The Christmas Train Read Online Free PDF Page B

Somebody had strung holiday garlands up along the passageway, and there was even a Christmas wreath on the wall next to the door connecting the train cars.
    As he passed Compartment A, the elderly priest he’d seen in the waiting area earlier came out and bumped into him as the train rocked along.
    “Hello, Father,” Tom said, cutting a handshake short to help steady the older man. Eleanor Carter was Catholic, and wherever in the world she and Tom had happened to be they’d gone to Mass. She’d always joked that she’d just keep hammering away and at some point Tom would either be saved or spiritually lobotomized. Actually, he’d briefly wanted to be a priest when he was in high school. As a teen, he was skinny and awkward, growing far too quickly for his tendons and coordination to keep up. That and his startling and persistent acne made him incredibly unpopular. As a result, he contemplated a career of solitude, introspection, and prayer. Only two things stopped him: He wasn’t Catholic, and then there was that annoying vow of celibacy. After he had learned about that requirement, Tom wanted to be a rock star instead.
    “Retired now,” the holy man said amiably. “Though I still dress like a priest because I own no other clothes besides a chocolate-brown polyester leisure suit from the 1970s that I still ask forgiveness for.”
    “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 God’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 assignment 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 passed through the next section of sleeping accommodations. These were the standard compartments, without bath or shower facilities. Communal baths were on both