Christmastime 1939 Read online

  Lillian sat up straight. This year she would face Christmas on her own. Not with the help of her sister. Not with the help of Tom’s friends from the firehouse. It had been four years since his death, and it was time to stand on her own.

  While the boys listened to The Lone Ranger, Lillian completed hemming the trousers, and began to let out the seams on a dress. She tried to be clear-headed about her situation. She liked to believe that where there was a problem, there was also a solution.

  First, she separated the problems that she had control over. She realized that most of them concerned money. She decided that if money was part of the problem, then it would also be part of the solution. She would try to pick up extra shifts when she could. And perhaps she could find a few more people who needed some sewing done.

  Though what she really needed, as her friend Izzy was always pointing out, was to acquire skills that would enable her to work in an office. Perhaps she should think about taking a few classes somewhere. Change would be good for her – yet she was afraid of making things worse. So, she did nothing.

  When the radio program was over, Gabriel climbed onto the couch next to her and rested his head on her shoulder. “Mommy, do you have to go to work tomorrow? Can’t you stay home? I don’t want to go to the babysitter.”

  “Tomorrow is Saturday, the busiest shopping day. Especially with Christmas just around the corner.” Saturday was the day the boys most complained about going to the babysitter’s house, especially Tommy. During the week he was only there before and after school – but he was growing increasingly angry about Saturdays.

  Tommy let out a groan.

  “But I don’t like Mrs. Peabody,” said Gabriel. “She’s crabby.”

  “Mrs. pea-brain,” Tommy muttered, as he plopped down on the couch.

  “Tommy!” chided Lillian.

  “Mrs. peahen,” Gabriel said softly, hoping to get away with his remark.

  Tommy grinned and with a forward thrust of his head, imitated their babysitter. “Cluck, cluck!” he cried, sending him and Gabriel into peals of laughter.

  “Boys, that’s no way to speak about Mrs. Peabody. Besides, you don’t like Mrs. Crawford either, or the Sisley sisters.”

  “That’s because Mrs. Crawford sleeps all the time and talks to her birds all day long.”

  “Yeah,” said Gabriel, “and she makes us eat lima beans. Yuck!”

  “And we have to be quiet while the Sisley sisters teach piano,” said Tommy.

  Gabriel held up a finger. “But at least they give us cookies and milk.”

  “They give us digestive biscuits, Gabriel. Not cookies.”

  Lillian sighed. “I’ll look for another sitter after the holidays.”

  Out of all the babysitters, Lillian much preferred the Sisley sisters, identical twins – who also dressed identically – Sylvia and Cynthia. They were two elderly spinsters of the old order, everything proper and correct. They taught piano lessons to the neighborhood children and were rarely available for babysitting. They were willing to help out in a pinch, provided it could be arranged well in advance, and provided that Tommy and Gabriel behaved themselves. The sisters had temporarily refused to babysit after discovering that Gabriel had been spinning their piano stool seats up and down, readjusting the heights right before a lesson. It had apparently thrown the sisters off for the rest of the day.

  Tommy crossed his arms. “We should have stayed at Aunt Annette’s for Christmas!”

  “That’s enough, Tommy. We were there for a whole week. You know I have to get back to work. And you have school.”

  “I know,” Tommy said, his voice filled with resignation.

  “We’ll make this a very special Christmas,” said Lillian.

  Both boys looked up, willing to hope. “How?”

  She put away her sewing materials and refolded the pile of clothes. The rest would have to wait. “We’ll decorate our home with pine boughs. And get a Christmas tree, of course.” There was no response. “We could make pomander balls.”

  “Nah. We already did that up at Aunt Annette’s,” said Tommy. He walked on his knees over to the bookshelf and lifted a book. He flipped through it, then closed it with snap and lifted a kaleidoscope to his eyes.

  “Yeah, and the cloves hurt my fingers,” said Gabriel. “They’re sharp.”

  Lillian would be happy when Christmas was over. It was a wearisome puzzle she couldn’t quite figure out.

  “That’s mine!” Gabriel cried, jumping up and snatching the kaleidoscope away from Tommy.

  “You said I could have it,” said Tommy, yanking it back.

  “I changed my mind!”

  A tug-of-war began that Lillian feared would result in a broken kaleidoscope. She got up and took the kaleidoscope away and set it on the bookshelf.

  “Why are you two so fussy tonight?”

  She spotted the book that Annette had tucked into the lunch basket, just as they were leaving for the train. She had forgotten all about it, and lifted it with a sense of being rescued.

  “Look here!” she said, showing them the cover. “Annette said this will put us in the Christmas spirit. Come,” she said, returning to the couch. “Let’s begin it. It will be the start of our holiday celebration. We’ll read a little bit each night. How about that?”

  Gabriel was all for it and jumped onto the couch next to her. Tommy sat down on her other side and read the title. “About singing?”

  “No. It’s a story about a grouchy old man who hates Christmas. I read it many years ago.” Lillian turned to the first page.

  Tommy leaned over and read, “Stave One: Marley’s Ghost.” His eyes brightened and he sat up in anticipation.

  Gabriel, never one for ghost stories, snuggled closer.

  Lillian began to read. “Marley was dead, to begin with. There was no doubt whatever about that.” She completed the first paragraph, reading, “Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail,” and glanced at the boys, relieved to find them engaged.

  Despite constant interruptions and questions – “Why is Scrooge so mean?” “Why does his nephew like him if he’s so crabby?” “Why doesn’t the clerk quit and find a different job?” “What rhymes with Scrooge?” – the boys enjoyed the tale and peered closer to examine the illustrations.

  However, when Marley’s face appeared on the door knocker, and when Scrooge thought he saw a hearse making its way up the stairs, and when all the bells began ringing in Scrooge’s cavernous dark home, Gabriel buried his head in Lillian’s arm. She placed her hand on him, assuring him that it was a happy tale. But when the ghost of Marley made his way up the stairs, rattling his chains, and then walked through the door, Gabriel covered his eyes.

  “I don’t like this story! I want to hear about Santy Claus.”

  “Scaredy cat!” said Tommy.

  “I am not! I just don’t like stories about dead ghosts!”

  “Ghosts aren’t real, Gabe.”

  “Then why is Scrooge so scared?” Gabriel asked.

  “This part is almost over,” said Lillian. She scanned the next line and saw that Marley untied the bandage around his head, causing his jaw to drop on his chest. She shut the book.

  “All right,” she said. “That’s enough for tonight. I promise it gets happier.” She kissed Gabriel’s forehead. “Time for bed. You can look at your picture book for five minutes.”

  “How about ten?” asked Tommy.

  “All right. I’ll tuck you in soon.”

  The boys raced to their room, and Lillian went to the kitchen to make her lunch for the next day. She opened the bread drawer and told herself that she just needed to get through the season. Then she would take stock and – and what? She didn’t know what it was that she was waiting for.

  Exhausted and dispirited, she kissed the boys goodnight, took a quick bath, and went to bed. She would
read a few more pages of the tale by Dickens, so she would know which parts to skip for Gabriel. It was supposed to cheer them up, after all.

  And yet, as she continued to read, she, too, felt disturbed by the simple story.

  I read it as a girl, she thought. But I don’t remember being so upset by Marley’s ghost. Or was it the words he spoke to Scrooge? “I wear the chain I forged in life.” And all those whirling, miserable spirits that filled the sky as Marley departed, howling and lamenting the time they wasted on Earth. Spirits of painful regret.

  Once again, she realized how relieved she would be when the season was over. She quickly checked her thoughts – she sounded just like Scrooge, all grumpy and ill-tempered. Then appalled by the very thought, she denied it. She was nothing like Ebenezer Scrooge. Nothing at all like him. She was not mean and ungenerous and stingy. And she was happy, compared to him. Wasn’t she? Yes, she wanted Christmas to be over, but that didn’t make her in any way similar to Scrooge.

  Scrooge’s past had been sad and lonely. Hers was happy. In fact, hers was so happy that she was always trying to recreate it. Was she living too much in the past – missing her parents, and her girlhood days with Annette, and longing for the days of first love that would never come again?

  Rather than dwell on those thoughts, she read on. She flipped ahead and saw the illustration of the Fezziwig’s Christmas party, which she remembered as being a cheerful part of the story.

  In a way, she had to admire the youthful Scrooge. In spite of his difficulties, he had mustered up his strength and made his way in the world, albeit with an underlying hardness.

  She, on the other hand, had frittered away much of her youth. She had always been guided by her dreams, but they hadn’t led to firm results. Maybe Mr. Scrooge was a better planner than she had been. But what a nasty man. And what a grouchy, miserly boss he was. Like Mr. Hinkley.

  She decided to blame her lack of Christmas spirit on her job and Mr. Hinkley. She had argued with him before leaving for her visit upstate. He hadn’t wanted her to take so much time off for Thanksgiving, but she explained that she had already planned her vacation, before he had been made manager. Still, she knew he disapproved of her in general and kept a watchful eye on her, waiting for her to make a mistake. She would need to be more careful.

  She would begin anew tomorrow. Prove herself a good employee. She would wear her best suit, work harder, and make more sales for the department. And work late or extra hours if need be.

  But the boys already complained that she was gone all the time. She needed this job, and couldn’t risk losing it. She would make it up to the boys somehow, she thought, and once more lifted the book.

  She read a few pages – only to realize that she had no idea what she had just read.

  She lowered the book again and gazed out at her room. A picture of Tom by her bedside was the only evidence that he had once been there. No shirt or pants draped over the chair, no men’s shoes sat at the closet door, as they used to. She smoothed her hand over the pillow next to her. Then she raised her head to the emptiness of the room, and spoke softly:

  “Tom was dead. Of that there was no doubt.”

  Several hour-like minutes passed, and she closed the book. Then she turned off the lamp and curled on her side.

  Poor old Scrooge. She couldn’t get rid of the image of him returning home on Christmas Eve and eating gruel in his cold room. He was utterly miserable, but had only himself to blame.

  She fluffed up her pillow and tucked her arm under her head. At least Scrooge didn’t have to worry about money. The old miser. Pinching and scraping on coal and candles. At least he didn’t have to worry about rent and bills, and –

  A low creaking noise stopped her thoughts. She raised her head and listened. She cocked her head. Nothing. She sank back into her pillow.

  She shouldn’t have read a ghost story to the boys right before sleeping. She hoped they wouldn’t have nightmares about clanking chains and footsteps in the night and –

  There it was again! She lifted her head and peered at the open doorway. Ridiculous! Perhaps she was more like Scrooge than she cared to admit. She pulled up the blanket and settled in once more.

  What was Annette thinking, giving me this book to cheer me up? Noises in the dark. Ghosts and hearses and bells ringing of their own accord. How is that supposed to get me in the Christmas spirit? It’s left me in an impressionable state of mind. She peered again at her doorway, half expecting Marley to come floating in. Was she like Scrooge? What was she so afraid of?

  She would look for a happy book about Christmas. Gabriel was right. She would find a story about Santa and elves and –

  Again! A small rustling sound. She was sure. She lifted her head, and turned her face to the left, the right, straining to make it out. Slowly, she pushed herself up, pulled the blanket up to her chin, and remained absolutely motionless.

  There was an unmistakable noise near her bed, coming towards her. A crawling, scraping sound – and breathing? Yes! Her heart pounded in unreasonable fear.

  She would have to turn on the lamp or lie there terrified. She must do it!

  She forced herself to reach over, and quickly snapped on the lamp – just as Tommy and Gabriel jumped from their crouching position at the foot of her bed.

  “Booo!” they cried, laughing and scrambling onto her bed. She caught a flash of red and blue pajamas before they dove under the blanket and nestled next to her.

  Lillian placed her hand over her heart. “What is going on! Scaring me like that! Why aren’t you boys in bed?” she asked, never so happy to see their smiling little faces.

  “Gabriel’s scared of ghosts,” said Tommy.

  “So are you!”

  “No, I’m not.” Tommy propped himself up on his elbow.

  “Mommy, can we sleep with you tonight?” asked Gabriel. “Please?”

  The look of sternness fell from her face and both boys snuggled closer. She wrapped her arms around them, nuzzling their faces. Little bundles of love and joy tucked safely into her arms.

  “All right. Just for tonight.”

  Chapter 2

  Lillian awoke early the next morning, slipped on a housedress, and ran downstairs to the milk box to pick up the fresh bottles and return the empties. Though the dawn had broken, heavy skies cast the world in gray. She paused a moment on the stoop to listen to the sounds of Brooklyn – the early rumbling of trains and the clang of the trolleys a few blocks over. The various caws and coos from seagulls, pigeons, and blackbirds. And from the nearby basement, the scraping of iron against cement as the super shoveled coal into the burner.

  She rubbed her arms against the cold, picked up the fresh bottles of milk, and hurried back upstairs to make breakfast for Tommy and Gabriel.

  She boiled a few eggs and set the bread and butter on the table. Annette’s apple butter and peach preserves would add a nice touch. She roused the boys and set out their clothes, and then went to her room to dress for work.

  Foremost in her mind was the thought that she would make this a good Christmas for Tommy and Gabriel. Every problem had a solution, and she would set about solving hers instead of being overwhelmed by them. Problem. Solution. It was simple.

  To begin with, she thought, looking through her closet at her best pieces, she would stop worrying about Mr. Hinkley. She had a loyal clientele, which Mr. Hinkley was aware of, and she knew the dress salon as well as, if not better than, he. She had the advantage of being able to speak freely to her customers about which styles worked with their figures, in a manner that Mr. Hinkley could not.

  She decided to wear her best suit – the gray Merino wool with a black velvet collar. She wore her pearl earrings and pinned a Christmas brooch at the neck of her white blouse – a swirl of green mistletoe set with seed pearls. She applied a touch of lipstick, checked her reflection, and then looked in on the boys. Tommy
could dress himself, but Gabriel still needed help with buttons. Soon they were all dressed and sitting at the kitchen table.

  Lillian prepared a cup of tea for herself, while listening to Tommy and Gabriel discuss their outing with Dom, Tony, and little Mary Rossi – their best friends who lived one street behind them.

  As she feared, the boys’ enthusiasm dwindled as they left their apartment and began to walk the six blocks to the babysitter’s apartment building. The closer they got, the more they grumbled.

  “A whole day with Mrs. Peabody!” said Tommy, wrinkling up his face.

  “It will go by in a flash,” Lillian said cheerfully. “And then you have your night at Dom’s house. Won’t that be fun? We’ll have to reciprocate for your birthday, Tommy.” The smile she hoped to elicit from Tommy didn’t materialize.

  They walked the last block in silence, Tommy slapping at anything in his path – an ash can, a wrought iron fence, a lamppost. Gabriel kicked at a wadded up paper bag, and the side of the same lamppost Tommy had smacked.

  They entered the babysitter’s brownstone and climbed the two flights to her floor, Tommy and Gabriel dragging their feet. Lillian stopped suddenly when she saw the babysitter waiting in her doorway with her arms crossed, as if she was already angry at the boys.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Peabody. Are we late?” asked Lillian. “Tommy, Gabriel, hurry up! Mrs. Peabody has been waiting for us.” They climbed the last flight and Lillian gathered the boys in front of her.

  Mrs. Peabody’s stance remained unchanged. She towered over the boys in the doorway and cast a disapproving glance at them. A “hmph!” shot from her face and landed on the two upturned faces.

  Tommy pushed Gabriel in front of him, landing him inches away from Mrs. Peabody’s apron that was always covered with cooking smears. Gabriel’s face wrinkled up and he stepped back. “I don’t want to stay here!”

  “Shh! Gabriel!” Lillian widened her eyes at him. “Is everything all right, Mrs. Peabody?”