The Christmas Train Read online

  Anna stared back at her a long, breathless moment. There were no good choices for her here. Stay with her mother who didn’t want her, or go to her father, who also did not want her. The only adult who seemed eager for her company was this old woman, a complete stranger to her.

  “Of course she’s good with it.” Anna’s mother stood up, the unlit cigarette tight between her fingers. “Well, if that’s settled, I need to get going.”

  “Nein. You will wait one moment while I speak to your daughter.”

  Anna blinked at the woman’s firm tone. Nein. That was German, wasn’t it?

  She peered up at her mother, who’d frozen with the unlit cigarette halfway to her mouth. The old woman had a soft look about her, but she had a steely core. Like Nana Rose.

  “No problem. No problem,” Anna’s mother repeated, digging in her pocket for her lighter. “Anna, tell the nice lady. Go on, tell her you’ll be a good, what did you say? Oh, yeah, a good traveling companion.”

  Slowly Anna stood. The old lady stared right at her. Not unkindly. More . . . expectantly. Like she cared only about what Anna had to say, not Anna’s mother.

  “She’s got lunch with her. I packed it myself.”

  Did not. But Anna ignored her mother, as did the old German lady.

  “Well, Liebchen? Shall we travel together?”

  Anna clutched her bulging backpack to her chest. It was all she had left in the world. That and a one-way ticket to her father’s house in the company of this pleasantly smiling old woman.

  She took three steps forward. For now that would have to be enough.

  EVA trudged down the center aisle of the general-seating car, bracing herself with one hand on the seat backs. A two-story train car. She’d never heard of such a thing. She would rather have stayed on the lower level, but the child—what was her name again? Eva paused, leaning heavily on the seat back beside her, and struggled to remember. She’d noticed lately that thinking and performing a physical task were not particularly compatible.

  “C’mon. C’mon,” she heard someone behind them mutter.

  She was blocking someone’s way. With a grimace she forced herself a few steps farther, then abruptly sat in an open aisle seat. She was out of breath. That, too, was happening more often, this sudden shortness of breath followed by a smothering blanket of fatigue, a bone-deep weariness she couldn’t seem to dispel.

  “Can I have the seat by the window, Miss Eva?”

  Eva startled at the child’s query. Before she could reply the girl squeezed past her, tucked her backpack under the forward seat, then knelt on the seat and cleared a spot on the foggy window.

  Anna, the girl’s name came to her. Anna. They would be traveling together to . . . to where?

  Home. Home to Ennis.

  As she took several deep breaths it all came back to her. She’d seen the article in the Sunday paper about the Christmas Festival of Lights in Ennis, and it had lifted her spirits as nothing had since her Paul had died. Why hadn’t she thought to go home before this? But she was going now. Ever since that terrible attack in New York she’d been so afraid. Not war. Not again!

  But she’d known war was inevitable. Dictators could not be allowed to force their evil on the rest of the world. This she knew. But oh, how the thought of war paralyzed her. The soldiers. The bombs. And most of all, the awful, unrelenting terror. It hung over everything—every move you made, every word you said. Who to trust? Who to fear? No matter how far she’d run or how carefully she’d hidden herself, here was war pounding at her door again.

  In her chest her heart sped up, and panic rose, threatening to choke her—

  “How long until we leave?”

  With a start Eva looked at the little girl, who had unwound her muffler and was tugging off her stocking cap. Anna. How pretty she was. “Soon, child. As soon as all these people find their seats.”

  The girl studied her with unblinking eyes. She was all pink cheeks, blue eyes, and straight blond hair. Aryan.

  Eva shivered and forced herself to straighten in her seat. Being fair and pretty was no defense against the madness of the world. Only quick wits and luck helped you when the world was falling apart.

  “Are you going to take off your coat?”

  Again Eva flinched. “Soon. Soon.” When she offered no more, the child turned away, busy folding her muffler. Apparently displeased with its bulk, she shook it out and began again, this time neatly rolling it up like a roll of bath tissue.

  Eva closed her eyes. She was so tired. But she didn’t dare sleep. Too many people, and then there was the threat of war. Always war. Would it never be over?

  She forced her eyes open. At least this train was clean. And so far as she could tell, all its windows still had their glass panes. She scanned the railcar front to back. Yes, it was clean and there were enough seats for everyone. No one standing, hanging on to the straps. No one huddled over their bags in the aisle.

  Then the car shuddered, a ricochet of movement that convulsed the full length of the train from engine to caboose. She remembered that shudder, that feeling of being inside a living thing transporting you maybe to freedom, maybe not. It shuddered again, then jerked forward, and all at once they were under way.

  At last. She sank into the seat, permitting herself her first real sigh of relief. At last she was on her way home.

  “This is my first time on a train,” the little girl said from beside her. “Is it your first time, too?”

  “Nein. No.” Eva sat up taller in her seat, conscious suddenly of her bag, heavy on her lap, and her coat, too warm for the overheated train car. She half lifted, half slid her bag to the floor between her feet and the child’s, and then unwound her woven-wool scarf.

  The girl watched her with large, serious eyes that seemed to take in everything. “Can I help you with your coat?”

  It was on Eva’s lips to say no, that she was perfectly capable of removing her own coat. Except that she didn’t feel capable. She felt far too weary to do it alone.

  “Thank you. That would be nice.” Eva managed a smile as she unfastened the toggles one by one. Then she grasped the seat in front of her and hauled herself up, swaying with the gathering speed of the train. The girl tugged Eva’s right arm free, then knelt on the seat to free her left arm. Eva collapsed onto the seat, the coat on her lap, until she caught her breath and could start folding it. “Thank you,” she repeated.

  “You’re welcome.” The girl’s stare held steady. “I have to use the bathroom.”

  “The bathroom? I don’t know . . .”

  “It’s just up there.” The child pointed. “See the sign? Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.”

  Eva watched carefully as the child made her way to the bathroom. She skipped as she went. As serious as she seemed to be, the girl nonetheless skipped and hopped her way down the aisle as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Didn’t she know about the war? The planes that had crashed into those buildings?

  Keeping her eyes on the bathroom door, Eva removed an old embroidered handkerchief from her skirt pocket and dabbed at her eyes. So many deaths. So much suffering. No child should ever know about such things. So if Anna’s mother had chosen not to tell the girl about the war, it was not for Eva to do otherwise. She had only to make sure the girl got off at the right station where her father would be waiting. There were only four stops with one transfer, according to her ticket.

  Her heart began to race. Where had she put her ticket? She needed her ticket!

  Panicking, she fumbled in her purse. “Gott in Himmel,” she prayed as she dug though every pocket. Where was it? Where?

  “Is this child with you?”

  Eva gasped at the stern voice. A big man in a severe black uniform towered over her, one large hand gripping a little girl’s shoulder. A terrified little girl. For a moment Eva couldn’t respond. Her heart thu
ndered and she struggled to catch her breath. What was the right answer? Which answer would get her into trouble? She didn’t want any attention from the military police. All she wanted was to get home.

  Clutching her handbag against her chest, she pressed her trembling lips together. The man was so tall, so obviously in charge. But the child . . . The child stared at her with huge blue eyes.

  “Ja, she is with me,” Eva blurted out.

  His eyes bored into hers, and Eva feared he did not believe her. Then his fingers unwound from the girl’s shoulder and like a timid rabbit the girl lunged past Eva and into the window seat.

  “Well, keep a close eye on her. She shouldn’t be wandering around.” Then he strode off toward the back of the train car.

  Eva’s shoulders sagged in relief. He believed her! Pressing a hand to her chest, she coughed three times, until the irregular thump of her heart returned to normal. Beside her, the little girl knelt on the seat, staring at the man’s retreating back. “That man wasn’t very nice.”

  Eva shook her head. “Most soldiers are mean. That’s why they are soldiers.”

  The child turned a serious face to Eva. “He wasn’t a soldier.”

  Eva glanced sharply at her. She looked familiar. Was she from Ennis, too? “Of course he was a soldier. Didn’t you see his uniform?”

  “Then where was his gun?”

  His gun. Eva frowned, trying to remember. Had he carried a gun? But a fog, thick and impenetrable, seemed to have taken over her mind. Beside her, the girl pulled her stocking cap down on her head. “I guess my mother was right to get you to travel with me.”

  Her mother?

  Suddenly Eva’s memory opened up, like a seedpod spilling its secrets. This child was traveling with her. They weren’t running away from German or Russian soldiers. They were taking the train to Ennis. To her home. “Ja,” she murmured as the fog receded. Eva had agreed to chaperone this child to Ennis, where her father would be waiting. “Ja, she was right to have you travel with me. But you must be careful and always tell me where you are going.”

  “But I did tell you,” the girl protested. “I went to the bathroom and I was coming straight back like you said. Don’t you remember?”

  Eva frowned. No, she didn’t remember. But she’d had enough lapses of late to suspect the girl was telling the truth. She forced a smile. “Oh. I must have been distracted. I was looking for my ticket, you see.” She peered down at her handbag. Where was that ticket? Had someone stolen it?

  “But I pointed out where the bathroom was,” the girl persisted. “Don’t you remember?”

  Then Eva felt it, the stiff square of paper. Thanks be to Gott!

  “Don’t you remember?” the child repeated.

  Eva sighed with relief. “Of course I remember, Anna.” And she remembered the child’s name as well. “Did you wash your hands?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  This time Eva’s smile came easier. “You have very nice manners, Anna. That is good.” She paused. “You learn this from your mother?”

  Anna shook her head so hard her hair swung back and forth around her cheeks. Then she turned toward the window and the wintry cityscape that sped by. Warehouses, a highway, a church spire in the distance. “From my Nana Rose.”

  “Your Nana Rose? Ah. Was that your Oma? Your grandmother?”

  Though Anna’s face was turned away from her, Eva saw her chin tremble. “Yes. But . . . she died.”

  “Oh. I am very sorry you lost her, Anna.”

  Frowning, the child pushed back in her seat, so that her legs stuck straight out in front of her. Eva reached over hesitantly to pat her knee. “You are sad. I can see you loved your Nana Rose.”

  She was answered by the merest bob of the girl’s chin.

  “And now you are afraid of this new life with your father?”

  Anna swallowed hard. “I don’t need a father,” she muttered, her eyes glued to the back of the seat in front of her.

  “Every girl needs a father,” Eva said, remembering her own good papa. But what did this poor child know of fathers? Mirroring Anna’s posture, Eva turned her attention to the seat back in front of her. “You are afraid because you do not know what to expect, ja? I understand. I have been afraid like that. Of a new life,” she added.

  They rode in silence, but it was not quiet. Passengers conversed; a baby whimpered; a pair of teenage boys tramped by. And underneath all, the rhythm of the train reverberated through the floor and up into the seats, the sound of it vibrating into their bones.

  “You’re a grown-up. Why should you be afraid?” Anna had tucked her chin, and now she pulled her feet onto the seat and wrapped her arms around her knees. “You can do whatever you want.”

  Eva sighed. “Not always. Sometimes we are very afraid. And sometimes we must do things we don’t want to do at all.”

  “Like my father.” The girl rubbed her face against her knees. Was she wiping away tears? “He doesn’t want to take me, but he has to.”

  How was Eva supposed to respond to that? “Tell me, Liebchen, when did you last see your father?”

  Anna shrugged. “I never saw him in my whole life. He and my mother hate each other.” She looked over at Eva, her face far too solemn for such a young child. “Did your mother and father hate each other?”

  “Oh, no!” Eva exclaimed, almost indignant at the thought. “Of course not. They loved each other. And they loved me and my older brother, Karl. Always the love in our little house. Always the love.”

  Eva grimaced when Anna’s arms tightened around her knees. She shouldn’t have said all that about love. “You will be all right, liebchen. Your father, he will meet you at the station. You will be a little cautious with each other at first. That is to be expected. But soon enough it will be all right between you.” If he is not another one like that mother of yours. Hard and holding tighter to the cigarettes than to the child.

  They sat without speaking, and slowly the unrelenting sway of the train car lulled them, like a giant rocking chair calming a fussy baby. The passengers settled in, shedding coats and hats, and pulling out books and magazines and tiny radios they plugged into their ears.

  Outside the view had softened from city edges to busy suburbia and now to the slow green undulations of southern Arkansas, browning now with winter’s cold, but still majestic. Bare maples and oak trees reached up to heaven, silhouetted against the brilliant afternoon sky. A straggling vee of late-departing birds soared low over a hill. They headed south, while the train churned steadily north. To Ennis.

  Eva smiled to herself. She sighed and shifted into a more comfortable position and let her eyes close. Not long now. By tomorrow morning she would be home with Mutti und Papa und Karl. They would all go to mass on Christmas Eve, with the church lit only by candles, smelling of winter greenery and smoky incense.

  But no. Something gnawed at the edges of her memory. Not Mutti und Papa. They were gone now. Many years gone.

  With an effort she lifted her eyelids, and looked at her hands folded in her lap. They were old hands. The bony, blue-veined hands of an old woman. Her parents were no longer at home. They couldn’t be.

  Panic pushed hard and high into her chest, a rush of fear and confusion that threatened to choke her. Her parents wouldn’t be there! Too much time had gone by.

  But Karl will be. She stared blindly at her knotted old hands. He was only three years older than she. He would still be there. So tall and handsome he was the last time she saw him.

  “Excuse me.”

  Eva heard the child’s voice but didn’t respond. She’d much rather sink into the soft memories of their pleasant village, when Papa had kept cows and sold milk in the village, and Mutti had tended chickens and maintained a bountiful garden along the banks of the Oder River. Eva had hated all the weeding, complaining about her ruined nails.

 
What she wouldn’t give now to have chores to do. Even in winter there were chickens to feed and eggs to collect, compost to turn, and potatoes and leeks to dig. And in their warm, low-ceilinged kitchen, there would be bread to knead, vegetables to chop, and pots to scrub.

  There would be laughter, too. And Karl coming in with a fragrant spruce from the hills above Ennis. A tree to trim with ribbons and crocheted stars stiffened with starch. Opa had carved the crèche scene when he was only a boy. It was their most valuable family keepsake.

  “Excuse me!”

  “Was is das?” With an effort Eva suppressed her irritation at the girl’s interruption of her lovely daydream. “What do you want?”

  The child stared up at her, hesitant now. “I, um. I only wanted to know if I can eat now. I’m hungry.”

  “Ja, ja. Eat.”

  As the girl dug out a paper bag with a foil-wrapped peanut-butter sandwich, a banana, and a bottle of water, Eva scanned the railway car, the backs of the heads of the other passengers, and the fleeting countryside racing past in the frames of the windows. How had she come to be here with this little girl, heading home to Ennis? Would anyone be there? Had their house even survived the war?

  Across the aisle a man read the newspaper, and she saw the photos splashed in vivid colors across the page. The massive holes in the middle of New York, where workers still searched for the missing. The jagged remains of the buildings like skeleton fingers beseeching the heavens for help that never came.

  She shuddered, remembering the violent sound of bombs shaking the earth as she and Mutti had hidden in the root cellar. And then the ominous clank and grind of the tanks crawling like giant nightmarish beetles across the fields, unmindful of fences or pump houses, crushing everything in their paths. That’s when she’d run. That’s when her mother had sent her fleeing into the cold, winter forest.