Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10 Janie's heart was still hammering when they got back to the train. She grabbed her overnight bag from under her seat and went into the washroom. She locked the door and took off her coat. Inside the coat's lining, the hidden pocket was fraying; stitches had come loose. That's how one of the rings had wormed its way through the thin wool of Janie's coat.

Luckily, Violet wasn't really hurt—and nobody had noticed the glittering speck on Janie's coat. She'd quickly pushed it back through the little hole. Still, it was a close call. And now Janie had to figure out what to do with the jewels. Janie carefully dug them out of the hidden pocket. She held the glittering bundle in her hand. "Janie! Janie!" Little fists pounded on the door. "Just a minute, Violet!" Janie sighed. Little kids were the worst. Even cute ones like Violet. She quickly pulled a long red wool sock from her bag. She stuffed the jewels into the toe, rolled the sock into a tight ball, and tucked it into the bottom of her bag. It wasn't the best hiding place. But it would have to do.

That entire day and night passed. And the next day was more of the same—waiting, meals at the beanery, cards and checkers to pass the time. They did finally see two snowplows in action. They were massive, pushed by giant locomotives. Passengers pressed their faces to the windows as the plows cleared away snow that blocked their train. But it was no use. The snow kept coming, and within a few hours the track was hopelessly blocked again. "My family must be so worried!" "I'm going to get fired from my job!" By that night rumors were swirling about the five snowplows on the mountain—that at least one of them had broken down, and that the four others were running low on coal. They also heard that many of the shovelers were exhausted and couldn't keep up with the snow pouring down. Poor Mrs. Letts stared teary-eyed at the photos of her grandchildren. Violet was bouncing off the

walls. She kept begging to build a snowman, but the gushing snow and fierce winds wouldn't let up. But nobody was more upset than Mr. Riggins. All Thursday he paced the aisles, checking his pocket watch. He pestered Mr. Pettit for updates. Finally, after supper that night, the conductor had news. "We're leaving Cascade tonight," he announced. "And—" Cheers filled the car. "Just a moment," Mr. Pettit called, holding out his hands for people to hush up. "We're not going to Seattle. We're moving to the other side of the tunnel, to a town called Wellington. It's just a short ride, about three miles. We'll be staying in Wellington until, uh… the tracks are clear." The cheers turned to groans. "Why leave Cascade if we're only going three miles?" Mr. McBride asked.

"The beanery is running low on food," Mr. Pettit said. "But there's plenty for us in Wellington. Coal too. Now if you'll excuse me…" He turned to leave, but Mr. Riggins blocked his way. "I demand the truth!" he said, his cheeks beet red. "When will this train get to Seattle?" The conductor's shoulders slumped a bit. Janie could see how exhausted he was. "At this point, I just don't know," he said. "This blizzard… it's very bad." He said a polite goodbye and headed out of their car, leaving a trail of complaints behind him. Late that night, the train moved through the pitchblack tunnel. It wasn't until Friday morning that they got a look at Wellington. It was a little railroad town like Cascade, just a bunch of

roughly built shacks and cottages scattered like freckles around a railyard. What was different here was that this tiny town seemed to be hanging off the side of the mountain. Their train was parked on the edge of a skinny ledge—overlooking a canyon. "I didn't think it was possible," said Mr. Riggins as they trudged along a shoveled path to get breakfast. "But this place is even more of a dump than Cascade." Frederick turned to Janie and rolled his eyes. Everyone was getting tired of Mr. Riggins's griping. But even Mr. Riggins cheered up a bit when he saw where they'd be eating their meals. It was a hotel called Bailets. The rough, rambling white building was nothing fancy like the Pennington in Spokane. Compared to the beanery, though, Bailets was fit for kings and queens. The tables were covered with blue-and-red checked tablecloths. There were plants hanging in