by Neta Jackson
She smiled. She liked that.
Harry Bentley’s surprise visit made it hard to get her mind back on her dilemma with Roger. She decided to join Sam in the lounge car. But as she made her way into the domed car, she saw the girl from the station, Ramona, and the guy she was with sitting in one of the double seats facing the observation windows. Up close, she took in his casual J. Crew look—faded jeans, tight black tee, black sport coat. His face was pale, accentuating his blond hair, cut short on the sides and in back, with a spiky thatch on top. He had earphones plugged into his ears and was listening to an iPod, his arm on the back of the girl’s chair as she flipped through a magazine.
Grace stopped. “Hi, Ramona. Nice to see you again.” She waited for a response. “Grace, in the station … remember?”
Ramona looked up. “Oh. Yes! Hola.”
Grace tipped her head, looking past the girl to the guy, her eyebrows raised, silently asking to meet him too.
“Oh, uh …” Ramona glanced at her companion, but the young man turned away ever so slightly. The girl just shrugged at Grace.
Grace felt awkward. “Well … maybe I’ll see you around.” She moved on, still looking for Sam.
A voice behind her said, “Wait.” She turned to see Ramona half rise out of her seat, but in the next moment the boyfriend—or whatever he was—yanked on her arm and pulled her back down.
Grace stared. It was all she could do not to march back and get in the guy’s face. But then he put his arm around the girl again and pulled her close, nuzzling her neck. Ramona seemed to resist for a moment, then shrugged and leaned back against him.
“Grace?” Sam’s voice called her. Her assistant waved at her from a seat beyond the stairway that went down to the café on the lower level. Grace joined her and dropped into an adjoining seat. But anger boiled up inside her gut. She didn’t like what she’d just seen. What was a kid like Ramona doing traveling all the way to Chicago with a guy his age, anyway? He had to be at least ten years older. Young girls could so easily be manipulated by older guys—or even charming guys their own age.
She ought to know.
Chapter 40
Grace slid on the brocade wedding dress and turned slowly in the mirror. The curved sweetheart neckline delicately framed her breasts just above the empire waistline. Soft folds of ivory brocade fell to the floor and trailed behind her in a lovely train. A wreath of ivory rosebuds in her hair … a bouquet of ivory roses and green ivy in her hands …
“Grace, it’s time,” someone said. She floated down the long church aisle with its red carpet, the pews filled with smiling faces. A man in a black tux—her husband-to-be—stood at the front waiting. But his back was turned. Wait … why was he turned away from her? A feeling of panic stopped her mid-aisle. She was getting married, but she didn’t know to whom. She—
A slight jerk made Grace’s eyes fly open. Daylight peeked in at the sides of the thick curtains covering the wide window. The tour bus? … No. The train. Their bedroom compartment on the Southwest Chief.
She’d been dreaming.
Grace sat up, careful not to bump her head on the berth above her, and glanced at her cell phone—6:10. Still early, but no way did she want to fall back asleep. The dream disturbed her.
She listened. Given the steady breathing above her head, Sam was still asleep. Quietly gathering her toiletries, fresh undies, and the change of clothes she’d laid out last night, she slipped out of the compartment in her dark-green velour pants and top and made her way down the stairs in the middle of the car. On the landing she stood on tiptoe and peeked out the window. Where were they? Arizona somewhere, she guessed, by the rugged sandstone formations and desert vegetation sliding past. A small cluster of homes and trailers, a one-pump gas station, even a tepee—probably for tourists—huddled at the base of one of the formations. So isolated! As the train headed toward the sun, she saw several crumbling adobe houses standing a couple hundred feet from the tracks, just yards away from frame or cement-block houses that had replaced them.
She continued down to the lower level … good. No one else seemed to be about. But making her way past the luggage rack and vestibule, she’d just reached for the handle of the door marked “Shower” when she heard a voice say, “Hello? Who’s there?” To her surprise, the door to the handicapped accessible bedroom slid open and Harry Bentley stood in the doorway, dark glasses and all. What was he doing in their car? She thought he’d said he was in a sleeper two cars forward.
She almost said, “Good morning, Mr. Bentley!” but remembered what he’d said about not acknowledging him. “It’s Grace Meredith from Room E.”
“Uh, miss, would you mind getting me a cup of coffee? I’d ask the attendant but I don’t know where she is.”
Grace smiled. She could play along. “Of course. Give me a minute.”
Setting her shower things on the shelf of the luggage compartment, she scurried back up the stairs, following the smell of fresh coffee to the urn in the cubby at the top of the stairs. How did he like his coffee? She poured two cups, snapped on plastic lids, and stuck a few packets of sweetener and creamer in the pocket of her leisure top. Downstairs he was waiting at his door. As she handed him a coffee, he motioned her inside, slid the door shut, and smiled. “We can talk now.”
She grinned. “This is nice. Didn’t think we’d get a chance to visit anymore.” He waved aside her offer of sweetener and creamer and invited her to sit down. She sat down opposite him in one of the two seats facing each other beside the window, ducking under the upper berth that was still made up, though it didn’t look as if it’d been slept in. The seats beside the window probably slid together and lay flat to make into a lower berth, like the ones in the roomettes. Harry’s guide dog rested on the floor, muzzle on her front paws. “You caught me by surprise,” she said quietly, sipping her hot coffee. “I thought you were in a different car.”
He grinned sheepishly. “Asked if I could move. The whistle was just too loud in that first sleeper.” But he looked at her somewhat quizzically. “My son said he gave you a ride to the train. Did you ask for him?”
She shook her head. “I think he saw my name on that day’s list of pickups and asked for the assignment. Nice of him. Said he’d pick us up when we got back too.”
Harry Bentley frowned slightly. Maybe he and his son didn’t get along all that well. She decided to change the subject. “I’m so glad you and your wife moved into the neighborhood, Mr. Bentley. Your wife …” Grace hesitated. How much had Estelle told her husband about the personal things Grace had shared in their prayer times? “… has really helped me face some things spiritually.”
The man chuckled. “Yeah. That sounds like Estelle. She’s a rock, that woman.”
She’s a rock, that woman. Would Roger ever say something like that about her?
“Mr. Bentley,” she said suddenly, “how did you know Estelle was the one—you know, the person you were supposed to marry? The two of you seem to have a very special relationship.”
The dog got up, walked over to Harry, and then sat down, leaning against his leg. He absently stroked her head as he stared out the window, pondering. Then he looked back at Grace, a shy smile on his friendly face. “Because when I’m with Estelle, she makes me feel like a complete person. Like I can be who God wants me to be. She believes in me, even when I don’t believe in myself.”
She believes in me …
Grace blinked back sudden tears, drained her coffee, and stood up. “Well, I should probably get my shower. Thanks, Mr. Bentley.”
He got up in a hurry, slid the door open a crack—probably to see if the coast was clear—and then let her slip out.
But darn it! Someone else was in the shower.
Breakfast in the dining car that morning was fun. Grace and Sam were seated with two young Amish women on their way home from Mexico, where they’d been teaching school to a group of Mennonite children who’d lost their teacher a few months ago. A new teacher had been found, so t
hey were returning to their community in Indiana. Grace was fascinated—what a different world they lived in. But the two young women—Rachel and Elizabeth—seemed just as fascinated by Grace and Sam, asking lots of questions about what it was like to tour the country singing popular Christian songs.
As the dining steward cleared their dishes, Grace told Sam she’d like to go to the lounge car, see if she could find Ramona again and talk to her. “Okay,” Sam said. “Think I’ll go back to our compartment. The beds should be made up by now.” She grinned. “My book is getting to the good part.”
Sam had been spending hours with her nose in a well-worn paperback. Something by Toni Morrison. Grace hadn’t realized Sam was such a reader. Maybe she’d ask to read it when Sam was done.
Grace walked the length of the lounge car, but didn’t see the girl. Should she walk through the coaches? That might seem awfully obvious. On a whim, Grace decided to check the café below the lounge—and there she was, sitting at one of the booths chowing down on a hamburger. The lower area seemed unusually warm and the girl had taken off the suede jacket and laid it on the table along with her shoulder bag.
“Hi again!” Grace smiled, indicating the opposite padded bench of the booth. “May I sit—or are you expecting your friend?”
Ramona stopped mid-chew and stared at Grace, then her dark eyes flickered anxiously toward the stairs and back again. But she shook her head. Grace decided that meant she wasn’t expecting him and slid into the booth with a smile. “That’s an unusual breakfast.” It was only nine thirty.
Ramona put down the hamburger and wiped catsup and mustard off her mouth with a napkin as she swallowed. “Max was still asleep,” she said defensively, “but I got hungry.” She eyed Grace. “Did you come down here to get something to eat too?”
“Oh.” Grace thought fast. “No, just wanted to get a cup of coffee.” She stood up. “Please, go ahead and eat. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She ordered a decaf coffee from the café counter—she’d already had enough caffeine for one morning—and came back to the booth. “So you’re on your way to Chicago. How long will you be staying?”
Again the girl’s eyes darted toward the stairs. “Uh, not sure. Max wants to see some friends. Stuff like that.”
At the station in Los Angeles, Ramona had been outgoing and friendly. Overly so. Now she seemed like a timid rabbit. But Grace had an idea why.
Grace took off the plastic lid from her disposable hot cup and peeled the top off a couple tiny creamers even though she usually drank her coffee black. She decided to press. “You said it’s your first visit to Chicago. How about Max? His too?”
The girl shook her head. “No. He’s … from there.” She took another bite of her hamburger—just as the train gave a lurch rounding a corner around a large sandstone formation. But before Grace could grab her coffee cup, it tipped, and hot liquid sloshed all over the suede jacket.
“Oh, no!” she cried, grabbing the empty cup, even as the plastic bottles of catsup and mustard also fell over and rolled across the table toward the window. With her free hand, Grace grabbed the mustard, but the cap was loose and mustard squirted every which way.
In horror, Grace stared at the jacket, a large coffee stain darkening the beautiful tan suede. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, splashes of yellow mustard had landed on the jacket too.
“My jacket!” screeched Ramona. She looked absolutely stricken. “Max will kill me! He bought that for me for the trip!”
“Oh, Ramona.” Grace picked up the jacket, but knew better than to start dabbing at the stains with a napkin. “I am so sorry. Look—I’ll have it cleaned and get it back to you.”
Ramona glared at her. “What do you mean?”
“This is my fault. I should pay to get it cleaned. If you give me the address of the place you’re staying, I’ll get it cleaned and bring it to you myself. I promise.”
But the girl shook her head. “No, no, you can’t … I don’t … I’m not sure where we’ll be staying. Don’t know the address.”
“Do you have a cell phone? I’ll call you.”
Again Ramona shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Oh, Ramona. Please don’t cry. I’m sure I can make this right. Here.” Grace dug in her purse for the small notebook she carried and a pen. “Here’s my cell phone number. As soon as you get to Chicago and find out where you’re staying, you call me and let me know. I’ll bring your jacket as soon as it’s cleaned.”
Grace stood up, jacket in hand, then reached out and touched the girl on the shoulder. “Again, I am so sorry. Please forgive me.”
Ramona grabbed her hand. “Just don’t … just don’t tell Max about this. I’ll think of something, I’ll say I put it away. He’d kill me if he knew I didn’t have it.”
Grace nodded. “All right. But don’t worry. I’m sure a dry cleaner can get these stains out if we do it as soon as possible. I’ll get it back to you good as new or … or I’ll buy you a new one.” She gave the girl a reassuring smile. “Just hang on to my number, okay?”
Sam gaped wide-eyed as Grace spilled the whole story. She held up the jacket. “You’re right. It’s one awful mess. I’ll go find something to wrap it in so that mustard doesn’t get over any of our clothes.” She slipped out the door to go look for the attendant.
Grace leaned back against the headrest of her seat with a sigh. Hopefully the jacket would come clean. But it bothered her that the girl had said, “Max will kill me!” two different times. Of course people often said that when they knew someone would be upset, but she’d seemed really afraid. Made her even more suspicious that the guy—
Grace’s cell phone rang. Fishing it out of her bag, she smiled at the caller ID. Bongo Booking Agency. “Hello, Jeff. Checking up on me again?”
“You bet.” Her agent’s voice sounded warm, almost excited. “I’ve been getting some great reports from the tour … but first of all, are you okay? Barry said he was afraid you’d really hurt your voice again by the end of the tour.”
“I think I’m going to be all right. But glad it’s over.”
“I hear your meet and greet times practically turned into counseling sessions … that’s just amazing, Grace.”
She chuckled at his choice of words. “It was pretty overwhelming at times, I have to admit. But to be honest, Jeff, I’ve never had a tour like this one, never felt the Spirit of God so present. There are a lot of hurting young people out there and … and somehow they just opened up.”
“Look, I want to hear all about it. I mean that. In fact, I’m actually calling because I have this really crazy idea. Are you sitting down?”
Grace listened as Jeff spilled his idea, her eyes widening. She swallowed. It was crazy. Absolutely crazy! “But … do you think it’s even possible?”
“Yes. I’ve checked with Amtrak. But you’ll have to get off at Albuquerque and talk to the ticket office there to get your tickets changed.”
Sam came in with a large, empty trash bag, saying, “Look what I found.” But Grace put up her hand for silence as she listened to Jeff’s instructions.
“Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll see what we can do and let you know.” She closed her phone and eyed Sam cautiously. “Um, you’re never going to believe this, but that was Jeff Newman. He’s, uh, proposing that we get off at Raton, New Mexico, later this afternoon and take an Amtrak Bus to Denver to spend a day at Bongo Booking. He … he thought it’d be a good chance to meet the staff there and give us a chance to debrief about the tour in person.”
“But—”
“Jeff says we could pick up the California Zephyr in Denver tomorrow night, which would get us home the next day. Only one day later. But we’d have to get our tickets changed in Albuquerque—there’s a short layover there. What do you think?”
Sam looked flustered. “Are you serious? I mean, I was really looking forward to getting home tomorrow. You should too, don’t you think? I’m tired, you’re tired. And you need to
take care of your voice, give it a good rest.”
Grace studied the young woman who’d been her assistant for over a year now. Good ol’ Sam … loyal, smart, funny, practical, helpful in a zillion ways. And so pretty with those sassy twists she wore, creamy caramel skin, and delightful grin. But the Samantha Curtis who’d rescued her at Saturday’s concert had something else—a lovely voice. A voice that deserved a chance to be heard. And Jeff’s whole nutty idea suddenly made sense in another way.
“I know it sounds crazy,” she admitted. “But I was just thinking. If we take this chance to visit Bongo Booking, maybe we could ask Jeff to set up an appointment for you to talk to someone there about your own career. Would you like to do that?”
Sam’s hand flew to her mouth, her large, dark eyes bugging. “You’re kidding! Oh, Grace … oh, Grace! Really? Really?” She started hopping around their little compartment saying, “Thank you, Jesus! Oh, hallelujah!”
Grace smiled. Well, why not? On top of everything else, it would be a good chance for Sam to meet the people at Bongo Booking in person. But it wasn’t just the opportunity to meet the Bongo staff that had intrigued Grace. It was something else Jeff had said—something she hadn’t shared with Sam. “To be honest, Grace, I got this crazy idea because … because I really want to see you. No, I need to see you.”
Chapter 41
“This is crazy you know,” Sam giggled, standing in the lower vestibule of the sleeper with their suitcases and bags as the Southwest Chief pulled into the station at Raton, New Mexico.
“I know.” Grace smiled absently at another passenger who was determined to get off at this stop for a quick smoke, in spite of announcements over the intercom that Raton was not a smoking stop, and would only be in the station long enough for passengers to board or—in their case—make a connection with the Amtrak Thruway Bus to Colorado Springs and Denver. She stepped back deliberately, allowing the nervous man to get between her and Sam and the car attendant, who was waiting till the train totally stopped before opening the door.