"Once a priest always a priest."

"I'm Father Paul Kelly, late of Saint Thomas Aquinas."

"Tom Langdon. You spending Christmas in Chicago?"

"No, I'm going on to Los Angeles. My sister and her offspring live there. I'm spending the holidays with them."

"Me too. Taking the Southwest Chief, I guess."

"The very one. From what I hear of the countryside we'll be seeing, that's truly G.o.d's work."

"Maybe I'll catch you in the lounge car after dinner. We can whittle down some cigars I brought." Tom had noticed the stem of a pipe sticking out of the priest's coat pocket.

Father Kelly graced Tom with an impish smile, and he placed a gentle hand on Tom's sleeve. "Bless you, my son, trains indeed are the civilized way to travel, are they not? And perhaps we'll see those film people around too," he added.

"What film people?"

Father Kelly drew closer and checked the corridor, apparently for eavesdroppers. Tom instantly imagined himself to be an undercover spy for the Baptists or Methodists, on a.s.signment in Rome, discovering closely guarded ecclesiastical secrets from a gossipy priest and later writing about it with profitable hilarity while scorching memorandums flew furiously around the Vatican.

"They came in a grand car, pulled up almost to the train. I discreetly inquired as to who they might be, being a curious person by nature - and of course people feel at ease confessing all sorts of things to a priest. Trust me, Tom, if people can imagine it, they'll confess it, whether they've actually done it or not, and thank the Lord, they usually haven't. There are two individuals, so I heard. From what I could gather, one is a famous film director or producer or some such, though I didn't get his name. The other is a star or maybe a writer. They're taking the train across the country in preparation for a film they're doing about such a trip."

Film people, thought Tom, a star. Maybe that was why something about one of them looked familiar. "That's pretty coincidental," he said.

"Why is that?" Father Kelly asked.

Tom explained to him that he was writing a story about the train trip, and the elderly priest seemed pleased to hear it. "Well, you picked the right subject to write about. I've taken many a train in my time, and they're always full of surprises."

"I'm beginning to see that," said Tom.

chapter six.

After he left Father Kelly, Tom pa.s.sed through the next section of sleeping accommodations. These were the standard compartments, without bath or shower facilities. Communal baths were on both levels, and, as Regina had informed him, there were also larger showers on the lower level, which he'd probably be using since he wasn't going to risk getting stuck in the one in his compartment. In the deluxe car section, because of their larger size, the compartments were situated on one side and the aisle on the other. In the standard section, the smaller compartments ran down both sides of the car, with the aisle in the middle. Tom noticed that across this corridor were stretched a pair of hands, holding one to the other.

As he drew closer, he saw that it was the young nervous couple. They had compartments right across from one another, with the guy on the right and the girl on the left.

"Okay, do I have to pay a toll to pa.s.s through?" he said jokingly.

They both looked at him and returned the smile.

"Sorry," the guy said, while the girl looked away shyly. They were about twenty and looked like brother and sister, with their blond hair and fair skin.

"So, on your way to Chicago for the holidays?"

"Actually," began the young man a little sheepishly.

"Steve," interrupted the woman, "we don't even know him."

"Well," Tom said, "it's different on a train. We're all on this long journey together. It opens people up. I'll go first. I'm a writer, doing a piece about a trip across the country. There's my story, so what's yours?"

The two looked at each other, and Steve said, "Well actually, we're getting married."

Tom knelt down and extended his hand to them both. "Congratulations. That's great. I'm Tom, by the way."

"Steve. My fiancee is Julie."

"So are you tying the knot in Chicago?"

"Uh, no, we're getting married on the train," Steve said.

"The train? This train?"

"No," said Julie. "On the Southwest Chief, on the way to LA. It leaves tomorrow afternoon." Her accent sounded Southern to Tom, while Steve's speech cadence suggested New England origins.

"That's great. I'm going to be on that train too."

Tom had actually planned to propose to Eleanor on a train heading back to Frankfurt after their visit to the great cathedral in Cologne, Germany. They were riding in third cla.s.s on the train even though they had purchased first-cla.s.s tickets but hadn't realized it, because their German wasn't very good. Back then the train route paralleled the Rhine, and Tom had been wondering when would be the best time to pop the question. His original plan had been to ask her in the cathedral, but there'd been lots of tourists with cameras and screaming kids around, and it just didn't seem right. He only planned to do this once in his life, and he wanted to get it absolutely perfect.

The smooth ride of the train, the busy day behind them, a couple of gla.s.ses of Pilsners and thick German bread and juicy sausages inside them, coupled with the moonlight reflecting off the legendary and romantic Rhine, all combined to make it seem like the ideal time.

Tom envisioned himself getting down on one knee in the aisle, pulling out his ring, pouring out his love for her, and proposing right there. He imagined her crying and then him too. The entire third-cla.s.s section of economy-minded Germans would stand up and give them an ovation, because obviously the marriage proposal ritual would transcend all language and culture barriers. When they arrived in Frankfurt perfect strangers would wish the newly engaged couple the best in both German and pretty good English, and some of them would even press crumpled Marks in their hands.

And yet none of that had happened because he hadn't proposed that night to Eleanor, or any other night. He just sat in his seat, the ring in his pocket feeling like a cannonball; he couldn't begin to lift the thing and place it on her finger.

He refocused on the couple. "So, is the wedding party and your family already on board, or are they meeting you in Chicago?"

Now Julie looked away, and Steve licked his lips. Tom had obviously touched a nerve here.

"Well, actually, our families don't, you know..."

"Don't know you're getting married?"

"Don't know and don't approve approve of us getting married," said Julie as she dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. of us getting married," said Julie as she dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Come on, Jule, Tom doesn't need to hear about this."

"Well, he asked," she shot back.

Steve looked at Tom and tried to affect a carefree att.i.tude. "So we're doing it on our own. Because we love each other."

But Julie said, "His family doesn't approve of me. They think because I'm from some little podunk Virginia town in the Appalachian Mountains that I'm some sort of white trash. Well, my father might have worked in the mines since he was sixteen, and my mother never finished high school either, and" - she looked at Steve - "your parents are high society in Connecticut, but my family is not trash. They're every bit as good as yours, and in lots of ways better," she added with fervent Southern spirit.

Tom noted that he'd been right about their origins: the Virginia gal and the Connecticut boy. "So, does your your family approve of the marriage?" he asked Julie, trying to defuse the tension a little. 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 somebody will come," said Steve. 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 G.o.d'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 a.s.sume 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 t.i.ttered, and not pa.s.s out until after after the wedding night official duties were completed and the gift money counted. 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 cafe, 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sing countryside. He made his way down the spiral staircase and found Tyrone, the lounge-car attendant.

The s.p.a.ce he worked in was small, but neatly organized with refrigerated cabinets against the walls loaded with cold sandwiches, ice cream, and a.s.sorted 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 was the hair." the hair."

"Thankyou, thankyouverymuch." Tyrone did a little b.u.mp 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."