepp to the dining car."

"Oh, sure," said the lady, returning the smile. "You just need one of these things, and Regina will bring your meal right to you." She pointed to her wheelchair.

"Where are my manners," said Regina. "Lynette Monroe, Tom Langdon."

Lynette was about sixty-five, with long silver hair and elegant features, still a very attractive woman. She seemed full of good spirits despite her disability.