The moment she got in the door, Grace pulled out her phone. Nine forty-five… was it too late to call Samantha? But if they were going to take the train this weekend, they had to get on it.
Sam’s phone rang once and went straight to voice mail. Grace left a message: “Call me tonight if you can.”
A few minutes later a text message pinged on her phone: “Still in prayer mtg. Will call in 30 min. U okay?”
Thirty minutes. Might as well check it out before Sam called. Grace booted up her laptop and Googled the Amtrak site. She clicked on Schedules and typed in “From Chicago, To St. Louis” … Mr. Bentley was right. There were five trains to St. Louis every day, two in the morning, three in the afternoon. And return trip … another five options.
By the time Sam called, Grace felt giddy. She gave her assistant a quick rundown of her evening with the Bentleys and Mr. Bentley’s idea to take the train. “Look, I figured it out. Actual travel time is practically the same as driving, might even be close to the same as flying if you add in all the time we waste getting there an hour or two early to check bags and go through security, blah, blah, blah.” Grace laughed. “It’s win-win! I won’t have to fly and you won’t have to drive.”
“Well … sure,” Sam said. “I like the train. I’ve taken the City of New Orleans to Memphis a couple times—runs overnight, but I always took coach. Anyway, I should probably call Amtrak directly to make reservations since it’s such short notice. You said the trains run five times a day? What time do you want to go?”
They decided on the nine thirty morning train, getting in at three, to allow for any delays. “Uh, Grace, one more thing … if I can get tickets, do you want me to cancel the rental car, or hold on to it just in case?”
Ouch. Guess she deserved that after her behavior at the airport last weekend. But no back doors this time. “Cancel it. Mr. Bentley said they handle security much more unobtrusively at train stations. I think it’ll be fine.”
Grace woke up the next morning with snatches of words dancing to a new tune in her mind. One born to die … Only one Way … One life for mine … One empty grave … Could she work this into a new song? She hadn’t written anything since before the New Year, New You tour. Excited, she was at the piano before breakfast, sounding out the tune tumbling in her head, when her phone rang.
It was Sam. “Okay, here’s the deal. We forgot it’s Easter weekend. The nine-thirty train on Friday is totally sold out, same with all three afternoon trains. However, I was able to get two business-class seats on the early train—seven o’clock. Means we’d need to get to the station by six thirty at the latest to pick up our tickets—six would be even better given the holiday crowds. Still up for it?”
Grace considered. If they drove, they could leave whenever. But this was her chance to test whether train travel would work for the trip to the West Coast. “I am if you are. We could meet at the station.”
“Okay. You’re the boss. Gotta get on it, so talk to you later—oh. Better call Newman at Bongo, tell him about the change in plans. He should let the folks at the church know when we’re coming in.”
“Okay. See you tonight at practice. I might have a new song—”
But Sam had already hung up.
Grace worked on the song a while longer, and then glanced at the schoolhouse clock. Ten after nine … it was an hour earlier in Denver. Did Jeff come in at eight?
“Grace! You’re up and about early.” Jeff’s warm voice on the phone made her smile. “Everything still good for the St. Louis concert this weekend?”
“Yeah, great. That’s why I’m calling. Wanted to let you know that Sam and I are going to take the train to St. Louis on Friday. Sam’s working on getting tickets now. She’ll e-mail you the itinerary as soon as we get it.”
“The train? I just assumed you’d fly. Wouldn’t it be faster? Look, if it’s money, you shouldn’t worry. This church has a fat budget and will cover all expenses for you and the band, plus your honorarium. They’ve reserved your hotel—I’ll send you the confirmation.”
“Oh, it’s not that.” Suddenly Grace felt confused. Hadn’t she told Jeff about what happened at the Memphis airport? She’d told Samantha … and now the Bentleys, for heaven’s sake. She’d told Jeff about her broken engagement, but hadn’t said anything to the Bentleys about Roger … and what had she told her folks? They knew about Roger, but not about …
Grace pressed fingers to her forehead, trying to think. She couldn’t remember who knew what. When Jeff had called her early in the week to ask how the Cincinnati concert went, she hadn’t said anything about the failed attempt at flying. She’d been too embarrassed by her panic attack.
“Grace? What is it? Is everything all right?”
She took a deep breath. “Yes, yes, fine. I’ll, uh, explain later. Don’t worry, we’re allowing plenty of time. Can you let them know Sam and I are coming in by train, and ask do they want to pick us up, or should we arrange for a limo or taxi? The band is still driving down. We’ll need the church most of the day on Saturday to set up and do a run-through.”
Grace noticed a brief pause before Jeff said, “All right. Have Sam send me the itinerary and I’ll take care of everything on this end and get back to you. Is there anything else I can do, Grace, to make this weekend easier? I know we scheduled this last minute—so sorry about that.”
“It’s … it’s all right. I think everything’s coming together. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else. Just, you know, could use more of those prayers you said the Bongo staff does every morning.”
As they said good-bye and hung up, Grace realized she meant it too.
Practice with the band that night ran late, and Grace had to be up at four thirty Friday morning—limo was coming at five thirty to get her to Union Station by six. But she figured she could catch a nap on the train, and she’d make sure she got to bed early at the hotel that night. It was smart to go a day early.
It was a good thing they’d decided to arrive at six to pick up their tickets because boarding the early morning commuter began at six thirty. Sam, a little bleary-eyed herself, helped Grace stow their suitcases in the luggage area over their reserved seats in the club-dinette car, and then said, “I’m going to get us some coffee.”
Grace watched, amused, as her assistant moved to the snack bar in the middle of the car, and then she sank down into the wide burgundy Naugahyde seat by the window. This Amfleet club car was nice … very nice. Wide seats—two on one side, just one on the other—spacious legroom, snack bar handy, six tables at the other end. She wondered what the regular coach cars were like.
Sam brought back coffee, two yogurt cups, and two cinnamon bagels with cream cheese. “Breakfast!” she grinned. “Want to eat here or back there at one of the tables?”
“Here’s fine.” But even with the coffee, Grace managed to doze off before the train passed Joliet … and woke an hour later as the train pulled into the station at Bloomington-Normal.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” Sam had on her reading light and was leafing through a magazine she’d brought along. “Figured out one good thing about taking this early train—fewer stops. It’s only been a couple hours, about three to go. But we should get there about noon.”
Grace got up to use the restroom, then made her way back to their seats. The car was full, but didn’t feel crowded. Several people were playing cards at the tables in the back, laughing and talking, or just drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. Others were in their seats, working on their laptops or reading. Or zonked, legs stretched out on the retractable footrest.
This really was a great way to travel. And she didn’t have to feel guilty about Sam doing all that driving just so she could be rested.
Cornfields of yellow stubble and pastures just beginning to turn a hopeful green flashed by the window. A few farmers were turning over their fields with monster tractors, getting ready for planting. The mournful train whistle sounded its warning at every rural crossing, and once she saw a horse pulling an Amish buggy down a road at a real clip. Things she’d never hear or see thousands of feet in the sky. Nice.
But … would it be feasible to take the train all the way to Seattle? It might take a few days to get there, but once the tour started, they’d have a tour bus from Seattle to LA, and then a few days back by train.
It was her time, after all. Well, Sam’s too. Grace really didn’t want to travel alone. But maybe she should give the girl the option.
Grace opened her notebook and worked a little more on the song she’d been playing with that she’d titled “One.” Would the band be able to pick it up on such short notice? Except … some of the lyrics just weren’t coming together. Maybe trying to do a new song was a bad idea.
A young man sporting a grin, a two-day growth of beard, jeans, and a T-shirt, and a blonde woman dressed in a modest navy suit were holding up an eight-by-ten-inch sign saying “Welcome Grace Meredith” when Grace and Sam made their way into the St. Louis Gateway Station among hundreds of travelers coming or going.
“Hello!” Beaming, the woman reached out to shake Grace’s hand. “I’m Willa Baker, this is Doug Swarthmore. We are so thrilled you were able to come. We’ve been blanketing the city with radio promo and sending invitations to all the churches, so hopefully we’ll have a good crowd tomorrow night. Is this all your luggage, or did you check some bags?” She seemed to notice Samantha for the first time. “And this is …?”
Grace introduced Sam as “Samantha Curtis, without whom the world might stand still,” which earned her a smirky glance from Sam. Once in the church van that proclaimed Hawthorn Christian Fellowship along both sides in large letters, Willa chatted on. They learned that Doug was part of the sound team at Hawthorn and would be working with the band for the concert tomorrow night. And Willa was the event coordinator.
“We didn’t expect you quite this early—just got the call from Bongo yesterday that you were arriving by train. But it’s all good,” the woman giggled. “The hotel should let us check you in early. We don’t have any dinner plans for tonight, but the hotel has a fine restaurant. Of course, you’re welcome to join us for our Good Friday service—starts at eight o’clock.”
Grace felt torn. It was Easter weekend, after all. But there was probably no way she could just slip in and slip out, and both she and Sam had been up since before sunup. “Sounds tempting,” she murmured. “but we, uh, have prep to do for tomorrow.” And she’d like more time to work on that new song. “But I have a question … I’d love a meet and greet time after the concert tomorrow night. Would that work out?”
“Oooo. Great idea. We’ll make sure to reserve a room for that. How many people should we invite? I’m sure the ministry team and pastoral team—if they’re at the concert—would love a chance to chat with you.”
Grace glanced at Sam, giving her a Say something! look.
“I think what Miss Meredith means is, she’d like to meet some of the concertgoers, especially some of the young people—teens, college age.”
“Oh. Yes, of course …” she said. “We’ll work out something.”
The auditorium of Hawthorn Christian Fellowship was beautiful—and immense. “Going to be a bit embarrassing if we don’t fill it,” Grace murmured to Sam as they walked in the next morning, taking in the rows upon rows of plush, red theater-type seats.
“Don’t worry about it. God’ll bring whoever’s supposed to be here tonight. Just pick one person and sing to that person—oh, there’s Barry. Gotta talk to him about the changes you want to make in the first set.” Sam waved at the band manager, who was testing microphones and set off toward the stage.
Grace felt slightly chided by her assistant—but of course Sam was right. This isn’t about me, she told herself—but she still hoped they had a decent crowd.
The practice sessions went well—except for the new song. The poetry just wasn’t clicking. Petey said he’d like to work more on the melody. “Give it some time,” Barry said. “Maybe you can do it on tour.”
Grace was disappointed. It took her down a peg or two. Would she ever be able to write her own songs again?
As she and Sam waited offstage that evening for her cue to begin, she caught a glimpse of the auditorium. The balconies were sparse, but the lower level was nearly full, which, she’d been told, held at least a thousand. Thank you, Lord! A good crowd after all. Mostly a sea of white faces, though, which was often the case at her concerts. How did Sam feel about that, or Zach in the band, always playing to mostly white audiences?
She’d never really thought about that before. Somehow meeting the Bentleys in their home, wondering if they’d like to come to one of her concerts … She’d love to draw a more multicultural crowd, but how? Could she sing gospel—the kind Estelle Bentley listened to? Probably not, though she’d heard the band cut loose on some gospel songs a few times, just jamming. Maybe—
“You’re on,” Sam murmured, giving her a nudge.
“… our special guest, straight from Chicago—Grace Meredith!” The dramatic announcement by Hawthorn’s minister of music brought a burst of applause from the audience.
Grace took a deep breath, put on a smile, and sailed over the red carpeting of the large stage into the spotlights, carried by the applause. As they’d planned, the band began a soulful introduction to “Rock of Ages,” a hymn that bridged Good Friday and Easter. As she waited for the applause to die and her eyes to adjust to the bright lights, she remembered what Sam had said earlier: “Pick one person and just sing to that person.” Might help her focus … ah, there was her musical cue.
“Rock of Ages, cleft for me …” Her start was strong, low and steady. “Let me hide myself in thee!” Faces were beginning to emerge from the bright lights. Her eyes swept the first row as she sang the next line: “Let the water and the blood, from thy wounded side which flowed …”
There. A young teenager in a red sweater caught her eye, face enraptured. She’d focus on her.
“Be of sin the double cure, save from wrath and make me pure …”
The band repeated the melody of the last line before starting in on the second verse. A man sitting next to the girl had a big smile on his face. Must be her father—
Wait. No … it couldn’t be!
But it was.
Her agent. Jeff Newman.