He turned to his left. The girl with the walking sticks, Chantal, stood there looking at him as she swayed with the train’s motion. Her smile was wide, her eyes bright and eager. She pointed at the two-seater mini sofa facing him. The seats in the observation car were small but extremely comfortable.
“Sure. It’s a public train.” He didn’t mean to be grumpy, but the girl’s mother’s question about his charity had brought a fresh rush of pain over the memory of his niece’s death. She’d died in an arson fire five years ago and his whole family still ached with the loss.
Chantal confidently maneuvered to the seat and sat down, propping the sticks between the sofa and the wall. She gave him a knowing look. “You didn’t really mean it was okay to sit here,” she said wisely. “It’s okay. I’m used to people being weird about me. Mama says that’s their problem, not mine.”
“Chantal,” her mom’s voice came from behind him. “Don’t be rude.”
“You do say that,” the girl frowned.
“Yes, but some conversations aren’t meant to be shared.” She walked to the end of the sofas. “Come on now, leave Mr. Mathison alone.”
“Call me Seth. And you don’t need to leave. Please sit.” Chantal was just about the same age as his niece was when she died. Gwyn would have liked the outspoken girl.
Chantal’s mom perched on the edge of her seat and looked out the window. She was quite pretty with her straight blonde hair and pretty deep green eyes. They reminded him of the moss on the trees in the provincial park his house in Calgary backed onto. She seemed nervous, like she didn’t want to leave her daughter alone with him, but didn’t want to be there either.
“What are your crutches called?” he asked Chantal.
“Forearm crutches. They’re for cerebral palsy. They help me walk,” she said, as if he wasn’t smart enough to figure it out.
“I see that. You climbed the tall train steps very well. I was impressed.” He had no idea what to say next.
“Look,” Chantal screamed excitedly and pointed out the window.
The train was chugging slowly past a rocky wall where four Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep climbed like they were on flat land. “Their horns are huge,” Joy said.
“I read that they are the state animal of Colorado and that the males’ horns are curved,” Seth told Chantal. They watched the group until they were out of sight. The excitement of the moment faded, but it had broken the discomfort between them. They chatted quietly about the contest and voiced their questions and concerns to each other.
Seth looked at the woman sitting across from him. They’d be on this train for the better part of December, which was a lot of time to spend together without knowing her name. This trip was a slow journey from Denver, Colorado, to Rocky Mountain House, Alberta. With stops almost every day.
“I’m Seth,” he reminded her. “What shall I call you?”
“Joy. My name is Joy.” She sighed as if she didn’t want to tell him.
“Nice to meet you, Joy.”
She didn’t respond with the usualnice to meet you too. Instead, she said, “I do wish I knew who I was partnered with and how the tasks are going to happen.”
“I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. It’s a twenty-four-day trip and a hundred contestants are being paired up. That’s at least two pairings every day. Some must happen on the train and I’m guessing some will happen at the stops,” he said.
“I wonder what the first stop is,” Chantal asked.
Seth chuckled when Joy frowned and said, “We’ve only been moving for twenty minutes, and you want to stop.” She shook her head in that way all mothers seemed to master.
“You said we would see new places and play in the snow. I didn’t get to try my new mittens yet,” she said logically.
“On my way to the meeting, I overheard some staff talking about a bonfire. I haven’t been to a bonfire in years,” Seth said.
Joy winced when Chantal clapped her hands in excitement.
“I don’t know. It’ll be slippery outside, and a fire can be dangerous.”
As much as Seth was a firefighter, he didn’t think a bonfire was a problem if everyone was careful. Fire safety was critical, but living in fear of fire wasn’t good. “Maybe we can figure out a way to take Chantal and keep her safe.”
Joy’s glare was like a kick to the solar plexus.
“If it’s okay with your mom,” he added, trying to placate Joy.
“We’ll discuss it later. Time to go Chantal. I’ll be right behind you. Don’t leave this car without me,” she warned, her voice vibrating with tension. When Chantal was a few steps away, Joy leaned close to Seth. “Do not interfere with my child. You know nothing about her illness or her capabilities. Mind your own business and don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
