The Light in the Woods

by Jean Marie Pierson

  “Of course you’re here, Hal,” he heard a familiar voice say over his head. “Where else would you be?”

  Hal looked up. There by his side stood his father. He was dressed neatly in clean dungarees and a white-collared shirt. Hal thought it was odd to see his father so put together but then couldn’t remember why he thought it was odd in the first place. This is how his dad always looked. Clean-shaven with bright eyes and a warm smile that greeted him every time he walked into a room. The man who made him feel nothing other than loved and safe. His father’s expression, this place, filled every pore of Hal’s soul with absolute and complete joy.

  Then he heard the sound of paper crumpling. He looked down and noticed that in his other tiny hand was a paper bag. He reached in and pulled out a piece of chocolate candy. It was his favorite.

  The last thought of his adult life came in and out of his head as if it traveled on a dragonfly’s wing. Pickett was right. There was a separate heaven for the men in infantry. And then that was it. There wasn’t one thought that hurt. Not one memory of any pain. Everything was perfect. Everything was normal, mundane, and magical on this little stretch of Route 25. Hal popped the candy of out its cellophane wrapper and dropped it on his tongue. He let the rich, wonderful taste fill his mouth. He looked up at his father, took his hand in his and smiled. This life, his life, was sweet.

  CHAPTER 32

  Christmas Morning – Southold, New York, 1944

  Ray sat up in his still warm bed and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as the smell of a turkey roasting in the oven filled his bedroom. Ray could already hear his mother in the kitchen slapping lids on pots, sliding pans, and closing cabinet doors. The clock on the wall read 7:15 but it smelled like he had slept through dinner. This only happened one day a year. Christmas morning.

  He crawled over to the window and looked out at the woods. The early morning sun tried to push its way through the high cloud haze. The trees stood motionless, tired and spent from the thrashing they took from the storm. As far as Ray could see, the wind and the snow conspired to conceal Ray’s, Olive’s, Paley’s, and Tommy’s adventure by blowing snow into all the tracks they made during the night. The storm wiped all the evidence of Santa Claus away. The only proof now would be four memories.

  “Merry Christmas, son,” his mother said as he entered the kitchen. She smelled like cold cream and cooked onions as she hugged him in oven mitts. “And don’t eat the bananas. They are for the fruit cup.”

  “Sure thing. Merry Christmas, Mom,” Ray answered as he shuffled over to the tree. If his mother was upset from the scare he gave her during the night, she didn’t show it. Between all the cutting, slicing, peeling, stuffing, and setting of tables, she didn’t appear to have any time to be angry.

  “Raymond,” she called out as she leaned over a hot pot and blew on a wooden spoon. “Is Mr. Taglieber spending Christmas with anyone?”

  “I don’t think so,” Ray answered. He spied a large box from under the tree. He tried to pick it up but it weighed too much to lift. He pushed it past the others and towards the center of the rug. The paper didn’t match any of the other paper from the other presents and the tag only read, “To Raymond.”

  “Mom, who is this gift from?”

  “Let me see,” she said, walking over to Ray, wiping her hands on her red polka dotted apron. “I don’t remember seeing it before. Must be from Santa.”

  “Can I open it?”

  “Sure.”

  Ray ripped the paper off in one pull and opened the box. Inside was a cuckoo clock. Ray lifted it out of the box and examined the dark wood carvings around the face. It did not have birds or men holding beer steins like Ray had seen on Oscar’s wall. Instead, this one was covered top to bottom in bucks. Antlers reached high over the top like a crown. Ray’s finger traced over all the deer as he counted. All eight were present. A smile stretched across his face.

  “It is from Santa,” Ray smiled.

  Ray felt his mother kiss the top of his head. “Why don’t you run over to Mr. Taglieber’s and ask him to come for dinner. We have plenty of food. And you can thank him for the lovely gift.”

  Ray gently put the clock down, ran to the closet and threw on his snow pants and boots. He grabbed his coat on the way out the door. As he threaded his arm through the sleeve his mother stopped him.

  “Oh, Raymond,” she said, grabbing his shoulders as she examined the back of his coat. “You got paint on this.”

  Ray tried to look over his shoulder at what his mother was talking about but then just took off his coat. On the back of the winter coat was a large cherry red paint smudge. Ray recognized the paint. It was what he used on Oscar’s sled. He didn’t remember wearing his coat when he painted the sled. He did remember wearing it when he was knocked to the ground and ate a face full of snow.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” Ray said as he rushed to put on his coat. “That was from Santa’s sleigh.”

  “From what?” his mother asked as he ran out of the door and into the yard. Ray couldn’t answer. He was too busy laughing.

  Ray made it only as far as the Mott’s front lawn. Once outside, Ray saw Olive standing in her driveway talking to John Charles. Olive tapped her fingertips together in excitement as John Charles held his gloved hands out in front of him.

  “Do you like ’em?” Olive asked, her voice high and full of joy as she lifted herself up on her tiptoes. “Ray’s mother sewed them but I told her where to put the stitches.”

  “This might be the best birthday gift I ever received,” John Charles said, still looking down at his hands and admiring the fit. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  Olive rolled her shoulders side to side with pride. She looked over at Ray. Her eyes became big again. “Oh, Ray! Stay right there. Don’t move a muscle. I want to show you my telescope! It’s the best present in the whole wide world. Even better than gloves!”

  “Not these gloves,” John Charles said as wiggled what was left of his fingers. Olive turned on her heel and ran into her house, kicking a path in the new snow towards the door. Ray had never seen Olive this giddy with joy before. The door opened before she even reached it. A man stood inside, held it open for her and let her run past. He looked out and nodded a greeting to John Charles. Ray looked at John Charles, confused.

  “Wait, did Oscar get her letter after all?”

  “Nope,” answered John Charles as he smiled and nodded to the man in the house.

  Ray looked back at the man. He had seen him before. As John Charles rubbed his gloved hands together it hit him where he had seen this man. He was one of the men at the railroad tracks. One of the men by the flaming barrel trying to keep warm. The one John Charles shook hands with before leaving. That was him. That was Olive’s father.

  “Sometimes a letter to Santa is better in someone else’s hands,” John Charles said. Ray looked at him in amazement. He was right. No gift from Santa could match that.

  The man still had the door open as Olive tore past him on the way outside. In her hands was the small box. She ran to the two, opened the box and produced a small telescope which grew in length when she pulled the eyepiece.

  “We can see anything from our rooms now. Planes, deer, comets, anything.”

  Ray looked through the telescope at Olive’s house. He saw her mother step outside with a camera and take a picture of the three. He passed it back to Olive, who took her turn at looking at the tops of the trees. She hooted in delight as she fiddled with the piece. John Charles turned to Ray.

  “Merry Christmas, Raymond,” he said as he gave Ray a pat on the back. “And thank you for all you’ve done this season. We at INR Industries will not forget your kindness.”

  “Happy birthday,” Ray answered, as he lifted his feet and headed towards the road. Ray was already at the end of the Mott’s driveway when he turned to yell back to Olive. He wanted to say that he would b
e by later to search for planes with her and Paley with their present and to wish her a Merry Christmas. As he looked at her showing her gift off to John Charles like a prize-winning heifer at a 4H fair, he knew he didn’t need to wish her anything. Hers, for that day, had come true.

  The shades were still drawn when Ray reached Oscar’s front door. He gently knocked before letting himself inside. Other than the ticking and clicking of the clocks on the wall, the house was as still as church on a Tuesday.

  “Oscar?” Ray called out quietly as he slowly walked up the hall. He dipped his head into every room he passed. The rooms were clean and quiet. When Ray reached the living room, he stopped and stood in the center. He spun in a circle but Oscar was not in any chair. Ray looked up at the hundred clock faces on the walls for an answer. The pendulums rocked back and forth as if shaking their heads, telling him they would not give up Oscar’s whereabouts.

  “Oscar?” Ray continued as he turned towards the hallway leading to the cellar. As he headed down the hall a smell reached up and grabbed him. Something smelled burned, like a faded campfire or a wood stove. Ray followed his nose towards the open bathroom door. When he walked in he saw the source of the smell.

  Inside the bathtub was a pile of clothes covered in ash and soot. Ray knelt down and picked up a piece of the cloth. It was a sleeve, charred like it had been sitting on a grill. Upon closer inspection, Ray saw that the sleeve was not fried to a crisp. The sleeve was dirty but not damaged. Ray lifted the whole jacket and saw the once white fur collar stained black.

  “Blitzen!” Oscar voice cried from another room. Ray dropped the jacket and jumped up. He ran to the unused back bedroom and saw Oscar lying under the covers. His head tossing back and forth. He kept mumbling until he startled himself awake. “Blitzen!”

  Ray stood in the doorway like before, holding onto the frame. “Oscar? Are you alright?” Ray said gently.

  Oscar sat up in bed, panting from the nightmare. He wiped his brow and took a few deep breaths. “I’m fine. Storm didn’t let me get much sleep last night.”

  Ray waited a moment for Oscar to catch his breath. “Mom wants to know if you’d like to come over for Christmas dinner. She’s making a turkey and extra stuffing. And we’re having fruit cup.”

  “Fruit cup? You don’t say,” he said with his back still to Ray. “What time?”

  “Two o’clock.”

  “Sounds about the time I could go for some fruit cup. Tell her thank you. I’ll be over.”

  “Alright,” Ray said, leaning in the doorway. He looked over at the bed and saw that his gift to Oscar had already been put to good use. Oscar turned and saw Ray looking at the pillow.

  “Thank you for my gift,” he said as he ran his hand over the word “love” embroidered in red stitching. The pillow had a dent in the center and creased from holding a fretting head. Oscar then patted the pillow firmly. “It’s a bit heavier than the last one.”

  “I know,” Ray said shyly. “He’d be bigger now.”

  Oscar kept his hand on the word “love” as his lips pushed together in a sad, thankful smile. He sucked in a deep breath and nodded. He opened his mouth to say something but he quickly closed it and nodded his thanks. He coughed nervously and shook his head.

  “Two o’clock? Is that what you said?” he said, shifting his tone.

  “Yes,” Ray answered. “And thank you for my clock. It’s really great.”

  “You are most welcome,” he said as he turned back around and fluffed his comforter. “If you ever feel like you’re going nuts, just look at that clock and say to yourself that the only thing cuckoo in this room is this clock.”

  “Sure thing.”

  As Oscar prepared himself for another round of shut-eye, Ray began to leave until curiosity got the best of him. “Oscar, why were you yelling for Blitzen?”

  “When?” Oscar said looking around the room confused. “When was I yelling that?”

  “When you woke up. You were calling out for Blitzen.”

  Oscar ran his hands over his beard in thought. After a moment he answered. “Must have been from the storm last night. I still dream in German.”

  “I don’t get it. What does that mean?” Ray asked. “Dream in German.”

  “It means that when I talk in my dreams, I speak German.” Ray shook his head in confusion so Oscar continued. “Blitzen is German. It means lightning.”

  “Oh,” Ray said as he turned and walked down the hall. “Oh.”

  “See you later! See you at two!” he heard Oscar call out.

  Then a fog covered Ray’s head.

  “Lightning…” he uttered to himself as he shuffled down the hall. Then he heard himself utter another word. “Blitzen.” The words repeated in a loop in his mind as if someone was saying one in the left ear and the other in the right. “Lightning…blitzen. Lightning…blitzen,” Ray repeated as he marched out into the snow. With each step his mouth spilled out a word. “Lightning, blitzen, lightning, blitzen.”

  “Blitzen.” Ray stopped and looked up. “Captain Lightning.”

  His feet began to lift and take off into a run. Something grabbed Ray’s chest as he raced down the street. They were soldiers. And Paley knew. Paley knew all along.

  “I’m not cuckoo,” Ray heard himself say. “I’m not cuckoo,” he said as he tore off towards the woods. He could feel and hear his heart beat in his eardrums. Tears began to burn and freeze in the corners of his eyes. He didn’t know why but it suddenly felt like his father was behind him. Running and chasing him through the woods, whooping and crying out that he would catch him but never passing. Ray felt him running. Running for fun. Not out of fear or threat but because he was free. Because he was home. Because he was with his son. Because adventure awaits.

  CHAPTER 33

  Grigonis House – Pittstown, New Jersey, last year

  “How’s it running?” asked the man in the overalls.

  Ava rolled the number 8 racer back and forth across the smooth linoleum floor. Each of the wheels touched the ground evenly and rotated in unison. The loud squeak vanished and was replaced by the sound of the soft clatter of finely working gears. She looked up at the man and smiled wide. Her grandfather would be thrilled. She zoomed the car in an arc around her to test the wheels under speed but stopped abruptly before hitting the thick white sneaker that suddenly appeared in front of it. Berta’s deep accent brought everyone to attention.

  “He’s awake now,” she ordered as she wiped her hands with a cloth and nodded knowingly to her mother. Her mother’s arm, which held out a photograph, lowered to the table as she let out a long breath. She removed her glasses and gave Berta a tired smile of thanks as she pushed herself away from the scattered squares that sat in the box in front of her. The man sitting across from Ava looked anxiously at John Charles as if he suddenly didn’t know how his legs worked. John Charles kept his kind, calm expression as he stood up and waited for Ava’s mother to lead them all out of the room.

  The adults walked in single file through the first floor of the house on their way to Pop-pop’s bedroom. Ava thought that every time her mother brought in one of her grandfather’s visitors she sounded like her teacher before she brought the class to the snake exhibit at the zoo. Her voice low and measured telling them what they would see before they entered the room, giving them a chance to leave if they thought they would get nightmares. The man who fixed the racer followed on John Charles’s heels, taking two steps for every one of his long strides. Ava held the racer and darted past the grown-up legs to get into the room first. She didn’t want to wait to show Pop-pop the fixed toy. It was his favorite. He would be thrilled. Ava had no time to listen to her mother fluff the pillows before she even entered the room.

  “Pop-pop!” Ava shouted as she ran around his bed. Ava was getting used to the fact that Pop-pop’s awake and asleep were not all that different. He hadn’t mov
ed or rolled over from this morning. He was still laying on his right side with his head stuck to his pillow, wearing a same pained expression. His eyes were watery and less open than his mouth. He let out a grunt of acknowledgment as she stood in front of him with the car. She held the racer up sideways so that he could look at it straight on. Her tiny hand touched his cheek. “Look, Pop-pop. It works. See? We can race again.”

  Her grandfather’s hand shook as he lifted it off the bed. He then closed his eyes as if to take a breath. Afraid he would fall back asleep, Ava shook his shoulder.

  “Pop-pop, get up,” Ava whined. “I want to show you who fixed our car.” Ava looked up at the men standing in the doorway. Berta squeezed past the group as she hustled over to the windows. She flung the curtain panels to the side to let sunlight tumble over the furniture and medical machines into the room. Ava looked at the man and waved him over. He slowly walked around the bed with hands still clenched inside his pockets. His face filled with concern as he studied her grandfather. John Charles followed but stayed back. He leaned against the dresser with his arms folded and smiled as if he just left the room for a moment and came back to continue the conversation.

  “Ava,” her mother said firmly. “Be gentle,” she ordered as she sat across the bed behind her grandfather. Her mother petted his shoulder tenderly as she pushed her face close to his ear.

  “Dad, there are some men here to see you. Some friends of yours,” she said smiling. “We’ve been having a nice time reminiscing about some of your old friends.”

  Ava looked up at the man who fixed the racer. His eyes were firmly fixed on her grandfather when he did something Ava never saw men do when they came into the house. The man pulled the old tweed cap out of his back pocket and put it on his head. He then sat on the bed next to her grandfather and took his trembling hand into his own.