Winning Her Love (The Rocky Mountain Christmas Train)

7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

S eth sat beside the window at a table in the forward dining car, waiting for the server to bring his lunch. In retrospect, it was lucky they hadn’t gone to the food court. He’d heard on the radio that the fire had ended up being a false alarm–someone had tampered with the power. He breathed easier, relieved that it wasn’t something worse.

Snowy scenery raced by in the same way that his thoughts were going. He supposed that as fast as trains usually go, they weren’t moving very quickly. He was seriously dreading being in charge of a bunch of kids. Kids were not his strong suit. They were his kryptonite. He was a firefighter. Public speaking was easy. He spent a lot of hours canvassing for fire safety. But kids? No way. When it was time for school visits, he made certain he was on days off. He avoided those gigs like a dieter avoids donuts.

The server, a young girl in her twenties, set his lunch in front of him and gave him a flirty smile. “If you need me, I’ll be over there.” She said as she pointed over her shoulder.

Holy smoking ashes . She was flirting with him. She was just a kid. “Thanks.” He dug into his lunch without looking at her. Hopefully, she’d take the hint. The Denver sandwich was delicious. A bacon, onion, cheese, and green pepper omelet between toast. Add a coffee and a side of fries and he was in heaven. He was happy to eat because, by the looks of things, tonight would be a late dinner.

The car was nearly empty. Only the nurse and the older gentleman she cared for were there eating. They talked in low, subdued voices. It looked like they might be arguing. No doubt the old guy had definite opinions on his care.

The door between cars opened and Joy came in. She held the door open for Chantal. Chantal scanned the car, and her eyes lit up when she saw Seth just two tables away. She hurried toward him and dropped into the seat beside him.

“Hi, Mr. Mathison. I made you something.”

“Oh?” He had no idea what to say beyond that.

“Mama, hurry up. I need my picture.”

“Mind if we sit?” Joy smiled.

“Not at all, please join me.”

“Mama!”

“Oh. Here you go.” Joy handed Chantal a piece of folded paper from inside her cross-body purse.

“This is for you,” Chantal wiggled in her seat like an excited puppy. She thrust the paper at him.

The outside of the paper said Mr. Mathison, in childish block printing. “Thank you.” His nieces and nephew were often drawing pictures for him, and he made sure to respond kindly and enthusiastically despite his discomfort. Gently, he unfolded the lined paper, which had been torn from a notebook. Inside was a colorful picture of a firefighter carrying a girl down an escalator beside an enormous Christmas tree. It said, Merry Christmas. Thanks for saving me. Love Chantal .

Saving her? He hadn’t saved anyone. All he’d done was carry her down a flight of stairs.

“I love it, Chantal. Thank you. I’m not sure I saved you, but the drawing is very nice. I like how you colored my uniform, and the girl looks just like you.”

“You did save me.” She clutched his arm. “I didn’t want to freeze in the mall. It was dark and scary. And then there were all those fire trucks.” Her eyes widened at the thrill of a near-miss tragedy. She shifted her crutches aside and dove under his arm and onto his lap to wrap her arms around his neck. “I love you, Mr. Mathison.”

“I love you too.” How could he not adore this girl? She was sunshine itself, courageous and generous. Her gratitude warmed his heart, maybe even melting a bit more of the ice around it. He blinked moisture from his eyes. No way. He wasn’t going to cry because of a hug and a picture. No way!

He looked up at Joy, who shrugged as if to say, “What can you do with kids?” He grinned.

“Okay, Chantal, leave Mr. Mathison alone now. Let’s go find a table and get something to eat.”

“You don’t have to leave. Stay and eat with me.” Surprisingly, he meant the hastily offered invitation. Joy looked like she might object, but the server arrived with menus.

Lunch passed in a blur of sharing bad jokes and puns with Chantal. She was quick-witted and loved to joke. After they finished eating, he carefully folded his new picture and placed it in his wallet with a promise to display it on his fridge. Now, long before he was mentally ready, they were in Lyons at the middle school, where the concert would take place.

A tall, slender woman with kinky black hair met them in the foyer where they shared introductions. “I’m Ngozi Williams.” She pronounced it as ng-GOH-zi. She explained that a local choir was performing the concert, not at all connected to the school. They had rented the gym space to accommodate friends, family, and the community. She followed up by saying, “The children are in the gym. Follow me.”

Inside the gym, chaos reigned. Children laughed and screamed excitedly and raced around. Ngozi put her fingers to her lips and let out an ear-piercing whistle. Every child stopped dead and then raced over to them. Two teenage girls lagged behind the rest, clearly uninterested in what was happening and there under duress.

Ngozi introduced them and said, “I’ll be in the staff room if you need me.” She walked away, leaving thirty-two children, from six to sixteen, staring expectantly at them.

“Okay,” Joy clapped her hands. “Let’s set up for the first number and we’ll get started. Let’s do this thing.”

The kids scattered, most of them climbing onto the stage at the front of the gym. Seth, Joy, and Chantal walked up the center aisle between rows of folding chairs.

“Chantal, why don’t you sit over there? Seth, you can go on stage and keep an eye on things.” She flipped open the script for the concert, moved onto the stage, and stood at the microphone placed staged right.

Seth did as he was told, but he didn’t want to. He’d rather be the emcee. Several kids stood in the wide wing of the stage. A couple of boys were pushing and shoving each other back and forth. Seth made a psst sound and gave them a stern look. They fell silent, though the elbowing didn’t entirely cease.

Joy said, “I’ll read my introduction and then you’ll start singing.” She paused. “Do we have a conductor?”

“No,” the group called in perfect chorus.

Not good , Seth thought.

“Mr. Algimony was doing it, but he’s gone.”

Joy’s sigh was audible even without a microphone. “Is there anyone here who knows how to conduct?” When nobody answered, she asked if they usually had music.

“Mrs. Algimony plays the piano, we need music,” one of the teen girls said, rolling her eyes.

“I guess all the piano lessons I took will finally pay off.” Joy walked to the piano on the opposite side of the stage and sat. She flipped to the proper page in the music book, nodded to the kids, and started playing.

A few notes in, as one, the children opened their mouths and Frosty the Snowman burst forth. They weren’t exactly in tune, and some voices were much louder than others, but they did well.

A young girl walked up to the microphone stand and pretended to use it. “I’m Amy. Our next song is Oh, Holy Night . She returned to her place in front of the risers the children shared. Joy flipped a page and started playing.

They ran through song after song. A few had to be repeated to get them right or to clarify lyrics. Overall, the kids were good sports, with only a little grumbling.

Occasionally, the children rotated positions on the stage. Some songs had actions led by different children. The actions for Must Be Santa had Seth stifling a laugh. So far, neither of the teen girls had taken part, nor had the two oldest boys. He wondered if they were pranking him and Joy, or if their part came later. After five songs, he walked out on stage.

“Okay, we seem to have a couple of non-participants. Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” He looked from child to child. If something was up, someone would crack.

A small brunette girl in the front row cast the older kids a nervous glance and raised her hand.

“Yes. What’s your name?”

“Wendy.” She stared at her toes.

“Go ahead, Wendy,” he urged. Joy walked to his side.

“Those kids are supposed to be singing too,” she whispered.

“Shut it,” the oldest boy snapped. “We don’t want to sing stupid songs.”

Seth waited a moment, hoping Joy would step in. He cast her a glance, and she looked away. She was taking their roles seriously. He didn’t want to admit that she was right to do so. He hated dealing with kids. Especially teens with attitude. This was way out of his league.

“Come out here,” he said. He gave the uncooperative kids ‘the look’. They trudged forward, shuffling their feet. “So, you don’t want to sing?”

Nobody responded. Okay, Seth. You’re a firefighter. You control things at work all the time. What are a few kids compared to a house fire? He turned to Joy. “Why don’t we take a break?” He had no idea what he was going to say to these kids, but he knew he needed backup. Joy nodded.

“Okay, everyone. Take five minutes. Go and get a drink. Don’t be long.” The recalcitrant four started to leave. “Except you four,” he added. “Take a seat on the risers. With rebellious expressions, they trudged over and flopped down.

He didn’t want to tower over them by standing; he was a big man. Instead, he pulled over the piano stool and sat. He looked at them, one after the other, and tried to come up with something inspirational to say. Man, he sucked at this . Joy sat just to the left of the girls and gave him a discreet thumbs up. He cleared his throat.

“I’m only here because my dad says I have to be,” one girl blurted.

“Okay. I understand that.”

“Me too,” said the other girl.

Seth looked at the boys. Neither said a word. He expected that they were going along to impress the ladies. They looked to be about twelve, just coming to the age where they found girls and lost their minds. “What about you two?” he probed.

“Just don’t wanna sing.”

“I see. Are you being forced to be here as well?” He didn’t look at Joy, who was trying to hide a smirk. If he did, he’d start grinning and ruin his stern presence.

“Um. No.” The older of the two boys, who looked to be brothers, hung his head. “I like singing,” he mumbled.

“Then why aren’t you participating?”

The youth turned bright red.

“Son,” Seth said and waited for him to look up. “I was a teenager once, too. A hundred years ago. I know what you’re thinking. Trust me when I say you don’t want to mess things up with your family for a girl. Do you enjoy singing? Sing. The whole girl thing will work itself out in time.”

The boys nodded in unison.

He looked at the girls again. “I’ve had to do things I didn’t want to do. You’ll find time goes faster when you take part than when you sulk on the sidelines. If you don’t want to be here, have an honest discussion with your parents. Explain how you feel. Maybe they’ll listen.” He stood and brushed his hands together. “Now, shall we sing?” He didn’t let them refuse. With a bit of work, he corralled everyone back on stage.

Three more songs, and they were finished, except for the final two numbers.

“We can’t do the next one,” Amy piped up.

“Why not?” Seth asked.

“Because Evangeline is supposed to be an angel and she’s sick.” Seth consulted his script for the umpteenth time. The next number was a short retelling of the nativity story.

“Is everyone else here?” he asked. A small group stepped forward. “Do you have costumes?” He prayed that they did because it was too late to find any.

“Yes,” they chorused in harmony.

“Is Evangeline’s costume here?”

Amy nodded.

“Can I see it?”

He studied the simple costume and tried to find a solution. They couldn’t skip the nativity story. It was what Christmas was all about. He needed a miracle.

“I could do it,” Chantal offered. She was standing at the base of the steps.

“No, you cannot,” Joy disagreed instantly. “Can one of you other children do this?” Nobody answered.

“Why don’t we let Chantal do it, just for tonight, and we’ll figure something out for tomorrow?” Seth suggested. “Maybe Evangeline will be back by then.”

Joy frowned and glared. Chantal grinned.

“Please, Mama. Just one time.”

Watching frustration and resignation move across Joy’s face was almost comical, though Seth didn’t understand why she was so reluctant to let Chantal help. The child had sat patiently through almost an hour of music and adjustments.

“What can it hurt?” Seth’s question earned him a withering glare.

“Fine. Just today. Not tomorrow. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Joy stomped down the stairs and helped Chantal up the six steps. Seth didn’t blame her. There was no railing to grab if you wobbled.

“Let’s go over this.” Seth read the script aloud once. Luckily, Chantal only had a few lines. “Places, everyone.”

The children on the risers sat. One of the chastised boys walked to the mic and began narrating the story. The players acted their parts and spoke their lines with almost no prompting. Chantal walked slowly across the stage and faced the seats. Her eyes lit with happiness. She started speaking the lines from The Gospel of Luke that Seth recognized from his youth Sunday school classes. “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord…”

She must have already known the verse because she recited it without stumbling, her face glowing with pride. The scene wrapped up, Joy started playing, and the choir stood and launched into a rocking version of Mary’s Boy Child . The song morphed into We Wish You a Merry Christmas, and they were finished . Joy returned to the mic and, in a shaking voice, gave the closing address just as parents started coming in.