A Moment Forever

by Cat Gardiner

  Again, her mind found its way to Jack and his phone call about his meeting with Lizzy this past Sunday. He hadn’t expected his grandmother’s tears, and it upset him to know she’d never stopped loving William after all these years. Juliana felt a kinship with him when he expressed his dismay in questions such as “What about my grandfather?” “I feel so bad for him.” “Did she love him?”

  Yes, she understood completely because it had been unnerving when her grandfather shared that he had feelings for Louise. Talk about being blown away. It took two days for her to come to terms with the fact that he needed companionship and that it didn’t stop him from loving and missing Mimi. That would never change. Louise would never replace his wife of forty-three years, but she could add joy and laughter to his otherwise lonely life.

  Juliana thought of the last of her uncle’s letters that made reference to Lizzy. Correspondence received from her grandfather indicated the brokenhearted man on the receiving end of the V-Mail.

  March 16, 1943

  Dear Brother,

  Training, training, and more training but at least the 1st Marines are out of the thick of it. We’ll be back better and stronger with our next engagement, but for the time being, Down Under is having summer, while you’re freezing your backside off. Though like you, I’d much prefer to be freezing back home in the Big Apple. What I wouldn’t do for an egg cream or a knish.

  Take me to task if you will, but you need to get it into that vaporhead of yours that for whatever reason Lizzy called it quits, your relationship wasn’t meant to be. I know you fell in love with her, but maybe now wasn’t the time for you both. You had fun while it lasted and that’s a good thing. You’re in war, old man, and you need to focus on the job at hand any way. Would you rather have received a letter kicking your ass to the curb? I don’t think so. I’ve seen firsthand what that kind of demoralization can do to a man. One of my buddies received his with mail call at the arrival of the Army on Guadalcanal. After what we went through, that letter near sent him over the edge. What I’m saying, Will, is to accept it as a casualty of war and move on. Your focus should be survival in that tin can of yours. You’ve done all you can, trying everything in the hopes to get a letter through past her father, even writing to Kitty upon different stationery. Truly, if it was old man Renner standing between you and her, either Mother’s letters or the ones you sent to Kitty would have reached her. So stop worrying that he’s the one keeping you from her. In the interim, I’ll write Lil and hopefully she’ll have heard from Lizzy and can shed some light on what has happened back on Long Island. I warn you though it may be months until you hear from me about this. She’s traipsing all over England in that doughnut truck of hers.

  Now, the best thing for a broken heart is to go find yourself one of those British birds and have a good time. Oh, and in the words of my very wise brother—Wear a Rubber!

  Affectionately,

  Lou

  Juliana rose up and down in her Converse sneakers, flexing her ankles with mindless action as she contemplated love and heartbreak, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the frenetic New York airport. Lizzy and William’s love had spanned fifty years! Her grandparents’ love remained true and faithful until death separated them, and, possibly, love of a different type had come to her grandfather again. These were hopeful examples to her skeptical mind. Then there was Jack …

  “Excuse me, is this the gate for departure to Seattle?”

  A slow grin spread across her lips when she saw Jack’s brilliant smile reflecting in the window before her, setting her heart into a thunderous beat. She turned. “Why yes. Are you going my way?”

  He looked down at the paper ticket and seat assignment clutched in his hand. “Seat two C on the aisle.”

  “Gee, isn’t that a coincidence. I’m at the window in seat two D. Looks as though we’ll be traveling together.”

  “Well then, this promises to be the best trip I’ve taken in years.” He set down his camera bag and walked toward her, removed the tepid coffee cup from her hands, and boldly drank from the opened lip.

  She raised a brow at his familiarity but acknowledged to herself how right it felt. “Are you always in the habit of drinking other people’s coffee?”

  “Only people I feel comfortable with. Is it okay that I’m joining you on this trip?”

  “Why not? You’re as much a part of this story as I am. It’s hard to extract yourself from this love affair as much as you may want to, isn’t it?” She bit her lip, thinking he would assume she meant their not-quite, burgeoning love affair.

  “You have no idea. I’m in too deep now to get out even if I wanted to. Julie, she cried for hours, convinced he’d never forgive her of something she did all those years ago. In my thirty-three years, I’ve never seen such expressive emotion from my grandmother. It was as though her dam broke and a flood of memories and regret came flowing out.”

  “Regret for marrying your grandfather?”

  “No, something else, but I don’t know what. When I left her last night, she was resolved to write William a letter if he refused to come east. I told her, essentially, that she was full of shit because if I know her, she’d just get on the next plane and fly out to see him. I refused to give her his address until I know more. Hence, my joining you.”

  Juliana couldn’t help feeling a slight sting of disappointment. “Oh, so that’s the only reason you’re going.”

  “No. That’s not the only reason. I’m actually worried about you making a trip alone, so far away. I know the area and the people and it’s truly magnificent this time of year. I’d like to show you around, spend some more time with you. And ... if I can keep my wild grandmother from flying out there on, what could be a fool’s errand, then all the better.”

  “What if she does? What about Paris?”

  “She’ll be there, but has it in her head that if he could be in Paris, everything would change. It must be about the painting in your hallway.”

  “The Dutch one?”

  “Yeah, the Avercamp. There is a sister painting that matches yours and is currently held by the French government. My grandmother explained that she’s trying to obtain it to give to your grandfather. Apparently, it was looted from your family during the Paris Roundup and no effort had been made to locate surviving family.”

  Juliana took Jack’s hand and led him to two blue seats against the window. “Jack, you were right and your grandmother’s claim confirms it. My grandfather and great-uncle are Jews. That means that I’m part Jewish in my blood. I never knew—they hid their faith. Grandpa’s aunt and grandfather perished in Auschwitz. They were sent to Drancy in Paris and then onward.”

  He looked down at their still entwined hands. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  Suddenly it dawned on him. “She truly loves him, Julie. All of it … the creation of the Phoenix Foundation, the veteran’s home, the Vel d’Hiv commemoration, securing the painting … all of it was to honor him and his family … your family. Not just restitution to millions, but specifically restitution to him because of her love for him and the overwhelming guilt for what her father did—and maybe what she did.”

  Juliana’s eyes filled with tears as she listened to the tender tone of Jack’s voice.

  “For whatever her reasons for marrying my grandfather, it seems as though the foundation took on a physical form of William for her. She was able to continue to love him through the foundation while simultaneously giving my grandfather a happy marriage that lasted four decades.”

  “William and Lizzy had a true romantic love. Aunt Kitty said it was deep, respectful, and abiding, not a summer fling as you thought, but something that should have been everlasting. I bet that in some form or another, he has held a torch for her, too, these five decades. When someone touches your heart so deeply, it’s impossible to remove them. Jack, let’s see if we can bring them together in Paris. I’ve never been to France, and I have a passport just waiting to go somewhere.”

 
He chuckled deeply. “You are so mischievous.”

  “I know. I’m learning from my aunt Lizzy.”

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, we will begin boarding Delta Flight 675 to Seattle…”

  Juliana grinned, “So my partner in crime, where are you staying when we get to Sitka?”

  “In the room next to yours.”

  She stood before him, slung her backpack over one shoulder and clutched her hip with her hand. “What’s your plan? Late night dancing to Glenn Miller?”

  Jack took her hand in his. “How did you know?”

  “Just wishful thinking on my part.”

  ~~*~~

  Louie loved his 1967 Eldorado Coupe Cadillac and hated that for two years it had been collecting dust in the locked garage behind his house in Park Slope. On this day, he was setting out on a mission and needed his wheels for this important journey.

  While the area’s Revolutionary War historical significance was commemorated with parks and monuments, the actual neighborhood of Park Slope was founded only one hundred years and three generations ago. This cozy, friendly section of the Big Apple, once a neighbor to Ebbets Field, home of the former Brooklyn Dodgers, had seen many changes come its way in the span of the Twentieth Century. The stadium itself had been torn down, replaced by an apartment complex attesting to the encroachment of time and modernization.

  Always a busy intersection, Ninth Street and Seventh Avenue was located in a section of Brooklyn known as the South Slope. Lined by local businesses and townhouses of limestone, brick, or brown stone, it was easily distinguishable from the now-coined Historic District, formerly known as the North Slope, with its opulent mansions built from old money. In its heyday, before a neighborhood decline precipitated by the Great Depression, South Slope represented working class and new money, whereas North Slope represented old affluence. The Martels had lived in the south.

  What began as a “trip to get the car” seemed to have morphed into something altogether different. Having taken the F Train down to Ninth Street for the first time since Lillian’s death, Louie was soon ascending the steps of their three-story townhouse. Once his childhood home, this was the place where, on emergency furlough in ’43, he sat Shiva to mourn for his mother. Her death had been brought on by the War Department’s letter notifying her that Will was shot down, Missing in Action. And seven years later that he mourned his father in this house. But the sad memories also accompanied the joyful because it was here that he raised Gordon beside the love of his life.

  Since that first amphibious transport to Guadalcanal and later his arrival at Peleliu, this was the first time in a long time he felt fear. By giving into the moment, and that prodding voice in his head that demanded, “Go on, go in.” His palms began to sweat when he turned the key. He stepped inside even though he wasn’t quite prepared to face the pain of doing so.

  He surprised himself at how the fear immediately dissipated when crossing the threshold through the heavy front door. An enveloping wash of comfort surrounded by the familiar and the love that this house had held for the Martel family for seventy years came over him. He felt extraordinarily attuned to it. Like the neighborhood in which the house dwelt, revitalization came and went. Now in his sunset, the Slope was revitalizing once again, and just like the introduction of Louise and the possibility of seeing his brother again, as well as Juliana meeting a fellow, he seemed to be getting a second wind, too. Maybe this old house has more life in it yet. Maybe, one day, Juliana will come back to the Martel home and raise her family. Perhaps Primrose Cottage was only meant to be the beginning for her. He’d have to think on that.

  The home’s dry air hung thick and unmoving reminiscent of the death it had represented following Lillian’s death. It was then that he left for the Exeter, to be closer to Gordon before his own sudden passing.

  His eyes welled with tears upon smelling a faint trace of Lillian’s Shalimar perfume still lingering in the living room. Unconsciously, he rubbed his furiously beating heart. The memories were crushing yet sweet. He almost thought he heard Gordon’s laughter as a boy but knew it was his imagination. The pains of life ran a bittersweet course beside the joys of living and here, in Park Slope, he was reminded of them all. Suddenly finding himself a “past person,” he felt aptly sentimental as he ran his aged hand over the white sheet tossed over his mother’s dining table.

  “We had a beautiful life here, didn’t we, Lil? I can still remember you coming home with me after our bare-bones civil ceremony by the Justice of the Peace. You brought life to this house and my dad who was still grieving.”

  Louie slowly climbed the stairs, that loose floorboard on the fifth step creaking like it always had, but he never had time to fix. He walked straight into his and Lillian’s former bedroom, which smelled sweet, like roses and honeysuckle. Catholics would probably refer to it as the “odour of sanctity,” he mused. Lillian, after all, had been angelic, heroic, and almost saintly, and she had died in this room—in his arms while they slept. His girl had slipped away with nary a warning, leaving a heavenly fragrance in her place.

  Sitting upon their sheet-covered full-sized bed, he thought how he loved cuddling close to her. She’d hate his California king bed now and would give him an earful about it.

  “Well, sweetie, our granddaughter is going to heal this family once and for all. I suppose you and Gordon put those wheels in motion from where you are. She’s headed to Alaska to bring that vaporhead brother of mine home, and she’s met your sisters, too. Our treasure has even fallen for Lizzy’s grandson. Hard to fathom after all your Renner subterfuge, isn’t it? I’m so proud of her, and I know you are, too.”

  Speaking may have been new, but talking to Lillian from his heart wasn’t. It was the most natural thing in the world and he’d been doing it every day for the past 762 days to be exact. Not hearing her lengthy replies was the unnatural part. “I love you—I miss you.” He swallowed hard then, shaking his head, smiled wryly. “Even though you kept secrets from me. Yes, I know, you never broke confidences pertaining to your sisters, but it wouldn’t have done any harm to tell me about the Phoenix Foundation or the orphaned Jewish boy she adopted. I have my suspicions why, but I’ll leave that for Juliana to bring to light.”

  He sighed, working up his courage to discuss inviting Louise into his life, but chickened out instead choosing to purge his guilt to Lillian’s spirit, which he felt was infused in their room. Rubbing his brow his confession flowed, “Both you and I know we did wrong by Will and, hopefully, I’ll have an opportunity to atone. The shock on his face at seeing Lizzy for the first time after all those years in ’49 is an image I wish I could purge from my brain. Her marrying the very man he was insanely jealous over and their arrival with two small children beside them, I’m sure broke him. During the war, he always feared a Dear John, but she just stopped writing and that was proof why.

  “After you gave birth, and she came to the hospital with her husband, I should have told Will that she had married. But you should have told me why or, at the very least, that she was coming to Gordon’s christening. Not that I expected Will to attend, but I could have prepared him, could have finally been honest with him. It would have broken my heart to do so, but I would have done it to try to lessen his shock. Instead, I wounded him, just as your sister did. What did he ever do to warrant her treatment of him? He was at war for G-d sake! Of course, you probably knew everything but kept that a secret from me as well. Our silence delivered the final blow and for that I’ll never forgive myself.”

  Louie rose and walked to the window, opening the wood shutters to look out at her overgrown garden at the back of the house. He spoke under his breath more to himself, “What happened to them? Why did she marry John? I suppose it’s irrelevant after all these years.”

  A quiet overtook him for many minutes as he just stared out the window, his eyes fixated on the rose bushes growing wild now against the rare privately owned garage in Park Slope. Finally, he choked without tears. “I miss Will, Li
l, especially now with both you and Gordon gone. Our Juliana and I have been having a difficult time.” He ran his hand across his face, wiping invisible tears.

  “Anyway, baby, I just wanted to thank you for sending Louise to me for these last years I have left. She’s not you, nor will she ever be since ninety-nine percent of my heart is still yours, but she’s a good woman and good company. She’s also a terrible gin rummy player, and it gives me a great sense of satisfaction to finally win at a game you kicked my ass at for four decades.” He snorted. “And let’s face it, doughnuts were the only thing you knew how to cook well. Louise makes a mean beef brisket. I … I hope this is okay. I hope you’re not mad at me for feeling more than just a friendship with her.

  “I’m headed off to Long Island today to see your photograph in that museum. It’s about time the world knows of your bravery. If I have the nerve maybe I’ll seek out one of your sisters to thank them.”

  Standing there, looking out the window, he smiled, feeling buoyed and at peace about so many things. Going home did that and the realization gave him pause to think that there was another home to visit, too.

  He walked toward the empty cedar closet at the far end of the room and opened the door, summoning the same courage he had finally found on the morning he stormed Peleliu with thousands of Japanese soldiers lying in wait in caves. Thoughts swirled in his mind like little ripples growing into larger wakes: home, peace, sanctuary, forgiveness.

  Inside the walk-in closet hung three short shelves and below them a bench. With the remaining strength in his arthritic hands, he yanked the cedar plank of the bench upward until its old nails gave up their grip. With a groan and a final heave to the wood, the top of the seat popped off.

  Louie bent forward and reached in, ignoring the cobwebs. His hand searched in the darkness of the cavernous space until it touched softness. He grinned. They were just where he hid them almost sixty years prior. Covered in dust, he withdrew the soft, blue velvet pouches: his Tefillin and Tallit.