A Moment Forever

by Cat Gardiner

  Mr. Howard and Mrs. Davis were nowhere in sight and, thankfully, Nurse Keller had once again disappeared. That was fine by her. The woman had become cruel and verbally abusive since the end of December, and when she attempted to discuss it with her mother, shamefully begging to visit Aunt Helga, she was met by a scornful expression and a series of hiccups. She should have known that turning to her mother was pointless. The abrupt slap she received just before the Christmas ball when she had spoken ill of Ingrid, had proved that even her own mother cared nothing for her well-being. Lizzy was all she had but she knew that Lizzy had enough worries, and sharing her own daily fears would only add to those of her dearest sister.

  The blackout shade over the Louis Comfort Tiffany stained glass window had been raised, allowing winter sunlight to shine into the foyer. A beaming spotlight illuminated Kitty’s straining body, calling incriminating attention to her, “Look! She’s doing it again!” But the warning went unheeded—unnoticed by anyone.

  Her anxiety and guilt conspired in tandem with the ever present grinding screech of the wheelchair, calling attention to the deceitful, albeit well-intentioned, act about to transpire.

  This wasn’t the first time she had committed it. One would think her conscience was now reconciled, but it wasn’t. Kitty laid awake guilt ridden every night questioning her duplicity, resolving that absolute fear and adoring love drove people to do things they never imagined they would. She had been acting for five weeks in this uncharacteristic manner for Lizzy’s safety, the baby’s safety—and for her own. She’d be fooling herself if she denied that last fact. She rationalized, her sister would never know what she did and, in time, it would be negligible, chalked up to a tragic result of the war. Everything was the war’s fault, especially the reason she was moved to such lengths of protection. No, there was no other way. Lizzy must believe Will dead or indifferent to her plight in order for her to marry John before the baby started to show.

  Her face felt hot and flushed, but her hands remained chilled with each turn of the metal wheels. As she rolled by the large oil portrait of her grandfather, she couldn’t help but acknowledge his painted frown of disapproval. The stern countenance glowering down upon her every pass convinced her that he was a man with an abhorrence to any deceit. She stiffened her resolve by believing if he only knew why she lied, he would most likely thank her in the end.

  She briefly glanced to the other side of the rotunda, pausing just long enough to admire the lovely Degas painting. Lizzy had questions about that painting, but she didn’t look any deeper into its arrival at Meercrest. She loved its beauty and, on this morning, the movement and lightness of the ballet dancers was made all the more resplendent when bathed in the subdued winter sunbeams. It was this image of innocence and spirit that buoyed her to continue. Maybe Lizzy would have a little girl and one day Aunt Kitty would see her dance in a ballet.

  With each turn, she drew closer to her destination—the door. The postman, her unknowing accomplice in this crime of the heart, would be arriving at the appointed time of his route to drop off Father’s important mail and bring the family any correspondence. He was always so kind to arrive at precisely ten in the morning and five in the afternoon, knowing how she waited for the family post—some of it to steal.

  Her heart had clenched each time she placed letters from Ducky and the Martels in the box she kept secreted away in her bedroom, along with Lizzy’s outgoing letters that were entrusted to her for mailing, but too much was at stake to let one slip through. Even Lizzy’s letters to the Martel family in Brooklyn found their way into the box. They might have welcomed William’s sweetheart into their home, but they certainly wouldn’t want the responsibility of a “poor crippled girl,” too.

  Poor? Definitely not. She didn’t need any National Society for Crippled Children handouts. Crippled? That was a matter of opinion—and one she strongly objected to. After all, no one referred to the President of the United States as “that poor crippled FDR.” He was her hero. As far as she was concerned Ingrid and her opinions could go to Hades. If only she would. Her eldest sister was pure evil and she was petrified to be alone with her.

  With great difficulty, she bent forward and turned the gold doorknob, pulling it open. The winter wind whipped through the two-foot aperture, causing her to pull the lap blanket draped up to her waist. She hated the winter; it was when she felt her worst. Like the inert fountain standing in the center of the Japanese garden, she felt all the harshness of winter in her bones.

  Precisely on time, Mr. Murphy rode up the gravel road on his bicycle, turning to circle the forecourt toward the mansion steps. The sight of his familiar bulky, wool scarf wrapped around his neck and chin caused her to smile despite her nerves and the frigid wind that entered through the open door. In his usual cheery manner, he waved.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered in a heart-felt apology to the letter from William that she was sure Mr. Murphy carried intending to deliver to Lizzy. “It’s for the best, Will. It’s going to hurt, but it’s for the best. I promise, if you return, you’ll find another sweetheart. Lizzy has to marry Johnny—now, not when the war is over—if you even return, and she won’t leave me here either. Johnny can protect all of us. It’s the only logical solution for the three of us.”

  “It’s a lovely morning!” the postman greeted, removing a stack of letters from the leather bag draped over his chest while ascending the marble steps. “Better get yourself inside, Kitty or you’ll get a chill.”

  She hoped that her fake smile conveyed sweetness and blamelessness. “I know, Mr. Murphy. Thank you for your concern. It’s a shame you have to deliver the mail on your bicycle in this cold.”

  “Just doing my bit for the boys.” His eyes fixed briefly upon her covered legs, quickly diverting his glance not to stare like he did every day when she greeted him. “Did you read in the newspaper how we’re beating back those Tojos on Guadalcanal? We’re finally winning the battle and sending them running.”

  He handed her the short stack of bittersweet treasure she awaited, the top two envelopes clearly V-mail, small in size with the big red “V-Mail” emblazoned above the address. William’s distinct sloppy handwriting first taunted her then immediately filled her with remorse.

  “That’s swell! Last we heard was that Lillian’s sweetheart was on the Solomon Islands. I bet she’ll be relieved to hear that victory is assured.”

  “Brave girl, that sister of yours. She makes us all proud.”

  “She’s in England now, driving a clubmobile somewhere across the countryside. Thank you, Mr. Murphy.”

  “Is there any mail to post this morning?”

  She couldn’t help how her lips suddenly tightened. “Nope. Nothing at all. Not a one.”

  He touched the brim of his blue hat, got back on his bicycle and rode off back down the gravel road.

  Kitty tucked both V-mail letters under the blanket. “It’s for the best, Ducky. You’ll thank me in the end for protecting Lizzy and the baby. If she waits for your return, terrible things may happen,” she repeated the rationalization in her mind yet again, more for her own edification.

  After organizing the few arriving letters into neat piles on the tray, she headed back from whence she came. The wheelchair rolled across the barren wood floor as now trembling hands slid upon the metal, turning the wheels. The repetitious squeak echoed in the cavernous foyer, a sudden ominous feeling overtaking her, but there was no turning back. The damage had already been done.

  The commanding sound of heavy footsteps invaded the chilled airspace a moment before her father suddenly appeared.

  Her body grew rigid and she sat straight up, clasping her hands on her lap.

  His dominant presence filled the large entry hall when he placed his hands upon his broad hips in trademark fashion. “Did Murphy bring the morning post?”

  “Yes, Father. I placed all of yours on the tray in its usual place.”

  “Good. There wasn’t anything from that soldier was there
?”

  “No, Father. Nothing at all.”

  “You tell your sister, she can’t avoid me forever. She will be marrying Gebhardt at the end of March come hell or high water.”

  “I will, Father, but don’t worry, he’s stopped writing to her. It’s been some time now, and I know she stopped writing to him, too. They’re no longer sweethearts.”

  “That better be true. No daughter of mine is going to be mixed up with a Jew.” He brusquely patted Kitty’s blonde head without thought or warmth. As he turned to depart, he queried, “Where’s Nurse Keller? She’s supposed to be assisting you.”

  “She’s around some …”

  He had already left the hall with his anticipated mail before she could answer. A chill ran up her spine. The sound reasoning for her act of deception had just been confirmed by her father’s cruel anti-Semitic hatred and his firm intention of marrying Lizzy off to that creep.

  ~~*~~

  Thirty-Two

  Say It

  June 25, 1992

  Though the long trip to Sitka Airport was physically tiring, particularly following a change of planes in Seattle, Juliana didn’t feel it to be tedious. In fact, she and Jack had a great time traveling first class together, getting to know one another, and laughing. It was a luxury they hadn’t enjoyed yet since their acquaintance was born out of the search for her great-uncle then later somewhat solidified over cherry pie at Primrose Cottage. Although, they had discussed the family secrets in the kitchen and afterwards, dancing to Artie Shaw in the parlor, a deeper personal exploration of what made the other tick hadn’t been pursued. Not because he had been unwilling—on the contrary—but because she had been afraid. However, when Jack held her hand to and through the Delta boarding gate at Kennedy Airport, she was pretty convinced that she wanted to pursue the personal. He was everything she thought a man should be. Witty, laid back, free spirited, responsible, and with the kindest heart of any man she had ever known. Like her, he had always looked to the future and only now felt himself compelled to look at the past.

  No topic seemed unapproachable. Heck, they’d even discussed her relationship with Susan and why she felt relationships were just a set up for abandonment and more disappointment. It felt like the best therapy session she’d ever had. He had actually listened more attentively than her psychologist. And in return, he opened up about his hope to settle down now after so many years of travel, even sharing with her his recent epiphany to get involved in the museum once again.

  Sitting in the small shared sunroom that connected their rooms at the bed and breakfast, Juliana watched in awe as the sun set behind the dormant Mount Edgecumbe volcano, on Kruzov Island. It was hard to believe that at ten at night the sun was just setting. In theory, she should be exhausted, but she was too wound up for what tomorrow would bring. Only mere hours away, she was to be meeting her great-uncle and, hopefully, having a myriad of questions answered. She couldn’t help the unsettling feeling that perhaps, he might not be happy to meet her, but she tempered that fear with the resolve at least to thank him for his gift. Four million dollars and a house were worth the long travel day to Alaska.

  Lizzy’s last letter to William from the stack found in the attic lay opened upon her lap. Once again, she was reminded that true love—the kind that’s meant to last forever, the soul mate type that moves worlds and mountains—was possible. After reading all her great-aunt’s letters to her flyer, Juliana was sure that something or someone had separated them outside of their control, because those two would never have willingly parted. She admired Lizzy’s elegant penmanship then began to read.

  December 15, 1942

  My Dearest Darling,

  I spent an hour or more today daydreaming. It hardly seemed that time had passed because I was so wrapped up in my memories of you and me and the time we shared together in Sarasota. My thoughts drifted to our visit to St. Pete Beach and what a perfect day it was. Anyone watching me as I doodled on the paper before me—completely oblivious to Mrs. Tinsdale’s reminder that scrap paper is rationed—would have thought me wacky for sure. I couldn’t help but to grin in swell remembrance of our visit to the Don CeSar to see the boys, bringing them some good cheer, books, and saltwater taffy. Six weeks ago seems like yesterday, and I hope that time flies just as quickly to bring us to the end of the war and your return. I miss you more than you could ever know. I need you more than I ever thought possible. You are my light and my life, Ducky. Please come home safe to me. If you have arrived in England, please wear that flak jacket you were telling me about. I’d rather you uncomfortably draped in steel than the alternative.

  Holiday decorations are starting to transform Meercrest in anticipation of the Glen Cove Society Christmas Ball on the 19th. It’s all so beautiful and with the cold weather and promise of snow, it feels magical already. The only thing missing is you and an end to this stomach bug I seemed to have picked up, but don’t worry about me. I’ll be back to my swell self in no time.

  Well, your last letter didn’t tell me if you have “officially” left for England. If you have, I want to hear all about it! Is the countryside as stunning as they say? I had only traveled to London on my Grand Tour and that was spectacular. Don’t you dare tell me that the women are more beautiful than those at MacDill Air Field because I would surely find a way to come to you and slap you silly. There are no bugs in England in December that would warrant a visit to the infirmary, so get that notion out of your noggin. You are rationed, sir, off the market and belong to only one woman for the rest of your life! Ducky and Pistol—and you fly a bomber with my image to prove it! How is the Pistol Packin’ Lizzy? Am I a hit with all the RAF fellas?

  In regard to our serious discussions about Father, I have not found anything out of the norm, apart from that situation I mentioned to you in my letter last week—which is still quite a mystery to me. I know you’ll think I am wacky, but the more I think on it, that woman’s hair was similar to Kitty’s nurse! How’s that for reading too many Agatha Christie novels? Ha Ha Ha. Still … there was a similarity from behind.

  I still have not received a letter from Bethsabee, but I will continue to believe that no news is good news. I can only continue to pray for her safety as well as that of your family. We must believe that they are protected somewhere. As soon as I hear something, I will send you word, and I promise to be honest and not sugar coat it should it contain news that may be upsetting. The optimist in me doesn’t believe it will, but I gave you my word not to hide from these realities …

  Juliana propped her sneakers up on the hassock and took in the view. Vibrant orange bursting behind the snow-capped mountain was mixing with the purple clinging fog surrounding the distant wonder. She sipped her Coke from a can designed for the upcoming Summer Olympics in Barcelona. The letter, the view, and the crisp soda made it a perfect moment. Feeling comfortable, she burped then giggled. It wasn’t such a perfect moment when she realized that Jack stood behind her laughing.

  “Oh my G-d. I’m mortified! Why didn’t you tell me you were there?”

  He had a playful smile upon his face when he replied, “I was taking in the view.”

  “It is a gorgeous sunset isn’t it?”

  “I was taking in the full view and yes, it is gorgeous.”

  She blushed and he came to sit on the worn recliner beside her then pulled the tab of his Coke, releasing that familiar pop. His sandy hair was tousled, and he had changed into sweatpants, after the day of cross-country flights. “Do you like the place?” he asked.

  “It’s amazing and the owners are so friendly, so accommodating and trusting to give us run of their house. They’re definitely not from New York City.” She snorted, continuing to make small talk even though she was having a tough time doing so. Perhaps it was the caffeine in the soda—or something else. He looked damned incredible and smelled so freshly clean that she was having difficulty fighting her desires just seeing his blue eyes alit with excitement.

  As she felt that flutter
below, searching for a safe topic Juliana nervously blurted out, “Mr. Crenshaw is a Toronto Blue Jays fan. He hates the Yankees.”

  “So does my grandmother. She’s a huge Giants fan.”

  “Really? But the Giants are in San Francisco. That seems almost traitorous of her. What self-respecting New Yorker doesn’t like the Yankees or the Mets?”

  “Ah, well the Giants used to be in New York as were the Los Angeles Dodgers. Back in the day they were terrible rivals.”

  “What about you? Do you like baseball? I think that’s the only thing we didn’t talk about on the plane.” She looked coyly at him, imagining them attending a game together when they got back to New York. Sharing a hot dog or splitting an ice cream cup—the vanilla half would be hers and the chocolate half for him. Apparently, not even her “safe” topic could contain her burgeoning urges.

  “I enjoy baseball. I’m not as fanatical about it as my grandmother is, but she and I attend a few games together. Perhaps when we go again in August, you can come with us,” he said.

  Juliana grinned. “I’d like that. Maybe my grandfather can come with Louise, too. Who knows, maybe William will be on Long Island and we can go as one big family. Rent a box or something.”

  “That’s certainly something to look forward to. I’m game if you are.”

  She nodded with an optimistic grin. “I am.”

  “So it sounds like you’re resolving to the fact about your grandfather and his lady friend.”