A Gift to Last Page 0,8

hungry; her diaper was clean. Kelly wondered if she might be teething. A mother was supposed to know these things, but Kelly could only speculate.

It helped that the train was becoming less crowded. With the storm, people seemed to be short-tempered and impatient. The guy who looked like a salesman was the worst; in fact, he was downright rude. She felt sorry for Kate and her mother. Kelly appreciated what it must be like traveling alone with a youngster. She'd never be able to do this without Nick. Frankly, she didn't know how anyone could travel with a baby and no one to help. An infant required so much stuff. It took hours just to organize and pack it all.

"According to the sign, we're in Abbott, New Hampshire," Nick informed her.

Kelly glanced out the window, through the still-falling snow. "Oh, Nick, look! This is one of those old-fashioned stations." The redbrick depot had a raised platform with several benches tucked protectively against the side, shielded from the snow by the roof's overhang. A ticket window faced the tracks and another window with many small panes looked into the waiting room.

"Hmm," Nick said, not showing any real interest.

"It's so quaint."

He didn't comment.

"I didn't know they had any of these depots left anymore. Do you think we could get off and look around a bit?"

She captured his attention with that. "You're joking, right?"

"We wouldn't have to take everything with us."

"The baby shouldn't be out in the cold."

Her enthusiasm faded. "Of course...she shouldn't."

The conductor walked down the center aisle and nodded pleasantly in Kelly's direction.

"That's a lovely old depot," she said.

"One of the last original stations in Rutherford County," he said with a glint of pride. "Built around 1880. Real pretty inside, too, with a potbellied stove and hardwood benches. They don't make 'em like this anymore."

"They sure don't," Kelly said, smiling.

"Shouldn't we be pulling out soon?" the man in the navy uniform asked, glancing at his watch.

"Anytime now," the conductor promised. "Nothing to worry about on this fine day. Snow or no snow, we're going to get you folks to Boston."

CAN THIS BE CHRISTMAS? Chapter Three

"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas"

"I t's been twenty minutes," Len said, straining to see what had caused the delay. Cupping his face with his hands, he pressed against the window and squinted at the station. The snow had grown heavier and nearly obliterated the building from view. The train had been sitting outside the depot in Abbott twice as long as it had at any previous stop. Apparently the powers-that-be didn't fully grasp the time constraints he and several other passengers were under to reach Logan International. Too much was at stake if he missed his flight.

"I'm sure everything will be all right," Cathy assured him, but he noticed that she was knitting at a frantic pace. She jerked hard on the yarn a couple of times, then had to stop and rework stitches, apparently because of a mistake.

Len saw that he wasn't the only one who seemed concerned. The cranky businessman got out of his seat and walked to the end of the compartment. He leaned over to peer out the window at the rear of the train car, as if that would tell him something he didn't already know.

"Someone's coming," he announced in a voice that said he wasn't going to be easily pacified. He wanted answers, and so did Len. Under normal circumstances Len was a patient man, but this was Christmas Eve and he had an engagement ring in his pocket.

The wind howled and snow blew into the compartment as the elderly conductor opened the door. He stepped quickly inside, then made his way to the front. "Folks, if I could have your attention a moment..."

Even before the man spoke, Len's gut told him it wasn't good news.

"We've got a problem on the line ahead."

"What kind of problem?" the sales rep demanded.

"Track's out."

A chorus of mumbles and raised voices followed.

The conductor raised his hands and the passengers fell silent. "We're doing the best we can."

"How long will it take to get it fixed?" The shout came from a long-haired guy at the front of the car. With his leather headband and fringed jacket, he resembled an overgrown hippie. He sat with a woman whose appearance complemented his - straight center-parted hair that reached the middle of her back and a long flower-sprigged dress under her heavy coat.

The conductor's face revealed doubt. "Couple of hours, possibly longer. Can't really say for sure."

"Hours!" Len