Chapter Text
Part 1 — Waiting
Thomas the tank engine was famously bad at waiting.
The cleaners usually scheduled his blow-out as early as possible, just as soon as he had prepared the morning’s trains, because Thomas was most likely to still be rather sleepy then, and at the height of his limited stock of patience.
But that morning it was hopeless. He couldn’t stop sizzling, and that made everything take longer, and that made him sizzle still more.
“There’s honestly no reason his couldn't wait till tomorrow,” said the head cleaner at last.
Thomas’s driver wouldn’t hear of it. “Let him slip out of it once and we’ll have a struggle every day.”
“Well, can’t do a thing till you get him to cool a bit.”
“That’s Gabe’s lookout,” said the driver, and the fireman grinned. He intended to work smart, not hard.
“Thomas,” he called, “if you don’t calm down, we’re going to take our lunch at the usual time after all, and you’ll miss Edward and the new Gresley.”
“Heartless!” snapped the tank engine.
“That’s me.”
“You couldn’t.”
“Think timetable thoughts, Thomas, there’s a good lad,” said the driver.
Thomas eyed them, and then sighed. He let off a great deal of steam and tried very hard to concentrate on running through the whole Knapford timetable in his head. There was a bit of challenge to this, as lately it changed every week. And yet it was still too boring to keep his attention. Besides which, it only reminded him of Edward’s canceled train, which reminded him that he’d been promised that he could join the welcoming committee, and—
No good, and he knew it. Grudgingly, he forced himself to start counting sleepers for as far as he could see.
His fire died down, Gabe struck a champion’s pose, and the workers were able to get at Thomas’s boiler.
It was just as well that, after his cleaning, he was as busy as he was. His crew and the shunters did their usual grumbling: they rather thought they were being kept far too busy as of late, but Thomas didn’t mind a bit. The morning and midday went by in a flash of clacking coaches and indignant passengers and organized goods sidings, and he was almost alarmed when Edward returned with the one-forty train.
His driver assured him that there was plenty of time before the Gresley was scheduled to come in, but Thomas zipped through the rest of his work, charming the shunters, bossing the trucks, and ignoring the protests of the tired coaches. Gresley or no Gresley, who cared! He’d gotten excited for a Gresley once before, and considered himself too experienced and wise from that disappointment to get so worked up again.
Any newcomer was excitement enough, of course, especially when life was so dull. But, just as much, he was excited to take his break with Edward. They’d had seven or eight newcomers come and go since the last time they'd had a chance to rest and chat in broad daylight. Once, it had been a little ritual of theirs—but it had been years.
Indeed, the past few weeks everyone had been too busy and weary to talk much, even at night in the sheds. It certainly didn’t help, either, that Thomas always woke before dawn, and the others usually came in after sunset.
Truth be told, Thomas was going slightly out of his mind with loneliness.
He scrambled all the way back to Tidmouth as fast as his driver would allow and turned round again, puffing up as the maintenance crew finished with Edward. He was occupied by trying to say several things all at once—a demand to know why he’d been ordered that morning to switch Edward’s coaches at the last minute, and a joke about boiler sludge, and even a simple hullo was in there somewhere too—and consequently he didn’t notice until too late that he was coming to a stop level with the other engine.
“Wait, wait! Driver, this is too far, let’s back up!”
“No, indeed,” said Edward, as the driver blatantly ignored Thomas in what he thought was a very hard and cruel way. “Just right. If you’re going to cheek him, you’re going to have to do it face-to-face, not hiding behind me.”
“No, I shan’t! I won’t be able to say a word, if he’s half as big as everyone says. Do let me just stay well back—you’ll never know I’m here!”
Edward laughed.
At that laughter, even Thomas he had to own to himself that he always said that he would be too scared to talk to newcomers. However, the awe invariably gave way to cheeking off after about ten minutes.
With Henry, it had been a record. Less than two.
“Right up here,” Edward said firmly.
“No, no, I can’t. Oh, driver, please. I’ll go away.”
“It would be just as well if you did. Controller gave me strict instructions to make sure the Gresley gets a nice welcome, and he specifically mentioned keeping you in line. If you stay you’re bound to get me into trouble.”
“No I won’t. I wouldn’t! I’ll stay and be nice. So long as it’s a real express engine this time, and not another slowpoke.”
“Thomas.”
“I’ll be nice no matter what. Oh, you’ve got to do the talking, though. It’s dreadful, being all the way up here.”
“It’s a deal.” Edward tried to sound grim, but the effect was rather ruined because he never could help smiling at Thomas.
It was pleasant to wait together and talk meanwhile over all the doings in the yard and on the line. There was a great deal to catch up on.
Thomas exulted shamelessly over the disappearance of the “ham engines,” and promised several times that he would manage just fine alone. It seemed to him that Edward was far too worried about him. “I've been managing without much help from them all this past winter anyway; they were always out double-heading. Double-hamming, rather? Ooh!"
"How did you never think up that one while they were here?" Edward sounded deeply relieved at the close call.
"I know, right? Anyway, stop fussing. I can do my bit, too—you just watch! D’you reckon this is really it, though? That we’ll get the express running this time, and get more engines?”
“Yes indeed. They were very lucky to fool the Fat Controller once, and there’s not a chance he’ll let it happen twice. One more summer, Thomas. We can do it.”
“D’you think they’ll be decent engines? I miss Linda, and Henry’s an all right sort, but I’d rather do all the work alone forever and ever than have more nutters like those hams.”
“Maybe you should let Henry know you think that. He might find it a pleasant surprise.”
“What! I’m awfully nice to Henry.”
“Oh, you are, are you?”
“I don’t tease him nearly as often as he deserves. Anyway, I heard you two were at outs with each other!”
“You heard wrong.”
“You didn’t tell Henry off for shirking his bit, then?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“I was listening to some of the shunters talk in the yard. They say you two haven’t spoken in weeks.”
“Well, they’re quite mistaken, and that’s all you should expect from listening to gossip. It isn’t nice for engines and people to eavesdrop on each other anyway.”
Thomas scowled. “It’s not as if there’s usually another engine around to talk to while my crew’s on break! What am I supposed to do?”
Edward had no answer for that. “I know you must be bored. But you mustn’t take the shunters seriously; they hear everything from the line and our sheds third-hand. I own I did get rather snappish the morning of the fair—you were already in the yard for this—and I hurt Henry’s feelings. But he did very well with that train, and I apologized, and we’ve been quite all right again. That was weeks and weeks ago now.”
“I think Henry’s still upset.”
“What makes you think that?”
“He’s been quiet. It’s odd, not hearing him complain. If you were still friends he’d be more natural.”
“Hmm. Well, you might be right. I’ve just thought he must be tired. I mean, I know he is. We all are, and rather out of sorts.”
“One more summer?” Thomas was a perfect mixture of mockery and faith, and Edward smiled.
“That’s right. One more summer.”
When they heard a distant grumbling puff, deep and unfamiliar, Thomas was briefly disappointed; their little break had passed all too quickly. But his mood bounced back almost at once as they listened to the engine passing through the station and then into the yard.
Thomas was impressed, stunned beyond words really, when he saw it.
“Oh,” he breathed, “oh!”
“Shh,” hissed Edward. But it’s not at all impolite for engines to stare boldly upon each other without acquaintance—engines almost always like to be looked at, so there’s no harm in it—and they both did so as the Gresley puffed by.
Thomas almost thought he never would finish going by: he was moving so slowly and deliberately, and there seemed to be no end to him. His wheels were massive—even his front “pony” wheels seemed almost as large as all of Thomas’s—and he was freshly gleaming in N.W.R.’s signature sky-blue with red lining.
Altogether, Thomas—whose impatience and desires had been put off by some version or another of “one more summer” all his life—for the first time really believed that the future would be different. The Fat Controller had pulled it off. Their railway was saved. They would grow. That new paint was almost the very sign and seal of it. Yes, things were underway and something proper, this time.
Gradually the engine did pass them. He did not look to the left or the right; he appeared to not even see the other two engines. Thomas, though he would have faced derailment and death sooner than admit it even to himself, was a little abashed. He’d had to be told most of his life to mind his rails, and this quite new young engine, still fairly smelling of the oil of the workshop, had already somehow mastered the art.
It was all but unnatural to keep one’s eyes so studiously on the tracks in a strange new place, with so much to see.
But, of course, the most unnatural thing was his size.
“Did you ever see such a big engine?” he whispered excitedly, when the Gresley had finally passed.
“Oh, we both have! Certainly he’s quite grand, but I do believe he and Henry are within inches of each other in every direction, after all.”
“Oh, but that’s not the same.” Thomas still considered himself bound by his promise to not open his mouth during their first introductions, but even without this stricture he knew very well that he should not have dared tease the new engine as quickly as he had Henry. To be honest, he wasn’t sure he could keep his wheels from quaking. “Henry doesn’t fit his frame, somehow. This one likes being that size, and it makes all the difference.”
“Shrewd eye you’ve got today.” If Edward had meant this as gentle teasing, it quite backfired: Thomas grinned proudly. “Yes, I see exactly what you mean.”
“Still,” said Thomas, “I suppose they are pretty near identical. I’m glad he’s already been given our colors. I heard passenger engines from his railway are green, but that would have made it quite a bother to tell them apart.”
“It was good policy, though I imagine he isn’t half uncomfortable right now. ‘Gordon’ very likely wasn't his name on the mainland, either, and it must be quite a lot of change, all at once.”
“Is this another reminder that I’m to be ever so nice and quiet?” Thomas scowled.
“Oh, that's me rumbled, then. Clever engine he’s getting to be!”
They bickered good-naturedly for a bit, until they heard the Gresley puffing up behind them on the furthest line.