Christmastime 1939 Read online

  Christmastime 1939

  Prequel to the Christmastime Series

  Linda Mahkovec

  Other books by Linda Mahkovec

  The Dreams of Youth

  Seven Tales of Love

  The Garden House

  The Christmastime Series

  Christmastime 1940: A Love Story

  Christmastime 1941: A Love Story

  Christmastime 1942: A Love Story

  Christmastime 1943: A Love Story

  Christmastime 1944: A Love Story

  Christmastime 1939: Prequel to the Christmastime series

  by Linda Mahkovec

  ...

  Copyright © 2018

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval sys-tem, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, character, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagi-nation and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead per-sons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

  Paperback: ISBN-13: 978-1-948543-69-9

  ISBN-10: 1-948543-69-9

  eBook: ISBN-13: 978-1-948543-70-5

  ISBN-10: 1-948543-70-2

  Distributed by Bublish, Inc.

  Cover Design by Laura Duffy

  ©Tomoko K/Shutterstock.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 1

  Home. Almost a week since Lillian Hapsey returned from her sister’s house upstate, and things were exactly the same. The inspiration or revelation or solution she had hoped for hadn’t happened. She hadn’t thought her plans through. Instead, she had trusted that everything would fall into place, and now here it was – Christmas was almost upon her, and she had no Christmas spirit at all.

  She let Tommy and Gabriel splash in the bathtub a little longer than usual. It gave her a chance to sort her thoughts, and to enjoy the hot water bottle on her lower back without the boys asking too many questions. She rested her feet on the small embroidered footstool and rubbed her legs.

  A pile of clothing to be mended sat next to her, but she had no desire to get started on it. She frowned at her fatigue – it can’t have anything to do with age, surely, she told herself. Thirty-four isn’t exactly old. It must be the extra hours I’ve been putting in at work.

  The small sketchbook she carried with her everywhere lay open on her lap. She paged through the drawings she had made from the visit to her sister’s – rows of trees in the orchard with a few old apples and leaves clinging to the branches, her sister Annette knitting by the fireplace, a swing that hung from an old oak tree, another of Annette kissing her sleeping baby. Lillian’s face softened at the memories. It had been a good trip.

  She moved the hot water bottle to her lap and savored the stillness of the moment – a contrast to the busy week. It had begun with the train ride home from upstate, then back to her routine of scheduling babysitters for Tommy and Gabriel, and keeping up with her work at the department store. Now that Thanksgiving was behind them, the Christmas season had begun in earnest.

  She leaned her head back against the couch and closed her eyes, wondering how she would muster up the energy and enthusiasm to get her through the season. The radiator rattled and whistled with coming steam. A soothing warmth began to fill the living room, chasing the cold away. She sank deeper into the couch, giving in to her weariness. The hissing and shshing of the radiator grew louder and louder, accompanied by the gurgling in the pipes. A peaceful oblivion overtook her.

  After several minutes, the radiator sounds lowered to a sputter. Then a whisper. Then a soft, warm silence filled the small room. Broken by sounds of laughter and splashing from the boys.

  Lillian opened her eyes and realized that she had dozed off. That won’t do, she thought.

  She sat up straight and looked about her. She couldn’t help but compare her tiny Brooklyn apartment to her sister’s rambling old house on the orchard with a lovely view out of every window – the flower beds and vegetable garden in the back that still showed a bit of color, the charming old cider house, the country road leading into town. From the upstairs bedroom window, the view was like stepping into a painting – softly undulating farmland dotted with red barns and white farmhouses, the orchard stretching out to the west, and in the distance, patches of woods and a small stream that sparkled in the sunlight.

  And the sunsets! The golden light over the orchard swelled her heart each time she saw it. She often ran upstairs as the day was fading in order to catch it, making excuses as she suddenly left the room. “Just getting something from upstairs,” or “I think I’ll fetch my sweater.” Not that she had to hide anything, she simply wanted those few minutes all to herself, to better take in the powerful stirring of beauty and longing. It was a reminder of girlhood dreams and all the things she was going to do with her life. She and Annette were raised in a town not far from the orchard and being upstate always plunged her into the past when she was young and full of dreams, before she and Annette had married and moved away.

  Lillian shook away her thoughts and lifted a few items from the pile of clothes – three pairs of trousers, a few dresses, and a skirt.

  “Tommy, Gabriel! Time to finish up!”

  She threaded a needle and draped the first pair of trousers over her lap. Mrs. Harrison from the dry cleaner down the street was kind enough to throw a little business her way. It wasn’t much, but it helped to supplement her earnings from the department store.

  She pushed the needle through the woolen hem, trying to recapture the glimmer of Christmas excitement she had felt up at her sister’s. A few days after Thanksgiving, Annette had begun to unpack some of her decorations. The children had caught her enthusiasm as they pulled out garlands and the crèche set and red ribbons.

  Lillian smiled in memory of the afternoon they sat at the kitchen table with the children and prepared sliced oranges to dry for ornaments, and made clove and orange pomander balls. The scent of fresh citrus and cloves filled the kitchen while the kids sang Christmas songs and laughed when they made up the words they couldn’t remember.

  And the evening when they sat in front of the fire, the kids sprawled on the floor, cutting pictures out of the catalogs – until Annette’s husband, Bernie, sent them all running and squealing when he crawled into the room growling and pawing like a bear.

  Her smile deepened at the memory of rocking Annette’s youngest, five-month-old Abigail. Was there any greater sweetness than holding a baby as it smiled up at you and kicked its legs and shook its tiny fists in joy?

  She set her sewing down. Is that what was making her sad? Knowing that she would never have another child? Or was it the nostalgia of being at Annette’s? Or was she just tired?

  Spending Thanksgiving this year with Annette and Bernie, rather than Christmas as she usually did, had seemed like a good idea at the time. But now Lillian felt a stab of dread at the mere thought of facing the Christmas holiday alone.

  No need to fear Christmas, she thought, picking up her sewing again. She would simply follow Annette’s advice, and start with their mother’s Christmas recipes. That would put
her in the holiday spirit. And then hang the stockings, and get a tree, and…

  She glanced over at the time.

  “Hurry up boys! Your show will be on soon.”

  The bathtub was soon gurgling as the plug was pulled and the water drained. She heard Tommy and Gabriel opening and shutting drawers as they pulled out their pajamas.

  “Don’t forget to brush your teeth!”

  Lillian cast another glance at the living room. There wasn’t a single sign of Christmas. She would have to get started.

  Oddly enough, it would be their first Christmas together in Brooklyn. They had always celebrated the holiday upstate. Especially after Tom died, Annette had insisted that Lillian and the boys spend Christmas with her and Bernie and their growing family. With Tommy eight years old now, and Gabriel five, all their Christmas memories were from the orchard.

  Lillian set her sewing down and brought the hot water bottle to the kitchen. This would be an important Christmas, and instead of preparing for it, she had spent these past few days filled with worry – missing Annette, hoping the landlord wouldn’t raise the rent, and fretting about the new manager at work, Mr. Hinkley. He had never liked her, and when Mrs. Klein finally retired and he was promoted, he made his feelings abundantly clear. He still resented the older manager’s preference for Lillian.

  No need to ruin her evening thinking about him, she thought, sitting back down. The trip to Annette’s was supposed to be a prelude to Christmas. But Lillian felt no surge of excitement. She wasn’t in the mood for Christmas and would be glad when it was over. Everything felt wrong.

  And of course, underlying everything, was the dark shadow cast by the war in Europe. The news reports grew more frightening with each passing day. She had believed that war would be averted. That Hitler would be appeased. But when he invaded Poland in the fall, England and France had declared war. Where would it all end?

  She stared out and worried about a world controlled by Nazis and Fascists. Worried that the U.S. would be pulled into the war – or worse, that they would be attacked by Nazis. First bombed, then invaded, then…

  “I’m finished!” cried Gabriel, running into the room. He jumped up on the couch next to her, clutching a wet teddy bear.

  Lillian gave him a quick hug and then quickly pulled her sewing away from the dripping bear.

  “Gabriel! You didn’t give Taffy a bath again, did you?” She eyed the sodden teddy bear, and moved the pile of clothes to the coffee table.

  “Just a little one.”

  “Go put him back in the bathtub until he dries out.” She would deal with that later – wring out the bear and set him on top of the radiator to dry.

  Tommy soon plopped down on her other side. “I told him not to, Mommy, but he didn’t listen. This time he washed him with soap! Lots of soap.”

  “That’s because he likes bubbles!” Gabriel hollered from the bathroom.

  “He’s not real!” Tommy shouted back.

  Lillian sighed. “Hush, Tommy. I’ll take care of it.”

  Gabriel was soon at her side again. “Mommy, does every word rhyme?”

  She shifted her thoughts from the soapy teddy bear to his question, while keeping her eye on her sewing. “Most words rhyme with something,” she said, amused by this latest word phase of his.

  “What rhymes with Santa?” he asked.

  “Let’s see…” She looked out, trying to come up with something.

  “What rhymes with Christmas?” asked Tommy.

  She opened her mouth, but again drew a blank. “Hmm…”

  Gabriel tugged on her sweater. “Who brings Santa his presents?”

  Lillian dropped her sewing to her lap and suddenly felt tired. “I – I think his wife brings them.”

  “Oh.” Then Gabriel sat up on his knees, in near panic. “Oh no! How will Santa find us this year? What if he brings our presents to Aunt Annette’s?”

  Tommy, who claimed not to believe in Santa Claus, nevertheless grew worried and waited for her answer.

  “Well – when you write your letters to Santa,” she replied, “you can tell him we’re in Brooklyn this year. That way he’ll know.”

  “Tonight?” asked Gabriel.

  Lillian resumed sewing. “Maybe over the weekend, when we’ll have more time.”

  “Or maybe never,” Tommy grumbled. He didn’t like the new plan of spending Christmas at home and had complained about it every day since returning.

  Lillian hadn’t expected him to be so upset over it. Had she made a big mistake in changing their plans?

  Gabriel looked from Tommy to her. “Tommy said we’re not having Christmas this year.”

  Lillian titled her head in reprimand to Tommy. “Not having Christmas? Now, how is that possible?”

  She bit off the thread, and stuck the needle in the pin cushion. “Of course, we’re going to have Christmas.” She draped an arm around their shoulders and gave a light squeeze.

  “How?” demanded Tommy.

  “We’ll figure that all out. It’s still weeks away.”

  “You’re just making excuses,” said Tommy. “Like you did with the World’s Fair. All summer you kept saying we could go, and then it was too late.”

  Lillian had intended to take them to the Fair but she had never found the time. And then it had shut down in October. “It will open again in the spring for another season. I promise we’ll go next summer.”

  Tommy didn’t look convinced.

  She gazed at her boys, their hair still wet from their bath. Tommy’s was neatly slicked over, but Gabriel’s curls were already breaking free into soft waves. My God, but her heart ached with love for them. She looked at the flannel pajamas she had made them last year – red and white striped for Tommy, pale blue with a scatter of moons and stars for Gabriel. She noticed that the sleeves on Tommy’s were well past his wrists. She would have to get busy if she was going to make them another set in time for Christmas.

  She settled her eyes on Tommy. “You’re growing so fast, Tommy.”

  “I’m growing so fast, too,” said Gabriel, sitting tall.

  “Yes, you are,” she said.

  “If we don’t have Christmas with Aunt Annette and Uncle Bernie, what will we do?” asked Gabriel. “How else can we have Christmas?”

  Again, she saw that Tommy was waiting for her answer. “First things first. Remember, you have your party at Dominic’s tomorrow night.”

  “But that’s for his birthday,” said Gabriel. “Not Christmas.”

  Tommy crossed his arms. “Why did you say no to the firehouse party? We go there every Christmas. And then we go to Aunt Annette’s. How come this year’s different?”

  Lillian rethreaded the needle. “Because I thought it would be nice to spend Thanksgiving with Annette, for a change. You loved it, Tommy. You and Gabriel spent all your time playing in the cider house and running around the orchard with your cousins.”

  “Yeah, but now we’re back and we don’t have any plans for Christmas! Not a single one.” Tommy jumped to his feet and stood in front of her. “And you keep making excuses.”

  Gabriel also jumped up, planted himself next to Tommy, and folded his arms like him. “We want Christmas!”

  Lillian made a few more stitches. “And we’re going to have Christmas. You’ll see. I thought it was time to start our own celebration, our own traditions.”

  “How?” asked Tommy, throwing out his arms. “You’re never here, you’re always working, you never have any time for us.”

  His words struck a tender spot. “This is the busiest time of year at the department store, Tommy. You know that. Besides, I have to work so that I can get you some nice presents.”

  “I thought Santa brings the presents,” said Gabriel.

  “He does. I – I meant school clothes and things for the house.” She glanced
over at the clock. “Look what time it is, boys!”

  Tommy hurried to the radio and kneeled in front of it. “Come on, Gabe. Time to saddle up!” he cried, adjusting the knob. Gabriel sat cross-legged next to him.

  The end of the news program came on, filling the small living room with words of gloom. “In more devastating news from China…”; “German Luftwaffe and U-boats continue to mine the estuaries of…”; “The destruction of yet another synagogue in the city of…”; “Britain increases the age range for conscription…”

  Each phrase was a punch. Lillian’s hands froze and her face twisted in worry. There was no doubt – it was getting worse and worse.

  Tommy pointed his chin at the radio. “If I was a soldier, I’d send Hitler packing to the North Pole.”

  Gabriel’s eyes widened. “You can’t put Hitler with Santa!”

  Tommy showed a slight sign of concern. “Then the South Pole.”

  Gabriel nodded his consent. “You think Santa will bring me a fire truck this year? And some Tinker Toys?”

  “I’m going to ask for a Buck Rogers Pocket Pistol,” said Tommy. “Even though I don’t think there really is a Santa.”

  “That’s okay, Tommy,” said Gabriel. “Even if you don’t believe in him, he still brings presents.”

  Tommy cast a sly glance to Lillian. “Then I’m also going to ask for a model airplane kit like Dom has and – ” He snapped to attention as their program began. “Shhh!”

  “I wasn’t talking,” said Gabriel, “you were!”

  “Shhh!” Tommy said again. “Here they come.”

  Both boys lifted the imaginary reins to their horses and bobbed up and down as they rode alongside each other. Gabriel’s smile widened at his pardner.

  Lillian let out a deep breath, realizing that she had been holding it, tense with the news. Maybe she should have gone to Annette’s for Christmas. It felt safer up there.

  That was just an excuse, she thought. She had to follow through with her plans this year. Last Christmas she had made up her mind to spend Christmas here at home – but at the last minute she had fled to Annette’s, afraid of being alone, of feeling the loss of Tom, afraid of the years ahead.