Christmastime 1942 Read online

Mason nodded, and forced a smile. After the door closed, he busied himself at his desk, thinking what a task it was to be in charge of a household of willful women. His sisters and mother were out at all hours, volunteering all over the city, the girls working odd shifts at their war-time jobs. He sometimes didn’t know where any of them were. And now the staid Edith was taking up with an actor! He was never more surprised in his life.

  The only comforting thought was that it couldn’t last much longer. The actor was sure to tire and move on to other beautiful women. He just hoped Edith wouldn’t get too involved, and get her hopes up. A few laughs, a few parties, was all well and good – as long as she understood that it was just a temporary lark. For all Edith’s seriousness and good business sense, he feared that she was naïve at heart. And inexperienced for being almost thirty-four. He would hate to see another repeat of – well, that was all water under the bridge.

  He put some papers into his briefcase, regretting his words to Edith. He knew he couldn’t risk pushing her too far. He needed her at home to help with their younger three sisters, all of them far more daring. That’s what worried him. Edith had always been the responsible one, the voice of reason, somewhat wistful, but self-controlled, dependable.

  Ah well, he thought, shaking off his concerns. I can’t go on fretting about them forever. Soon enough my own children will be grown, and then I’ll have them to worry about. The twins were almost twelve now, his five-year-old would be in school next year, and the baby was already getting teeth. There was no room to be worrying about his headstrong sisters.

  Thank God, Susan was of a more serene temperament. He gave a small smile to think how his wife would simply shake her head when he worried, and say something like, “let’s enjoy these happy times while we have them.”

  With the thought of Susan foremost in his mind, he decided that it was indeed time to call it a day. He closed up the office, and headed home to her welcoming arms.

  *

  Mrs. Sullivan squeezed Edith’s arm as they parted at the corner. “I, for one, am delighted that you’re enjoying yourself. Have a lovely evening, dearie.”

  “I will! And I have you to thank for it,” said Edith. “I never would have volunteered at the Stage Door if you hadn’t persuaded me. And I’ve never enjoyed myself more.”

  “Well, I couldn’t bear to think of you devoting yourself to rolling bandages night after night in the church basement. Everyone needs to have a little fun now and then. We’re only young once.”

  Edith tossed her head back and laughed at Mrs. Sullivan’s sound advice – always encouraging a blend of purpose and pleasure. “And you have a lovely dinner – hello to Brendan!” and with that she was off.

  Mrs. Sullivan watched Edith depart, delighted at the new-found sense of joy about the young woman – and so stylish in her new rose-colored coat. Mrs. Sullivan was immensely gratified to think that it was she herself who helped to bring about the remarkable transformation in Edith. In the past half year or so, it was as if a veil had been lifted that had obscured Edith’s beauty and charm and confidence. And now here she was, so obviously in love. Mrs. Sullivan, a latecomer herself to the comforts and joys of love, could only be happy for the young woman.

  She straightened her shoulders and picked up her pace as she neared the restaurant where her Brendan awaited her.

  *

  Underneath the lit globe of the Stage Door Canteen, a long line of servicemen waited for the doors to open. Edith almost balked at the sheer number of impatient and ogling young men. Instead, she lifted her head and smiled at the polite greetings and touching of caps, and ignored the whistles. She knew that Kathryn Hepburn was supposed to make an appearance that night, and that all eyes would be glued to the vivacious Hollywood star.

  All, except for one pair of loving eyes. Edith lowered her head to hide her smile, the natural blush in her cheeks nicely complementing the crimson of her lips as she stepped into the Canteen.

  Chapter 2

  *

  Lillian lay in the soft light of morning, resting on one elbow to watch Charles as he slept. She closely observed his shadowy cheek, his angular features, the deep rise and fall of his chest. She leaned closer and breathed in the air he exhaled, trying to breathe him into her.

  Almost a year of being his wife. Sometimes when he was gone, she was afraid that she was dreaming it all. But now, here it was, Saturday morning, and there he was – safe and warm next to her, in a deep sleep that he so desperately needed. The traveling and long hours left him exhausted – working with the Navy in Virginia during the week, and trying his best to keep up with the accounting firm on the few weekends he was able to come home. She hoped he would sleep the whole morning. She gently cupped his cheek in her hand, and kissed him.

  The tiniest of smiles formed on his lips, and a low moan of contentment mixed with his breathing. Lillian kissed him again and nestled under his arm. Just ten more minutes, then she would get up and make breakfast.

  When she next opened her eyes, it was to see Charles getting dressed, trying not to wake her.

  “I was hoping you would sleep in for a change,” he said.

  “Me?” Lillian asked, sitting up in bed. “I was hoping you would sleep until noon.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and caressed her hair. “I have to go into the office for a few hours. Then the rest of my time is yours.”

  Lillian jumped up and quickly dressed. “Not before breakfast. I have it all planned.”

  From the living room came the voices of Tommy and Gabriel. “What time is it?” she asked. “I didn’t think the boys would be up yet.”

  When they went into the living room, Tommy threw his arms up in exasperation. “About time! It’s 8:30, Mom – we’re starving!”

  “Just give me a minute,” said Lillian, hurrying into the kitchen. “I wanted to make waffles for you all this morning.”

  She had so carefully thought out each meal for the weekend, counting out her rationing coupons, shopping for ingredients. She had envisioned the waffles, arranged on the holiday platter, already placed on the breakfast table by the time everyone was up – and now, here it was, late, the boys hungry, Charles needing to go to the office. She opened the lower cupboard, and in her rush to lift out a mixing bowl, a large pan rolled out and clanged loudly on the kitchen floor, giving sound to her disordered haste.

  “I’ll help!” cried Gabriel, pulling a chair up to the counter. “I’ll crack the eggs.”

  Tommy slouched on the couch, and covered his ears from the banging of the pan and Gabriel’s hollering.

  Charles buttoned the cuffs on his shirt and raised an eyebrow at Tommy, waiting for him to lower his hands. “I think you know how to fix a bowl of cereal or butter some toast, Tommy. You should give your mom a break now and then.”

  Tommy opened his mouth and blinked out at the room, as if discovering a new thought. “I guess I never thought of it. Mom always fixes breakfast.”

  He slid off the couch and went to the kitchen, but wasn’t sure what to do. With Gabriel at the counter breaking eggs into a bowl, and Lillian reaching over and around him to lift out ingredients from the cupboards, it seemed that everywhere he moved he was in the way.

  Lillian much preferred to cook alone in the kitchen, but both boys were now at her elbows wanting to help. She turned on the water for the coffee, and filled the coffee pot.

  “Tommy, will you get out the waffle iron and plug it in? And then you and Gabriel can set the table.”

  She quickly whipped up the batter, and watched as Charles lifted down the plates and glasses for Tommy and Gabriel to bring to the table. She frowned ever so lightly – she had wanted to use the holiday platter and her embroidered green and red napkins. Well, she would just have to get up earlier for tomorrow’s breakfast.

  In a few minutes, the table was set, the waffles were cooking, and the rich scent of coffee, somehow both calming and energizing, filled the kitchen. Lillian poured Charles a cup and set it in fron
t of him at the table.

  She watched him take a sip, lean back, and sigh with pleasure – and she was filled with a surge of happiness. The last few times he was home, he was tense, on edge, and she so wanted to give him a nice, relaxing weekend.

  “It will just be a moment,” she said, lifting out the first batch, and setting the waffles on a plate. She glanced over at the boys now seated at the table, wishing that she would have set out their clothes last night. Tommy was wearing the frayed red cardigan that she had already patched twice at the elbows, and Gabriel had on his favorite blue pullover. Since they were little, Tommy had always preferred red, and Gabriel blue. And it somehow suited their personalities. She poured more batter into the waffle iron, vaguely wondering if she had done anything to influence their preferences. She decided she would choose some other colors when she shopped for their Christmas presents this year.

  She smiled to see Gabriel so obviously happy. He sat on his knees, leaning forward in his chair, telling Charles everything that had happened to him in the last month. But Tommy had a worried look about him that she sometimes noticed, and he was cracking his knuckles – a habit he had recently developed.

  “Tommy, will you get out the jam and maple syrup? Then tell your father what you did all week. Tell him about the salvage drive at school.”

  Since Tommy didn’t seem to have anything to say about it, Gabriel launched into telling all about the competition. “We’re collecting scrap metal and paper. Tommy and Mickey are on a team, but I’m helping them. And sometimes Mickey’s brother Billy, but he doesn’t really like to go. He said it’s too much work.”

  Charles turned to Tommy, concerned that he had sounded too harsh earlier. Perhaps it was unreasonable to expect an eleven-year-old to fix his own breakfast. “How much have you collected so far?”

  Tommy placed the jam and syrup on the table, and then slid back into his chair. “Not very much,” he said, playing with his spoon. “Mostly just tin cans and newspapers.”

  “We’re keeping everything we collect down in Mickey’s basement,” Gabriel explained. “Until we turn it in at school. Whoever wins the contest gets a War Bond and a blue ribbon.”

  Tommy suddenly sat up in his chair. “Hey, did you know that Gino is coming to dinner tonight?”

  Charles took another sip of coffee and nodded. “For an early Christmas dinner before he ships out. I understand that you and Gabriel have been learning quite a bit from him about sailing.”

  “Yeah. He has a friend who sailed on one of those Artic convoys, going to Mur – ” Tommy tried to remember the names.

  “Murmansk and Archangel,” said Charles. “Russian ports.”

  “Yeah, Murmansk. He said it’s dark all winter and light all summer.”

  “It’s way up at the top,” Gabriel added, reaching his arm above his head. “By the North Pole. Gino showed us on his map.”

  Lillian set the plate of waffles in the middle of the table, and sat down. “Gabriel,” she laughed, “Charles is in the Navy. He knows where the ports are. Don’t forget, he was in the North Sea for months during the Great War.”

  “Gino said you freeze to death up there,” said Tommy. “Solid ice. His friend said they had to cut up their blankets and sew them into vests.”

  Lillian had been observing Charles as he tried to engage with the boys, but now he was distracted, his mind somewhere else. He looked off, his eyebrows pinched, seeing some unpleasant or worrisome image.

  Gabriel was just about to pour syrup on his waffle, when he raised his head, puzzled. “But how can they sail in ice?”

  Charles smiled at Gabriel’s question, once more becoming present. “There’s a lot of ice up there in the winter, that’s for sure. But Murmansk is a warm-water port. That means it never freezes.”

  “How come?” asked Gabriel.

  “It has to do with ocean currents.” Charles looked over at Tommy. “I have an atlas, somewhere. Maybe we can take a look at it later.”

  Tommy nodded, but his mind was on Gino. “I hope Gino won’t be gone too long this time. He can’t tell us where he’s going, but I have an idea,” he added mysteriously.

  “Tell me,” said Gabriel.

  “Can’t. Loose lips. You might slip and tell someone, or talk in your sleep.”

  “No, I won’t. Besides, you would be the only one to hear me.” Gabriel gave it some more thought, and added, “What if you talk in your sleep?”

  Tommy ignored the question. “I’m thinking about being a sailor when I’m older.” He side-scrunched his mouth in thought. “Or maybe a pilot. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “I’m going to be an explorer,” said Gabriel. “Gino showed me his postcard collection from all over the world. There’s an island with real dinosaur lizards.” He stretched his arms wide. “Gigantic ones!” he said, his voice tinged with fear.

  “Komodo,” said Charles, widening his eyes in response to Gabriel’s description.

  “And another island,” added Tommy, “where the men wear shrunken heads around their necks.” He glanced around and was gratified by Lillian’s shudder of revulsion.

  As Tommy and Gabriel related more tales about Gino, Charles surprised himself by feeling a little pang of regret. He wished there was more he could share with the boys about his time in the Navy. But the interviews with engineering students would not interest them, and he couldn’t talk about the research and training he was involved with. He was glad the boys had such a good role model in Gino. He was a goodhearted young man, and a born storyteller.

  Once or twice Lillian tried to steer the conversation to Charles, or get the boys to talk about themselves, but they wanted to recount the swashbuckling tales of Gino.

  “Can we go down there now?” Tommy asked.

  “Absolutely not!” said Lillian. “Gino needs the time to pack and get ready. You can go down a few minutes before dinner tonight. Besides, I need you to come to the store with me. And I promised Mrs. Kuntzman some of Annette’s preserves for her holiday baking – we’ll stop by there on our way.”

  “Okey dokey,” said Gabriel.

  Tommy groaned and scooped some more jam onto his plate. “Mom, I really don’t think I need a babysitter anymore.”

  “Tommy, we’ve already gone over this. Gabriel is still too young to be at home alone. And it gives me peace of mind to know that you’re being taken care of while I’m at work.”

  “I’m almost twelve! None of the other kids my age have to. What will they think?”

  “You shouldn’t worry about what other kids think,” said Lillian. “Besides, I thought you liked going there.”

  “He’s worried about what Amy will think,” explained Gabriel. His intention to help Tommy was rewarded with a swift kick under the table.

  Lillian exchanged an amused glance with Charles. “Is Amy that little girl in your class – the new one?”

  “Mom,” said Tommy, “she’s not little. She’s my age.”

  “Well, I like going to Mrs. Kuntzman’s,” said Gabriel. “We have fun there, Tommy. And she always makes us good food.”

  “Even with the rationing,” added Lillian. “I don’t know how she does it. Maybe next year, Tommy. We’ll see what happens.”

  Tommy twisted his mouth in disappointment. “But no one else –”

  “There’s a war on, Tommy.” Charles added, cutting him off. “We need to know where you are at all times.”

  “We never know where you are,” said Tommy.

  “Tommy!” said Lillian, setting her fork down. “That’s no way to speak to your father. He doesn’t have a say about when and where he must go.”

  Charles raised his head, thrown off by Tommy’s comment. “You know I’m down in Virginia, and that I come home as often as I can.” He realized that he sounded apologetic.

  Tommy knew he was wrong, but pushed on as if he were right. “Mickey’s dad said you didn’t have to sign up. That you’re too old to be drafted. You could be here with us.”

  Lillian t
ook a quick breath, ready to reprimand Tommy, but Charles put up a hand.

  “That may be true. But my experience in the last war has some value, and if the Navy wants me, then I’ll do whatever it takes, and go wherever they ask.” He looked from Lillian, and back to Tommy. Did they not realize the danger they were in?

  “There are German U-boats just outside the harbor,” he said, waving his arm in that direction. “Sinking our ships. Dropping off spies. All up and down the coast our beaches are black with oil and wreckage.”

  He took a deep breath, suppressing the anger that had crept into his voice. He picked up his fork and resumed eating, cutting his waffle. “We all have to do our part, Tommy. That’s all I’m saying.” He tried to turn the conversation back into a normal family discussion. “Just like you’re doing with the salvage drive.”

  Tommy shrugged and reached for the maple syrup. The bottle was nearly empty and he turned it upside down and smacked the bottom.

  Charles gestured to the table and smiled out at no one in particular. “A wonderful breakfast. One of the things I miss most when I’m away.”

  He was aware of the strained silence that followed. Had he said too much? Had he frightened them? That was not his intent. These are just kids, he thought. I’m around grown men all the time and forget how to be around children. “So, what are you boys going to do today?”

  Tommy gave a puff of exasperation, as if Charles hadn’t been paying any attention. “We have our scrap drive.”

  “I – I meant after that,” said Charles.

  “Then it’ll be time for dinner. With Gino,” said Tommy.

  A sense of failure washed over Charles. He often wondered if he had what it took to be a good father. He only had a few memories of his own father to pattern himself after. And yet they were good memories, still strong – memories that helped to shape his early childhood. He remembered the feeling of being safe, of being connected to a man’s world of farming and taking care of the animals. All the memories associated with his father were warm, and fresh, and real, complete with scents and color – his dad’s old brown coat with the threadbare cuffs, the sweet smell of pipe tobacco in the evenings when he –