Christmastime 1945 Page 10

  Ursula lifted Frankie from the cradle. “A lot of things aren’t right, Eugene.” She left the room and went upstairs. They heard the door to her room close.

  Kate gave a deep sigh. “There’s no point in tormenting her. Ursula has suffered enough. So has Friedrich.”

  “They don’t know what suffering is. And I hate being lied to. Why didn’t you just come out and tell me?”

  “I told you why. For everyone’s sake we’re keeping it quiet for now. Anti-German sentiment is high.”

  “For good reason. Now the whole world knows what the Nazis are made of. When were you going to tell me?”

  “At a later time. Your attitude proves me right. For God’s sake, we don’t know how much longer Friedrich will be here. It could be any day. Karl is already gone. You never met him. He was a lovely boy. Some mother’s son.”

  Eugene ran his hands through his hair and let out a deep groan. “I hope he can stay out of the Soviet’s hands. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. The Russians and Germans – the things they did to each other – they’re vicious animals. I hear some of the German prisoners are committing suicide rather than go back to what awaits them at the hands of the Soviets.”

  “God protect him,” said Kate, her face filling with fear for Karl. A cheerful young man who had helped her so much on the farm the past two years. She missed him and his wide grin and ready laughter. She rubbed her forehead. “We were lucky to have him. All three of them. And Friedrich – he’s a good man. You realize he may never come back. He could be killed. Or disappear or God knows what.”

  “Can’t be helped.”

  “No, but your attitude can.” She set her knitting down in exasperation. “He and Ursula are husband and wife. That child is my grandchild!”

  Eugene stared out at the floor. “I can’t help what I feel.” He left the room.

  Chapter 9

  Charles waited in line at the telegraph office in London, remembering the old Central Telegraph Office from the first World War. Reduced to rubble in the Blitz. What a waste. So much destruction.

  He was exhausted from his prolonged voyage to England, but he couldn’t rest until a telegram went out to Lillian. A smile came to his lips to think that he was actually in London now, one step closer to being home.

  In his mind, he was adding to the letter he had started to Lillian. There was so much to tell her, things he had suppressed all these years. He had never written about his plans for the future, all the trips he wanted to take with her and the boys, and perhaps moving to a bigger apartment, or even a house somewhere. He had never wanted to talk about the future, in case…

  But now the war was over, and he was going home. He had the freedom to dream about their future lives. He could hardly wait to continue his letter to tell her how much she meant to him. How he couldn’t wait to hold her in his arms. How he still couldn’t believe they had a daughter.

  He looked around him. Most of the men in line appeared happy, though a few wore sad and weary faces. He had heard of the thousands of young Brits growing angry at the endless delays, stuck in India or Burma or some far-flung place while young men who had only recently been sent to war were already home with their families. The logistics of returning all the servicemen was proving to be a tangled endeavor for everyone. And yet it was taking place and soldiers were returning home. Just as the rubble was slowly being cleared from the London streets and communication lines were being re-established.

  Charles thought back to V-E Day, May 8th. He had arrived London on the 10th and the celebratory mood was something he would never forget – the wild euphoria, the jubilation. He had caught the spirit and began to hope that the war with Japan would soon be over.

  But his optimism had vanished when he had to set sail again, this time for the Pacific. He would be stationed near the India-Burma waters. His heart had sunk. It meant long months of grueling fighting. Perhaps years. With estimates of Allied losses at fifty percent. Back in those days, he wondered if he would ever see Lillian again. That was early August – Lillian was due the following month and he was desperate to be there with her – an impossible wish. Instead of being home with his wife for the birth of their child, he was on his way for the invasion of Japan.

  Then came the shocking news – destructive bombs, atom bombs, had been dropped on Japan, unleashing unheard of death and destruction in a matter of seconds. It remained unimaginable to him, but it had brought Japan to its knees and the unconditional surrender soon followed. V-J Day, August 15th. He had reeled from the news and scarcely believed it. Feared he was dreaming. The war was over!

  A few weeks later, he had received a telegram from Izzy informing him that he had a baby daughter! His world had shifted seismically – towards happiness. All that forward momentum of pushing on to Japan had halted. It took weeks before decisions were made that redirected the ship to London but, finally, he left the India-Burma theater of war, and all war, for good.

  Charles straightened his shoulders and looked around him again. The faces were gaunt, the figures thin, but there was hope in the eyes and the sound of laughter. Lives that had been put on hold could now be resumed, dreams could now be pursued. He would let Lillian know that he had arrived in London and would try his hardest to be home for Christmas. Whenever he thought of it, tears shot to his eyes. Home to Lillian and the boys – and to his daughter. He had a daughter!

  Some young soldier, having just sent a telegram, slapped him on the back, and smiled, full of joy and wanting to share it with a stranger. Charles responded with a broad happy smile of his own.

  *

  Lillian was bubbling with joy as she dressed for the party at Rockwell Publishing. The telegram from Charles had propelled her into boundless happiness. Perhaps the next time she dressed up, it would be with Charles!

  She carefully pulled on her stockings and fastened them. Finally, nylon stockings were available again. She ran her hand over the silkiness as she read his telegram once more. He sent his love – could hardly wait to hold their daughter – was meeting Red the following day – and had a transport appointment in two days.

  She jumped up and opened the closet door. She had splurged on a few new dresses in anticipation of Charles’s coming home. She decided to wear the shimmery deep blue dress with the matching jacket – because it so beautifully matched the sapphire ring Charles had given her last year this time. She looked down at the ring on her finger and twisted it to catch the sparkle.

  She called out to Tommy and Gabriel to hurry and get ready. She had arranged for the boys and Charlotte to spend the evening with Mrs. Kuntzman and Henry.

  As she finished dressing, Lillian had to laugh – all those years of Tommy rebelling against having a babysitter. Now that he didn’t need one, he sought her out! As did Gabriel. They were looking forward to having dinner with their old babysitter, especially since Amy would also be there.

  When they walked down to the brownstone on the corner, they saw Henry just coming up from the basement. Lillian wondered at the exaggerated wink he gave the boys – a sort of vaudevillian stage wink.

  “Martha’s been cooking up a storm all day. Hope you boys are hungry!”

  “Starving!” They ran up the steps and were greeted by Mrs. Kuntzman. Lillian handed Charlotte to her.

  Mrs. Kuntzman took a closer look at Lillian and then at the boys. “Such bright faces!”

  Henry also stood before them and noticed their wide smiles. “A merry group, indeed. Good news, is it?”

  Mrs. Kuntzman gave a light gasp in anticipation.

  Lillian nodded. “Charles is in London!” Her eyes teared up just saying the words. Then she laughed at herself.

  “Dad sent a telegram!” cried Gabriel. “He’s on his way home.”

  “Dang, if he won’t be here for Christmas!” said Henry, beaming.

  “We plotted it out on the calendar,” said Tommy. “We figure Dad could be home anytime between December 22nd and January 20th. It will depend on the ship and the wea
ther. It will probably be early January.”

  “But that’s still next month!” exclaimed Lillian.

  “We’ll have a celebration dinner tonight!” said Mrs. Kuntzman. “Bring out all the goodies we can find! And as we have our dessert, we will discuss recipes. Tommy and Amy can make decision for their French class project.”

  Mrs. Kuntzman rocked Charlotte in her arms and kissed her cheek. Then she followed Tommy and Gabriel into the kitchen, laughing at their guesses as to the aroma filling the small apartment.

  “Fried chicken and mashed potatoes?”

  “Meatloaf? Bratwurst?”

  She smiled at their hopeful faces and announced one of their favorites. “Chicken pot pie!”

  Lillian took her leave, seeing that all three children were in for a merry evening.

  She walked to the avenue and hailed a taxi. She was soon stepping into the lobby of Rockwell Publishing where she had spent a good part of the past five years. She hadn’t been back since she had left at the beginning of summer. She pushed through the revolving door and took a moment to admire the tall Christmas tree and the holiday decorations in the lobby. She had a rush of nostalgia for the place – not that she missed it or wanted to go back, but because it had played such a pivotal role in her life.

  She took the elevator to the main office and smiled at the music and laughter pouring forth from the open double doors.

  “Lilly!”

  And there was Izzy, just like old times. She wore a new red dress with green piping – perfect for the occasion. An enamel brooch of holly sat at her collar.

  “Look at you!” cried Izzy. “You’re brighter than the lights! Any particular reason?”

  “A telegram from Charles! He’s in London.” Tears shot to Lillian’s eyes. “He’s safe, Izzy.”

  “Thank God.” Izzy put her arms around her friend and smiled. Tears welled up in her eyes, too. “Look at us. We’re supposed to be celebrating!”

  Lillian nodded and took a hankie from her purse to dry her eyes. “I’m so happy – I don’t know why I’m crying.”

  “To the punch bowl!” Izzy took her arm and they made their way to the table laden with food and drinks. Lillian was greeted by a few old colleagues and Izzy introduced her to several new and returning employees. Before they could get their drinks, Izzy gave a light groan on seeing Mr. Rockwell. She leaned into Lillian. “We might as well get this over with.”

  They walked over to Mr. Rockwell, and Lillian was surprised by the spontaneous embrace he gave her. “Mrs. Drooms, so glad you made it! I don’t think you’ve ever met my wife. Barbara, this is Lillian Drooms. She was one of my top artists. My wife, Barbara.”

  Lillian exchanged a few pleasantries with his wife, a tall, attractive woman dressed in an elegant beige dress that set off her sparkling jewelry. Lillian took in the woman’s style and noted the diamonds at her ears, neck, wrist, and fingers. Even her belt sparkled – and her shoes! She was one glittery woman, and Rockwell couldn’t have been prouder.

  Mr. and Mrs. Rockwell were soon pulled away by other employees and Izzy took the opportunity to escape back to the bar. With glasses of punch in hand, they meandered through the crowd.

  After another hour visiting with old friends and colleagues, Izzy and Lillian sat at a table along the back wall, away from the dancing and party atmosphere.

  “I thought you’d want to dance, Izzy.”

  Izzy threw her hands up. “The irony! The war’s over, everyone wants to have a good time – and I’m not in the mood!”

  “I’ve noticed that. Your mind is elsewhere these days and it isn’t with Rockwell Publishing.” She waited for Izzy to speak.

  “No.” Izzy watched a few people on the dance floor, then looked down into her glass. “I sent him a letter.”

  “Red?”

  Izzy nodded, suddenly vulnerable. “I wrote to him, but now I don’t think I should have. I don’t know.”

  “But you said you’ve been writing to him these past few months.”

  “Yes, but not about us. Not about what happened. We were skirting the issue, avoiding any mention of it, and finally I just couldn’t take it any longer.” She lifted the glass to her lips and took a long drink. “I have to know.”

  Lillian had never seen Izzy so unsure of herself. “What did you write this time that was different?”

  Izzy swallowed. “I asked him point blank – did you love her?”

  “Oh. I see. And now you’re afraid of how he might answer.”

  “Yes. Either way. If he says yes, I’ll be devastated. If he says no, I’ll be confused and angry. There’s no good answer. And in the meantime, I’ll be tormented by the wait.”

  “You did the right thing, Izzy. You have to know the answer to that question. It’s the holidays – just keep busy and enjoy yourself. You said Lois and Sonny are coming up soon. Set the issue aside and do what you always do.”

  “You’re right. No point in fretting about something I have no control over. I’ll be volunteering a few extra nights at the Stage Door Canteen during the holidays. And Lois will be up next week.” She nodded tentatively, as if trying to convince herself.

  Lillian accepted another glass of punch by one of the waiters passing out drinks. “You know, Charles said he’ll see Red while he’s in London.”

  “Good. Good. I’m glad to hear that. And I’m so happy for you that Charles is on his way home.” Izzy drained her glass and snatched another from the waiter. She raised it to Lillian. “To Christmas!” she said, back to her old playful self. “Come on. Let’s go raid the hors d’oeuvres – I’m starving!”

  Chapter 10

  Ursula sat at the kitchen table sorting through the potatoes, choosing the smallest ones for dinner – buttered with parsley. She heard Frankie laughing in the living room. No one could make him laugh like Jessica.

  Kate stood at the stove, carefully following a new recipe from Mrs. Bloomfield. “I’ll practice making this for Jimmy and Paul – a tropical cake! Won’t they be surprised?” An open can of pineapple slices sat next to her mixing bowl. She read the directions aloud to herself. “Line the sliced pineapple rings on the bottom of the baking dish.”

  Just then, Jessica ran down the stairs, having changed into her work clothes. “I’ll check the hens. Then I’ll help with the baking.” She tilted her head at the pineapple slices as Kate arranged them in the dish. “You think that’s going to taste good?”

  “Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?” Kate asked rather sharply. “I want to have a few new dishes to make when your brothers get home. After I wring their necks for not writing, I’ll make them all their favorite dishes. Along with a few new ones.”

  Surprised that Jessica was not with Frankie, Ursula walked to the living room, about to call out to him. But on hearing Eugene’s voice, she stopped, and glanced around the corner.

  Frankie had just pulled himself up and was leaning on the couch, triumphantly standing.

  Eugene laughed, and motioned for him to walk over to him. “Come here, you little tyke. You just don’t give up, do you? That’s good. You gotta be tough in this world. ”

  Frankie toddled two steps and fell down with a laugh. He raised his arms to be lifted.

  Eugene swept him up and when Frankie tried to grab his mouth, Eugene pretended to bite at his fingers. Frankie gurgled in laughter, fixated on Eugene’s face.

  Eugene walked around the room with him. “So, you gonna like sauerbraten? And wiener schnitzel? You think that’s funny? Weiner schnitzel, wiener schnitzel,” he said exaggeratedly, causing Frankie to almost choke in laughter.

  “You probably will. It’s pretty dang good. That’s gonna be our secret. You hear?” Eugene walked from window to window, pointing to the cows beyond the fence, the windmill, the barn. Frankie laid his head on Eugene’s shoulder. “You gonna help me on the farm when you grow up? Hmm?” Eugene gazed down at him and patted his back. “Getting sleepy, are you?” As he rocked side to side, he suddenly became aware of Ursul
a watching him.

  She walked up to him and looked at Frankie. “I think he’s asleep. I’ll put him down for his nap.” She reached out to take him.

  “No sense waking him. I’ll put him in the crib.”

  Just then Jessica burst into the room. “Ursula, where’s the egg basket – ”

  “Shhh!” Eugene said with a scowl. “We don’t want him bawling again.” He walked down the hall with him to Kate’s room.

  Jessica raised her eyebrows to Ursula.

  “Come. It’s on the porch.”

  Jessica nudged Ursula. “We all have to say how delicious the pineapple cake is. Mom’s putting her heart into it.”

  Ursula laughed and showed her where the egg basket was. Then she sat back down at the kitchen table and finished selecting the potatoes, smiling to hear her mother humming happily.

  Half an hour later, the potatoes were boiling, and Ursula was setting the table. Kate opened the oven to take yet another look at the cake.

  “It smells good,” said Ursula.

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Kate said with a touch of surprise. “Everything’s ready for dinner. Why don’t you take a little rest before Frankie wakes?” She heard a truck coming up the lane, and she pulled the curtain aside. “Eugene! Clem’s here!”

  Jessica was just gathering the last of the eggs when she saw Clem’s truck coming up the lane. Her heart lifted – but then she pushed it back down. She was nothing to him – worse, she had unintentionally hurt him.

  From the side of the chicken coop, she watched him. The truck stopped, but Clem remained sitting inside, his hands on the steering wheel. What was he thinking? Why did he sit there?

  “Oh, Clem,” Jessica sighed. He was so handsome and kind. She felt she could spend all day gazing into his deep green eyes, listening to his voice. She had convinced herself that he must have someone – maybe even a fiancé in Europe. She had been too impulsive and hadn’t even considered such a thing until she had made a fool of herself, shoving her photograph in his hand. As she watched him sitting there, her heart went out to him, but she vowed to hide her feelings.