“See you at noon, kiddo,” Orrie said, socking his brother in the arm.
“Yessir,” said Jellyneck, firing off a snappy salute.
“See ya later, general,” Stan called over his shoulder.
The day started with the Christmas assembly. Miss Deetch read “The Night Before Christmas” as she did every year, somehow making it sound as serious as the Bible. Mrs. Miller played the piano while everyone sang Christmas carols.
Then, just in case anyone had forgotten about the war, a song for each branch of service. “From the Halls of Montezuma” for the Marines. “Anchors Aweigh” for the Navy. “Off We Go into the Wild Blue Yonder” for the Air Corps. “The Caissons Go Rolling Along” for the Army. What the heck is a caisson? Ellie wondered, as she always did.
Usually everyone got so carried away on these songs, they shouted the words. But today, the singing was quieter, subdued. All around her, Ellie heard kids sniffling, trying not to cry. Because their fathers and brothers, uncles and cousins wouldn’t be home for Christmas. She felt sorry for them, but she couldn’t help thinking, Jimmy will be here soon. Maybe by the time school lets out.
After assembly, the sixth grade trooped back to class, where they proceeded to do absolutely nothing for the rest of the day. For the first time, there was no class Christmas party. The sixth graders had decided to buy presents for the fighting men instead of exchanging grab-bag gifts. Without the party and gift exchange, there was nothing to do. Even Miss Granberry knew it was hopeless to try any sort of schoolwork.
“Class, you may have free time at your desks. You may talk as long you aren’t too loud,” she said. “If you insist on being disruptive, I’m sure I can find an arithmetic drill.” With that, she commenced grading papers.
“Anybody gotten a letter lately?” Stan asked quietly.
Ellie had, but it wasn’t one to share with anyone else. Unusually sombre for Jimmy, full of advice – be a good girl, help Mom and Pop, remember to pray for him. It didn’t sound like the kind of letter you sent someone you would see soon. Ellie knew he was just pretending that he wasn’t coming home…but it bothered her just the same.
Victoria looked up from her Nancy Drew book. “I got a letter from my brother Buddy last week,” she said. “With Christmas and all, I forgot about it.” She hesitated. “Are you sure you want me to read this? It’s, uh…different.”
“Sure we’re sure,” Stan insisted. “Read it.”
“Okay,” said Victoria.
Hi Sis,
It’s turkey time back home, isn’t it? I don’t think we’re getting any bird and cranberries here, but there’s lots to be thankful for. Like living, for instance. Something happened yesterday, maybe I shouldn’t tell you about it, but I got to tell somebody and I don’t want to fret the folks. I know I can count on you. We got this new guy from Tennessee, a kid. He said he’s seventeen, but he has the face of a fifteen-year-old. I bet he lied on his service papers. He had some goofy name we couldn’t remember, so we just called him Tennessee. A big, old country boy, right out of boot camp, who’d never been anywhere or seen anything. He thought everything was just the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. Until he joined the Marines, he’d never ridden in a car or seen a movie or talked on a telephone. When they found out that Tennessee had never seen a movie, some of the guys showed him their pin-up pictures, and told him that they were their girlfriends. Like these lunks could land a girl like Betty Grable or Lana Turner! You know what? He believed them!
So last night, after dinner, we’re in front of the mess tent, having a smoke. Tennessee is talking a blue streak about how different this island is from the Smoky Mountains, when he spots this plane. One little old plane all by itself in the evening sky. “Looky there,” he says. “A plane.” He waves at the plane, since I guess that’s something else he never saw before the Marines either.
But then the plane dips low and heads right for us, and I see it’s a Jap Zero. I yell, “Run, run, it’s the Japs!” But by now, the plane is strafing us, bullets flying through the dirt. I hit the ground and curse. Pray some, too. After a while the plane goes away and I get up. But Tennessee doesn’t. That nice, dumb boy from Tennessee who had never been anywhere or seen anything is dead.
He’d been in the war one whole day.
The room grew still until the whole class had gathered around Victoria, listening, barely breathing. Ralph broke the silence.
“Wow,” he said. “And he didn’t even get to kill anybody first.”
“Shut up,” Victoria snapped. She thumped open her Nancy Drew.
“What’s biting her?” asked Stan. “I thought it was a swell letter.”
Ellie knew what was biting Victoria, because she was thinking the same thing.
Tennessee could’ve been my brother.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Christmas Eve is the longest day of the year.” Ellie kneeled on newspapers in the basement, polishing the good silver. “Nothing but a lot of cleaning and waiting for tomorrow.”
“Poor you,” said Sal. “At least you don’t have to iron the world’s biggest tablecloth and umpteen napkins.” She squinted at the ironing board.
“Toots told Mom not to go to a lot of extra bother for her friends, but you know Mom.” Ellie dug fingers into the jar of gritty silver polish and rubbed it into the cake server. “Company means good silver and good china and the good linen tablecloth.”
The girls worked on in silence, save for the thump whish sigh of the steam iron. Ellie’s heart jumped whenever the doorbell rang. Jimmy!
But it was always someone else.
Twirl-twirl. Twirl-twirl. The doorbell again.
Mom shouted down the cellar steps, “Somebody answer that. I’m up to my elbows in pie dough.”
“I will.” Ellie swiped her hands on the seat of her dungarees as she charged up the stairs.
Through the door glass, she saw Mr. Carlson, the postman, with a parcel in his arms.
“Looks like Jim sent you folks season’s greetings,” he said, handing Ellie the package. “You’re lucky. The Gandecks haven’t heard from three of their boys in a couple of weeks. They’re worried sick.”
“Really?” said Ellie.
“Yep. I’d be worried, too, with two of them over in the Pacific. Mighty bad fighting over there last month. On the other hand, you never can tell about mail in war-time. Might take months to get here, might take weeks. No rhyme or reason to it a’tall. Lucky for yunz, Jim’s stateside. Well, Merry Christmas,” he called as he went on his way.
“Whatcha got there?” asked Aunt Toots, whirling by with a feather duster.
“Box from Jimmy,” Ellie said.
“Bless his heart,” said Toots, from a cloud of dust and feathers. “Thinking of us when he’s got so much on his mind.”
Ellie was putting the final touches to her polishing when Mom called, “Almost three o’clock, girls. Time for the President’s Christmas speech. You can finish later.”
Pop tuned in the station from his Morris chair. Mom leaned forward in her armchair rocker, as if she wanted to crawl into the radio. Sal and Toots shared the sofa, with Ellie on the floor hugging her knees.
President Roosevelt called his radio speeches “fireside chats” because he liked to imagine his listeners sitting by their own fireplaces. The glowing orange radio dial and the President’s friendly voice warmed Ellie as if she were sitting before a fireplace.
“My friends…” the President began, as always. He made Ellie feel he really was her friend.
Tonight, the President spoke about going to a place called Tehran to talk with other leaders about the war.
American boys are fighting today…
The President’s sons were overseas, too. Did he worry they wouldn’t come home?
Fighting for the thing for which they struggle.
Newsreel pictures flickered through Ellie’s head. Refugees trudging the roads of Europe because their homes were gone. Germans shouting “Sieg Heil!” at Nazi
rallies. Ships burning at Pearl Harbor.
And we ask that God receive and cherish those who have given their lives, and that He keep them in honour and in the grateful memory of their countrymen for ever.
Ellie gazed around at her family, heads bowed, hands clasped as if in prayer. Maybe they were.
God bless all of you who fight our battles on this Christmas Eve.
God bless us all. Keep us strong in our faith that we fight for a better day for humankind – here and everywhere.
“Amen,” Mom whispered.
“Amen,” Aunt Toots agreed, in her barnyard voice.
Everyone sat in silence, gazing at the radio. The room felt cold and empty without the President’s warm voice.
Finally, Mom got to her feet. “I have to check on those pies.”
“Wow,” said Sal. “I feel like I’ve been to church already. Can we skip—?”
“No,” said Mom and Pop together. “We are going to midnight service, and that’s that.”
Ellie hugged her knees closer. “Fight for a better day”, the President had said. Well, her better day was coming today! Tonight!
Tonight, when Jimmy arrived.
“Sure you want to tackle this?” Pop looked from Ellie to the big spruce he had just anchored in the Christmas tree stand.
Although Ellie said, “I’m sure,” she really wasn’t. So much to do. Strings of lights to test. Tinsel and ornaments to hang. And at the very top of the tree, the big tin star Jimmy had made in school metal shop.
Pop was right. A lot of work for one person.
Ellie toiled up and down the stairs from the attic with box after box of ornaments. Whenever she passed her bedroom, the door was closed. Sal was probably wrapping presents.
On her last trip, the door stood ajar. Sal sprawled on the bed, surrounded by tissue-wrapped gifts. “Bringing down the decorations?” she called out.
“What do you think?” Ellie snapped.
Sal raised an angora-socked foot and traced circles in the air. “This gives you slender ankles.”
Ellie thought of saying that Sal’s ankles needed all the help they could get, but she didn’t.
Instead, she asked, “Do you want to help decorate the tree? Not that I really need help,” she added in an offhand way.
For an instant, Ellie glimpsed pure happiness on her sister’s face. So! thought Ellie. Pop was right. Sal had felt left out all those years.
Ellie’s face must have betrayed what she was thinking, because Sal quickly rearranged her expression to one of indifference.
“Might as well.” Sal swung her feet to the floor and felt around for her saddle shoes. “Toots will have nine kinds of fits if we don’t have a tree for her friends tomorrow.”
“Okay,” said Ellie, as if she, too, couldn’t care less.
“Here, give me some of those boxes.” Sal lifted two from Ellie’s stack. “You’re going to break your neck, and the ornaments too, carrying a load like that.”
The McKelvey Christmas Truce had begun.
“Can’t you walk a little faster?” Ellie urged Sal. St. Matthew’s was only two blocks away, but a frigid wind blew straight through her skirt. Her legs were freezing, but you didn’t wear snow pants to church, even for a midnight service.
“No.” Sal’s teeth chattered. “Not without breaking an arm on the ice. What are you complaining about? At least you’re wearing knee socks.”
Feeling guilty, Ellie matched her pace to Sal’s. She knew how cold Sal was. She had watched her put on her “stockings in a bottle” – leg make-up – and draw a stocking seam up the back of her leg with eyebrow pencil.
Aunt Toots strode past, spraying slushy snow in her wake. Not caring how she looked, Toots wore heavy cotton hose. “Get a move on, girls. This ain’t nothing. Why, back home—”
“Yeah, yeah, we know, you walked five miles to school in snow over your head,” muttered Sal.
Ellie surveyed the clear, moonless sky. There was her old friend the North Star, shining especially bright tonight. Follow it home, Jimmy. And hurry! It’s almost Christmas Day.
On the church steps, Ellie spied Jellyneck and his whole family. A Jelinek or two turned up on Sunday sometimes, but all nine of them plus their mother? And wearing new coats? Mrs. Jelinek had a new hat as well.
Jellyneck sidled over in the icy vestibule. “Hey, Ellie, look.” He held out his arms for inspection. “Orrie took us shopping and we all got new coats. How about them apples?”
“Pretty swell apples,” she agreed.
“Merry Christmas,” he said with a broad smile as they filed into the rapidly filling sanctuary.
I’m happy for him, Ellie told herself.
But as she watched the flickering altar candles, Ellie asked God to forgive her for being jealous of Jellyneck. Because his brother sat next to him tonight.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tick tick tick. Ellie picked up the clock and peered at the eerie, glowing green hands and numbers. Two-fifteen. Sighing, she plunked it back on her bedside table, with a little ping of the alarm.
“Cut it out, Ellie.” Sal heaved a pillow at her. “That’s the four-hundredth time you’ve looked at that clock. Anybody would think you still believe in Santa Claus.”
“You cut it out.” Ellie threw the pillow back. She looked at the clock. Again.
Two-twenty.
“Sal? You asleep?”
“What do you think?” Sal sounded grouchy.
“Do you remember the year that we saw Santa Claus?”
“Santa Claus, my foot. You know good and well that was Jimmy dressed up in a Santa suit.” Sca-reech Sal’s bedsprings sang as she sat up. “He was in a play at the high school, and he wore his costume home to surprise us.”
“I know.” Ellie turned towards her sister’s bed. “But we thought it was Santa.”
“Maybe you thought it was Santa.” Sal didn’t sound grouchy any more. “Ellie?”
“Hmmm?”
“You don’t think, I mean, you don’t really believe…” Sal took a deep breath. “You know Jimmy can’t come home for Christmas,” she finished in a rush. “Don’t you?”
“Fat lot you know.” As soon as she said it, Ellie wished she hadn’t.
Rustle screech rustle from the other bed. Click. Sal snapped on her bedside lamp.
“Hey, what’s the big idea?” Ellie threw an arm over her eyes.
“The big idea is that there is no way he can get all the way from South Carolina on a two-day pass, which is all they are granting these days. Mom and Pop are going to be sad enough this Christmas without you drooping around. I miss him, too, but there isn’t anything we can do about it.”
“But he is coming,” Ellie insisted. “He’ll find a way. I know it.”
“My sister, the Gypsy fortune-teller,” Sal snorted. “Do you think he’s keeping this all a big fat secret? That he’s going to drop out of the sky just in time for Christmas dinner?” She clicked off the lamp.
That was exactly what Ellie thought. She waited a minute, then said, “Jimmy said to keep the tree up, that he’d be home.”
But Sal had already gone back to sleep, gently whistling through her nose.
Ellie stared at the shadows the dimmed street lights cast on the ceiling. She pulled the pillow over her head, but “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” sang on in her mind. Bing Crosby, of course.
“You kids get away from that tree,” Mom said, as she did every year. “No presents until after breakfast.”
But this year, there was no Jimmy to wheedle, “Aw, Ma. Just one little present before breakfast?” He would open the biggest present under the tree, then so would Sal and Ellie, and before long, everyone would have forgotten about breakfast.
Without Jimmy, Sal and Ellie ate Christmas breakfast for the first time in their lives. And for the first time, Mom plunked the Shredded Wheat box on the table, along with the milk bottle, and announced, “I only have the strength to cook one big meal today.” Shredded Wheat had never see
med less appetizing to Ellie.
Breakfast finally over, Pop turned on the radio, spinning the dial, looking for holiday music.
“I’ll be home for Christ…” Bing boomed into the room. Again.
“Pop, could you find another station, please?” said Ellie.
Her father fiddled with the knobs until he came to the voice of an unfamiliar newscaster.
“Ah, but there is no peace on earth today, my listeners,” the announcer said in a lugubrious voice.
“Why don’t we put some records on?” asked Toots, raising the record player lid. The first notes of “Winter Wonderland” filled the living room.
The parcel from South Carolina stood like a brown boulder beneath the tree, its twine and heavy paper wrappings wildly out of place amid the red and green tissue-wrapped gifts.
“Let’s bust into Jimmy’s box, whaddya say?” Toots whipped a jackknife from her dungarees pocket and commenced sawing away at the binding twine.
Ellie thought they should wait for Jimmy, but she knew she should keep her thoughts to herself.
Once the box was open, Mom took over. Burrowing through crumpled wads of South Carolina newspapers, she dug out smaller packages, each neatly wrapped in more newspaper. Ellie fidgeted, twisting a strand of tinsel around her finger, as Mom handed first Pop, then Toots, their gifts. Pop’s gift was a book, See Here, Private Hargrove.
“I’ve heard this book is funny,” Pop said. “Written by an Army fella about being in boot camp.”
Toots shook something silky from her wrappings.
“I’ll be,” she exclaimed. “Wouldja look at this.” She waved a large, flat square of satin printed with eagles, the American flag, and Uncle Sam shaking a soldier’s hand. Above the scene were the words “Greetings from Fort Jackson, South Carolina”.
“What is it?” Ellie asked, reaching over to twiddle the gold fringe trim.
“It’s a pillowcase,” said Toots, smoothing the satin across her lap. “Not a sleeping pillow,” she added, catching Ellie’s incredulous look. “You stuff it with rags and put it on your bed for decoration.”
“Here you go.” Mom passed Sal a large flat parcel. Ellie watched her sister peel layer after layer of newspaper, the size of the gift steadily shrinking. Finally, Sal pulled away the last of the paper to reveal a picture frame.
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