Christmas Passed

by Anita Klumpers

  He handed her the stained candle box with trailing excelsior, and she set it on the floor. Then Mick rummaged under the remaining shreds. “Another box.” He shook it free of debris and handed it to her.

  “Juleschmuck.” She read on the side, and Mick grinned.

  “Schmuck?”

  “You’re pronouncing it wrong. I think it’s German. It’s Schmoock. It means jewelry in German. Jule is a word for Christmas. Mickey, I bet this is a box of German Christmas ornaments!”

  “I’m going to let that ‘Mickey’ pass this time because I can tell you’re about to burst.” He removed the lid and revealed six glittering glass balls of red nestled each in a little compartment. Mick pulled one out at the same time Dinah did, and she knew the exact second he recognized the design molded into the side, because his face froze in what she assumed was a mirror image of her own. In the center of each ornament was a glossy white circle and in the center of each white circle was branded a black swastika.

  5

  Helen wasn’t around when they carried the crate downstairs. The Lister sisters still made their ceaseless sotto voce communication in the kitchen. The sound grew louder, over chairs shoved back and feet shuffling to the kitchen door, louder still as they peered around the corner into the hallway to watch Dinah and Mick. As soon as they realized they’d been noticed, their chirruping took on an alarmed sound, and they scampered, albeit slowly, into the kitchen.

  Mick grimaced at Dinah. “Where should we put the boxes with the—er—nice ornaments?”

  “The kitchen, don’t you think? They’ll need to be wiped down, along with the cartons they came in. The Listers are running out of Christmas cards.”

  “What about the other six? Shoot them with a silver bullet? Burn them and bury their ashes by moonlight?” He only sounded half-joking.

  Dinah appreciated that he was even asking her an opinion she had less than no right to give it. But since he asked… “No…. No, I think not yet. Don’t you think you should talk to your grandmother?”

  “I do. But first tell me why you think they are…” he paused, and seemed reluctant to give name to the horror.

  “You mean why do I think they are in honor of Hitler and the Third Reich instead of all the other cultures and beliefs that have utilized the swastika symbol for thousands and thousands of years? Here. I’ll show you.” Dinah trotted out to her car with Mick on her heels. She pulled out the box with her stack of 1930’s magazines and located one from 1933. “The photo is black and white,” she told Mick, flipping pages, “but in this article on Christmas in Germany, you can see the ornaments exactly like the ones in your attic. Of course, this was before we knew how horrid everything would be.”

  Mick took the magazine and squinted at the photo. “You're right. And I suppose the red, white and black colors weren’t predominant in all the other cultures and religions that used the swastika symbol.” He handed her the magazine, and Dinah thought she detected a slight tremor in his hand. “You don’t mind keeping our little find under wraps for now, do you?”

  “Of course not. But maybe you should get them out of the house before someone else stumbles on them.” In spite of herself, Dinah shuddered.

  ~*~

  Mick left to run errands and took the Juleschmuck box with him. Helen returned, and Dinah stayed long enough to show off what Mick termed as the “nice” ornaments.

  “These are delightful!” Helen's lovely face glowed. “I remember ornaments like these when I was small. One year, our cat tipped over the tree, and they were all smashed, including the ones my mother brought from the old country. The cat disappeared the next day.” She smiled at Dinah then stepped back quickly. “My dear! There’s a cobweb in your hair!”

  A three-part squeal erupted from the table, and Dinah knew it was time to go home and get showered. Helen, keeping her distance, agreed that might be best. A tiny frown marred her porcelain brow. “Where did Michael go?”

  “Who?”

  “Michael Wagner. He was here when I left.”

  “I keep forgetting his name is Michael. He’s running errands. Maybe tending to the window replacement?”

  “I hope so. That opening must be boarded up for tonight. What a pity. A piece of plywood over a window isn't particularly attractive.” The frown deepened and added another tired crease. “Dinah, you have already exceeded our expectations. But could we presume on you again?”

  “I hope you do.”

  “Would you be willing to come back after you freshen up?”

  Dinah held back a smile. Helen was such a lady. “Of course.”

  “Since Michael isn’t here, the house will be empty. Anyone could come in the front door. The sisters will need to go home for lunch and a nap, and I will be meeting my son.” Pride washed her face almost clear of weariness. “He’s a circuit judge and has thrown his hat into the ring for the state Supreme Court. His father and I believe he has a shot at winning. I hope you vote for him. He is fiercely dedicated to American principles.” It sounded like a slogan, the way she said it.

  “He sounds like the ideal candidate,” Dinah hedged. “I keep some clothes at my parents’ house. I’ll shower and change there and be back here in a few minutes.”

  Helen’s relief was obvious. “That would be lovely. They live close?”

  “Oh yes, two blocks west and not far from my grandparents. I grew up in this neighborhood. But I still better dash if you’re all going to be able to leave on time.”

  Dinah’s parents weren’t home. The tree had been up since the day after Thanksgiving and candles would be twinkling everywhere once lit, firewood filled the wood box and what didn’t smell like pine smelled like cinnamon. Dinah came by her love of Christmas genetically. She showered, rummaged in her old bedroom for a sweatshirt and track pants from her running phase, and drove back to the Wagner House.

  The Lister sisters were already gone, and Helen sat at the kitchen table polishing the ornaments from the attic. The faintest tantalizing aroma drifted in the air.

  “Pipe tobacco?” Dinah asked, after a subversive sniff or two.

  Helen, lines of tension or worry or weariness still marking her face, smiled slightly. “You would make a good detective. My husband, Ralph, left only a few minutes ago. He came over to examine those strings of lights. I hope his pipe doesn’t offend you.”

  Dinah assured Helen that the aroma was ambrosia to her, but the older woman relaxed only marginally. “Helen, is everything all right? I didn’t make you late, did I?”

  “No, not at all. I’m finally comprehending the enormity of our task. For the life of me, I can’t imagine how we’re going to get everything finished. Not that you aren’t a wonderful addition. Ebbie is our ‘big picture’ leader, and she’ll be a foggy mess for a few days. By the time she’s clear enough to give direction, it’ll be too late for the grand opening next week.”

  “What needs doing?”

  “Flyers need to be designed and posted. The caterer needs contacting. Miriam’s china needs to be washed. She forbade us to serve people on paper plates. We need to type up directions for our docents. Cookies must be ordered for the subsequent open houses. We’ll be holding those after the Winter Wonderland celebration until the Sunday before Christmas. And the house will require a final and thorough cleaning.”

  Dinah was appalled. No wonder Helen seemed strained. Most of the duties she’d named should have been taken care of months ago, not the week before the principle fundraiser for the historical society.

  “Please give me a list of anything you think I can do.”

  Surprise interrupted Helen’s distraction. “My dear girl! Don’t you have to work? We’ll practically need someone helping out full-time.”

  Time to confess the truth without making herself sound like a deadbeat. “I’m between jobs right now.” It was almost true. “And taking continuing education classes.”

  “How nice. What will your degree be in?”

  Now things were getting uncomfortabl
e. “I haven’t decided yet. I mean I’ve accumulated enough credits to graduate three times over, but they aren’t all in the same discipline. I guess I’m a bit undecided about what I want to do.” What she wanted to do was everything but didn’t think she could say so and still be considered sensible. And sane. She rushed on lest Helen ask how she could afford to live without working. It was always awkward to explain that she’d won a quarter of a million dollars creating a new cupcake flavor—wine, cheese, and chocolate—for a national food service provider.

  Helen’s face relaxed slightly, and once again she was serene and beautiful. “What you need is a good husband.” She hesitated. “You’ll think me a bold, interfering old woman, but that marriage isn’t going to happen until you let the man be the smart one. Men are fragile, remember. When they don’t have all the answers, they feel threatened by women who do. Tone down that intelligence. Once you get a good husband you can lead from behind.”

  Dinah smiled. It was her auto-response to those who believed an intelligent, knowledgeable woman was a threat to men. But occasionally even friends, concerned about Dinah’s dearth of romantic relationships, advised her to squelch her plethora of acquired learning.

  She’d tried once, a few weeks into a budding relationship with a boy she liked, to keep quiet when she knew something. Never to correct him, even in the most tactful manner, when he was dead wrong. Never to share her enthusiasms over exciting and earth-shaking discoveries. He’d been a nice boy, intelligent enough, but because Dinah spent so much time trying to subvert her normal personality, she couldn’t devote much that was positive to the relationship, and they’d drifted apart.

  Helen left off Dinah’s love life and was fretting again. “I’m not overly optimistic that even your youth, energy, and intelligence will be able to get everything done. Truthfully, I don’t believe Ebbie could have pulled it together in time, even before that cracked ankle. Well, nothing to do for it but soldier on, is there? And hope for the best.”

  “The best will happen. Everyone does Victorian Christmas, but I’ve never seen a place decorated as it would have been in the thirties. People are already showing interest. I’ll get photos on the website and take care of the flyer if you’ll let me design it.” She already percolated with a dozen ideas. “Make a list of the rest and we’ll divvy it up.”

  “You’re a darling. Divide and conquer.” Helen’s tension was now manifesting itself in the tapping of nervous fingers. “I’m curious about the attic. Are these ornaments all you found?”

  Dinah began describing some of the delights in the attic, but Helen waved an impatient hand. “I meant that we can use for Christmas,” she explained. “I’m not sure there are enough to make an impressive showing on the tree.”

  Dinah didn’t want to lie, but alternately, the truth about Nazi ornaments hidden in Mick’s ancestral home wasn’t hers to share. So she sidestepped.

  “There may be more, because we didn’t check everything. Maybe I can go up again later.”

  “No, no. We can borrow enough to fill out the tree. Plenty of old folks like us are eager to show off our collections. And attics can be dangerous and dirty. I shouldn’t bother any more, especially since there are so many other pressing duties.” Helen still was pale, but to Dinah’s relief, rose steadily to her feet. “I must leave now. You won’t be frightened?”

  “Why should I be frightened?”

  “Staying here by yourself when anyone can come in through that window.”

  “I’ll be fine. It’s the middle of the day and this neighborhood is wonderfully safe. I’ll park my car in the driveway and blast out music or static or whatever I can find on that beautiful old radio in the living room. If worse comes to worst, I’ve been practicing some pretty nifty defensive moves.”

  “But you’ll be hungry!”

  “No, I usually eat a light lunch. There’s a granola bar disintegrating somewhere in my purse. Don’t worry at all. I’ll get a head start on those other duties you mentioned.”

  Helen allowed herself to be convinced. She put on her pink coat and left through the front door without glancing at the broken window. Dinah wandered to the living room, rummaging through her purse, but the granola bar either had disintegrated into nothingness or she’d eaten it already. Ah, well. She wouldn’t starve. It was good for her body to engage in prolonged and regular fasting intervals. She’d been meaning to research it. Maybe she’d start today.

  Dinah checked to make sure there was enough water in the plastic jug under the tree before standing back to survey the widely spaced branches. It would benefit from garlands of popcorn and cranberries. During the open houses they could set up a station in the kitchen. Guests could string garlands and help decorate the tree. It could get messy but the mess would be contained. Children who might be dragged to the open houses could make paper chains with flour and water paste and colored paper.

  Maybe they could serve hot chocolate. She went back down the hall to the kitchen. And have music. There would be a pianist playing carols at the upright piano in the living room during the initial reception, but for the open houses, they could pipe Christmas songs through the old radio in the living room and the small white Philco here on the refrigerator. Dinah was peeking into cupboards for a kettle to heat water when a noise at the front door reminded her that she was supposed to be standing guard. She’d left her purse and pepper spray in the living room and had no intention of whacking an intruder over the head with a frying pan. “I just dialed 911!” she yelled.

  6

  Dinah jumped when Mick poked his head around the corner of the kitchen door.

  “Why?”

  “Oh. Because I didn’t know it was you who’d come in. I didn’t really call. Just wanted anyone up to skullduggery to be on high alert.”

  “You are resourceful. Where is everyone?”

  “Gone for lunch. I didn’t expect you to come back here.”

  Mick shrugged and put a paper bag on the counter. “I wanted to check the attic again. Those ornaments spooked me a bit.” There was no need to define which ornaments. “Before I ask my grandmother, with great tact, incidentally, I want to find out if any other bloodcurdling mysteries are up there.”

  “They’re disconcerting, I agree. I’m not sure about bloodcurdling.”

  Again, the shrug. “I’m not usually dramatic until it comes to Nazis. I’m as German as they come, and I think you are, too.”

  Dinah nodded. “With a name like Braun? Remember Hitler’s mistress? My father’s family considered legally changing it to ‘Brown.” But they decided to rehabilitate the name, and today hardly anyone associates it with Eva Braun. Besides, this whole area is practically a German ghetto. A lot moved out to the suburbs but a good portion of us stayed here.”

  “Things have changed, but Grandmother spoke of the days when everyone knew everyone, they all belonged to the German-American Club and many conversed in German. I’ve always hoped they disapproved of Germany’s actions leading up to the Second World War. Great-Grandmother Mathilde would spit every time anyone mentioned Hitler. I thought it was a family legend, so I tested it out when I was a kid and she was still alive. Injected his name in casual conversation. And sure enough. She spit right on the ground! Her daughter—my grandmother—told her to behave herself.” He grinned.

  “She sounds like she was quite a character.”

  “I guess. So’s my grandmother, Miriam. Funny thing, my grandfather died only a few years ago but he never was as memorable as Miriam or her mother.” Mick pulled up a drop leaf on the crowded table and put the paper bag on it. “You ate already?”

  “No…” She was reluctant to tell him about her snap decision to begin periodic fasting.

  “Sit down. Today was buy-one-get-one-free day at the sub sandwich place. I don’t need the second one, but I’m thrifty enough to never turn down free food.”

  She sat and ate the turkey and cheddar sub and thought maybe she’d start periodic fasting after the holidays.


  Conversation lagged after she thanked him and over-explained the missing granola bar. Mick pointed at the box of congealed wax and excelsior on the floor by the trash bin. Dinah couldn’t imagine the Lister sisters or Helen wanting to deal with it. “What do you think that mess was?”

  Dinah considered. “I think it used to be candles. The wax melted all over the cover of the box and I can’t make out what it says.”

  “It says ‘Don’t bother,’” he told her. Mick took another bite of his sandwich then stood and walked slowly to the box. He picked it up, frowning in concentration. “You know what these are? Grandmother’s Advent candles.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “The Advent candles I told you about. The only Christmas decoration Miriam ever allowed because they were all her mother allowed.”

  “And she called them Advent candles?” Dinah frowned at the still-bright colors swirling through each other.

  “Yes?” He made it a question.

  Mick was going to hate her. But she couldn’t let it pass. “Do you light Advent candles at your church?”

  “What’s church?” He was trying to sound lighthearted, she thought, but instead seemed defensive. “I mean, I’ve gone occasionally. Advent candles have something to do with anticipating Baby Jesus.”

  “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. We light an Advent wreath at our church for the four Sundays before Christmas and a fifth on Christmas. In a nutshell, they represent our anticipation and preparation for the Light of the World. Most of the time the candle colors are pinks and purples with a white one for the fifth. Sometimes they’re blue, or if you live in England they’re red. But I’ve never seen Advent candles in such a variety of colors.”

  She poked at the box. “And look at the size of the goop. There were not five traditionally colored Advent candles in there.”

  Mick’s shrug was beginning to annoy her. He’d always acted as though he didn’t really care about anything too terribly much. “Well, they were traditional colors in our family. Of course, we didn’t come over for every one of the eight nights of Advent—”