On the Way to Christmas by Sheila Roberts

Author:Sheila Roberts
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2022-10-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

One-Horse Open Sleigh

Nearly two weeks pass, and the landscape has changed from sea breeze hills and snow-dusted gentle forests to the wild and soaring peaks of Montana. The time has both flown by and stood still. So much so that it’s hard to imagine life off the train after it’s become everything I’ve eaten and breathed and lived for so long.

True to promise the activities have abounded both inside the train and out, and before I know it, the messages that pass between Elodie and me are covered in dozens of pictures. Of Christmas symphonies in Chicago and ice skating in a tornado of flurries in Minnesota. Of eating things I’ve never tried before and dancing like I’ve never danced before and frankly just having the best time of my life. Every evening as I spy the train sitting in the station, smoke curling up toward the dark sky as it waits for my return, my heart warms.

I feel like I could live on this train forever. Truly.

It’s so painful to imagine leaving that I’ve had to stop letting my thoughts drift there entirely.

“I don’t like oatmeal.” Clarence looks at the bowl on his tray, then at me as if I’ve betrayed him.

“Don’t think of it as oatmeal.” I pause midsip of coffee. “Think of it as overnight apple cinnamon rolls. You like cinnamon rolls.”

He grumbles under his breath, but as I move my attention back to the paper, I see he’s edging near it. This is how our days on the train have turned. When lunch arrived after that first successful breakfast cooked in Oliver’s quarters, and Oliver dropped by to see Clarence’s pained expression as he chomped slowly on the hard-boiled eggs sliced over what appeared to be sprouts, sans dressing, he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Any chance you want to upgrade this?”

I jumped out of my chair faster than a speeding bullet. Clarence loved my stir fry noodles in tahini sauce, and every morning and lunch since, I’ve taken on the task of preparing his meals. Not because I have to, of course, but because I want to. I really want to, actually. While other passengers revel in the endless service and relaxation, the reality was that just wasn’t me. My feet started itching the first day on the train for somewhere to help. Whereas Elodie and my mother and every propaganda on the train emphasized telling me to relax, relax, relax, I found it was much more relaxing to have something to do. Someway to help. And preparing Clarence’s meals turned out to be a perfect outlet.

Plus, it was nice how much I ran into Oliver. How often he stayed to cook beside me—despite how often I could hear his phone vibrating—and the stories we shared back and forth about our lives and experiences. Eventually he asked about the elephant in the room (how exactly things didn’t pan out with Jonas), and eventually he in turn shared about a woman named Phoebe in San Antonio who almost lured him away from his train life.

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