The Christmas Train (27 page)

She gripped his hand with hers. “If we don’t make it back, I want you to know something.”

His expression grew serious. “What?”

“I never stopped loving you. Not after all these years.”

He put his arm around her. “We’ll make it back.”

As Eleanor shivered, Tom wrapped his arms around her, trying to transfer his body heat.

“Who would have thought we’d find each other after all this time and end up on a mountain in the middle of a blizzard?” she said.

“Hey, if it was easy, anybody could do it.” He tried to laugh, but his mouth couldn’t quite make the effort.

He remembered what day it was.

“Eleanor?”

She looked up at him. “What happened to Ellie?”

“Eleanor,” he said, “Merry Christmas.”

She managed to smile. “Merry Christmas.”

He dug something out of a zippered pocket in his tunic. “I know this is the lousiest timing in the world, but like I said before, I am the king of bad timing.” He rose, then went down on one knee and carefully put the ring on her finger.

She looked at him, her lips parted, her eyes wide in amazement at what was happening.

“I realize it’s been a long time in coming—way too long, in fact. But you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved and I’ll do all I can to make you happy. Will you take me with all my faults, weaknesses, idiosyncrasies, pigheadedness, and outright stupidity?” He paused, drew a long, even breath, and said, “Will you marry me, Eleanor?”

She began to cry, right after she said yes.

As soon as they had finished sharing an official engagement kiss, the tent blew away and a load of snow fell directly on them, nearly burying them alive. Tom fought through the layers of snow and pulled Eleanor out.

“We have to find shelter,” he shouted over the wind.

Now that they were officially engaged, Tom was going to do everything he could to make sure the ceremony actually took place.

They struggled on, Eleanor growing weaker by the minute, so weak in fact that she could no longer walk unaided. Tom half-carried her along for another quarter-mile or so until his strength finally gave out too. He laid her down, took off his outer jacket, and covered her with it. Then he surveyed his dismal surroundings. They were in a flat plain, as far as he could tell, with the silhouettes of high peaks all around. That was all he could judge, since the snowfall made it impossible to see anything more. He said one final prayer, and then lay down on top of Eleanor, using his big body to block the snow. He sought out her gloved hand and held it tightly. The memory of his waiting in vain for his mother to pick up the photograph in the hospital came back to him, and he marshaled all his mental acuity and sense of touch to detect the slightest weakening of Eleanor’s grip on his fingers. He didn’t know what he would do if she started to fail. Maybe he’d simply say goodbye. Something he hadn’t done all those years ago.

They seemed to be lying there for hours, the wind howling, the snow hitting his back, each smack like a tiny dagger into him. In Tom’s mind he could see the little boy reaching out to him. It was Tom as a small child, reaching out to his adult self, pulling him back to the relative safety of childhood. One’s mind played tricks at times like this. He’d been in desperate situations before, but none, he had to concede, quite so perilous. This was, he concluded, after numerous near misses in his checkered career, probably his time to go. He looked at Eleanor and kissed her lips. She didn’t respond, and the tears finally started to trickle down Tom’s frozen cheeks.

The little boy’s image grew more and more vivid. Tom could now actually feel the fingers on his cheek, rubbing his hair. The little boy was speaking to him, asking if he was okay. The vision was more real, more potent than any dream he’d ever had. He kept his grip on Eleanor’s hand, even as he reached out to the young Tom, talked back to him.

The child poked him again, and Tom’s eyes fluttered open, closed, and then opened again, and the glare of sunlight was painful, so long had it been since he’d actually experienced it.

“Are you okay, mister?” asked the little boy who was squatting next to him.

Tom managed to sit up, look around. The storm was gone, the sky a vast, azure blue, the sun warming, the air a chilly, pure freshness that only mountain heights could inspire. He stared at the boy, unsure if this was what Heaven looked like or not, and finally managed to ask, “What are you doing all the way out here?”

“I live here,” replied the little boy.

“Here, where is here?”

The little boy pointed behind Tom. “The Dingo.”

Tom looked over his shoulder. The mighty Dingo resort, in all its splendid beauty and enormous redwood buildings, stared back at him. Eleanor and he had almost perished five feet from warm fires, hot chocolate, and hot tubs.

Tom stood on shaky legs, gently woke Eleanor.

“Are we dead?” she asked, her eyes still closed.

“No,” said Tom, “but just so you know, you’re engaged to an idiot.”

He carried her toward the main lodge as a number of adults finally spotted them and came running to help.

Both ends of the tunnel were filled with sunlight but not with any smells of cooking food, since there was none left. Still, at least the storm had passed, and Higgins, Roxanne, the conductor, Max, Misty, Lelia, Kristobal, Father Kelly, and Agnes Joe sat on the ground and discussed what to do next.

“I think,” said Father Kelly with great sadness, “that a memorial service might be in order. For Tom and Eleanor, I mean.”

Max said testily, “It’s a little early for that, Padre.”

“If they’d made it to the Dingo, we would have heard by now—the weather has cleared,” said the conductor. “Nobody could have survived all that time out there. I never should have let them go. It’s my fault.”

Roxanne said, “They were just trying to help, two of the bravest people I ever met.” She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped at her eyes.

Barry, the sleeping-car attendant, burst into their circle and shouted, “Quick, you’ve got to see this! I was out checking the other end of the tunnel,” he sputtered. “You just have to come and see this.”

They followed him through the tunnel until they reached the other end.

“Look!” he said.

They stared at the horses and riders coming their way in a long, impressive procession. There was even a number of large sleighs pulled by teams of horses and loaded down with what looked to be supplies of all kinds. It was as though they’d all been transported back in time and this was a wagon train of pioneers on their way to new lives in the unblemished west.

One of the riders in front lifted his hat to them and called out.

“That’s Tom,” said Roxanne.

The rider next to him waved.

“And that’s Eleanor,” said Max.

He raced forward to meet them, slipping and sliding in the snow but not slowing down.

Misty said to herself: “Six legs.”

“What?” said Kristobal.

“We were saved by six legs. Four from the horse and two from the rider. Six legs.” She whooped and ran after Max, her long scarf dazzling in the beautiful and welcome sunlight.

The timely arrival of food and other items from the good folks at the Dingo lifted everyone’s spirits. As the passengers ate and drank, people crowded around Tom and Eleanor and heard their amazing story of survival.

“The guys from the resort knew of this route to the train tracks that the horses and wagons could navigate. A lot easier than the path we took there, but you couldn’t even see it with the storm going on.” Tom shook his head. “Five feet from the front door and didn’t even know it. It’s the luckiest I’ve ever been.”

“It wasn’t luck, Tom,” said Father Kelly. “It was a miracle. I ordered up one special for you.”

The conductor’s walkie-talkie barked and he held it up and pressed the button. “Go ahead,” he said.

“Amtrak Central to Southwest Chief, come in.”

The conductor nearly screamed. “This is the Southwest Chief, Central.”

“Where is everybody?” asked the voice.

“We evacuated the train. We’re in the tunnel. What’s the status of the rescue crew?”

“Just look out the tunnel, Homer,” said the voice.

They all raced to the end of the tunnel, where there came a deafening roar as twin helicopters appeared over the ridge and hovered by the train.

“We’ve got a replacement train on the western side of the landslide with three fully fueled engines,” said the voice.

“But how do we get to you?” said Homer, the conductor. “There’s a mountain of snow between us. And there’s snow piled high against the right side of the train.”

“Not for long. We’ve been working on this for a while now. Just stand by.”

“Roger that,” said Homer.

Ten minutes went by, and then they heard a series of loud pops, and watched as the twenty-foot-high wall of snow in front of the Chief collapsed and slid harmlessly down the mountain. The small explosive charges that had been very carefully laid out at key load-bearing points had worked their magic. Revealed behind the now missing wall was the replacement train, its powerful engines running; the sound was particularly sweet and glorious to all on the long-silent Chief. Next, they were ordered back in the tunnel while the choppers, nose down, hovered along the right side of the train and blew the very dry snow away, allowing the Chief to resettle firmly on the tracks.

Hundreds of volunteers swarmed off the replacement train and began clearing the rest of the track. Then another team came behind them and repaired the damage done by the slide, while the other volunteers cleared the snow from the sides and off the top of the Chief. During all this activity the passengers slowly reboarded the train.

It took most of the day to accomplish all of this, and the passengers on the Chief took the time to pose for pictures, call their friends and families, and convey suitably embellished accounts of their adventures, tales that grew taller and wilder with every retelling. Reporters reached some of the passengers on their cell phones, and soon stories were ringing the world about the dramatic rescue and Tom and Eleanor’s heroics, with more sure to follow as soon as the train pulled into LA. The children played in the snow and made angels, causing Roxanne to remark that the Chief surely had been watched over by more than its share of those fine beings.

Early the next morning the track was ready, the fresh engines attached, and for the first time in a long time the wheels of the Southwest Chief began to turn. Special arrangements had been made permitting the Chief to make only a few of its scheduled stops, including a long layover in Albuquerque. As the train made its way down the mountain on its way through New Mexico and then into Arizona and finally California, the people on board did something they hadn’t in a while: They rested peacefully. chapter thirty-two

As the train rolled through areas of New Mexico where the snow hadn’t fallen, the earth turned reddish brown and everywhere were tall, craggy rocks that looked more orange than any other color. Sagebrush dotted this beautiful if haunting landscape, and the passengers stared out the windows, hoping to catch sight of an occasional homestead.

They stopped in Albuquerque for about three hours to refuel and take on more supplies and to let passengers stranded for so long take a walk and enjoy the sunshine after the weary battle they had endured at Raton Pass.

Tom and Eleanor told the others of their engagement and all were pleased by it, Max especially. Lelia even gave Tom a hug and wished him the best. From the way she was clinging to Kristobal and the young man’s smitten expression, Tom figured it would only be a matter of time before their own nuptials were formally announced. Tom and Eleanor told their friends they might copy Steve and Julie and take their vows on the train. But only during the summer, said Eleanor. Avalanches weren’t going to interrupt her wedding.

There was a marketplace near the train station, where Native American women were selling jewelry and other wares, and there was an old bus that had been set up as a retail outlet as well. Tom and Eleanor strolled in the sunshine and talked about their future together.

“By the way, you never told me who you were seeing in Washington before you left on the train,” Tom said. “Do you have a Lelia in your life?”

“Not exactly. It was my grandmother.”

They stopped at a little café and had a drink and something to eat. Agnes Joe joined them, extended her congratulations on their engagement, and sipped a cool lemonade with them in the sunshine as she surveyed the surroundings.

“I sometimes think about retiring here and selling jewelry to the train passengers when they stop,” she said.

Tom glanced sharply at her. “Retiring here? I thought you were retired.”

“Soon enough,” she answered cryptically.

“What is it that you do?” he inquired.

“Oh, a little bit of this, and a little bit of that.”

“It’s a funny thief that returns stolen items as gifts on Christmas Eve,” he said.

“Craziest thing I’ve ever heard of,” agreed Agnes Joe.

“Pretty generous of the crook,” commented Eleanor.