The Christmas Train (5 page)

“No, I'm here.” Relieved, Anna tucked her hair behind her ears. “Here, let me help you with your bag. Just sit down. There you go. And wait for me right here, okay?”

“
Ja
, I stay. But watch out for that frowning soldier. That big, tall one. Don't let him put you in a different train car from me. You hear?”

“He won't do that. He's knows we're traveling together.”

Miss Eva shook her head. “These soldiers, they don't care if the families are torn apart. Fathers and brothers sent to war. Mothers and children left behind. Then they take the food and the animals. And then, at the last, even we are the enemy to them.”

He's not a soldier
, Anna wanted to say. But she knew Miss Eva wouldn't believe her. Once old people got a bad thought in their heads, the only way to make them forget about it was to distract them. “When I come back we can play cards, okay? I have a deck in my bag. I won't be long, so don't leave, okay? Watch my backpack for me?”

“
Ja
, I watch it. Only
mach schnell,
Liebchen
. Hurry fast.”

Scurrying off, Anna turned and waved to Miss Eva before entering the tiny bathroom. Even so, by the time she came out she could see the rising agitation on Miss Eva's face. A group of college-age students had entered the train car with lots of joking and good-natured shoving. But Anna could tell they scared Miss Eva.

“Excuse me,” she said, slipping between the heavily clad bodies jockeying for seats. “Excuse me.”

“Whoa. No pushing, young lady,” one of the guys teased her.

“Let her through, Vince,” a girl interceded. “C'mon, honey.” She smiled down at Anna. “Just ignore him.”

“Thank you,” Anna called over her shoulder as she scurried past. “I'm here, Miss Eva.” She smiled at her. “See? Safe and sound.”

“Hurry, child. Get in,” Miss Eva said, scowling at the jovial group. “Too many soldiers on this train. Is no good.”

“They're not soldiers,” Anna said, settling back into her seat. “Probably just students going home for Christmas.”

“Who do you think the Madman called first? Students like Karl.”

“Karl? Your brother?”

Miss Eva nodded, her jaw grimly set. “He was in the first year. So smart he was. But he was drafted. Just like Papa—” She broke off, staring ahead at nothing. Anna watched as a tear spilled onto her parchment-pale cheek and made its slow path through the timeworn creases there. She looked even older than Nana Rose, and so sad.

“Let's play cards,” Anna offered. Anything to make her stop crying.

When Miss Eva didn't respond, Anna shifted onto her knees and faced her. “You want to tell me a story?” she ventured. “Maybe about when you were a little girl like me? Where did you live? Was Karl older than you or younger? You're lucky you had a brother. I never had a brother or a sister.”

No response.

“I bet Karl loved you a lot.”

Miss Eva took a sudden, sharp breath, as if yanking herself out of a deep, sucking hole. “
Ja
. He love me very much.
Und
I love him.” Slowly she turned to face Anna, and it was obvious her thoughts were far away. But they were no longer so grim, for a gentle smile lifted her entire face. “He was a
gut Brüder
. But such a tease he was.”

The train began its slow, lurching journey, but Miss Eva's gaze remained a vivid blue, focused on a past far happier than her present. “When I was very little he put me on his shoulders and carried me up so high. In our village everyone decorated their houses for the Festival of Lights on the first Sunday of Advent. Greenery on the doors. Candles in the windows. So beautiful it was! And when the priest comes with the biggest candle of all, leading a procession all through the town, even with everybody crowded about I can still see everything because I am up so high. Karl never got too tired to carry his little sister.”

“He was your big brother. Older than you.”

“
Ja
, and so handsome. I was jealous when the young women of the village flocked to him. I don't want to share him.”

The smile leached slowly from her face. “But then the war comes and he must go to the army. Him and all the other young men. Better to share him with a pretty girl than with the army of the Madman.”

They were moving faster now, slipping through a countryside too pitch-black to tell if it still snowed.

“It was like this when he left,” Miss Eva continued, her voice heavy with remembered grief. “Bitter cold. And so much snow. But Karl doesn't go to the army. We are half Polish, you see. Mama's family. And they need help against the Russians and Germans.”

“So, where did he go?”

The old woman glanced at her and then shrugged. “I never know for certain. But he and two friends go into Poland. They join the Resistance to make the madness stop.”

“What do you mean, the madness?” Anna asked.

Miss Eva stiffened. “The madness of war. Of Hitler, and then Stalin, too.” She glanced carefully around, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Hitler and Stalin, two madmen. They try to conquer all of Europe. Everyone knows that.”

Anna jutted out her chin, and sat back in her seat. “My mother said Osama bin Laden is a bad person. A madman, like you said. He made those airplanes crash into those tall buildings and kill everybody.”

“No! That is Hitler—” Miss Eva broke off, looking startled and confused. “Oh.
Ja
. Bin Laden. He is a madman, too. Always making the war.”

“My mother said there are madmen like that with bad ideas who want to kill us all. They say God tells them to kill everybody who has a different religion from them.”

“No! God never says that.”

She'd spoken so vehemently that the man in front of Anna glanced over his shoulder. Miss Eva lowered her voice but she was no less earnest. “God does not say to kill. There is only one God, and even though the people all over the world worship Him in different ways, He loves everybody the same.”

“But . . . but they don't believe in Jesus.” Anna frowned and crossed her arms. “And they don't believe in Christmas.”

Miss Eva smiled at her with sudden clarity, and in her face Anna saw the pretty young woman she once must have been. “
Ja
, that is true. But that is no reason to hate. If we hate these people because they do not believe as we do, well then, we are as bad as they are,
ja?
”

Anna wasn't sure she agreed. Then she remembered what the priest had said at the children's mass last Christmas. What would Jesus do? Whenever you didn't know the right thing to do, he'd told them to ask themselves what Jesus would do. Now, even though she didn't like it, she knew the answer to Miss Eva's question.

“Yes,” she admitted, stretching the word out. “We're not supposed to hate anybody. But that doesn't mean we have to
like
everybody.”

“No,
Liebchen
. We do not have to like everybody. We can even hate those who hurt us and the people we love. But never think that the badness in the world comes from God or Jesus or from the church. Any church. It is people who twist God's words. Who twist His rules. Now,” she added, abruptly changing tone. “I am hungry. You?”

“Yes,” Anna replied, relieved to have Miss Eva clearheaded once more.
“Ja,”
she amended, grinning at Miss Eva. “
Ja
, I am very hungry.”

“Gut,”
the woman said. “I have
Brötchen und
cheese.
Und Pfeffernüsse
cookies, too.”

T
HE
train was quiet—as quiet as such a huge metal beast could be while hurtling though a dark and frozen landscape. But for Eva the rhythmic clacking of the wheels and the heavy swaying had become a steadying background.

This was not like the trains she remembered. She gazed past the sleeping child, past her own faint reflection in the damp window, and past the cold, blurry world that sped by. This was not like that awful train that had been so crowded, the only heat coming from the people crammed so close to her, sweating fear even in the long, frigid winter nights. She had been so afraid. They all had been, friends, strangers, and even enemies. There had been no future ahead of them, only a desperate
hope
for a future.

But this train was warm inside, with comfortable seats and footrests. Even the people seemed to be happy, not so afraid like in the war. Nobody seemed to care about anyone else's business. She sank deeper into the seat and sighed. It was nice to be able to think without the paralysis of fear.

She would arrive in Ennis tomorrow, and find her way home. It would be different, of course. This she knew. After so many years there would be new buildings. And after all the bombing during the war, some of the old familiar places might be gone, too.

But not their house. Not Mutti
und
Papa
und
Karl.

In the frosty window she caught the transparent reflection of a face. An old face she did not recognize.

And then she did. Herself. Her white-haired, faded old self.

A pang of grief seized her heart and for a moment she couldn't catch her breath. Cough, she remembered the nurse telling her. Cough!

And then she could breathe again. Her lungs filled and emptied and filled once more. The grief, though . . . it remained the same. She was old. Her parents would surely be dead by now and buried somewhere. She swallowed a painful knot of sorrow. Would she ever know where?

But what of Karl? Was he alive? Was he still at their home?

Where was home? Where was she going? Panic welled up, piling on top of the grief. And again she could not breathe.

Then the child beside her stirred. She shifted in her seat, flinging one arm out onto Eva's arm. A child, warm and resting peacefully, as if no trouble in the world could ever touch her.

Eva sucked in a breath and forced herself to breathe more slowly, in and out. In and out. In her chest the frightening tattoo eased. She was taking this little girl to her father and taking herself home to Ennis, where Karl would be waiting, and everything would be as it always had been. A freshly cut
Weihnachtsbaum
to be decorated with all the ornaments they'd made through the years. The midnight mass to attend with a hearty breakfast afterward. And then the Christmas feast of roasted pork and dilled potatoes, and sweet glazed carrots and stewed turnips. And the lace cookies her mother made special only on this day, drizzled with thin icing that turned hard and could be pried off with a fingernail for a sweet burst of orange and sugar and cinnamon.

She closed her eyes and let her head rest on the seatback, too exhausted to sort things out anymore. She was old now, yes. But Karl would be there. He had to be.

But what of Paul, her husband? And Paulie?

“Nein,”
she murmured. Paul had died. She remembered that. She remembered that fact every day and felt his absence like a huge hole in her life. There was the time before Paul, the time with Paul, and now the time after Paul. So many years after Paul. If only he were still with her in their snug little home. He'd never had the chance to meet Karl. How they would have loved one another. But Paulie would get to meet his uncle Karl. Once Eva got home to Karl she would try to call Paulie on the aircraft carrier and tell him the good news.

Home for Christmas. She smiled to herself and sank gratefully into the memories that thought conjured. Home for Christmas. It had been so long.

I
T
was still dark when they reached the last stop before Ennis, where they had to change trains. Eva let the little girl sleep as long as she could. Once the other passengers left, however, and the conductor entered the far end of their car, she knew they had to go, too.

“
Liebchen
. Up. Up!” she hissed, keeping a wary eye on the black-clad man as he came nearer, checking the seats as he passed. “We must go, Anna. We must go.”

The child blinked and stared around in confusion until her eyes focused on Eva. “Are we there yet?” She pushed herself upright, then rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Is this Ennis?”

“No. We must get off this train now. Hurry!”

The conductor stopped beside them and Eva turned, shifting to keep herself between him and the child. She trembled when he raised his hand to remove the destination card above their seats. “Connection to Ennis is gate two, departing at eight thirty a.m.” He paused, eyeing them with his squinty eyes. “D'ye need any help, ma'am?”

“
Nein
. We are fine. Thank you,” she added after a moment. Then, “Come, Anna. We must go now.”

He watched them until they were gone. Eva was relieved to be done with him, but she was not reassured. There were more like him, always more, looking for a way to trick you. To stop you.

“Can we get some breakfast? And go to the bathroom?” Anna asked. She had her hat pulled low and her muffler wrapped high, covering her chin to keep out the bitter wind that ripped down the train platform. With her bulging backpack on she looked like one of those Sherpa that climbed that high, high mountain, and it made Eva smile.

“
Ja
, we do both those things.” But Eva would not let down her vigilance in the station. Already she spied soldiers amid the ordinary folk. She grabbed Anna's hand. “Stay very close, child. You understand me? Very close to me. Do not talk or even look at anyone.”

“Okay,” Anna replied in a hesitant voice. “But . . . how come we can't talk to anyone?”

“There are too many bad people, that's why.”

“But . . . there's good people, too.”

“Ja,”
Eva admitted as they started down the platform toward the main station. “Many bad. Many good. But can you tell when you look at a person who is who?” She slowed when a sharp pain in her left knee protested her haste. “No, you cannot. Nobody can tell just by the looking. And you must be specially careful of the soldiers,” she added, lowering her voice to a whisper. Her mother had warned her over and over to run when she said run, and once she'd left, not to trust any soldiers.