Hunting Memories - By Barb Hendee Page 0,90

me money from last night.”

“That’s because you cheated and tried reading my mind on the last hand. I don’t owe you anything. And I think you still owe Rose forty dollars.”

Had they been playing cards? That seemed a good way to pass the time. Robert stepped aside to let Philip pass into the cabin.

A few moments later, Rose, Wade, and Philip were engaged in a game of poker.

“Full house, aces high,” Rose said at the end of the third hand. “You’re right, Wade, this was an easy game to learn.”

Philip dropped his cards in a huff, and Robert actually laughed. Eleisha had never heard him laugh before.

“I didn’t know you liked games,” Eleisha told Philip. “Do you know how to play chess?”

“Chess? Ugh,” he answered. “Angelo tried to teach me. Boring.”

“Do you own a set?” Robert asked her.

“Not anymore, but we could get one in Portland.”

“I’ll play it with you.”

As Eleisha settled back on the couch, she almost forgot why they had run for this train in the first place. They almost seemed like friends on a holiday. Robert’s promise to play chess with her brought up more unbidden fantasies of their future at the church, living together, drinking tea in the kitchen, playing board games in the sitting room . . . just like everyone else.

“Philip! Stay out of my head,” Wade snapped, holding his cards closer. “You know I can feel it when you try that.”

And the hour rolled by.

Wade had a decent dinner—chicken breast, rice, and salad—which an attendant brought to their cabin, and after eating, he acted as dealer for a round of blackjack. Before Eleisha knew it, they were pulling into Eugene.

“Everybody, get ready to move,” Robert ordered, and for once, nobody seemed to notice or mind.

A knock sounded on the outer door.

“Porter,” a man called through.

Robert slid open the door. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but we’ve had an overbooking on the Express to Portland. All the cabins are filled except for one small half cabin, and I’m not certain it would accommodate your needs.”

Rose looked up in alarm, and Eleisha moved quickly to the door. “I paid for two adjoining cabins on that train,” she said around Robert’s shoulder. “We have a traveler in our party with . . . special needs. You’ll have to bump somebody else.”

The porter looked at Rose settled on the couch with a blanket across her lap. He ignored Eleisha and spoke to Robert. “We still have ten minutes to departure. Would you like to come and examine the half room? Perhaps it might be suitable?”

“It’s only a three-hour trip,” Wade said. “But I don’t want make Rose move until we know where we’re taking her. Just go and make sure we’ll all fit.” He looked at the porter. “If not, you’ll have to make other arrangements for us.”

Robert picked up his long nylon bag and slung it over his shoulder, following the porter out into the hall.

“I’m coming, too,” Eleisha said. She had made certain Rose would have comfortable accommodations in a setting where everyone could stay with her. This was unacceptable.

She glanced over to Philip. “We’ll be right back.”

He nodded, and she knew he’d keep watch over Rose and Wade.

After sliding the door closed, she followed Robert and the porter only a few cars down, and then the porter led them down a set of metal stairs outside.

That was the first action she found out-of-place. She’d expected him to lead them into the station where they could board the Express from a well-lit, cavernous area and take a quick look at the cabin.

But they were outside in the night, gazing across multiple sets of tracks.

“That one,” the porter said, pointing to the left up ahead.

He led them along their own train, and Eleisha suddenly didn’t care for all the shadows and black spaces in between the cars. Was it common for Amtrak personnel to escort passengers right along the tracks like this? The situation felt wrong. She took her first close look at the porter. He was thirty years old, average in weight and height, wearing a wedding ring and no coat. The night air was cool . . . and he was sweating.

They were almost to the front of the train they’d come in on. The Express to Portland was one track over, just up ahead.

She reached out and tried to pick up any surface thoughts coming off the porter, and she almost tripped upon feeling the waves of fear inside him.

At least I can make the

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