Christmastime 1945 Read online

  No. Not yet. He would help the veterans. Right now, that was the only source of meaning he could find. Guys who, when they finally did make it home, would have to learn how to live. Young boys who would never walk again. Some who were blind. Many who were maimed, who had lost legs or arms, hands. Husbands who would never be able to embrace their wives again, or touch them, feel the sweet softness of the woman they loved. Never touch her silky skin, run their hands through her hair…

  He rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t think about all that. He had to cheer the men on, give them hope, convince them that they would find happiness again.

  The sun was almost gone now, leaving the sky lavender gray, slowly darkening. This was the time of day he most felt Izzy. The last, excruciatingly beautiful moment of the day, before night covered it with blackness. He allowed himself a few minutes to torture himself. A few minutes for his heart to ache with longing, to imagine her in his arms, to remember her laughter, her expressions, that look of love in her eyes.

  He reached inside his inner pocket and pulled out an envelope with a worn photo inside. A close-up of Izzy. A moment he had captured with her camera, with her looking suddenly at him, questioning eyes, her lips the moment before they burst into a smile. On the back she had written lines from Auden, a poem they used to read together by candlelight.

  but from this night

  Not a whisper, not a thought,

  Not a kiss nor look be lost

  Red wouldn’t allow himself to grieve. At least he had known love. At least he had been given that chance. So many young men would never know what he had once known. And yet – what he wouldn’t give for one more night in her arms.

  He took a final look at the photo and then tucked it back inside the envelope and into his pocket. He swallowed hard and straightened his back. There – it was over. Night had descended, and day was gone. He stood, gave his leg a moment to adjust, and walked down the lamplit path back to the boarding house.

  Chapter 12

  Kate and Ursula finished packing a basket of molasses cookies and a tray of Christmas sugar cookies for the refreshment table at the American Legion Hall.

  Kate tossed a glance over her shoulder at the boxes Eugene and Jessica were stacking next to the kitchen door. “How we managed to make up four boxes of clothes and blankets is beyond me,” she said. “Feels good to clean out things that are just taking up room.”

  Jessica and Ursula exchanged glances. They knew it had been hard for their mother to part with Francis’s clothes, shoes, boots, and his good overcoat.

  “At the rate you’re going, our closets will be empty by spring,” Eugene said, adding the last box.

  “Nonsense,” Kate answered with a laugh. “But if we can help those poor people in Europe, then we must do what it takes.”

  “All the same, I’m keeping my flight jacket close at hand.”

  Kate gave a grocery list to Ursula. “Here’s what I need for the pantry.”

  Ursula tended to avoid going into town and now she had second thoughts. Perhaps it was better to stay home. “Are you sure you don’t want to go, Mom? I can stay and watch Frankie.”

  “No. You need to get out a little more. I was just in town. And I want you children to have lunch while you’re there,” she added, pressing a few bills into Ursula’s hand.

  When they arrived in town, they saw that the Red Cross drive was going to be a huge success. The American Legion Hall was already crowded.

  “You girls go on in with the food,” said Eugene.” I’ll bring in the boxes.”

  Jessica and Ursula were greeted by the Bloomfields. “Over here!” Shirley called out, waving them over. Mrs. Bloomfield and Sue Ellen made room for the cookies.

  “It’s quite a turnout,” said Mrs. Bloomfield. “I think everyone feels particularly generous this Christmas.”

  “It’s a good thing we made extra coffee and hot chocolate,” added Shirley.

  Sue Ellen picked up a molasses cookie and bit into it. “Oh, my word! I need your recipe, Jessica. Mine never turn out like this.”

  While they compared recipes, Ursula looked out over the hall and saw different labels above the tables. She saw Eugene stacking their boxes by the tables for clothes.

  “I’ll go help Eugene unpack,” said Ursula. “It looks like they want things sorted by category.”

  Mrs. Arnold from the dry-goods store directed the flow of items being carried in. “Men’s clothing over at those tables, blankets on the corner table, and women’s clothing here. And there’s a station for children’s clothing...”

  While Eugene went to get another box, Ursula began to unpack a box of men’s clothing – most of which had belonged to Francis. At the table next to her, Ursula saw three of her old schoolmates. Trudy Trumble had been fiercely jealous of Ursula all through high school. Though Trudy had primped and flirted and strutted, the boys had always favored Ursula, and Trudy was not one to forget it.

  “Why hello, Ursula,” Trudy said, sidling next to her. “We don’t see you around these days, do we, girls?”

  Ursula smiled a hello at the group but kept her attention on the clothes.

  Trudy eyed the items Ursula was placing on the table. “Hmm. Some of these look pretty worn,” she said, lifting a pair of overalls.

  Ursula bristled at the criticism of Francy’s clothes and pulled them away from Trudy. “Someone will be happy to have them.” As she continued to empty the box, she heard a snicker and the words “German baby.”

  Ursula’s eyes flashed in anger, and when she whipped around to confront Trudy, she saw that Eugene was standing just behind the group, holding a box. She hoped he wouldn’t say anything.

  Trudy followed Ursula’s gaze and, seeing Eugene, patted her hair. She ran a finger along the sleeve of his flight jacket.

  “Why, hello, Eugene! I heard you were back. I must say you’re looking handsome in your – ”

  Eugene raised his chin. “You got something to say about Ursula?”

  Trudy was momentarily taken aback at being called out. “Of course not, I was just – ”

  “Or about her baby?”

  Trudy turned to her friends and raised her eyebrows.

  Eugene dropped the box on the floor, causing several people to look. “Because if you do, you say it to me.” He thumped his thumb on his chest. “You understand?”

  Trudy widened her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “If there’s one thing I learned to despise in this war,” he looked around at anyone who was listening, “it’s cowardice. Spiteful, self-righteous cowardice. People who stab their friends and neighbors in the back. The Nazis and Fascists love those kinds of people.” He returned his glare to Trudy. “I despise them.”

  Trudy’s lip curled in a sneer and she walked over to her friends. “Come, girls. Time for some refreshment.”

  Eugene’s challenging stare caused the onlookers to turn away. Ursula continued unpacking as if nothing had happened, but her cheeks burned.

  Sue Ellen spotted Eugene and made her way to the table. “Joe could use your help, Eugene. He needs to make a run out to the Olson farm to pick up some boxes. Can you give him a hand?”

  “Gladly,” he said angrily.

  “I can help Ursula.” Sue Ellen bent down to lift a few items out of the box.

  Eugene leaned into Ursula and spoke in a low voice. “Don’t you take any guff from anyone. Especially from the likes of Trudy Trumble.”

  Ursula raised her head high. “I can fight my own battles.”

  “Like hell. This is a family matter. Don’t go thinking you have to do everything on your own. That’s just stubbornness.”

  Eugene spun around to leave, almost bumping into Mr. Creight who had just arrived at the next table. Both men bristled.

  Mr. Creight gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Eugene.”

  “Abe.”

  Ursula feared another confrontation and was relieved when Eugene made his way to the front door.


  “Mornin’, Ursula.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Creight.” She was about to say more to him, but he turned his attention to the bag of clothing in his arms. He didn’t want to be bothered. She folded the items that Sue Ellen placed before her.

  “There!” Sue Ellen lifted the last of the items and set them on the table. She looked up and gave a huff of exasperation. “Oh, honestly!”

  Ursula saw that Shirley was waving Sue Ellen over to the refreshment table.

  “I’m gone two seconds and – ”

  Ursula smiled. “I’m all right, Sue Ellen. I’ll just finish up here.” She folded a few more clothes, watching Mr. Creight as he pulled out shirts, sweaters, and a jacket. She was sure they were Jeremy’s.

  Mr. Creight slowly folded the clothes. He stood looking at them and rested his hand on the jacket, lost in the corridors of memory. Then his hand clutched the fabric and Ursula saw his mouth tremble. He slowly opened his hand and released the jacket. He gave it a final caress and abruptly left, bumping into people as he made for the side door.

  Ursula hesitated a moment and then followed him outside. She found him leaning with all his weight against a pole on the small porch. He straightened when she stood next to him. He briefly turned to her and then looked away. She saw tears in his eyes.

  “Mr. Creight, I know how hard that was for you.”

  He kept his eyes fixed on the horizon. “He won’t be needing them. Someone else might as well get use out of ’em.”

  “We – we brought the rest of Francy’s clothes. Part of me didn’t want to. It felt like saying goodbye to him all over again.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out. “No point holding on. I’m a practical man. I packed up his clothes and – ” His voice cracked and he brought his fist to his mouth.

  Startled, Ursula saw that he had broken. His body shook and tears streamed down his weathered face.

  His strong voice quivered in pain. “People tell me that life goes on, that the pain lessens. And I nod and go along with them.” His hands clenched at the rail. “But inside, I rage.” He turned his ravaged face to Ursula. “How can this still be called life – without my boy?”

  Ursula’s eyes brimmed with tears. She rested her hand on his arm.

  His fist went to his chest, pressing on his heart with each utterance. “He was my son! My boy.” His voice lost strength, his shoulders sagged. Then as suddenly as he broke, he composed himself. He took out his hankie and wiped at his eyes, blew his nose. “We had three girls, and then Jeremy. I thought I’d always have him near me.”

  They stood in silence, staring out at a world grown cold and empty.

  Mr. Creight looked at Ursula, then back at the horizon. “You were a kindness to Jeremy. That means a lot to me.”

  Ursula raised her eyes to him. “He was a good person, one of the best.”

  He nodded and wiped his eyes with his rough sleeve jacket. “Some of the girls made fun of him, because of his stutter. You never did. I thank you for that.”

  “Jeremy and I were always friends, since we were little. He was always kind to me – we were partners in our eighth-grade science class. He always talked about you and said how much you helped him with his school work. I saw him shortly before he left. He told me you had cooked his favorite meal for him.”

  Mr. Creight looked down at Ursula. “He told you that?” A faint smile came to his mouth.

  “I told him he was lucky to have a father like you, and he said he knew it.”

  His mouth twitched and he blinked hard. He gave two quick pats to Ursula’s hand that still rested on his arm. “My boy chose well. He was made of finer stuff – and recognized the same in you.”

  He tried to stand tall, his barrel chest puffed out, his face hardened. “I’m not the only one who has lost in this war. I’m just glad his mother didn’t have to see it. Maybe they’re together now.”

  They stood silently for several moments. Then he took a deep breath and let it out, his breath white in the cold air. He turned to Ursula.

  “I’ll be all right,” he said. “I’m a practical man. Life does go on. Whether we want it to or not.” He gestured to the door. “Go back inside, dear. Where it’s warm.”

  Ursula was reluctant to leave him with his heart so full of anguish.

  He forced a smile, as if to say he would be fine, and opened the door for her.

  Ursula stepped inside the doorway and watched him walk to his truck. A weather-beaten farmer – broad shoulders, rough hands, a determined gait. And inside, a tender heart breaking from unbearable loss.

  She closed the door, and stepped inside the noisy, warm hall.

  “Ursula!” cried Jessica. “I’ve been looking for you. Come join us at the refreshment table. And warm up with something hot – you look frozen.”

  For the next half hour, they filled cups of coffee and hot chocolate for the people coming and going, and served cookies and cake. Jessica gave a small gasp when she saw Clem come into the hall with Donny. She watched them take three bags to one of the men’s clothing table. Donny was soon talking with his friends. Clem said a few words to him, and then began to walk to the door.

  Jessica knew she should leave things be. She didn’t want to look like a little puppy always trailing after someone. And yet when she saw that he was leaving, she grabbed her coat and caught up with him.

  “Hi, Clem!”

  Clem spun around, his face flushing on seeing her. “Hello, Jessica.” His eyes searched for something else to look at but kept returning to her face.

  “You’re not leaving already, are you?”

  “No. Just have something to deliver to someone, then I’m coming back.”

  “Someone special?” Jessica blurted. Her eyes filled with hurt – so he did have someone after all.

  Clem saw her disappointment and smiled. He lifted a record. “Not that kind of special. I have something for Mrs. Fletcher.”

  “Mrs. Fletcher?” Jessica couldn’t hide her surprise.

  “You know I was in class with her son. Martin. You know he was there for D-Day.”

  “Yes,” she said. She well remembered the lists of names that appeared in the newspapers during that dark time.

  He nodded, and they were silent for a few minutes.

  Jessica bit her lip. “Can I walk with you a bit? It’s kind of stuffy inside.”

  “Sure.”

  They walked down the sidewalk and crossed the street.

  “Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen Mrs. Fletcher for a while.”

  “I don’t think she goes out much. Martin was her only child. I’ve heard she’s having a hard time with it.”

  Jessica silently berated herself for not reaching out to the woman. Even though she didn’t know her well, she could have done something, brought her some cookies or…

  “Her husband died young. Martin was all she had.”

  Jessica let out a sigh. “How terrible for her. Even though the war is over, there’s still so much sadness, isn’t there?” She looked down at the item tucked under his arm. “What is it you’re bringing her?”

  “Nothing much. Just something I thought she might like.”

  “A record?”

  Clem nodded. “Martin used to say she spent all her time in her garden and reading. And that she always listened to music at night. There’s a piece I think she’ll like.”

  “Can I see?” Jessica took the record from Clem. “Franz Liszt. Piano?” She looked at Clem. “Why? I mean, what made you think to give this?”

  He hunched his shoulders, remembering. “I heard it one night in the hospital. There was a gramophone in the hall. Guys were always playing different music, American jazz, for the most part. One night, someone put on a scratchy record. Piano music. It was nice. Then they played the other side, and…”

  Jessica waited for him to continue. “And what?”

  Clem shrugged and squinted at a memory. “Something happened. The room grew quiet. And we – well, I felt li
ke – it was the first time I felt – like things might be all right. That the world still had something to offer besides suffering and sorrow. I think we all felt that. I heard several of the guys sniffling – it was the strangest thing.” He took a deep breath. “I think it let us hope. It let us know that there was something beautiful out there…” He shook away his words and focused his attention ahead of him.

  Jessica looked closely at Clem. “You think it might help her?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “How will she know which one?”

  “She’ll know.”

  Jessica’s brow creased and she scanned the two sides. Then she read, “Consolation No. 3 – is that the one?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s what I love about you Clem. You’ve always been so good-hearted. You were always nice to everyone at school, that’s what I remember. You helped everyone – you helped that boy who came to town, remember him? George something. He didn’t have anyone else and you helped him with his 4-H project. And he won second place and was so happy. And I remember you sticking up for Jimmy in the schoolyard. He was always getting into trouble.” She twisted her mouth in indecision. “You probably don’t remember it, but you picked me up once when I fell while I was roller skating.”

  Clem smiled. “I remember that, all right. You were always on the run – climbing trees, roller skating. When I’d come over to see Eugene, you’d be running through the corn fields or swinging as high as you could on that swing in the oak tree. You were never still for a minute.”

  Jessica hadn’t intended to walk as far as Mrs. Fletcher’s, but they found themselves outside her house. The woman opened her door and nodded to Clem.

  “Afternoon, Clement. I heard you made it home. Welcome back.” Her hands locked in front of her, her chin slightly raised. A defensive stance – don’t come too close. Her iron-gray hair was pulled into a low bun. She cast a disapproving eye at Jessica.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Fletcher,” Jessica said in a small voice.

  The woman ignored her and turned back to Clem. “I’d ask you in but I’m busy at the moment. Perhaps you could stop by tomorrow. I’d sure love to talk to you.”