The Christmas Train

by Rexanne Becnel

  She peered again at her father, at his solemn profile. The real question was what she should call him. Not Tom. But Dad seemed too friendly.

  “Okay. Here’s the deal,” he said, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel. “Right after Christmas we’ll get you registered in school. And we probably need to get you some more clothes.”

  Anna frowned down at her hands. “I packed all my clothes in two boxes at home. Maybe my mother can mail them to me.”

  “Yeah.” He pulled into the hospital parking lot and found a space, then glanced over at her. “Do you want to call her?”

  Not really. “I guess so.”

  In the hospital lobby Anna used his cell phone to call her mother. When she didn’t answer, she left a message about mailing her clothes, along with her father’s address. They started for the elevators, but when Anna paused in front of the gift shop, her father asked, “Do you want to get Miss Eva some flowers? Or maybe some candy?”

  She gave him a hopeful look. “Can we?”

  “Sure.” He ruffled the top of her head. Though she made a big deal of smoothing her hair down, Anna kind of liked his gesture. It seemed like something fathers were supposed to do. Ruffle your hair; tickle your belly. Tease you and make funny sounds with their mouths like burps and farts.

  Once in the shop, she cruised the aisles, looking for something Miss Eva might like. Then she spied a display of snow globes, including one with a little train inside, all decorated for Christmas with a wreath on the front of the engine.

  “That’s nice,” her father said. “It kind of looks like the train that brought you here.”

  Anna shook the globe, then watched as snow silently settled over the tiny train. “That’s where I met Miss Eva, on a train. The Christmas train.” She looked up at him. “Can we get it? Can we?”

  Inside his chest Tom’s heart melted like a snowball on an August day. She looked so hopeful, and yet wary, too, like she was afraid he would say no.

  As if he could deny her anything!

  He swallowed hard, then had to clear his throat. “Absolutely. Whatever you think she would like.”

  When her expression slid from wariness to delight, the sunny warmth of her gratitude drove away the gloom that weighed on him. His father hadn’t disguised his anger or his disappointment. Not that Tom had expected any other response. But it was equally clear that his father didn’t have high hopes for him turning into a stellar parent.

  “She’d be better off with us,” he’d said as they’d departed the study. “So if that’s something you’re considering, do it now before she gets too settled in with you.”

  The logic of that plan had seemed even clearer when he’d heard Anna call his mother Nesta. They’d bonded already, whereas he was still this stiff mannequin trying to impersonate a father, and failing.

  On top of that, his mother had pulled him aside to say that once they left, she would run to the mall to get Christmas gifts for Anna. “From us and from you, if you like.” He hadn’t even thought about Christmas gifts for her. Another black mark in the fatherhood column.

  Now, though, as Anna watched the saleswoman settle the snow globe in a pretty paper-lined box and tie it up with shiny red ribbon, he felt like he’d done at least one thing right. And when she accepted the box like a treasure from the saleswoman, then looked up at him, her eyes bright and shining with anticipation, he felt the warmth in her smile loosen something in his chest.

  “Thank you so, so much,” she said, holding the gift carefully in her arms. “I think she’s really gonna like it. Don’t you?”

  He nodded, once more too choked up to speak. This little girl had a huge heart. “Yes,” he finally managed as they headed for the elevators. “I think Miss Eva will love it.”

  In her room, however, Miss Eva was asleep. Most of her face was covered by an oxygen mask.

  “Can we wait until she wakes up?” Anna asked.

  “That could be a while, Anna. Maybe we should come back later.”

  “Nooo.” She stretched out the word. “I want to stay with her.”

  Tom’s wish to be accommodating warred with his natural aversion to hospitals—all the clicks and hisses of the machinery and the vaguely chemical smell of medicines and latex and cleaning products. How would a good parent handle this situation?

  He was rescued from having to make that parental decision when a nurse walked into the room.

  “I’m glad I caught you,” the woman said. “The social worker asked me to tell you that she was able to make contact with Mrs. Stephens’s son, and that he’s starting the process for emergency leave.”

  “That’s good. Right, Anna?” Tom added.

  “Yeah. But . . .” Anna looked anxiously from him to the nurse. “Will he be here by Christmas?”

  The nurse shrugged. “Maybe, honey. But maybe not. Christmas is the day after tomorrow, and I believe he’s somewhere overseas.”

  “So . . . so Miss Eva might be in here all by herself on Christmas?”

  “We’ll come see her,” Tom promised before Anna could even ask, and he was promptly rewarded with another of her grateful smiles. “Meanwhile, do you want to leave the gift here or bring it back later?” When she didn’t answer, only stared solemnly at him, he sighed. “Okay. We can wait. But you know, Anna, even when she wakes up she might not remember us.”

  “You mean she might not remember me. She’ll definitely remember you, though.” She nodded like a wise old woman. “But she’ll remember you as her brother, Karl.”

  “She’s probably right,” the nurse said with a half smile. “The main thing is, your presence puts her at ease.”

  After she left, Tom settled in a vinyl-covered chair. Man, what kind of mess had he gotten himself into? Just a few days ago he’d been a happy-go-lucky guy with a great girlfriend and a great job. A great life. That guy had known where he was going and exactly how to get there. But now . . . He stared at the monitor attached to Miss Eva, at its multicolored lines marching erratically in tandem, recording whatever time the sleeping woman had left. He just hoped she could hang on until her son got here.

  He pushed to his feet. “I need to make a call.”

  “To Joelle?” Anna asked, the wariness back in her eyes.

  “Yeah.” He tried to look upbeat. “I think it’s about time you two met.”

  She didn’t respond and Tom again heard his father’s words. She’d be better off with us.

  Would she?

  Probably, he admitted as he turned for the door. He paused with one hand on the handle. “So, Anna. How did you like my parents? Your grandparents.”

  She looked over at him and then away. “Fine. I like them just fine. They have a very nice house.”

  “Yes, they do. You and Mom, I mean, Nesta, seemed to hit it off right away. Who came up with that name for her?”

  “Me.” A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “She said I should decide, but we both like it. She reminds me of a bird taking good care of her nest. But mostly it’s Nesta for Ernestine.”

  “Right. I figured that part out.”

  “But I don’t have a name for your dad yet. Well, I do,” she added with a wry twist to her lips. “But he probably won’t like it.”

  “What is it?”

  Her nose wrinkled up in doubt. “Mr. Nesta?”

  Tom chuckled. That made sense, because Nesta was definitely the one in charge of the house—and probably any grandchildren, too. “I like it.”

  “But he won’t, will he?”

  “Maybe not.” On the other hand, Tom suspected his father would accept any name his first grandchild bestowed upon him because when push came to shove, he loved kids. He’d loved Tom and Sarah completely, even as he played the tough guy to their mother’s easygoing attitude. He loved all his kids at school, and Tom knew without a doubt that he already love
d Anna.

  But what about himself? Did he love Anna, love her enough to do right by her?

  A rush of emotion—guilt, sorrow, longing—unexpectedly surged through him. “Would you rather live with them?”

  He hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, so abrupt and bald-faced. But it was out there now, and judging by the startled look on Anna’s face, she was just as shocked by his words as he was.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “What I mean . . . Well, it’s not that I don’t want you to live with me, Anna. Because I do. I really do. But . . . well . . . I want you to be happy, you know? And settled. And . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t exactly know what would make you happy. You’ve got to tell me.”

  When she didn’t answer, only stared at him with eyes that seemed to get bigger and sadder with each passing moment, he wanted to curse his stupidity. “You don’t have to decide that right now,” he mumbled, desperate to undo the damage. “I just wanted you to know that you have a say in this. That’s all. Your opinion is important to me . . .” He trailed off, feeling like an total jerk.

  She drew herself up, her narrow shoulders squared and her little pointed chin tilted to a pugnacious angle. “Thank you,” she murmured, so softly he almost didn’t hear. Then she turned away.

  He’d been dismissed. He stared at her rigid back clad in its soft pink sweater with a fluffy turtleneck that reached up almost to her ears. He’d thought he was being fair and generous. But he’d obviously stuck his foot in it.

  “Okay,” he mumbled, and after another painfully long moment he left the room. In the corridor he gazed blankly down at his phone. When had he become such a complete screw-up?

  Ah, but that was an easy one, at least as far as Anna was concerned: day one of her life. The moment of her very first breath. That’s when he’d started screwing everything up with her, and in the years since then he’d only gotten better at it.

  Almost of their own volition his fingers punched in Joelle’s number. At first he was afraid she wouldn’t answer him. When she did, he felt a profound sense of relief—and the sudden conviction that this woman was worth fighting for. She and Anna both. He’d been lucky enough to land the right parents. Then after a few false starts he’d stumbled into the arms of the right girlfriend.

  Now he’d just been handed the right daughter. It had taken him long enough to figure that out. It was way past time now to make sure they all knew how important they were to him.

  “Hello? Tom? Are you there?”

  “Yeah.” Closing his eyes, he pressed the phone closer to his ear. “Yes, Joelle, I’m definitely here.”

  ANNA sat beside Miss Eva, focused on the blinking and whooshing of the equipment hooked up to her. The oxygen going into her mask. The thing the nurse called an “ivy,” dripping into a tube that went into her arm. The clip on her finger, and all the little round things stuck to her chest.

  Miss Eva was going to die, just like Nana Rose.

  A lump rose in her throat, hard and filled with all the bad feelings she’d ever had in her whole life. Everyone died on her. Or went away.

  She took a shaky breath, struggling to beat back despair. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, only there would be no Christmas tree and no presents. And no midnight mass with Nana Rose with all the singing and the church so pretty with red poinsettias and baby Jesus in the manger.

  Tonight she would be going back to her father’s apartment. Tomorrow they were supposed to have a Christmas Eve supper with his family and she would meet her new aunt. And then what? Was she going to live with her grandparents? Is that what her father wanted?

  While she’d been at their house, with Nesta so nice and grandmotherly to her, she’d wanted to live there. But now . . .

  She reached out to stroke Miss Eva’s hand, the one all taped up with the needle in her arm. She wished she and Miss Eva could get back on the train together and just . . . just go somewhere else to live. Somewhere with no fathers or mothers to make her feel so lonely, so unlovable.

  “Why doesn’t he want me?” she whispered to the sleeping woman. “Why?”

  As if trying to answer, Miss Eva’s eyes fluttered and she mumbled something Anna couldn’t understand. Then, “Papa? Wo bist du?”

  “Papa?” Anna angled forward, resting her chin on the bed rail. “You want your papa, don’t you?”

  The old woman let out a long, rattling sigh, then slowly opened her eyes. “Ah, Liebchen.” She smiled at Anna, her blue eyes surprisingly clear and direct. “Why are you so sad? What is this place?” she added, looking around the room in confusion.

  “You’re in a hospital. But it’s okay. They’re taking good care of you. But tell me, were you dreaming about your father just now? Your papa?”

  Eva’s eyelids eased down, then struggled open again. “He came to visit me. Is sehr gut to see him. Und Mutti.”

  “Sehr gut? That means good?”

  Miss Eva smiled then turned her hand so that her fingers entwined with Anna’s. “It means very good. I go to him soon.”

  Anna swallowed hard. Did that mean she was going to die? “Don’t go,” she whispered as a knot of tears rose to choke her. She grasped Miss Eva’s fragile hand with both of hers. “Please don’t leave me. Please, please, Miss Eva. Don’t leave me.”

  “Is all right. Is all right, Liebchen.”

  “What about . . .” Blinking back her tears Anna searched for a convincing argument. “What about Karl?”

  “Karl?” Eva’s face softened in a faraway smile as her gaze drifted up toward the ceiling. “Mein wunderbarer Brüder.”

  “He’ll be right back,” Anna said, then immediately felt guilty. But so what if Miss Eva thought Anna’s father was Karl? If it kept her happy and alive, then it couldn’t be such a bad lie, could it?

  “And your son,” she added for good measure. “Paulie is on his way to see you.”

  “Paulie?” Miss Eva’s fingers began to fidget beneath Anna’s.

  She was confused, Anna realized. When she was in the past way back before the war she was happy, and even in the present she was pretty happy and only a little confused. But when the past and the present came together she got all mixed up . . . and sad. Now her eyes had lost their sheen and the skin of her face seemed to go slack. She didn’t look like herself, and that frightened Anna. It was like Miss Eva’s face was getting smoother and flatter. And rosier, like she was going backward, turning into a pink-cheeked little child. Still, Anna knew somehow that this wasn’t good.

  “Paulie?” Miss Eva murmured, and gave a faint smile before her fingers went limp. “Karl?” Then one of the machines began to beep, a scary, raucous sound.

  Within moments a nurse appeared. “Out you go, honey, while I take care of your grandmother.”

  She’s not my grandmother . . . the words came to Anna. But as she backed out of the room, oh, how she wished Miss Eva was. “Don’t let her die,” she pleaded in a dry, broken whisper.

  “Anna? What’s happening?”

  At the sound of his voice, Anna whirled around and buried herself in her father’s arms.

  “If you will just step outside,” the regular nurse ordered as she, too, hurried in. Then she closed the door on them.

  Tom was momentarily paralyzed by his normally self-contained daughter’s meltdown. “It’s okay, Anna. It’s okay,” he repeated, holding her tight. When she only cried harder, he hefted her up in his arms and headed down the hall. He didn’t know what to do, but when she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head against his shoulder, he started walking, holding her tight as her slender little body shook with her sobs.

  He didn’t know what was happening with Miss Eva, whether she was dying or what. But he knew Anna needed him. She needed her father to be strong and steady, and all the things his own parents had always been for him. Tears stung his eyes as a deep wave of gratitude welled up in
him.

  Thank God he was getting a second chance with Anna. Thank you, God.

  Joelle arrived just as the medical team exited Miss Eva’s room. She was still furious with him, and disappointed. She’d made that clear when he’d called her, and she didn’t smile now when she spied him.

  But she was here. And with her first glance at the still-hiccupping child in his arms, Tom watched what anger she held on to dissolve into the antiseptic atmosphere of the hospital hall. Without saying a word, except with her beautifully expressive eyes, she came up to them and enfolded them both in her arms.

  “I’m Joelle,” she murmured against the back of Anna’s head, all the while locking her gaze with his. “When I was a girl and really sad, my parents would hug me between them, just like this. And then they would give me what we called sandwich kisses.” She took a shaky breath. “I always felt safe with them surrounding me like that with all their love focused on me. Just me.”

  Between them Anna had gone very still. She clutched Tom’s neck as tightly as before. But she was listening to Joelle. Tom felt the unfamiliar rise of tears in his own eyes. Was Joelle forgiving him? Was Anna?

  As if by one accord, he and Joelle each pressed a kiss into Anna’s hair.

  “I’m never going to leave you, sweetheart. Never,” he swore, meaning those words more than any he’d ever before said. And though he intended those words for Anna, his eyes held with Joelle’s.

  “Me neither,” Joelle whispered, tears in her eyes, too.

  When they finally pulled apart and Tom set Anna on her feet, they were all a little misty and awkward. For Tom . . . he felt like a twelve-year-old kid after going to confession, cleansed, like he’d been given one more chance to do the right thing. And this time he would not blow it.

  Then, from down the hall, Miss Eva’s nurse called out to him. “Excuse me, but she’s calling for you. Well, for her brother, Karl.”

  Tom glanced at Anna and Joelle.

  “Go,” Joelle said. “Anna and I can hang out here for a couple of minutes. Is that okay with you, Anna?”