Christmastime 1941

by Linda Mahkovec

  With the office to be closed for a week, Charles decided to speak to Mrs. Murphy before leaving. He wanted to make sure that she was all right. She looked well enough, but the earlier spark in her was definitely gone.

  He stopped by her desk, on the pretext of giving her a folder.

  “I guess we can wrap up and go home, Mrs. Murphy.”

  “I’m almost caught up. You go on ahead. I’ll just finish with a few things and lock up.” She placed the folder in the filing tray.

  “Have you noticed the elevator operator lately?” Charles asked, trying to make small talk.

  “Mr. Grimes?”

  “He’s taken to wearing his uniform from the Great War.”

  “Indeed, I’ve noticed,” she chuckled. “I asked him about it, and he said it was his way of showing his support. I must say that his spirits have decidedly improved.”

  “Very likely that’s where he got his limp,” said Charles. “I guess we never really know why people behave the way they do, do we?”

  Mrs. Murphy looked up at him, and then away, giving a noncommittal, “Hmm.”

  “Mrs. Murphy, I wanted to ask you – is everything all right? You’re feeling well?”

  “Yes, yes.” She lifted the files out of the tray, and began to put them in alphabetical order.

  Charles was unconvinced. He hated to interfere in a personal matter, but it was out of character for her to miss work, and to be so subdued. “You feel sufficiently recovered?”

  “I’m well. Thank you, sir. It’s – something else. My own fault…” She let her words trail off.

  He stood there awkwardly, wondering how far to press her. “If you ever need time off or anything…”

  “Truly, sir. I’m fine.” She put on a cheerful face. “I’ll be back to my old self in a couple of days.”

  “Well, good. I’m glad to hear it.” He didn’t want to pry any further, and began to leave.

  “Sir?” she called out after him.

  “Yes?” he said, turning around.

  “What about you?”

  Charles stood staring at her for a moment. “Me?”

  “Yes. I’ve noticed that you have been downcast of late. Ever since you came back from your trip. Ever since you postponed your wedding, it seems to me. You haven’t been yourself at all.”

  “I haven’t?” He looked around, at the floor, the desk, wondering if this was true.

  “No, indeed. You seem quite dejected. I wonder if you’ve made the right decision.”

  Charles tried to make light of the situation by giving a small laugh. “Well, I am disappointed to have to postpone it. Terribly. I can’t deny it. But – ” He considered for a moment whether to confide in Mrs. Murphy. He didn’t want to burden her with problems of his own, but he knew he could trust her, and that she would give sound advice.

  “I was waiting to tell you after the holidays. I’ve already discussed it with Mason. I’ve re-enlisted. I’ll be called to serve.”

  Mrs. Murphy nodded, and waited for more.

  “It could be very soon,” he added.

  “And?” she asked, meeting his gaze.

  “Well. Anything could happen, you know.”

  “And what exactly does that possibility have to do with your wedding?” She folded her hands, lifted her chin, and waited for an answer.

  Charles felt like a schoolboy, caught in a flimsy excuse. Mrs. Murphy was fast becoming her old self, he thought. There was a take-charge tone in her voice that would not be naysaid.

  “Well, I wouldn’t want Lillian to suffer unnecessarily. She already lost one husband, you know. I wouldn’t want her to go through that again.”

  Mrs. Murphy simply raised her eyebrows.

  “And of course, there’s always the chance that I could come back wounded. She’s still so young.”

  “And she agrees with this reasoning?”

  “Well, no. I mean, I haven’t told her why I feel that we should wait.”

  “You’ve kept it to yourself? But surely that’s a decision you have to make together as a couple,” Mrs. Murphy said decisively. Then she blushed to hear her own words. Isn’t that exactly what she had done to Brendan? Taken him out of the equation. She shook her head.

  “Mr. Drooms, many years ago I made the same mistake, of making a decision for someone else, depriving them of a say in the matter. And I’ve had long years to regret it.”

  She looked up at him. “It really comes down to a simple yes or no question: Do you want to marry her?”

  There was only one way to respond. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

  “Then listen to your heart, and don’t let what might or might not happen get in your way!” Mrs. Murphy gave a light pound on the desk with her fist. “And for heaven’s sake, discuss your worries with her. Talk it over. Listen to her.”

  Charles nodded, weighing her words. “I’ve been so torn, trying to decide what is best for her.”

  “She has a right to know. And it’s wrong to let a chance for happiness pass you both by.” Mrs. Murphy seemed to be considering her own words.

  A smile slowly spread across his face. “You’re absolutely right. I don’t want to lose another moment.”

  “I’m glad to hear it! Life is too short.” Mrs. Murphy was exactly like her old self now; no time for nonsense and dillydallying.

  “Thank you for talking sense into my stubborn head. Goodnight, Mrs. Murphy. And Merry Christmas!”

  “Good night, sir. And a very Merry Christmas – to both of you!” she laughed, and began to tidy up her desk for the day.

  Charles reached for his coat and hat from the hall tree, and pulled on his coat. “Oh, Mrs. Murphy?” he asked before leaving.

  “Yes, Mr. Drooms?”

  He leaned around the corner and smiled. “I do hope you’ll follow your own advice.”

  *

  Lillian heard the reports that the Germans might launch an attack during Christmas week. The city, and the entire country, was on high alert. Lillian and the boys were off for Christmas week, and she wanted to keep them close to home, afraid to let them out of her sight. But Tommy and Gabriel kept asking to go outside with their friends. She couldn’t blame them. She was busy in the kitchen, and this was Christmas week, after all. A time for play, and happiness, and celebration.

  The day before, on her way home from work, Lillian had stopped by the library and picked up The Count of Monte Cristo. Gabriel was now begging Tommy to read it with him, but Tommy repeatedly refused.

  “It’s too long, Gabriel. It won’t be any fun. Trust me.”

  Then Gabriel asked him to play games with him, checkers, Lincoln Logs, coloring.

  “I don’t want to read, or play checkers, or anything else. I want to go outside!” said Tommy.

  “Gabriel,” said Lillian from the kitchen. “I told you I would read the book to you.”

  “But I want Tommy to read it with me!”

  Tommy heard whoops and cries from the street and ran to the window.

  “Can’t I go outside, Mom?” asked Tommy. “All the other kids are there.”

  “Yeah, Mommy,” said Gabriel. “There’s nothing to do inside.”

  Lillian felt like getting a breath of fresh air herself. “Well, I have to run to the store to get a few things. I’ll walk out with you.”

  The boys ran to get their coats.

  “But you have to stay on our street.” Lillian pulled Tommy aside and spoke softly. “I want you to stay close, Tommy, just in case – ”

  “In case they bomb us. I know, I know, Mom. Don’t worry. Me and Gabe know what to do.”

  The boys ran down the stairs and out the door, with Lillian trying to catch up to them. Tommy saw a group of boys outside of Mickey’s brownstone, and ran to join them.

  “I’ll be right here, Mom,” he called from the top step.

  Lillian and Gabriel went to Mancetti’s, and when she entered the store, she was surprised to see two policemen inside talking with an a
ngry Mancetti.

  “They’ve been at it for two weeks now!” Mancetti complained. “Throwing tomatoes and eggs, writing slurs. They’re getting worse and worse, and nothing’s being done about it!” He stood in his white butcher’s apron, his arms crossed, waiting for an answer.

  “Mr. Mancetti,” began one of the policemen, “we’ve got our hands full. We’ve been keeping a lookout, but most likely it’s just a bunch of boys who will soon get tired of their game and move on to something else.”

  Lillian quickly made her purchases. She wanted to get back and use the afternoon to make a few dishes for Christmas Day. As she was leaving, she saw that Mrs. Wilson had come in and was standing near the door, along with some other customers, trying to hear what all the commotion was with the policemen.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hapsey.” Mrs. Wilson threw her arms up. “What’s the world coming to? Threats from the sky above, hooligans on the ground. Harry’s up on the roof all day, I’m running up and down to the air raid shelter. Goodness me!”

  In spite of her words, Lillian thought that Mrs. Wilson seemed unusually happy. She was in her element being in charge of things, and Lillian had to admit that she excelled at it.

  “Mrs. Hapsey, I do hope you’ll stop by on Christmas Day. I’ve organized a sort of spotter’s Christmas party. Harry has organized a platoon of men in our building. He’s scheduled a twenty-four hour watch for the whole week.” She shook her fist at the sky. “Just let them try. We’re ready for them this time.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wilson. I’ll be sure to stop by with the boys.”

  “Yes, it will be quite a time. Mrs. Kuntzman is helping with the baking, and will be with me most of the day.”

  “Mrs. Kuntzman?!” Lillian asked, surprised at the tone of affection in Mrs. Wilson’s voice.

  “My staunchest ally. She’s been supplying me with strudel and cherry krapfen for the spotters all week.” She dropped her voice to add, “Though we’ve renamed them Yankee Cobbler and Allied Donuts. In the same way the restaurants have renamed spaghetti – Liberty Noodles, they call them.’”

  “Yes, I’ve seen that,” laughed Lillian.

  “And she’s promised one of her famous Christollens. Hmm. I’ll have to come up with another name for it. Yes, Mrs. Kuntzman and I have been spending many of our evenings together, trading recipes, and helping out with Bundles for Bluejackets – knitting sweaters and caps for our men on the North Sea.” Mrs. Wilson pulled Lillian closer and spoke confidentially. “She can out-bake me any day of the week, but my stitches are much tighter.”

  Lillian admired Mrs. Wilson’s resolve. Domineering and sometimes overbearing, Mrs. Wilson was the kind of woman you wanted around in time of war. Capable, determined, unafraid. “I’ll be sure to bring some Christmas cookies and gingerbread,” said Lillian.

  “Wonderful! And we’ll have the radio on – listening to Mr. Lionel Barrymore read ‘A Christmas Carol.’ It should be quite a day.” She leaned over to Gabriel. “And if the boys get bored with the women downstairs, they can run up to the roof and help the men spot enemy planes. Well, I won’t keep you. Ta-ta!”

  “Goodbye, Mrs. Wilson.”

  It would be a happy Christmas after all, thought Lillian. She would keep the boys busy all day, and it would be good for them to go out, to be with the neighbors. In just one year, this neighborhood had quickly turned into their new home, and she felt a deep love for the place and its people.

  Outside the store, Lillian stopped to say hello to Mrs. Kinney, who was chatting with another neighbor. Just then, Gabriel spotted Tiny across the street, standing in the shadow of a doorway. He waved his cap once to catch Gabriel’s attention.

  Gabriel nodded at him and looked around. He was afraid the police were after Tiny.

  Lillian and Gabriel walked back home with Mrs. Kinney and as they approached her brownstone, Lillian saw that Tommy and the other boys were gathered around a game of marbles.

  “Goodbye, Mrs. Hapsey!” Mrs. Kinney called out, stepping around the group of boys.

  “I’ll be home in a little bit, Mommy,” said Gabriel. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay on our street.”

  “Okay. Tommy, you’ll keep an eye on Gabriel?”

  “Sure,” said Tommy, focused on the game.

  Gabriel waited until she left, and then ran back to Tiny. He saw that Tiny’s eyes were red and he was sniffling.

  “Hi, Tiny. What’s wrong? Did the police come?”

  Tiny twisted his mouth, and rubbed his nose with his sleeve. “It’s my brother. He – he died last night.” Tiny swallowed. “He just couldn’t hold on any longer. I told him, go ahead brother. Don’t stay for me. You go and see Mom and Pop. Leave these old clothes behind you.”

  “Sorry, Tiny,” said Gabriel. “I liked your brother.”

  “He liked you too, Gabriel.”

  Gabriel waited for Tiny to say something, but he just stood there, looking down.

  “You can still talk to him though, right? Like you do with your mom?”

  Tiny nodded. “I’ll always be with my brother.” He stood a little straighter. “Father Dwyer is – taking care of everything. He wants me to leave tonight – so that I can be at my uncle’s in time for Christmas. He sent a letter to my uncle this morning, to tell him about Marcel.”

  Gabriel watched Tiny’s face. Now his friend would be all alone. “What are you going to do, Tiny?”

  “Me?” Tiny stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I promised my brother that I’d go meet our uncle. So I’ll go there. Say hey. See if he wants a nephew. If he doesn’t, I’ll go on and find that beach where we used to live. Learn how to fish or something. I might join the Army in a couple years. Figure I’d make a pretty good tail gunner. I got lots of plans.”

  “Will you still talk to me, too?” asked Gabriel.

  “Sure, I will,” said Tiny. “You made brother real happy with that toffee, Gabriel. It’s like we had our old Christmas back, one last time. I’ll never forget that.” They began to walk down the sidewalk. “If you get a chance, come to the gazebo before dark. That was Marcel’s favorite spot. I’m going to say my goodbye to him there. And then I’m going to leave.”

  “Okay, Tiny. I’ll be there. I promise.”

  *

  Just as the game of marbles finished, Butch and Platoon A ran up to Mickey and Tommy. “C’mon!” they whispered. “We need your help. We’re on the trail of some spies.”

  “Confirmed spies,” said Spider, smirking at Tommy.

  “Nah,” said Tommy, wanting to avoid Spider. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “C’mon!” said Butch. “We have the enemy in sight.” The boys ran off down the street.

  Mickey jumped up to join them. “Let’s go see what they’ve discovered.”

  Tommy reluctantly followed the group. But he held back when he saw them cross over to Mancetti’s, fearing what the spiteful Spider had in mind.

  Butch’s gang huddled across from the store, with two boys positioned as look-outs. One of the boys took a tomato out of his pocket and threw it at the store window, while the gang cheered.

  Tommy ran up and grabbed his arm. “Are you nuts? These are our neighbors!”

  Spider and the other boys began to holler, “Dagos go home! Mussolini stinks! Dirty Wops! Go back where you came from!”

  While Mickey and Tommy tried to break up the group, Tommy saw that Spider was reaching for something in his pocket. Before Tommy could get to him, Spider hurled a rock at the store window. It struck with a loud bang and the glass shattered. Screams came from inside.

  “You dope!” cried Butch. “You always overdo it!” He and his gang took off running, scattering in different directions.

  Mancetti ran out of the store waving a broom in the air, followed by the two policemen. A few customers ventured out, including Mrs. Wilson, and a crowd quickly gathered in front of the store.

  Tommy had pounced on Spider before he could get away. They wrestled to the ground, rolling around on the sidewalk, arm
s and legs flailing. Tommy got in one satisfying punch at Spider’s shoulder, but Spider quickly threw a fist at his nose. Tommy pulled back in pain, his eyes watering. He tasted blood and put his hand to his nose. Spider took the opportunity to scramble away.

  Mancetti caught sight of Tommy, scowled, and lifted him by his arm. “I knew you were involved with that gang!”

  Mrs. Wilson pulled his arm off Tommy. “Tommy had nothing to do with this. Can’t you see they were attacking him, too?” She dug around in her purse and pulled out a hankie for Tommy.

  Some of the onlookers also came to Tommy’s defense. “It was those other boys. They ran off in that direction,” said one of them.

  “No, the one who threw the rock headed off that way. I saw him,” said another.

  The police started off in one direction, then in another, and then stood undecided about which way to turn. Just then, in the middle of all the confusion, Gabriel and Tiny walked up to the back of the crowd. When Mancetti saw Tiny, he pushed through the crowd and grabbed him by the collar.

  “Here’s the culprit! I’ve seen him hanging around, running off when he sees me.”

  “Leave him alone!” cried Gabriel. “He didn’t do anything! He was with me.”

  Mrs. Mancetti came out of the store and yanked her husband’s hand off of Tiny, and started arguing with him in Italian. Mancetti gestured with the broom, answering back in Italian, and pointing to Tiny and the broken window.

  The two policemen stepped forward. “In English!”

  “I tell him this is good boy,” said Mrs. Mancetti. “This is Tiny. He help me. He wash off bad words those boys write. I give him food.”

  Tommy’s eyes popped open and he nearly choked. “Tiny?!”

  Mancetti folded his arms. “So you’re the little thief who’s been taking our food.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” said Mrs. Wilson, throwing her arms up.

  “No thief!” cried Mrs. Mancetti, standing in front of Tiny. “Tiny good boy. He work for his money. His brother is sick.”

  Tiny whispered to Gabriel. “I have to make a run for it. If they lock me up I’ll never get away.” He twisted through the crowd, dodging arms, and ducking, and then, fast as lightning, he disappeared around the corner.