Chapter 9: Hot Flash

Of course, it was a full moon.

Its presence might explain the howls of wolves, trickling down from the mountain. It did not, however, justify beastly noises from engines that were supposed to be professional, and only speak when invited to. Especially while in service. And especially while pulling passengers. Blasting one's whistle when riding down the line was one thing. 'Wheeshing', like Percy had popularized, was another. Howling? Well, that was unheard of! It was appalling. It was…
It was…
Emily sighed. It was just like Thomas to do. To be a fool. Throw quietly upheld tradition in the gutter in favor of anything slightly rebellious, even while the controller of the entire railway sat a couple feet behind him. She wouldn't be surprised if it was his behavior that had rubbed off on the once dignified Arthur!
Thomas was a paradox. He could be presumptuous and even cocky, at least when it concerned the variety and quality of work he was capable of as a tank engine. All other times, he was rather crude and unrefined. How he got on so well with precious Edward was anybody's guess. As far as Emily could tell, they were opposites. And it seemed like anybody that fancied Edward for his quiet nobility would be turned off by everything that made Thomas who he was.

So what in the world was this feeling she was having, right now?

Emily watched the would-be were-engine chuff ahead. Nothing about Thomas was any different tonight, save for some tinsel and a comically large hat that'd been moved to rest over his dome. But that passion with which he howled, as if he were dumping his whole heart and soul into it. It wasn't embarrassing at all. Rather, it was impressive. His voice carried across the land and perhaps even up the hills, where real wolves might hear it and cry back.

Emily felt her firebox burn brighter. Her driver tugged on his collar, her fireman swearing under his breath. Her boiler suddenly became very hot, scalding to the touch.

"Good heavens!" Lady Hatt spun around in her seat. "Emily? Is that you throwing off all that heat all of the sudden?"

Oh no.

Contrary to her grandmotherly appearance, Lady Hatt was rumored to have no qualms about cutting an engine down for the most frivolous of things. Even things that did not affect her whatsoever were not off the table, such as suggesting an engine's paint color be changed because it was the favorite color of a neighbor who stopped talking to her years ago.

Knowing this, being behind Lady Hatt for the duration of this trip gave Emily an underlying anxiety. And lighting her on fire was more than a minor inconvenience.

"Are you… feeling quite alright?"

"Y-yes!" But how to explain… that? Perhaps it was best not to. "I'm fine. It's-it's quite normal for engines with a long train on a long journey, Lady Hatt, Ma'am."

If this were Sir Topham she were speaking to, Emily would be toast. But if Lady Hatt understood next to nothing about engines as Emily was led to believe, she might just buy it.

And thankfully, neither her driver, nor fireman, decided to bust her. "Quite right," said Mrs. Claus. "Carry on, my darling chariot."
When she turned back around, Emily let go of her breath. She couldn't believe what had just happened. It was unspeakable. Emily had never felt anything like it before. Even those embarrassing moments when she found herself desperately low on water, she never had waves of heat roll off her boiler like that.

Even when she thought about Edward—

No.

Absolutely not.

Even if the rejection stung, the thought of betraying that saintly engine by having even a moment's weakness for… for… that childish imp that's likened her to a dog, was unacceptable. It only piled onto her desire to roll into a small, dark cave, and never come out.

"We better be careful heading back. You know what they say about full moons," teased Marty. "Spooky things tend to happen."

"I hear werewolves love swimming in arctic-like waters." Emily's fireman 'tisk'ed, pushing sliding glasses up his nose. "I wonder what we'll do to protect ourselves! It's not like we're sitting in a burning hot, high-pressured, fifty ton steel locomotive."

"Thanks for implying that I'd be the one to take it on," muttered Emily. Even so, this was one instance where she and Kyle saw eye to eye. She was not in the mood for games, and superstitions were silly. If anything, the moon had only offered more light for their nighttime voyage.

When the great steam vessel left the docks, it took with it the capelike shadow it cast over the beach. In its place was a clear view of the ocean, divided from the black sky by the twinkling reflection of the waters. The moonlit waves of Brendam docks splashed up onto the beach, and receded down the gentle slope in even, rocking motions. How inviting they looked, though it was totally deceiving. The water had to be freezing.

The setting wasn't eerie at all. If anything, it was quite romantic. Actually. There was a reason this place was often littered with couples, young and old, watching the sunset. If it wasn't the dead of winter, surely there would be more here right now than just Topham and his wife.

In the distance, the great steamer ship bellowed contentedly, decks full with jolly passengers that would be spending Christmas at sea. The Sudrians watched the ship until they could no longer make out the yellow windows along the port and starboard sides. Until it looked like a bathtub toy.

Thomas' driver, standing cabside on his running plate, noticed his stare. "I'm sorry, Thomas." He touched a hand gently to the engine's outer cab wall. "Maybe someday you'll be able to take a little vacation of your own, and see the world beyond the island."

"It's alright, Matthew. I'm sure Christmas across the world is just as nice. But it wouldn't be the same without you guys. It's like they say—" for whatever reason, Thomas's gaze in Emily's direction—"There really is no place like home for the holidays."

"Aaaaaaand how!" chimed in David, putting on his most convincing, southern American accent.
Matthew's wide eyes shone. "Well, well! Has Chief Wonderlust changed his tune?"

"I prefer to say I march to the beat of my own drum." And to make sure Matthew couldn't be too pleased in him, David began smacking his palms against his kneecaps like bongos.

Sir Topham Hatt and his wife were the last to disembark. He asked her to wait, and stepped down from his sleigh shaped car, then rounded the front to Emily's sleigh, and offered his wife a hand down. Even at his age and with his conditions, he was stubbornly chivalrous. No doctor could forbid him from being a gentleman.

The couple made their way to the front of the engines. Lady Hatt's dated but still stylish Victorian laced boots helped keep her upright on the slick stones and sleepers. In fact, she was managing better than her husband. When Topham clutched her shoulder, it was not just a sign of his unending protectiveness, but also stability for himself.

Lady Hatt took his hand in hers and held it tight until they came to a stop. She was only a few years younger, but her face was flawless, her back straight, her gait regal. So intimidating she would seem, if not for her smile.

Now that they were face to face, it was time for the Clauses to bid them all a goodnight.

"My compliments for a smooth ride," said Lady Hatt. Though she may have been speaking to both engines, her gaze was on Emily.

"Oh… " For starting the evening on such a low, the Stirling felt about as proud as she'd ever felt in her life. "…Thank you, m'lady."

"This did turn out to be a nice run after all, sir—anta." Thomas quickly corrected himself.

"Even better when it's hosted by responsible engines, like you two," Father Christmas told Thomas. "I'm glad you two managed to set aside your differences long enough to make this night possible."

"Am I still in trouble?"

"I'll make you a deal," said the bearded Controller. "If you promise to watch your tongue, then I'll have a word with Sir Topham about forgetting your punishment. That is," he said, gesturing to Emily. "If you properly apologize to her for it."
With an obvious reluctance, Thomas found the other engine's eyes.

Emily could only glower back, but it wasn't really Thomas' fault. Though she wouldn't challenge his authority by saying so, Emily found Sir Topham's idea slightly insulting. She didn't want to receive an apology from Thomas this way. She wanted his apology if and when he was ready, and because he meant it.

Yet if his expression meant anything, she could tell that Thomas really was regretting his part in their fight. He just didn't know how to go about saying so. "Emily, I'm sorry for what happened at the sheds today. I think I had a right to be angry: You accused me of sabotage, but I took it too far."

"I'm sorry, too." This was the obligatory response, but she really did mean it, too. That guilty face, those big eyes… No matter how much she wanted to, Emily couldn't stay mad at him. "Sorry that I cornered you at the sheds like that, and accused you of conspiring against me when I had no reason to think that."

"Very good," Sir Topham nodded. "I can always count on you two making nice in the end."

"Oh! Oh! Before I forget!" said Clarabel. "Father Christmas? Please do tell me it's not too late to exchange my Christmas wish! I'd love to have my back window repaired, but I'd really love to have pink lipstick someday!"

"Stay on my nice list, Clarabel, and you might just get both."

"HE KNOWS MY NAME!" The coach rattled on her rails with awe.

"I believe Father Christmas would remember you," Annie replied, wincing. "He remembers the names of all the good little coaches in the world. Though I think he'd put you higher up on the list if you didn't make an unconscious weekly effort to make your sister go deaf."

"Sorry, Annie."

St. Nick folded his arms. "What about you, dear?"

"Oh, I just ask for the same thing every year," replied Annie. "My sister's happiness. As well as Thomas'."

Thomas beamed with unabashed pride."You're a great sister, Annie. And a great friend. I'm grateful to get to call you my coaches."
Annie, Clarabel and the two male main line coaches were left onto a warm, doored shed for a special run back to Knapford tomorrow. The coaches wished him a Merry Christmas—well, at least the girls did, anyway—and the engines were off.

He joined Emily side by side. The forced apology seemed to have popped the bubble of tension between them. When the crewmen were ready, they reversed, turned around one at a time, and began making their way back home to Tidmouth sheds. Side by side, but ignoring each other, to the degree that the other engine might as well have not been there.

Both engines were so preoccupied with their own thoughts they didn't realize they had company until the third presence made himself known. "As if the ship's horn wasn't bad enough. Figures it would be nearly midnight," groaned a voice from high above. "And here I am, having just fallen asleep, woken up by the sound of noisy metal rats scurrying across the tracks."

"Cranky." Thomas grimaced, and dared to look up. "I thought you promised you weren't going to call us bugs anymore."
"And I thought you promised not to toot your whistles at the bay here at this hour. The ship is gone. Go back home and let a crank rest, would ya?"

"What are ya complaining about?" Emily asked Cranky. "We'll all get to sleep in tomorrow!"

"But the sooner the docks are quiet, the sooner I get to sleep. And the sooner I get to sleep, the more sleep I get. See how that works?"

"Cranky, you're making more noise than anybody else." This was calmly pointed out by a voice from the other side of the tracks. The engines shifted eyes, and there stood Carly, who's bright and agreeable personality when she first came to the island was being put to the test, between lack of sleep, and… well… prolonged company with Cranky, most likely. "Ey, you two," she smiled at them with sleepy eyes. "Ooo, Emily! Lookin' so glam. Why, I wanna snatch you both up and hang you two on one of the biggest trees on the island!"

"Thanks, I guess?" Thomas only hoped an excitable Carly wouldn't try. "What's the weather going to be like tomorrow?"

"Oh, shut! I'm not that tall!" She pursed her lips teasingly. "But if you must know: Foggy. Very foggy."

"I should've known it was Thomas and a tender. Percy's not fat enough to make the snow crunch like that."

"Back off," Thomas shouted. He rolled forward a little on the track. "She doesn't deserve that."

"Oh! Sorry. Did your girlfriend have a bad week, Thomas?"

"Dude, just chill out!" Carly said calmly. She sounded almost nervous now. "You're gonna wake Mickey, and he's not exactly the friendliest guy when he's up before dawn!"

"Oh no! He's going to mute me to death."

Emily fumed. Just when she was starting to feel better! She didn't dare try to override her driver's break, so she funneled every ounce

of intimidation she could into her voice instead. "I've 'ad about enough with you, and your high and mighty attitude, I 'ave." "Year afta year, you stand there, like a crooked god overlooking the island, but your cords are always in a twist for some reason, aren't they? I'd behoove you to treat Carly a wee bit better! You could sure use a lady friend to help untangle them for you, as I see it!"
Cranky opened his mouth for a retort, but Emily's statement had shut his lips. He was speechless.
Carly didn't seem offended to be roped into that spiel. In fact, she looked impressed.

So was Thomas. He gaped at the lady engine like he was really seeing her for the first time. With three sentences, Emily had somehow snatched all of Cranky's possible retorts.

Under the various dock torches, Cranky's cheeks turned a very visible shade of pink, and almost as soon as he realized how apparent it was, he closed his eyes, and very loudly pretended to be sleeping.

As they at last pulled away from the docks, Thomas finally processed the conversation. "Did-did you just tell Cranky that he needs to get—?"

"Yes," she answered, eyes locked forward. "What of it?"

Thomas gaped at her for the longest time, and then, abruptly, he burst into laughter. The hardest laugh he'd had all winter, actually. Tears came to his eyes as he tried to quiet himself down before his voice woke up more islanders than the bitter crane.
Behind Carly, another snicker appeared. Mickey had apparently woken up. But he wasn't angry. He was laughing.

Emily stayed quiet after that, but she couldn't help but smile. Truthfully, if she'd been around any other engine, she wasn't sure she would've been able to come up with that insult for Cranky, let alone spit it out. She couldn't imagine the humiliation of saying something so vulgar in front of Edward. But she found herself speaking more comfortably around Thomas than around anyone else. She could really be herself around him.

And though she didn't show it, hearing Thomas laugh like that tickled her in a way she couldn't describe. She couldn't help but feel triumphant for doing something that made the jester laugh.

David was snickering, too. "Atta girl, Emily!" he said, leaning out of the cab door. The crews had heard everything. "About time somebody told that grudge on a stick what for!"

Emily's crew were respectfully silent, but anybody who chanced to look up into her cab at the right moment could tell that they were smirking with pride.

Matthew, however, per usual, was unimpressed. "Alright, alright! This night is over. Back to Tidmouth sheds."

"Fine, fine," David agreed, getting to work at Thomas' firebox.

But Emily's driver had other ideas. "You all have somewhere to be tonight? Or are you afraid ol' Father Christmas will pass over your house if you're not tucked into bed?" and he let out a raspy laugh. "Come on, kids! The night is young!"

"Oh, brother," moaned Emily's fireman. At twenty one, Kyle was the closest to be likened to a kid, and took Marty's use of the word as directed more at himself than anybody else.

"We could always grab a nightcap," David said thoughtfully, tapping his chin. He reached into his lunchbox and retrieved a bottle, sticking it out of the cab to show Emily's men. "Or share one. I did just so happen to bring along a bottle of peppermint schnapps with me for after the trip."

"I like how this lad thinks," Marty replied approvingly. And he jabbed an elbow at his own fireman. "Come on, Kyle! Don't be a stick in the mud!"

Even the studious fireman, with his well-pressed suit, clean crew cut and perfectly fitting hat, couldn't resist the offer. He shrugged. "Fine. I have nowhere to be tonight."

"Come on, Matthew! What do you say?"

Standing in the doorway, Thomas' driver had his arms firmly crossed over his chest. He stared down his fireman, his tight-lipped scowl tucked under a silvered pushbroom. He was outnumbered. At last, he folded. "We need to get Thomas and Emily back to the shed. But… " he said, thoughtfully, "we could take the long way. Toby's line will take us right back to Tidmouth. That is, if you lot don't be stupid with that liquor. And if they're okay with that."

He shifted gaze to Emily, who looked back at Thomas. Of course Thomas was game. Nothing was tastier than some harmless mischief and minor rule breaking. "Do you… want to?"

Emily hesitated. All evening, she'd been looking forward to getting home and going to sleep to escape these thoughts, and being away from this jerk. And yet, when Thomas asked her the question, she found that she honestly didn't want tonight to be over so soon. She felt the words pass her lips without really thinking about it. "I guess it couldn't hurt."

"Whoo-hoo!" David ran back into Thomas' cab, and began to work on the firebox. Soon, the flames were hungry and bright, and the cab was warm again. Soon, Thomas and Emily were headed off. Instead of reversing down the tracks, they continued on forward, towards the Windmill.

Matthew carefully checked their cab map to make sure the rough layout of the island's tracks were correct in his head, conferred with Marty, and then the plan was settled.

Maybe it was the late hour, the late haul, or the commotion, but the engines had to be repeatedly corrected in their directions. Both found it was hard to keep their eyes on the tracks, when they kept sneaking studious peaks at each other.

It was as if they'd never really seen each other before.

"Thank you, my good man," said Topham, handing the valet an envelope. "And have a very Merry Christmas."
The young assistant-turned-valet for the evening looked down at the envelope in surprise, and then tipped his hat towards the generous boss with a thank you before scuttling off on foot for his home, close by.

After being dropped off by Thomas and Emily, Sir Topham and Lady Hatt had left the platform of the last station before Brendam Bay. From there, they headed to his car, waiting just a few steps away, ready to travel home. One of his assistants had driven it to the station and kept it running with the heater so that it was warm and toasty when they got inside. Sir Topham Hatt slid in the driver's seat, rolled down the window, handed the assistant a handsome Christmas bonus in the form of a pre-written check, and then drove himself and his wife home.

It had been a long day for both Hatt and Lady. The Fat Controller was anxiously looking forward to a warm and filling, if very late, Christmas Eve dinner, and hitting the bed.

But for a desperately curious Lady Hatt, sleep was the last thing on her mind. She rarely had a chance to get to speak to the engines one on one for very long, and it gave her questions she never had before. "Topham?" she asked, breaking the calm silence that had fallen between them. "How often in the history of your running the railway has it ever happened that those under your employ have ever sought each other romantically?"

"Romantically?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the road. The question didn't immediately sink in. It took him a minute to respond. "Never, that I'm aware of. Though I wouldn't find fault with it unless I thought it would lead to workplace drama. But not many women have sought work on the railways out here on the island either way." He paused briefly at an intersection and studied her curiously. "Why do you ask?"

"No, no no, dear. I'm talking about the engines," she said frankly. Other women might've been too shy to ask what might seem like such a ludacris question, but not Lady Hatt. She was profound in her curiosity. Especially when she had reason to believe she was correct. "They love as we do, don't they? They're intelligent, after all."

Topham paused for thought. Back when he was just a young, ambitious man with years of experience ahead with the railway, such a question might have seemed laughable. But not anymore. Infatuation, he discovered, manifests just about anywhere that a conscious mind does. But it wasn't exactly something he wanted to spend too much time thinking about.

He wasn't keen to know what the world would think of his discovery-a world who didn't see engines as the individuals that they were, the way he did. Including his wife.

Sir Topham crawled up to a stop sign on a country road before answering. "What would make you think that?"

"Well, it's just that I forgot you'd had a couple of female engines, and what with being surrounded with all those lads, I've started to wonder..."

And then Topham laughed, feeling relieved. "No need to worry, my dear. They're all gentle engines, and if they ever decided to become fresh, they'd know who they have to hear from." And he hooked a thumb towards himself.

"Oh, it's not the lady engines I'm worried for."

"What do you mean, then?" asked the Fat Controller. Now he was confused.

"I'm just making conversation!" She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, feeling the occasional bump of the country road. She was tired, too, but all she wanted was a little glass of red wine before bed. "On that note, Thomas better watch himself."

"Thomas? My Thomas?" he turned and looked at her incredulously. "Why?"

"That Emily gets so fired up around him. Why, she nearly set my knickers on fire when he gave off that scandalous howl."

"An engine will throw off heat at random at any moment," he replied dismissively. "Doesn't have to be caused by anything."

"Oh, don't be so naive!"

"I'm not! But you realize the idea you're suggesting is… well…" His palms cradled the wheel as he cruised ahead. "... all well and cute. But you must remember that the engines are thinking, feeling creatures, my dear! Whom, I might add, have to work with each other every single day. Gossip like that will confuse and upset them. We can't treat them like a Raggedy Anne and Andy doll and just put them together, willy-nilly!"

"I am thinking about them as people!" she fired back. She was offended that he was talking about her as if she was that shallow.

"Which is why I feel perfectly justified in saying that I know what I saw tonight! The engines are smitten!"

"So you're suggesting you know my engines better than I do?"

"Apparently I do, if you didn't see it! Which is why I asked!"

"And what would make you so convinced that you know what you saw?"

"Bertram! Women. Know. Women."

Her husband sighed and turned back to the road. "If I haven't heard that a dozen times a year for the past twenty five years. Rest assured, my dear, there is nothing going on between any of my engines. Certainly not Thomas and Emily. Why, those two have bickered and belittled each other so much over the years, it's a wonder how they can put up with each other at the smelter's yard!"

Lady leaned back in her seat and took in a deep breath through her nostrils. "Because that doesn't sound familiar," she finally replied, her voice barely loud enough to be heard over the car's old heater.

Topham looked her way once more, his face slowly flooding with realization. And he slowly turned back to the road. He could make out the carefully plowed streets and familiar homes of their neighborhood in the wealthier district. Home was close, now.
But he wasn't thinking about roast beef and coco anymore. He wanted a drink.