Christmastime 1941 Read online

  Again both women looked to Lillian. She turned from one woman to the other, not wanting to offend either. “I’m sure Mrs. Kuntzman can make up her own mind about what is right for her.” Mrs. Wilson’s raised eyebrows spurred Lillian to balance her advice. “Though I do hope you’ll take every precaution,” she said to Mrs. Kuntzman.

  Mrs. Kuntzman gave a brisk single nod. “End of matter.”

  Mrs. Wilson threw her hands up. “Well! You may have won this skirmish, Mrs. Kuntzman, but I intend to make sure that all tenants come to the air raid shelter at the first sound of the sirens.”

  Mrs. Kuntzman made a little hm-hmm sound that Lillian took to mean, we’ll see about that!

  “Well,” said Mrs. Wilson, taking off her checked headscarf and stuffing it into her coat pocket, “I must go and tend to the mess upstairs.” She waved her hand in the air above her. “Harry turned the place up-side-down searching for his bird-watching binoculars. He’s signed up to be a spotter. Up on the roof.” She began her march up the stairs to the fourth floor. “Good day, ladies.” She leaned over the railing and fixed an eye on Mrs. Kuntzman. “To be continued.”

  “Good bye, Mrs. Wilson,” said Lillian.

  Mrs. Kuntzman leaned into Lillian and whispered, “Bossy woman. Make a good general.”

  Lillian laughed at her assessment of Mrs. Wilson. “She just wants to make sure that you’re safe. I won’t keep you, Mrs. Kuntzman. I just wanted to let you know that we’re back.”

  “Tell Tommy and Gabriel I make waffles for them tomorrow.”

  “They’ll be delighted. We brought apples for you from my sister’s orchard. And some cherry preserves.”

  “Ach, good! I make cherry krapfen for Tommy and Gabriel. Those boys love donuts best of all.” Mrs. Kuntzman put a hand on Lillian’s arm. “Mrs. Hapsey, don’t worry about Tommy and Gabriel. I make sure they go inside school, then I come back home. If there is air raid siren here, I take them to basement. Make Mrs. Wilson happy.”

  Lillian said goodbye, suppressing a laugh as Mrs. Kuntzman cast a quick glance up the stairs before closing her door.

  Returning to her brownstone, Lillian saw her next door neighbor, Mrs. Kinney, talking to a few of the other women on the street. Over the past year, Tommy and Gabriel had become good friends with the Kinney boys closest to their ages, Mickey and Billy. Tommy and Mickey played on the same baseball team, and sometimes worked on their homework together. Billy was a year older than Gabriel and was starting to spend more time with the older boys, sometimes leaving Gabriel with no one to play with.

  Lillian saw that several groups of people were gathered up and down the street. She had noticed that ever since the attack on Sunday, people tended to band together. She had observed it up at Annette’s when they went into town the day after the attack; everyone stood in clusters. And again on the train, where everyone gathered into groups, sitting on the seat arms or bent over the seat backs. Perhaps they were all trading information; or maybe no one wanted to be alone. She had the same urge herself, to be around people, to hear what they had to say.

  Lillian joined Mrs. Kinney and the other women and listened in on their discussion about yesterday’s air raid sirens and the best course of action concerning the children going to school.

  After a few moments, Tommy and Gabriel ran up with Mickey and Billy.

  “See, Mom,” said Tommy. “I told you! We should have gone to school. Everyone got a handbook on air raids but me!”

  “Yeah, Mommy!” added Gabriel, tugging on her sleeve. “I missed the air raid drill at school. Billy said everyone got a tag with their name and address on it and got to go on a walk outside.”

  Mrs. Kinney shrugged at Lillian. “Like you, I didn’t want to send my boys to school, but their father thought it was best. He walked them there, and I picked them up. I was sick with worry all day. It’s difficult to know what to do.”

  “Keep cool,” said one of the women. “Those were Mayor La Guardia’s exact words. And Mrs. Wilson said we should stick to our routines, especially where the children are concerned.”

  “That’s hard to do with sirens going off,” said Mrs. Kinney. “But I suppose she’s right.”

  Lillian put an arm around her boys. “Come on. Let’s go home. You can go to school tomorrow.”

  “Yippee!” said Gabriel.

  “Mom,” asked Mickey, “can Tommy and Gabe come up? I want to show them my new baseball cards.”

  “Is that all right with you, Mrs. Hapsey?” asked Mrs. Kinney.

  “If you’re sure they won’t be in your way,” said Lillian.

  “Not at all,” laughed Mrs. Kinney. “This way I can start dinner without them getting in my hair.”

  The boys were already clamoring up the stairs. “I want you home before dark!” Lillian called out after them.

  Lillian went back to her apartment and placed the macaroni casserole she made earlier into the oven to bake. She tidied the boys’ bedroom and set out their school clothes, and then went to her room and opened her closet, deciding on what she would wear to the office the next day. She was glad to be returning to work, and yet the idea of sitting at the switchboard filled her with a sense of defeat. The monotony of her position was starting to wear on her. She was grateful to have a job, yet she couldn’t help but feel that she was wasting her time. Especially with the country now at war. It seemed that she should be doing something besides answering calls all day for a publishing house.

  The familiar knock at her door was a welcome distraction. She thought Charles might have to work late and wasn’t sure if she would see him. When she opened the door, she saw that he held a bag of groceries and a newspaper.

  “I brought you a few things from Mancetti’s.” He bent to kiss her lightly on the cheek. “The boys?” he asked, looking around.

  “Over at the Kinney’s. Can you stay for dinner?”

  He shook his head. “I had a late lunch, and I have a mound of papers to catch up on.” He set the bag of groceries on the kitchen table.

  Lillian reached inside the bag and took out a can of coffee and several canned goods. “Sugar?” she asked, seeing two bags at the bottom.

  Charles hung his coat and hat on the hall tree. “And canned milk. They say there won’t be food shortages, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take Annette’s advice. Especially with your holiday baking coming up.”

  “You and my sister. Always watching out for me.”

  “And Mrs. Mancetti. She knew we were away and set aside the sugar and coffee for you. People are already hoarding.” Charles shook his head lightly. “The tension was pretty thick in there.”

  Lillian stacked the canned goods in the cupboard. “Because of the hoarding?”

  “Because the Mancetti’s are Italian. And we’re sure to be at war with Italy soon.”

  “Oh, my God.” Lillian leaned against the counter. “I didn’t even think of that. I’ll stop by tomorrow and thank her.”

  “When I arrived, Mrs. Mancetti was putting out a bag of food for some poor wretch, hiding it under the bench, where her husband wouldn’t see, no doubt.” Charles took the newspaper and sat on the couch.

  “She often helps people,” Lillian said, pouring them each a glass of wine. “The Mancetti’s are a part of our neighborhood. I hope people won’t treat them any differently.”

  “War will change the way people think,” said Charles. “You can count on that.”

  Lillian handed him his glass of wine, and sat down next to him. She thought he seemed tired and wondered if she appeared the same way. There was no denying the strain of the past few days.

  Charles took a sip, leaned back, and gave a deep sigh. “You never know how people are going to react. Mrs. Murphy, for example. I’ve never seen her so subdued. I didn’t expect that kind of reaction from her – I thought she would be feistier if anything, full of advice and opinions. She barely said two words today. Not like her at all.”

  “That is strange,” said Lillian. She had talked wi
th Mrs. Murphy several times and had a hard time imagining her subdued. She was one of the most energetic and cheerful people Lillian had ever met. But then she had noticed subtle changes even in her own behavior: less patience with the boys, more frustration with little things.

  Charles held the newspaper for Lillian to see the headlines: Roosevelt Sees a Long, World-Wide War.

  “Dear God,” she exclaimed, taking the paper. “A world-wide war! I just can’t take it all in.” She scanned the front page, and then set it aside on the coffee table, as if pushing the news away from her. “I heard on the radio that they won’t be reporting the weather anymore; they’re afraid the enemy will use the information against us. And they say it’s even worse on the West Coast. Blackouts, curfews. Everyone is so afraid.” Lillian looked up at Charles. “Do you think they’ll bomb us?”

  “It’s hard to say. At least we’re on the defensive now. They won’t catch us off guard a second time.” He gazed into the empty fireplace, his thoughts far away.

  Lillian wondered if he was thinking about his sister. He had tried, unsuccessfully, to call her from upstate. “Were you able to get through to Kate?”

  “No. And they’ve asked people not to tie up the lines with unessential phone calls.”

  “Are you worried about her and her family?”

  He raised his eyebrows as if considering the situation. “I’m glad they’re in Illinois. It seems farther away from any threat. Though her sons will be called to duty soon.” He thought about this a moment, and took another sip of wine. “I suppose one of them will be able to stay and help out.”

  “They’ll have to. Kate and the girls can’t run the farm all on their own. The girls are barely what – fourteen or so?”

  “Thirteen and fifteen,” said Charles. “Thank God we went there over the summer. Travel will surely be restricted soon. It could be years before we get back there again.”

  Lillian watched as Charles rubbed his face, and then rested his arms on his knees. The Midwest now seemed very far away.

  Charles’s sister was almost fifty now, and on her own since her husband died five years ago. But from what Lillian had seen of her, Kate was an extremely capable woman. Still, Lillian knew that Charles was concerned about her. He felt terrible that he had lost touch with her for so long – over twenty-five years. Their reunion over the summer had been bittersweet, stirring up painful memories. But the bond between the two had been unmistakable. Reconnecting with his sister after so many years had filled Charles with a new happiness; suddenly he had family again, nieces and nephews, another person who shared his history, a sense of being rooted.

  Lillian remembered the walks and conversations she had with Kate. It had been a pleasure getting to know her and her family. Kate’s four sons, all in their teens and early twenties, had treated Tommy and Gabriel just like little brothers, taking them around the farm on the tractor, driving them into town for ice cream, playing games and roughhousing with them.

  And Lillian had met Rachel, Charles’s childhood sweetheart, whose farm was not too far from Kate’s. Lillian had often thought of her since then, especially lately.

  “Would you have married Rachel?” she asked, thinking out loud.

  Charles jerked his head up and frowned. “What made you ask that?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I was just thinking about our visit there.”

  Charles sighed and leaned his head back on the couch. “I don’t know, Lillian. That seems irrelevant now.”

  They sat quietly for a few minutes, each in their own thoughts.

  “Charles, I’ve been thinking. And I really think we should stick to our plans. To get married in May. I keep thinking about Izzy. Red joked that if he came back in one piece they would marry on the day he returned. And now he’s been lying wounded for months. His letters have tapered off. Izzy is miserable.”

  Charles waited a moment, and then shook his head. “Everything is so volatile and unsure. I think it’s better for us to wait.”

  “But Charles, we’ve already decided. We already told Annette and Bernie. And Kate. They’re all so happy for us.”

  Charles avoided Lillian’s questioning eyes, and let his gaze fall somewhere out in front of him. “I wrote to Kate yesterday. To tell her we were fine. And that we were considering postponing the wedding.”

  Lillian set her glass down and felt her temper rise. “We didn’t consider anything. You have. Without any input from me.”

  “It’s not like that.” He gently put a hand on her shoulder. “There’s just too much uncertainty right now. I will most likely be called to serve. It could be in the Atlantic, or Pacific. There’s no knowing what’s up ahead. What could happen.”

  Lillian had already thought of that possibility, but it made her want to marry Charles sooner rather than later, and she had expected him to feel the same way. The threat of being separated now dangled constantly in front of her.

  “That may be,” she said. “But it has nothing to do with us getting married.”

  Charles simply looked away. “It’s best to wait.”

  When he left, Lillian felt that something had come between them. She tried to tell herself that disagreements were to be expected. It would be a part of their lives together. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but he seemed different ever since they came back home from their trip upstate. More distant. He seemed to have taken a step back. Lillian assumed that it was because of the war, but perhaps there was another reason. Perhaps he was having second thoughts about marriage, and the war gave him an excuse to back out of it.

  *

  After dinner, Lillian cleaned up the kitchen, half of her mind on Charles, the other half on Tommy and Gabriel. The boys were supposed to take their baths after dinner, and Gabriel had finished with his. But when Lillian listened for sounds of Tommy getting ready, she didn’t hear anything. She went to their room and saw Tommy stretched out on his bed reading.

  Gabriel sat next to Tommy, looking over his shoulder at the Captain America comic book he was reading. “Read it out loud, Tommy. Please?” he asked. A drop of water fell from his wet hair and landed on the page.

  Tommy pulled the comic book away from Gabriel. “Go get your own book! I don’t want you breathing down my neck!” He sat up, and scooted to the other end of the bed.

  “Come on, boys, no arguing,” said Lillian, suddenly feeling very tired. “Tommy, you were supposed to take your bath.”

  Lillian took the towel that Gabriel had tossed on his bed and began rubbing his hair dry.

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to pay a little more attention to your brother, Tommy.”

  “I’m just getting to the good part, and reading to Gabriel gets in the way. He asks too many questions.”

  “No, I don’t,” said Gabriel.

  “I’ll read to you after my bath, Gabriel” said Lillian. “Look at one of your picture books until then.” She took a comb from their dresser and began combing his wet hair.

  “Mommy,” said Gabriel. “What will we call Mr. Drooms? Dad?”

  Tommy gave a little snort of amusement. “Dad,” he said, trying out the word. He sat up, as if in imaginary greeting: “Hi, Dad! How was work, Dad?”

  Tommy and Gabriel let out a peal of laughter.

  “Hiya, Papa!” Gabriel tried out, causing them to laugh all the more.

  “For the time being, he is Mr. Drooms. We might have to wait a little longer now before getting married.” She felt both boys look up at her, waiting for an explanation. “Because of the war.”

  “What difference does that make?” asked Tommy. “Everything else still goes on. Can I stop doing chores until after the war?”

  “Go take your bath, Tommy. I want you both in bed in ten minutes. It’s a school night.”

  Lillian made sure Tommy started his bathwater, and then she went to her room and slipped into her robe. She hoped that a hot bath would take away some of the tension she had felt all day. She pinned up her hair, and then stopped to listen. She
heard Tommy splashing away in the bathtub, but she thought she heard Gabriel talking in his room.

  She went to check up on him, and saw that he had emptied the bag of twigs he had collected up at Annette’s. He was now sorting them into piles.

  “Gabriel, what are you doing? You’re going to get your hands all dirty again.”

  “I’m putting the sticks into big and little sizes.”

  She stepped inside and looked at Gabriel, then at the piles. “Well, you’re doing a good job. Who were you talking to?”

  “Tiny.”

  A small smile escaped Lillian. “Your new friend?”

  Gabriel nodded. “The sticks are for him.”

  Lillian sat on Gabriel’s bed and watched him sort a few more sticks. Perhaps the news of war upset him in ways she hadn’t thought of. Maybe having an imaginary friend made him feel secure in the midst of so much uncertainty.

  “I had a friend like that when I was about your age.” Lillian gazed at the ceiling, remembering. “Annabelle was her name. I haven’t thought of her in years. She could fly. She was a beautiful fairy, with blue dragonfly wings. She would fly out before me and tell me what was up ahead, so I always knew what to expect.”

  She waited for Gabriel to say something, but he just looked up and smiled.

  “Can Tiny fly?” she asked.

  “No, Mom. He just walks.”

  Lillian bit her lip. “Is he a little boy?”

  Gabriel sat back on his heels, considering how to answer. “He’s kind of an in-between person.”

  Lillian gazed at Gabriel, thinking that he had always been an imaginative child. “Do you talk to him often?”

  “Just when I have something to tell him.”

  She didn’t want to disturb his illusion, but she wanted to make sure that everything was all right with him. “What were you talking to him about – just now?”

  “I was telling him about the sticks.”

  “And does he talk back to you?”

  “Kind of. He said that’s how he used to talk to his mom. After she left. He talked to her in his head, and he said she always answered him back. So that’s how we talk, too.”