by Janet Dawson
“Don’t seem to affect me,” he said, looking down at his cup, half-filled with dark brew.
“Something else keeping you up, then?” Jill asked.
He hesitated again, with that look on his face, the same one she’d seen earlier in the dining car, as though he was afraid to reveal too much of himself. He seemed to be troubled by something, and she was curious.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t pry.”
But she’d learned in the past two years that sometimes people needed to talk. Passengers often felt safe talking with someone they might not see again, such as the Zephyrette.
He put the book aside. “You ain’t prying. You seem like a nice lady, Miss McLeod. I bet you hear a lot of stories.”
“I do, Mr. Webb. Do you feel like telling me your story?”
He took a deep breath. “There is something keeping me up. It’s about my daughter.”
“I imagine you’re looking forward to spending Christmas with her and the family.”
“I’m nervous about it, and it shows. I don’t rightly know what to expect.” He reached for his wallet and opened it, taking out a color snapshot. It showed a young woman with a cloud of curly dark hair. She was in her twenties, and so was the young man seated next to her. The woman had a little girl, a baby about a year old, on her lap. The man held a small boy, a toddler.
“That’s my daughter. Her name’s Carol.”
“She’s very pretty,” Jill said. “And she looks like you.”
“Yes, real pretty. She does favor me a bit, in the eyes and the set of her mouth. That dark hair she gets from her mama.”
“Why are you nervous about seeing her?”
Mr. Webb put the snapshot on the table. “I left Carol and her mama, when the war started. Never went back. I ain’t seen Carol since January of ’forty-two. Almost eleven years. She was thirteen when I left. So she’s twenty-four now.”
“Did you leave because of the war?” Jill asked.
He sipped his coffee. “That was part of it. But not the whole story. I was working on a ranch in Paonia, Colorado. Wasn’t getting along with my wife, for a lot of reasons, including my drinking. After Pearl Harbor I enlisted in the army. A month later I was in basic training. Saw fighting in North Africa, Italy, and Germany. I made sure the army sent most of my pay to my wife. But it ain’t the same as being there.”
“No, it isn’t,” Jill said. “But during wartime, people do what they have to do. My father’s a doctor. He was in the Navy, out in the Pacific. He was away for three years.”
“But he came home, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did.”
“I didn’t. I stayed away. I knew when I left I wasn’t coming back.” He sighed. “Carol, she wrote me letters while I was in the army. But I didn’t answer them. I didn’t know what to say to her. Eventually the letters stopped coming. Once I got out I didn’t go back to Colorado. I drifted, just goin’ from job to job.”
“That’s how you wound up in California?”
“Yes, ma’am. Worked a spell in New Mexico, then headed west. Arizona, then California.” He sipped his coffee. “I was a drinker before the war, like I said. That was a bone of contention with me and my wife. I sure did some drinking while I was in the army, drinking too much, and I kept at it after the war. That’s one reason I kept moving. I got fired a time or two, because of the booze.”
“Then at some point you reconnected with your daughter?” Jill asked.
He nodded. “It was the Red Cross, you see. I’m a veteran, so from time to time I’ll go see a doctor at one of them veteran’s hospitals or clinics, if there was one near where I was workin’. So that left a trail about where I’d been. Four years ago the Red Cross tracked me down, gave me a letter from my daughter. My wife had died, and Carol was in Denver, livin’ with my wife’s sister. Said she was engaged to be married, to this fella in the picture.” He tapped the young man’s image. “So I wrote to her, finally. Told her I was glad she was gettin’ married and I hoped she’d be happy. Happier than me and her mama. I didn’t put that last bit in the letter, though. Carol wrote back and invited me to her wedding.”
Jill smiled. “Did you go? But no, you said you hadn’t seen her in eleven years.”
Mr. Webb shook his head. “I didn’t go. Because…I was working on a ranch up in Tehama County. One night after I got that wedding invitation, I got drunk in a bar in Red Bluff. I clobbered some guy with a pool cue. Hurt him bad. Lucky I didn’t kill him. They sent me to prison in Folsom. I wrote to Carol, told her why I couldn’t come to her wedding. Told her she’d be better off without an old drunk like me.”
Now tears glistened in his eyes. “She wrote me, every week while I was in prison. Those letters kept me going, the whole time I was locked up. She sent me pictures of the wedding and of the babies when they came. I got sober in prison. They had an Alcoholics Anonymous group. When I got out of prison six months ago, someone from the group helped me find a job on a ranch at Beckwourth, over by Portola. I kept up with the AA and stayed sober. Carol invited me to come spend Christmas with her and her husband, to see my grandkids. She even sent me the money for this train ticket. I don’t know what it’s going to be like, seeing her again, after everything that’s happened.”
“She really wants to see you, Mr. Webb. I think it will be fine.”
“You know anything about AA, Alcoholics Anonymous?” he asked.
“A little bit.” More than a little bit, she thought. Her cousin down in Van Nuys had struggled with alcohol and finally got sober through AA.
“There’s a part in there about making amends. I’ve tried to make amends with Carol in my letters to her, but I need to do it in person.”
“I understand. I hope it works out for you.”
Suddenly Jill felt tired. “Excuse me. I think it’s time for bed.” She stood and left the coffee shop section. The lounge was open, serving beverages until midnight, and there were several passengers there having nightcaps, including the Coles and Mrs. Tidsdale. As Jill paused in the doorway, Mrs. Tidsdale picked up her glass and knocked back the rest of her Scotch. The Coles, at a nearby table, stared at Mrs. Tidsdale as she stood, unsteady on her feet, slowly making her way to the passage.
“Good evening, Mrs. Tidsdale,” Jill said.
“Good night, you mean.” Mrs. Tidsdale giggled. “Had a lot of drinkies. Now I’m going to bed. Emily’s already in bed. Got her tucked in the upper berth.”
“Do you want me to go with you to your car?”
Mrs. Tidsdale drew herself up to her full height. “Don’t worry about me, honey. I can find my way.”
She stepped out of the lounge and pivoted on her high heels, pointing herself in the direction of the chair cars instead of the sleepers. She walked forward and started to sing.
“‘Show me the way to go home, I’m tired and I wanna go to bed. I had a little drink about an hour ago, and it went right to my head.’” Mrs. Tidsdale hiccupped and giggled. The train swayed as it moved into a curve, and the woman swayed with it. “…had a li’l drink ’bout an hour ago, and it went right to my head. Certainly did.” She laughed. The passengers in the lounge laughed as well, and whispered among themselves. Tidsy launched into the song again. “‘Wherever I may roam, on land or sea or foam, you’ll always hear me singing this song, show me the way to go home.’”
Mrs. Tidsdale stumbled on the two steps leading up to the coffee shop, then she righted herself. Alvah Webb got up from the table where he’d been sitting, and came down the steps. He towered over her.
“Oopsie,” Mrs. Tidsdale said. “Head-on collision. Better put that train on a siding, cowboy.”
Jill looked at Mr. Webb over Mrs. Tidsdale’s shoulder. “She’s going the wrong way. The sleeper cars are to the rear. She’s been drinking, and I think she’s had too much.”
“Has she, now?” Mr. Webb’s face held a curious look, as he examined Mrs. Tidsdale. Then he held out his arm. “You need to back up to the station, ma
’am. You’re headed in the wrong direction.”
“Oopsie. That’s gonna put us off schedule.” Mrs. Tidsdale took his arm and steadied herself as she did an about-face. “Right direction now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mr. Webb said. “You want me to go with you?”
“I’m perfectly all right,” Mrs. Tidsdale said. “I can find my way.”
Mr. Webb inclined his head. “Then I’ll say good night, ma’am. Miss McLeod.” He released Mrs. Tidsdale’s arm and walked away, heading forward to the chair cars.
Mrs. Tidsdale launched into her song again as she walked past the lounge. She managed the steps to the upper level and walked slowly past the crew’s dormitory. Jill followed her, watching as the woman navigated her way through the sleeper cars, putting out both hands to steady herself as she headed down the corridor.
In the Silver Palisade, Frank Nathan appeared, his voice soft. “You need some help, Mrs. Tidsdale?”
She waved her finger in front of her mouth. “Shh, you’ll wake everybody up. I’m perfectly fine.” She opened the door of bedroom A and waggled her fingers. “Nighty-night.”
Once Mrs. Tidsdale was safely inside, Jill turned to the porter. “I’m going to bed. I hope you have a quiet night, Mr. Nathan.”
“Same to you, Miss McLeod.”
Chapter Eleven
Jill returned to the Silver Hostel, entered her compartment, and locked the door. Yawning, she glanced at her watch. By now it was past ten. She leaned over, peering out the small window above her berth. Outside all was in darkness, punctuated by the occasional lights, from cars on country roads or ranches, distant outposts spread out on Nevada’s Great Basin. Jill closed the curtains. The compartment was barely big enough to turn around in, but by now she was used to it. She kicked off her shoes and removed her nylons, rolling them up and tucking them into her shoes. Then she took off her clothes and put her uniform on a hanger. She put on soft, comfortable red-and-green-flannel pajamas. She hoped there wouldn’t be any middle-of-the-night calls for her services. If there were, she’d have to get dressed again before going out to deal with whatever situation had arisen. Zephyrettes didn’t respond to emergencies in their PJs.
Jill pulled the sink down from the wall, then washed her face and brushed her teeth. After pushing the sink back up to the wall, she lowered the back of the bench seat, transforming it into her bed. She switched on the light above her berth and turned off the overhead light. It felt good to get off her feet and tuck herself into the berth under the warm blankets. Now she propped herself up with her pillow and set her watch forward one hour. She’d set her notebook, pencil, and her book on the toilet lid. Now she reached for the notebook and pencil and went over the notes she’d made for her trip report. All in all, this first day out had been routine. She hoped tomorrow would be as well.
With another yawn, Jill set aside her notebook, reaching for the Agatha Christie novel her sister and brother had given her that morning. It was called Murder with Mirrors. She opened the hardbound book and turned to chapter one, ready to escape into another case featuring the redoubtable Miss Jane Marple of St. Mary Mead. But it had been a long day, and she was tired. Sleep tugged at her eyelids as she came to the end of the first chapter. She tucked a bookmark between the pages, turned off the reading light, and snuggled down under the covers. She fell asleep almost immediately, lulled by the familiar soothing clickety-clack of wheels on the rails.
Jill woke up again as the train pulled into the station at Elko. She glanced at her watch. Eleven-twenty, right on schedule. There was another engine crew change here. She heard voices outside the train, propped herself up and looked out the window. Snow blanketed the platform. A moment later the train moved, pulling out of the station. Clickety-clack again on the rails as the Zephyr picked up speed, heading northeast to Wells, then southeast to Wendover on the Nevada-Utah border. After that it would be a fairly straight eastbound run across the flat terrain of the Great Salt Desert, skirting the southern shore of the Great Salt Lake. She fell asleep again, her slumber undisturbed until the train pulled into the station at Salt Lake City at five-twenty.
Salt Lake City was a longer stop, with passengers getting off the train and others boarding. This was the changeover stop as well, where the train’s Western Pacific crew put the California Zephyr into the hands of the Denver and Rio Grande Western crew. The orange WP locomotives were switched out for the yellow of the D&RGW, which advertised itself as “The Main Line Through the Rockies.” Five powerful diesel engines would pull the train over the high reaches of the Rocky Mountains.
It was too early to get up, though. Jill turned over and dozed again. Next time she woke up, the train was pulling into Provo, southeast of Salt Lake City. It was still dark outside. She looked at her watch. Six-thirty, the morning of December 23rd. She stretched her arms over her head and yawned. Her stomach rumbled and she needed coffee. She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of her berth. Though there was a shower in the dormitory section, that was used only by the male crew members. There would be no hot shower for Jill until she got to the Chicago hotel where she would spend her layover before returning to California on the westbound Zephyr. She made do with a washcloth and water in the sink. Once she was dressed, she put on her makeup with quick, practiced gestures and left her compartment.
It was still dark outside on this winter morning. The kitchen and dining car staff had been up far earlier than Jill, preparing to cook and serve breakfast to passengers. But at a quarter to seven, the tables in the diner weren’t crowded. There were just a few passengers, early risers like Jill, outnumbered by the waiters. She saw Mr. Webb at a table with a man and a woman she recognized, passengers in the same car. He smiled at her as the waiter delivered plates of ham and eggs.
The dining car steward directed her to a vacant table. A waiter brought Jill a pot of coffee as soon as she sat down, pouring a cup for her. “How are you this morning, Miss McLeod?”
“Fine, thanks. I’ll be a lot better once I get some coffee in me.” She took a restorative sip of the dark brew and pulled a menu from the stand. She didn’t really need to look, though. She always had the same thing for breakfast when she was on the road. She marked her meal check—orange juice, French toast with syrup, bacon—and handed the check to the waiter when he came back to her table.
The Denver and Rio Grande Western conductor who’d boarded the train in Salt Lake City entered the diner. He was a thin man with salt-and-pepper hair, a pair of round wire-rimmed glasses perched on his long nose. The conductor’s uniform was similar to those worn by the WP conductors, but his badge showed the railroad’s insignia—a snowcapped mountain peak, and the words MAIN LINE THRU THE ROCKIES surrounding RIO GRANDE.
The conductor scanned the car and walked to her table. “Homer Wilson. You must be Miss McLeod. May I join you?”
“Certainly,” Jill said with a smile.
He pulled out a chair and sat down, then reached for a meal check. “Don’t even need to look at the menu. I always have the same thing. Corned beef hash and eggs, over easy.” The waiter brought another pot of coffee and took Mr. Wilson’s check.
“We’re both creatures of habit,” Jill said. “I always get the French toast.”
Mr. Wilson took a sip of his coffee. “How’s the run so far?”
“Uneventful. Though we have a missing item.” She told him about the gold pen. “I hope we find it. There are quite a few children on board. I’m having a Christmas party in the diner this afternoon. What do the train orders say about the weather?”
“Wet weather, and be on the lookout for loose and falling rocks in the canyons,” Mr. Wilson said. “We’ve had snow all over southeast Utah these past few days. Western Colorado, too. The forecast is several inches of snow in the Rockies. We’ll do our best to make sure we don’t have any delays. Since it’s so close to Christmas, people will want to arrive in Denver on schedule. Barring any unforeseen complications, we should get into Union Station on
time, at seven o’clock this evening.”
“We have lots of passengers getting off in Denver,” Jill said.
“Probably not as many getting on there. I expect the passenger count will be lighter from Denver to Chicago.”
The waiter brought their breakfasts. Jill poured maple syrup on her French toast and picked up her fork. It was after seven now. The dining car gradually filled, as passengers in the chair cars and sleepers awakened, needing coffee and food for this second day of the journey. Dr. Kovacs appeared, escorting Mrs. Tatum and the woman in the bedroom next to her, Mrs. Loomis. They were soon seated at a nearby table.
She and the conductor chatted as they ate. Mr. Wilson lived in Grand Junction, he told her, with his wife and three children, and he’d been with the Denver and Rio Grande Western for nearly twenty years, with a break during the war when he was in the army.
Jill saw a faint red glow to the east, growing brighter as the sun came up. Sunlight soon sparked crystals in the snow that blanketed the landscape on either side of the train. Jill finished her breakfast and looked at her watch. They were nearing a place called Soldier Summit, and it was time for her to make her first announcement of the day. She finished her coffee and excused herself. As she stood up, the Finches and Mrs. and Mrs. Constanza arrived from the sleeper section. A few steps behind them were Mrs. Tidsdale and Emily. Jill stopped to talk as the dining car steward seated the Finches, then came back to assist the Constanzas.
Mrs. Tidsdale looked as though she wasn’t quite awake. Not surprising, since she’d still been drinking in the lounge last night till Jill went to bed.
“God, I need coffee, and plenty of it,” she said, in response to Jill’s greeting.
“We have really good French toast,” Jill told Emily. “You should try it.”
Mrs. Tidsdale blanched. “Can I get a Bloody Mary instead?”
“You’ll have to go to the lounge for that.”
“Don’t worry, I will. As soon as we get some breakfast. Come to think of it, I could make the acquaintance of some ham and eggs.” Mrs. Tidsdale looked down at Emily. “Does that sound good, sweetie?”