The Christmas Train

by David Baldacci

  there and a child screamed out excitedly, “It’s Cuppy the Magic Beaver!” And then another little boy called out, “And there’s Petey the Pickle!” And then Sassy Squirrel and Freddy the Futon joined their famous friends onstage, and the good times began.

  Working the hand puppets from behind the stage were Lelia and Kristobal. Lelia always carried the puppet characters with her in case she ran into any children; she often gave them as gifts. She did all the voices perfectly, switching from a piece of furniture to a pickle to a woodland creature with the smoothness of a true professional.

  During a break in the proceedings, Kristobal whispered to her, “I’ve never been more honored in my life.” They shared a kiss offstage while Sassy and Cuppy were bopping each other in the head onstage as all the children and even the adults roared with laughter.

  Santa arrived precisely on schedule, played by burly Barry wearing a proper Santa suit, which was kept on the Chief for just such occasions. The role of Santa was so popular, in fact, that Amtrak employees routinely fought, gambled, bribed, and lobbied during the year to play the lead role each Christmas. Gifts were dutifully handed out by Santa’s elves, played by Tom, Eleanor, Max, and Misty. The passengers contributed the gifts from gift-wrapped presents they’d brought with them. Everyone participated with good grace and humor, and the children were happy and laughing, which relieved the adults’ tension immensely.

  Father Kelly, again with Agnes Joe’s aid, led them all in prayer and a Christmas Mass of sorts. The minister who’d married Steve and Julie had been asked to participate, but he had refused and stayed in his compartment. Steve and Julie were not seen much. Apparently they were not allowing even an avalanche to put a damper on their honeymoon, and who could blame them.

  The boys’ choir sang Christmas carols with Roxanne, and everyone joined them, giving it their best. On this occasion, it seemed that everyone’s voice possessed a sweet melody. As the night deepened and little mouths started yawning with increasing frequency, folks said their goodnights and strangers slapped each other on the back, declaring it a very fine Christmas Eve. Then they went off to sleep.

  Eleanor and Tom went with Roxanne to settle the choir down. They were about to leave when one of the boys called out to her.

  She sat next to the little boy, whose name was Oliver.

  “What’s up?” asked Roxanne, as Tom and Eleanor stood next to her.

  Oliver’s eyes seemed as big as his whole body. He had a voice that could charm and delight the meanest soul on the planet, and he was usually a happy-go-lucky sort, but now he looked worried.

  “Patrick said there’s no God.”

  Roxanne gasped. “What? Patrick, you get yourself over here, boy.”

  Patrick came up in his striped pajamas and glasses. He was one of the older boys, tall and lean, with a very confident manner. He read constantly and was gifted academically.

  Roxanne towered over him and put her hands on her substantial hips. “Explain yourself. Why’d you tell him that?”

  All the other boys poked their heads over their seats to watch and listen. Tom and Eleanor exchanged glances.

  “It’s a simple process of elimination, an evolutionary cycle, really.” He adjusted his glasses, as though a very youthful professor addressing his class.

  “Come again?”

  “Well, first there was the Tooth Fairy. You lose a tooth, you put it under your pillow, and the next morning the tooth is gone and there’s money in its place. Most kids discover that’s a myth when they’re five or so, although I of course learned it much earlier.”

  “You’re ten now, Patrick,” said his brother Tony, “and you still put your teeth under the pillow.”

  “That’s because I want the money, Tony, not because I still believe.” Patrick turned back to Roxanne. “And then you had the Easter Bunny, another falsehood that’s discovered perhaps around age seven. Next up is Santa Claus. That fellow who played him tonight, for example: Wasn’t that one of the train—”

  Roxanne eyed the younger children, who looked ready to cry at what Patrick was about to say. “Let’s move on, Patrick,” she interrupted, “and let’s get right to God.”

  “Very well. If there was a god of good, then why would he let something like this happen? We’re supposed to be home right now, spending Christmas with our families. Instead, here we are in the middle of a snowstorm running low on fuel and food. How could a god, if he existed, allow such a thing?”

  Despite his confident presentation, Roxanne sensed that Patrick was as scared as the rest of them, and was really hoping she’d explain why there was a god rather than agree with him there wasn’t.

  She sat Patrick down next to her and cradled Oliver on her lap. “Now, the problem with your reasoning is that you’re assuming our being stuck here is a bad thing.”

  Patrick adjusted his glasses. “Well, isn’t it?”

  “Not wholly, no. Let’s consider it. Let’s look at the facts. What happened tonight?”

  “The snow fell harder, and the kitchen ran out of food.”

  “Besides that.”

  Oliver spoke up: “We celebrated Christmas Eve and opened presents. That’s a good thing.”

  “We could have done that with our own families,” countered Patrick.

  “True,” said Roxanne, “but would your families be scared and hungry, and would they be in a strange place with people they don’t know?”

  The boy thought about this. “Well, no.”

  “But the passengers on this train are, right? They really don’t want to be here because this isn’t their home, right, they want to be with loved ones, family?”

  “Right,” said Oliver enthusiastically.

  “But that’s my point exactly,” said Patrick.

  “No, if I remember correctly, your point was how can there be a god if such a bad thing could happen. And I’m questioning whether it’s a bad thing at all to have a bunch of people who don’t know each other, who’re scared and hungry and wanting to be anyplace but here for Christmas, spend the evening together and have so much fun that they’re laughing and singing along and giving away presents they’d gotten for their own family to people they don’t even know.”

  She looked at Tom and Eleanor. “You two had a good time tonight, didn’t you?”

  Eleanor smiled at the children. “It was one of the best Christmas Eves of my life.”

  “Well, I guess you have a point there,” conceded Patrick.

  Tom added, “Maybe God made sure you’d be on this train so that you could sing and make scared people forget about their troubles for a while by listening to some beautiful music.”

  “That’s another good point,” said Oliver excitedly.

  “Yes, it is,” agreed Patrick.

  “You see,” said Roxanne, as she tucked Oliver in and then led Patrick back to his seat, “it’s often said that God works in mysterious ways. You have to really think about what He’s trying to do. You can’t be lazy and believe in God; He doesn’t make it that easy. It takes spirit and faith and passion to really believe. Like most things worthwhile in life, you get back what you put into it. Only with faith, you get back a lot more.”

  She helped Patrick back into bed and covered him up.

  “Any other questions?” she asked.

  Oliver raised his hand. “Just one, Miss Roxanne.”

  “All right, what is it?”

  “Can you take me to the bathroom?”

  Later that night, Tom and Eleanor stood side by side staring out the window at the snow.

  “Well,” said Tom, “it’s almost Christmas, and I don’t hear anything stirring, not even a mouse.”

  “Right now I’ll take a FEMA rescue team over old Saint Nick and his reindeer pitter-pattering on the roof.”

  “Where’s your adventurous spirit, your romanticism?”

  “I used it all up, with you,” she shot back. She touched him on the arm. “Why didn’t you go? The truth now.”

  “I f
orgot to oil my skis.”

  “I’m serious, Tom.”

  He looked at her. “Ellie, I told myself that I came on this trip to fulfill my dad’s wishes. But I really did it because there’s a huge hole in my life and I had no idea how to fill it. It’s been there for a long time actually. And writing for Ladies’ Home Journal wasn’t plugging it.” He struggled. “But the reason I didn’t go out there,” he continued, pointing out the window, “is because of what you said. You know, all these years I believed you’d walked out on me, that you had abandoned me. I never really saw that it was actually the other way around.” He paused. “I’m sorry, Ellie, I really am.”

  She slowly reached out and took his hand in hers.

  He looked around puzzled. “You know, I wasn’t kidding. It really is quiet. Too quiet.”

  They couldn’t have known, but earlier the last drop of fuel on the last diesel engine had been used up. And while they were standing there the backup battery-powered lights ran out of juice too. The Southwest Chief finally fell silent and dark.

  And then the quiet was shattered by a rumbling sound, and the Chief started to shake and screams erupted from the coaches. Tom and Eleanor looked at each other.

  “My God,” she said, “it’s another avalanche!”

  chapter thirty-one

  If there was such a thing as controlled chaos, it was taking place on the Southwest Chief. The current crisis was the imminent threat of another avalanche that would sweep the Chief into oblivion. The plunging snow had hit the right side of the train and piled so high that one couldn’t see out the windows anymore. The crushing weight of the snow against the Chief was actually starting to tilt it. The plan in response was simple: total evacuation of the train, which, under the circumstances, was far easier said than done. Yet 341 passengers made their way from car to car, until they reached the last coach car, while Amtrak personnel counted and recounted heads and searched every nook and cranny on the train so no one would be left behind.

  Covered by blankets, umbrellas, and any other device that could be used against the storm, the long line of people, guided by flashlights and battery-operated lanterns, trekked the short distance to the tunnel. Elderly and disabled passengers and the very young were carried or otherwise assisted. The Christmas spirit must have spread its magic, because stranger helped stranger, the physically fit assisted the disabled. No one complained or fretted about his or her place in line or duties assigned.

  Flashlights, lanterns, water, blankets, pillows, first-aid kits, whatever food was left, and any article that could conceivably come in handy was carried off the train. The only complaint came from the engineer, who blamed himself for not backing the train into the tunnel while he still had fuel, and now he didn’t want to leave his post. After Roxanne and Higgins spoke to him, the latter explaining that they hadn’t thought to back up the train either, that the snow buildup in the rear of the train might have prohibited that maneuver anyway, and, last, that he could watch the Chief from the end of the tunnel, the engineer, whose name was Ralph Perkins, finally agreed to leave his chair at the helm. Higgins left unspoken the fact that the engineer might watch his beloved train hurtle down into the ravine at the front of a tsunami of sliding snow.

  Tom, Eleanor, Max, Misty, Kristobal, Father Kelly, and Agnes Joe worked as hard as the crew in pushing, pulling, carrying, assisting, cajoling, and hauling until all were safely ensconced in the massive tunnel. Agnes Joe proved herself particularly adept at crowd control and managing people, and she also had considerable strength in her frame, which she exhibited numerous times during the evacuation.

  Tom thought to break out his skis and gear, and Eleanor borrowed a pair from a female passenger who also planned to holiday at Tahoe. Together the two ferried a large quantity of supplies over the packed snow with relative speed.

  Camp was set up in the tunnel. Tom went around and surveyed the situation. The lighting was very poor, the food levels low, the blankets too few. The worst problem, though, was the cold. With temperatures in the teens, the burden of less oxygen at their elevation, and the tunnel acting as a funnel for the tremendous winds, it was clear that neither the elderly nor the very young passengers could survive here long.

  As Tom contemplated all this, the conclusion became inevitable. He went over to the conductor, engineer, and Roxanne and spoke with them quietly but intensely.

  Eleanor, who was finishing helping folks settle down, glanced up and saw the meeting taking place. She joined them in time to hear Roxanne say, “You don’t have to do this, Tom, but I love you for it.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  They all turned and looked at Eleanor.

  “No, you’re not,” said Tom.

  Eleanor looked at the others. “I taught him everything he knows about skiing.”

  “Eleanor, I can’t let you go with me.”

  “I’m not asking for your permission. If you want to travel solo, fine; I’ll have some coffee waiting at the resort for you when you finally show up.”

  Roxanne hiked her eyebrows. “I think you’d be a lot smarter teaming up with this woman than trying to go it alone.”

  Tom looked at each of them and finally his gaze settled on Eleanor. “One more job together?”

  “Let’s go.”

  As Eleanor was getting ready, Max came over to her and sat down. “I hear you’re going to ski to the rescue with Langdon.”

  “Well, we’re going to try.”

  “It’s dangerous out there, Eleanor. Are you sure about this?”

  “More sure than I’ve been about anything in a long time.”

  “Tom’s a big strong guy, he can get it done by himself. I mean, he even told me about once carrying somebody up a mountain with mortar fire hitting all around.”

  Eleanor stopped packing and looked at him. “The person he was carrying was me, Max.”

  Max stared at her for a few moments and then said very quietly, with none of his usual bravado, “I just don’t want to lose you, Eleanor.”

  She sat next to him and they hugged. “I’ll be back, if for no other reason than to write this script and win an Oscar.”

  “You really love this guy, don’t you?”

  “Do you believe in second chances, Max?”

  “I guess I should: I’ve had more than my share of them.”

  “Well, I never did, until now. And I’m not going to waste this one. I doubt I’ll get another.”

  After saying their goodbyes, Tom and Eleanor, packed with gear, headed northeast back through the tunnel. From memory, Higgins had put together for them a rough map of the area and directions to the Dingo. Tom carried the map in his pocket wrapped in plastic. They’d go through the tunnel, start up a crevice in the mountain, and from there work their way north and west toward the resort. With any luck, soon they’d be drinking hot coffee in front of a roaring fire. The air was frigid and very thin at this altitude, and soon Tom and Eleanor were both breathing hard. The tunnel was completely dark, so they had snapped on their battery-powered helmet lights. They had to carry their skis because there wasn’t any snow to use them on inside the tunnel.

  “At least we don’t have to worry about a train coming through,” said Tom.

  “And here I was thinking our luck was all bad.”

  As they walked the half-mile to the other end of the tunnel, their hands reached out and gripped firmly. At the end of the tunnel they strapped on their skis.

  “You ready?” Tom asked. Eleanor nodded.

  They stepped out into the blizzard, managed to find the crevice in the near whiteout conditions, and headed up, each thrust of the ski poles arduous with the ascent. In a very few minutes, they’d completely disappeared into the storm’s dangerous embrace.

  They pushed through the wind and walls of snow. Their bodies were caked with ice, their limbs growing increasingly numb. They constantly changed direction as Tom recalculated where they were. He had a compass, but he wasn’t entirely confident that the instrumen
t was telling him the truth. And trying to find a resort, albeit a large one, in the middle of a snowstorm on top of a mountain was a little more difficult than he’d thought. Yet they plunged on.

  Tom and Eleanor navigated numerous steep ascents, often having to wedge their limbs and ski poles against the rocky sides to lever themselves on. In some cases they had to take off their skis and,