A Gift to Last Read Free Page B

utter sadness that Len had to look away. She recovered quickly and continued. “It’s mind-boggling that people can fly across this country in only a few hours, isn’t it?”
    It was a fact that impressed Len, too, but he was more grateful than astonished. He felt even more appreciative when the whistle pierced the chatter going on about him. Almost immediately the train started to move, then quickly gained speed. Everyone aboard seemed to give a collective sigh of relief.
    Len and the widow chatted amicably for several minutes and eventually exchanged names. Cathy asked him a couple of questions, about Texas and the navy, and he asked her a few. After a while, their conversation died down and they returned to their own thoughts.
    The train traveled at a slow but steady pace for an hour or so. The unrelenting snow whirled around them, but the passengers were warm and cozy. For all the worry this storm had caused earlier, it didn’t seem nearly as intimidating from inside the train. Relaxed, Len stretched out his legs, confident that with a little luck, he’d connect with the flight out of Logan International.
    The train stopped now and then at depots on the way. Each stop resulted in a quick exchange of passengers. Len noticed that the storm appeared to have changed people’s holiday plans; far more exited the train than entered. The brief stops lasted no more than ten minutes, and soon there were a number of vacant seats in the passenger car. Before long Len heard the conductor say they’d be crossing into New Hampshire.
    Len figured you could fit all of these tiny New England states inside Texas. He’d seen cattle ranches that were larger than Rhode Island! The thought produced a pang of homesickness. The song sure got it right—there’s no place like home for the holidays. His life belonged to the navy now, but he was a Texas boy through and through.
    “Do you have someone at home waiting for you?” Cathy asked him.
    “My family,” Len told her, and added, prematurely, “and my fiancée.” Saying the words produced a happiness in him that refused to be squelched.
    “How nice for you.”
    “Very nice,” he said. Then thinking it might help ease his mind, he opened the side zipper of his carry-on bag and pulled out Amy’s most recent letter, dated two weeks earlier.
    Dear Len,
    I waited until ten for you to phone, then realized it was eleven your time and you probably wouldn’t be calling. I was feeling low about it, then received your letter this afternoon. I’m glad you decided to write. You say you’re not good at writing letters, but I disagree. This one was very sweet. It’s nice to have something to hold in my hand, that I can read again and again, unlike a telephone conversation. While it’s always good to hear the sound of your voice, when we hang up, there’s nothing left.
    Everything’s going along fine here at home and at work. For all my complaining about not finding a more glamorous job, I’ve discovered I actually enjoy being part of the nursing-home staff. The travel agency that didn’t hire me is the one to lose out.
    Did I tell you we had quite a stir last week? Mr. Perkins exposed himself in the middle of a pinochle game. All the ladies were outraged, but I noticed that the sign-up sheet for pinochle this Thursday is full. Mrs. MacPherson lost her teeth, but they were eventually found. (You don’t want to know where.) I still have my lunch in Mr. Danbar’s room; he seems to enjoy my company, although he hasn’t spoken a word in three years. I chatter away and tell him all about you and me and how excited I am that you’re coming home for Christmas.
    I was pleased that your mother asked me if I wanted to tag along when she and your dad pick you up at the airport on Christmas Eve. I’ll be there, you know I will—which brings me to something else. Something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a long time.
    Do you remember my joke about sailors having a woman in every port? You