The Christmas Train Read Online Free PDF Page A

dating a hundred-ton diesel might be a welcome change.”
    Regina laughed. “My mother, Roxanne, works on the Southwest Chief, as the chief of on-board services. That’s the big boss. I’m going to see her when we get into Chicago. I’ll let her know you’ll be on. Now she can tell you some stories.”
    “Is that common? I mean, do lots of family members work for Amtrak?”
    “Well, I’ve got my mom, and I don’t know how many uncles and aunts and cousins and such spread all over. That’s how I found out about working on the trains. And my son works for Amtrak too. He’s a coach cleaner.”
    Tom stared at her. “Your son? You look like you just got out of high school.”
    “Agnes Joe was right: You are slick.” She smiled shyly. “But thanks for the compliment. And you get some really famous people as passengers. Singers, athletes, movie stars—and they’re all nice, for the most part.” Her expression grew more serious. “Where I come from, working on the train, that’s something special. People look up to you. It’s cool, you know?”
    Tom nodded. This element really intrigued him. He’d have to work it into his story. “You think some of the other people on the train will talk to me?”
    “Oh, sure, I’ll spread the word. Everybody who works on a train has stories to tell.”
    “I bet they do.”
    As she left, Tom felt the train start to move. Diesel electric trains have no need of a transmission, so there were no obstinate gears to shift. The resulting acceleration was smoother than the finest automobile on the road. Tom checked his watch. It was 4:05P . M. exactly. The legendary Capitol Limited, carrying Tom Langdon on a mission, was on its way. chapter five
    Cleared for takeoff by rail traffic control, the Capitol Limited soared down the metal- and wood-ribbed runway, lifting off cleanly. It dipped its stainless-steel sheathed wings in salute to a passing band of birds, flushed out a nest of lobbyists plotting near the Capitol, and headed west, as Mark Twain had in his relative puberty. The young Sam Clemens had made the trek from Missouri to the Nevada Territory on a bouncy overland stagecoach, sleeping on mailbags at night and riding on top of the stage in his underwear by day. While he encountered much that was beautiful and rare, he also fought alkali deserts, desperadoes, ornery Mexican pugs, bad food, and boredom, while Tom Langdon was pulled along by a thousand tons of raging horsepower and enjoyed a comfy bed, toilet, and Agnes Joe in the next room. Tom wasn’t yet certain whether he or Mark Twain had gotten the better travel deal.
    He called Lelia on his cell phone. He hadn’t told her about the train trip because he wanted to surprise her. She was certainly surprised, but not exactly the way he intended. Her reaction made him thrilled that there were currently about three thousand miles separating them.
    She yelled into the phone, “You’re taking a train all the way across the United States of America? Are you insane?”
    The way she said it, Tom was beginning to think he was.
    “Folks used to do this all the time, Lelia.”
    “Right, during the Stone Age.”
    “It’s for a story, about Christmas.” He didn’t want to share with her the other reason he was doing it, because he wasn’t really sure how she figured into his future—at least the one he hoped to discover on this trip.
    “I’ve chartered a private jet that leaves at sixP . M. sharp on Christmas Eve.”
    “I’ve got my skis, I’ll be there. The train gets into LA that morning.”
    “What if it’s late?”
    “Come on, it’s a train. We make our station stops, we pick up passengers, we let out passengers, we roll along, and we get into LA in plenty of time.”
    He heard her let out a long sigh. Actually, lately she’d been letting out many long sighs. They had that seemingly ideal relationship where they didn’t have to live with each other every day. Where issues of cooking, cleaning, which end of the