“It would be safe. It says you board and stay seated while the train travels a ninety-minute circuit through a Christmas village and lighted forest. You get cookies and hot cocoa. This sounds a bit likeThe Polar Express. It’s a decent deal.”
She gave him a look.
brows came together in question. Chantal glared at her.
“Look, Joy. I’d love to go on the train, but I really don’t want to go alone. Will you and Chantal please be my guests and save me from the embarrassment of being a single man on a family train ride?”
She blinked. How had he fathomed her problem so quickly? She wanted to be angry at him for prying into her life, and for wedging himself in where he didn’t belong. Somehow, the hope on her daughter’s face had her accepting.
“You know what? I think I’d like that. What do you say, Chantal? Shall we ride the train with Mr. Mathison?”
Chantal flung her arms around Seth. “Yes, please.”
Seth called ahead, booked tickets, and requested early boarding. They hurried to finish dinner and were off to the train.
Seth smiled at the sweet joy on Chantal’s face. She wriggled in her seat as the hot chocolate cart came toward them down the train aisle.
“Can you send Mama the picture you took of me with the elf?” she asked.
“Sure thing.” He pulled out his phone and sent Joy the photos taken in front of the trainyard’s gates. The sign over their heads welcomed them to the Santa Express. One of mother and daughter, and the second of all three of them together that a staff member had taken.
“Can I see, Mama?” Chantal asked when Joy’s phone chimed.
“Oh, look at us,” Chantal smiled up at Seth. “We look like a real family.”
Her words hit him like a blast of heat to the heart. If this kept up, he’d be having feelings again. He tried to shore up his softening defenses. “We sure do, kiddo.”
“Chantal,” Joy said with a clear warning in her voice.
“I know, Mama. He’s not my dad. But I like Mr. Mathison. He’s my friend.”
“He’s our friend.” Joy smiled at him, and he suddenly didn’t care about anything more than getting to know the beautiful woman sitting across from him.
The trip flew by. They rode through an old west town with every building lit up with lights. Antique-looking gas lamps lit the corners. Slowly, the train rolled into a forested area where every tree glowed with warm lights. Each tree was different. Where one tree was pure green and another blue, others were white or multicolored. They ranged in height and breadth.
Seth spent more time watching Joy and Chantal than the passing scenery. He snapped several pictures as they traveled.
The trip was over too quickly and as they disembarked behind everyone else, he knew a moment of sadness that the night and his time with them had ended. Deep inside, he hoped to spend more time with them after they completed their task for the contest.
Chapter Nine
SethwatchedJoypaceback and forth behind the closed stage curtain. Her nerves both echoed and amplified his. Only a few children had arrived. So far, they were playing quietly with little pushing or shoving. The oldest four had yet to arrive, and he honestly wondered if they would. None had an irreplaceable role in the performance, which was a blessing, but he’d be disappointed if they gave up on what could be a real life-changing experience.
He’d loved choir as a youth, at least until that concert when his voice had cracked. Thinking about that day still mortified him. He shuddered just thinking of it. They’d sold seven hundred tickets, and he’d had a lead role. On stage in front of a packed house, he stepped up for his first solo, opened his mouth, and nothing came out. He’d tried again, and his voice rose above the hushed crowd. Beautiful and sweet, until it cracked. He bolted off stage and hid in the shadows behind the backdrops. His understudy, so to speak, took over the role, and the concert went on without him. It was the last time he sang in public.
Tonight, he was hoping, no, he was praying, for a Christmas miracle that this would go off without a hitch. Especially for Joy.
Joy hurried to his side. “There aren’t any empty seats,” she cried, her eyes wide and scared. “People are lined up along the walls.” She grasped his arm like she was grabbing a lifeline. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can.” He placed his hand over hers. She was icy cold. “Listen to me, Joy.” He paused until he had her attention. “I can tell that you’re a competent woman. I know that you’ve done great things raising a child without a father. Having a daughter with cerebral palsy must be an even bigger challenge. You’ve dealt with all these kids and being thrust into playing the piano along with your emcee role. You’re strong, and capable; you can do this. I believe in you.” With each statement, her eyes widened. When he finished, her bruising grip on his arm slacked.
“Do you think so?” she pleaded for reassurance.
“I know so. You’ve got this, Joy.” He shook off her grip and grabbed her shoulders. “The person running this contest, whoever that benefactor is, seems to know everything about us. They’ve given us hard tasks. Maybe not logistically difficult, but ones that are personal challenges. I think they’re doing double duty and getting us to stretch our limits, and they’re doing that for a reason. Something besides winning the big cash prize. This is your test.”
“O o okay,” her voice shook.
“You can do it, Mama,” Chantal called from her seat in the wings. With more than a full audience of spots sold, she’d given up her seat to sit backstage.
