Jimmy's Stars

by Mary Ann Rodman

  “Still, it seems that Sunday is the only time we’re all together these days,” said Mom. “Time for us to catch up on what all has been going on with one another.” She plunked a platter of waffles on the table. “Pull up a chair, everybody. Lunch is getting cold.”

  “Not lunch, Mom,” Sal said in an exasperated sort of way. “It’s brunch. That’s what they call it at Connie Cavendish’s house.”

  “Lunch, brunch, whatever you call it, somebody pour me some tea,” said Aunt Toots. “I’d do it myself if I were awake. I need an eye-opener for sure.”

  The steaming tea did seem to perk Toots up a bit. After everyone had a round of waffles, Toots clinked her cup down in the saucer and cleared her throat. “I’d like to ask a favour.”

  “A loan till payday?” Pop grinned.

  “Nothing like that.” Toots folded her hands on the table in a very un-Toots-like way. “I have an idea. I wondered, since the folks aren’t coming up for the holidays—”

  “What?” Ellie blurted.

  “Huh?” said Sal.

  “You two don’t speak English?” joked Pop.

  “Gramma and Grampa aren’t coming for Christmas?” shrieked Ellie.

  “Eleanor, ladylike voice, please,” said Mom. “And no. They aren’t coming this year.”

  “How come?” asked Sal.

  “You know why,” said Mom. “The President has asked everyone not to travel unnecessarily. There’s a shortage of passenger trains, with the government using so many as troop trains. The passenger trains are sidetracked to let the troop trains through. Even if they decided to come, it could take the relatives two days to get here from West Virginia.”

  “How come we didn’t know about this before?” Ellie demanded.

  “Like I said.” Mom sighed and poured herself another cup of tea. “Seems like we just don’t see much of each other these days.”

  Ellie couldn’t imagine Christmas without Gramma’s chocolate pies and sacks of pecans from the farm. Or the smell of Grampa’s pipe that lingered long after he’d gone.

  “Can’t they drive?” But Ellie knew the answer. Gasoline was rationed and so were tyres. The McKelveys’ Ford had been up on blocks in the garage since Pearl Harbor.

  “The sorry fact,” said Pop, “is that unless something unusual happens, the relatives won’t be here for the duration.”

  Ellie dug her nails into her palms. There it was again – those three awful words.

  Aunt Toots cleared her throat. “Well, as I was saying, some of the gang at work can’t get home for Christmas either, and I can’t imagine anything worse than spending Christmas in a boarding house…”

  I can, thought Ellie. Christmas without Gramma and Grampa, and with Toots.

  “You want to invite these friends of yours over for Christmas, is that it?” Pop asked.

  “Not for dinner, but maybe just for the evening or—” Toots sounded almost shy.

  “Nonsense,” Mom interrupted. “Who knows if their boarding house will even serve a meal that day. We’ll make the food stretch.”

  That was Toots’s big idea? A bunch of strangers for Christmas, and they would have to make the food stretch? Ellie knew she was being selfish, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to spend Christmas with people she didn’t know, and make the food stretch. She had a sudden horrible vision of Sal’s soy loaf, the all-time champion of food-stretching meals, being served along with turkey and cranberries.

  “Are any of your friends boys?” Sal asked, trying to sound casual. Ellie knew better.

  “Just one, a 4-F’er named Wally,” said Toots.

  “Oh,” Sal said. “What’s wrong with him? Does he have two heads or something?”

  “He’s got a bum leg,” said Toots. “Although it isn’t none of my business. Yours either.” Seeing Sal’s face fall, she added, “What did you expect? That’s why he’s 4-F. All the able-bodied fellas are in the service.”

  “Connie Cavendish only dates men in uniform,” said Sal.

  “I’m so happy for Connie Cavendish,” commented Mom dryly. “It’s all settled. Toots’s friends will be here for Christmas. Girls, if you’re finished, you may clear the table.”

  “Yes, Mom,” said Ellie, stacking the sticky plates. Things weren’t settled at all. At least Jimmy will be home.

  But what if he wasn’t?

  Ellie turned on the kitchen taps full blast, drowning out the thought.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Ellie jiggled the front doorknob. Locked. Good. Toots had gone somewhere, and she, Ellie, would be alone. All alone in the house.

  Letting herself in, she shouted, “Anybody home?” just to make sure.

  Only the furnace wheezing through the floor vent answered. A note was propped on the lamp table.

  Kiddos,

  Santa and me are out shopping. Won’t be home until dinnertime. There’s chicken livers in the icebox for supper.

  Toots

  Ellie’s stomach squeezed with excitement. There would be time to read that letter from Max Whoosis. And to look for her ashtray.

  But first, supper.

  Opening the refrigerator, Ellie located the dripping meat package. Her tongue curled with distaste. Liver hash, she decided. At least the onions and potatoes would help. She set to work, peeling potatoes, chopping onions, then setting it all back in the refrigerator.

  Ellie ran upstairs, considered doing homework or knitting the Christmas presents she was making for the family, instead of snooping. Then she marched across the hall and gave Toots’s doorknob a yank.

  The bed was covered with letters, lots of them. Some opened, some not, some half-finished replies, strewn across the chenille bedspread. Ellie riffled through a stack of sealed envelopes. Letters to girls in Lost Gap. To soldiers Ellie had never heard of. To Gramma and Grampa.

  Best of all, resting on the pillow like a crown jewel was a letter from Max. An opened letter from Max. Hot dog! Gingerly, Ellie picked up the letter, all thoughts of searching for the ashtray forgotten.

  Dear Miss Agnes,

  Miss Agnes? Obviously, Max was no sweet-talker.

  Boring, too. Ellie scanned the page. Bad food, long marches, horsing around with the fellows. She had read it all before, and funnier, in Jimmy’s letters. But at the bottom of the page was an arrow pointing to the back. Ellie flipped the page.

  PS Looks like Jim and I are going to have a Christmas surprise. The Army says we’re not to say a word, so I’ll write more about that later.

  A Christmas surprise? What else could it be but that the Army was giving Christmas leaves? Jimmy must be coming home and keeping it a secret. That big faker Toots would play along as if Jimmy were spending the holiday at Fort Jackson! Well, if Toots could play-act, Ellie could too.

  The ticking clock on the bedside table reminded Ellie that Toots would be back any minute. She scampered downstairs to finish supper.

  Ellie tap-danced around the dining room, slapping down plates and silverware as she set the table. Then back to the kitchen, slamming drawers and cupboard doors, just to let off steam. Jimmy really is coming home!

  “Aren’t we the bluebird of happiness?” Sal stamped the snow from her feet on the kitchen doormat. “What gives?”

  “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas,” Ellie sang, dumping liver and onions into a pan.

  Sal shrugged. “Big deal. It’s always a white Christmas in Pittsburgh.”

  Over the sizzle of frying livers, Ellie heard the front door scrape open, then slam, followed by more foot-stomping in the front hall.

  “Nobody come out here,” Toots bellowed. “I got Santy Claus with me, and he don’t want your Christmas ruint.” Stomp-stomp-stomp. Toots’s boots on the stairs to her room. No one would call her light on her feet. Tromp-tromp-tromp back down to the kitchen.

  “Them chicken livers smell good.” Toots sniffed the pan. “You chop onion in them?”

  “Yep.” Ellie poked the livers with a long fork.

  “Thought so,” sa
id Toots. “Them onions are so powerful, I swear I could smell ’em in my room. With the door closed, too.”

  Ellie realized she had forgotten to wash her hands before she went into Toots’s room. Did Toots know? Or was she just being Toots?

  Mr. Corsiglia’s Christmas trees were propped outside the grocery. Ellie and Stan braved the Bing Crosby recital on the loudspeaker to inspect the crop at least once a day.

  “It has to be perfect,” Ellie said, studying a tall spruce. She and Jimmy had always bought the tree together, examining every one before choosing. Was the trunk straight? Needles too dry? The shape full and bushy? Then, afterwards, they’d go to Green’s for hot chocolate.

  “It had better be perfect,” Stan commented, “it’s a whole dollar. Your folks are gonna pay that much for a tree?”

  Ellie wasn’t at all sure her parents would spend a dollar for the tree, or even whether they had decided to not have a tree “for the duration”. But she had promised Jimmy, so she hoped they would get one, especially with Jimmy coming home to surprise them.

  The days ticked by until it was the night before school let out for the holidays.

  “Get your snow gear, Peanut,” said Pop after supper. “We’re going for the tree tonight.”

  Ellie’s breath left frozen feathers in the air as she and Pop walked to Corsiglia’s. The stars glittered like faraway ice crystals. A fairytale sort of night.

  Being alone with Pop always made Ellie feel tongue-tied. He wasn’t much of a talker, and Ellie couldn’t think of a thing to say. For once, Corsiglia’s loudspeaker was silent. Only their boots crunching through the snow broke the stillness. At last they pushed open the market door, bells jingling from the door spring.

  “What brings you out on so cold a night?” called Mr. Corsiglia from behind the cash register.

  “Christmas tree,” said Pop.

  The grocer smiled, flashing a gold tooth. “Every year this one comes with her big brother to pick the Christmas tree. You carry on without him, no?”

  Ellie nodded.

  “You go ahead and look at the trees. Lorenzo,” Mr. Corsiglia shouted towards the back room for his teenage son. “Go out front and help Mr. McKelvey pick one out.”

  “No need,” said Pop. “Had my eye on one already.” He strode outside, right to Ellie’s tree, the tall spruce.

  How did he know which tree? Ellie marvelled.

  “This one,” he called to Mr. Corsiglia, who stood shivering in the doorway. “How much?”

  Ellie cringed. Pop wasn’t going to pay a buck for a tree.

  “One a-dollar,” Mr. Corsiglia sang out.

  “Sold,” said Pop, digging his worn wallet from his pants pocket.

  Ever-thrifty Pop had spent a whole dollar on a tree! Ellie marvelled as she trailed Pop and Lorenzo Corsiglia home, her beautiful spruce on their shoulders.

  “Hot chocolate?” Pop asked after they propped the tree on the back stoop. “Green’s?”

  “Swell.” Ellie couldn’t have been more surprised if Pop had suggested dropping in on the Roosevelts at the White House. How did he know about going to Green’s?

  “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” on the jukebox greeted Ellie and Pop at Green’s, the aroma of vanilla, fudge and magazine ink tickling Ellie’s nose.

  “Good evening.” Miss Ruthie quickly shoved a copy of Screen Stars beneath the fountain counter.

  “Do you have hot chocolate?” Pop asked as he helped Ellie out of her jacket and unzipped his own.

  “It’s powdered, but we have it,” said Miss Ruthie.

  “Two, please,” said Pop. “With whipped cream. We’ll be in a booth.”

  How did Pop know I like whipped cream and sitting in a booth? Ellie wondered.

  Ellie didn’t have to worry about making conversation. Miss Ruthie, who was usually as animated as a pencil eraser, chattered away as she made their chocolate.

  “I don’t know why Poppa keeps the place open on week nights in the winter,” she said. “You folks are the first I’ve had after supper all week. Now, summer, that’s a different story.” Goodness, but Miss Ruthie was on a talking jag.

  Ellie was only half listening when she heard “…and that’s why I’m joining the WAVES come the new year.”

  “That’s brave of you, Miss Ruthie,” said Pop. “Ever been away from home?”

  “No,” Miss Ruthie admitted. “I hear they send girls all over the country. California and Washington DC and New York City. Basic training is at a college in New York City.” Her eyes sparkled the way Jimmy’s had.

  She wanted to see the world. Like Jimmy.

  Miss Ruthie brought their chocolate, then went back to Screen Stars, reading as she filled the soda-straw canisters. Ellie sipped slowly, savouring the dark sweetness and the warmth of the thick ironstone mug.

  “You know,” said Pop, stirring the whipped cream into his chocolate, “I taught Jimmy everything he knows about Christmas trees. Before you and Sal were born.”

  “Really?” Ellie always assumed that nothing important happened before she was born.

  “Yep. Then Sal came along, and it was the three of us going to Corsiglia’s.”

  Ellie couldn’t imagine Sal getting sap on her mittens, tree needles poking her in the face.

  “So how did Jimmy and I wind up getting the tree?”

  Pop traced invisible circles on the scarred tabletop. “Jimmy was in junior high when you were born. He thought you were the cutest thing. Took you with him everywhere.”

  “What about Sal? Did he take her everywhere when she was a baby?”

  “They’re seven years apart, and Jimmy was too young to appreciate a baby sister. She drove him crazy, tagging after him.” Pop studied his thumbs. “Truth be known, Peanut, I think she’s kinda jealous of how close you and Jimmy are.”

  Jealous? Ellie watched the snow drift across the street, piling up around a fire hydrant. Could it be that Sal was the envious one? No. Not possible.

  “I always did wonder,” Pop said, as if talking to himself, “why Sal stopped helping with the tree.”

  Ellie jerked her attention back to the table. “Sal? Help? That’s a laugh.” She had never wondered why her sister didn’t help. That’s just the way things were. Ellie and Jimmy did the dirty work – hauling the decorations from the attic, untangling the lights, climbing up and down the ladder, hanging ornaments, arranging tinsel just so. Sal was always someplace else, out with her goony pals or polishing her toenails.

  “Maybe,” Pop mused, “Sal thought two was company, three’s a crowd.” Before Ellie could tell him that he was barking up the wrong tree, Pop asked, “You putting the tree up Christmas Eve?”

  “Sure.”

  “By yourself?”

  “By myself.” Except that Jimmy will be home by then, and we can put it up together, just like always.

  “I know you and Jimmy always did it by yourselves,” Pop said. “But it’s going to be twice the work without him. How about I lend a hand this year?”

  Ellie shook her head. “The fun part is when you and Mom come in to see it, and ooh and aah, and tell us how this year’s tree is the best ever.”

  “Well, I’ll set it up in the stand for you, and then it’s all yours.” There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of Miss Ruthie riffling the pages of her magazine. Pop seemed to be waiting for Ellie to say something, but what?

  Finally, Pop glanced at his watch. “We need to head for the barn, Peanut. School night, you know.” He helped Ellie on with her jacket.

  “Goodnight, Miss Ruthie,” Ellie called. Ruthie waggled her fingers without looking up from Screen Stars. “If I don’t see you, good luck with the WAVES.”

  As they crossed the street, Ellie had to ask, “How did you know which tree I wanted, and that I like whipped cream on my chocolate and the booths better than the counter?”

  “Easy, Peanut,” Pop said with a rare smile. “Sal would’ve picked that tree. And she likes whipped cream, and sitting in booths, too.”<
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  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Forty hours to Christmas,” Ellie chanted. “Thirty-nine hours and fifty-nine minutes. Thirty-nine hours and fifty-eight minutes. Thirty-nine hours—”

  “Can it, Ellie.” Stan cut her off. “We still have to get through a whole day of school.”

  “Half day,” Ellie reminded him as they walked the last block to school. “We get out at noon.”

  The schoolyard vibrated with anticipation. Kids ran from the girls’ side to the boys’, teachers trying to herd them to their separate areas.

  Jellyneck skidded into the crowd, hair every which way, shoelaces trailing, shirt tails dangling beneath his thin jacket.

  “Look who I’ve got!” he crowed. Behind him stood a soldier, spit-and-polish in his uniform, making Jellyneck look even messier than usual.

  “Hi, Orrie,” said Stan. “How’s tricks in the Army?”

  “There’s a war on, kid.” Orrie grinned and Ellie could see the Army had fixed his chipped and missing teeth. He didn’t at all resemble the big-eared, slump-shouldered kid who couldn’t hit the porch with their newspaper. He looked older, taller, and almost…well, handsome. Ellie could see why Sal and her pals went all silly about men in uniform.

  “He came in last night, all the way from Fort Dix, New Jersey.” Jellyneck made New Jersey sound as far away as Timbuktu.

  “How long are you staying?” Ellie asked.

  Orrie frowned. “Seven hours by train each way don’t leave a lot of time on a two-day pass. I have to leave right after Christmas dinner.”

  “That’s too bad.” Ellie tried to figure how long it would take to come from South Carolina…and couldn’t. She remembered Mom saying that sometimes the passenger trains got sidetracked by the ones carrying troops. It could take two days for a train to get from Fort Jackson to the Union Station on Liberty Avenue.

  The first bell shrilled, shocking the rowdy schoolyard into echoing silence. Kids divided into their march-in lines, one for the boys, one for the girls.