by Dean Hughes
“Dad can take over. That guy is funny.”
Bobbi laughed, but then she said, “What did you think of the blessing he gave you?”
“It was . . . good. I liked it.”
“He does love you, Wally. We all do. These years—when we’re all growing up and making decisions—are hard. But let’s stay a family. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Bobbi got up and kissed Wally on the cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said. “I’ll say good-bye then.”
“Could you do this first?” he asked, and he pointed to the shirt, which he had had little success folding.
So Bobbi folded the shirt, tucked it in among the other things; then she left. Wally tried to think what else he needed, but his mind wouldn’t focus, so he walked to LaRue and Beverly’s room. LaRue was standing by her closet, in her underwear, apparently looking for play clothes. “Wally!” she said. “Get out. I’m not dressed.”
Wally smiled and turned around. But after a minute or so, she announced, “All right. You can come in now.”
Wally turned around and stepped into the room. Beverly was on her bed, with three dolls before her, all sitting up against a pillow. She was talking to them as though they were real, and as though LaRue and Wally were not in the room.
“Hey, Bev,” Wally said. “Those kids are bad. They don’t listen to a thing you say.”
“Yes they do,” she said seriously.
“Well . . . you two aren’t going to have me around to tease you all the time. Gene will have to do it for me.”
“Gene doesn’t tease. He doesn’t even talk,” LaRue said.
“He thinks. I talk.”
“You ought to think before you talk.” It was the sort of thing she always said to Wally, but she seemed to regret it instantly. She walked to him. “I don’t want you to go,” she said. “I want everything to be just like always.”
Wally nodded. He was about to say, “Things have to change,” but the words wouldn’t come. He knelt and hugged LaRue, and then Beverly, who also came to him. “I’ll miss you two,” he said, and then he got away, went back to his room. He sat on his bed and stared at his shelves, the pictures, all the balls. His years in this room came over him in a procession of images, and he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember why he had wanted so badly to leave. He had the feeling that when he walked from the room in the morning, he would be leaving himself behind. He wanted to cry, but all his emotions seemed locked inside, and he couldn’t get himself to feel much of anything—except an overwhelming sense of loss. He thought of trying one more time to talk to his father, but he knew he couldn’t do it.
Chapter 25
Brother Stoltz knew about German air raids on England. Speculation had it, both in Germany and in England, that Hitler was trying to weaken the power of the Royal Air Force before invading the island in the fall of 1940. Late in the summer, however, the RAF began to bomb Germany, and then on August 25, for the first time, bombs fell on Berlin. Germans were stunned. Hermann Göring had promised that Berlin’s anti-aircraft protection was so sophisticated that bombers would never penetrate to the city. Everything Germans read or heard—and all of Hitler’s speeches—had made victory over England seem not only certain but imminent. And yet, now the British were attacking, and the idea of another war on German soil was disheartening to the people.
Gradually, German bomber attacks began to concentrate more on London. Raids came almost every night, and clearly the purpose of the “Blitz,” as the attacks came to be known, was to terrorize and weaken the spirit of the people. Brother Stoltz, because he listened to the BBC, knew the extent of the bombing on both sides, but he said nothing to President Meis or others in the branch. He doubted that anyone was working for the Gestapo, but a repeated statement, an accidental remark picked up by an informant, could lead to big trouble. Kellerman would surely be tracking Brother Stoltz’s every move.
As Christmas approached, Brother Stoltz was certain England was nowhere near submission. In spite of the Blitz, not only on London but also on Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham and other cities, RAF pilots in Spitfire fighters were taking heavy casualties on the Luftwaffe. And British attacks on Germany were widening to seaports and to large industrial cities. Japan and Italy, in the Tripartite Pact, had agreed to fight with Germany against any declared enemy, and that convinced most Germans that the United States would stay out. But Roosevelt had announced a plan to lend or lease aircraft and other armaments to England and its allies, bolstering his commitment to resist Hitler. From all appearances, now, the war would not soon be over.
Brother Stoltz was walking again. His knee still gave him pain, and it probably always would, but it had healed better than his shoulder. His arm was still held with a sling. He could move his elbow and manage to use his hand, but even that caused him pain. He had returned to his teaching and went about the work patiently, but every day was exhausting, and every night was made tedious by his inability to sleep.
Sister Stoltz often reminded him that he was lucky to be alive. And he usually agreed. But sometimes the frustration was hard to deal with. One morning while trying to tie his shoelace by himself, he suddenly yelped from the stab of pain in his shoulder. Anna knelt by him and said, “Here. Let me do it.”
Brother Stoltz said, “A man wants to tie his own shoes. This merciful God we speak of might at least grant me that.”
Anna patted his back. “I’m sorry you have to suffer this way,” she said.
Brother Stoltz was clearly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to say that,” he said. “It’s my old self speaking. I prayed that my life might be spared. Now I complain about a little pain.”
But Anna knew it was a great deal of pain, and she knew how much her father’s spirit was suffering. There were certainly others who hated the Nazi methods as much as he did, but no one dared to say so, and so the disillusioned remained unknown to each other. “At least I can’t do that damnable Nazi salute with this broken shoulder,” Brother Stoltz told his family, but he could never say such a thing outside his household.
Anna was working now. She had a Gymnasium education, and she had always planned to attend a university, but everything had changed in Germany. She worked, by assignment, as a secretary for a company that made military uniforms. She typed letters and kept books, and she did the bidding of a sour old manager who leered at her when she walked across the room. Sometimes his overtures were anything but subtle, but he never touched her, and she prayed every night that would never happen.
She had not written any more letters, nor had she received any. She told herself that by now Elder Thomas had probably married. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life brooding about that. She had to follow her father’s example and live with the reality that lay before her. That’s what she told herself. But she looked at Elder Thomas’s picture every day—called him “Alex” in her mind—and she prayed that he was happy and well. If America entered the war, she wondered whether he would have to fight. She hoped he could be kept safe.
Christmas was happy, however, no matter how difficult everything was, and one simple act made it so. Two days before Christmas, Brother Stoltz had sent Peter on his bicycle into the country, and Peter had been able to buy some fresh produce. Food had to be shipped to the western front, and raw materials were being used to build weapons, uniforms, trucks, and tanks. It had become difficult to buy personal items: soap, tools, paper, school supplies. But worst were the shortages of
sugar, butter, fruit, and vegetables. Germans had grown used to living on bread, potatoes, and cabbage, and on little else.
Peter, however, had managed to buy some carrots and a sack of apples. The boy must have looked forlorn when he explained how much his family hoped to have a nice dinner on Christmas. A farmer finally said, “I’ll sell you these. But tell no one else where you got them.”
The Stoltzes sent Peter with a few of the carrots and apples to the other families in the branch. And then, on Christmas ev
e, Brother Stoltz said, “Come with me, Peter.” With the help of a cane, and with Peter on one side of him, he had left the house. Anna had assumed he was going to buy some little gift for the family, and she hadn’t made a fuss even though she knew how hard it was for him to walk very far. But when he had returned two hours later, both Anna and her mother were greatly concerned. Father looked exhausted as he dropped onto a kitchen chair, but he was smiling. “I did something the Führer would not like, and I feel better than I have in a long time.”
“What? I hope it wasn’t foolish,” Sister Stoltz said.
“Only a little foolish,” he said. “And very satisfying.”
“Oh, Heinrich, what have you done?”
“Peter and I went to visit Bruder Goldfarb. I had never met him, and it was time someone from the branch paid him a visit. We gave him four carrots and two nice apples. He cried and kissed both of us. It was wonderful. He’s a man I would like to know better.”
Anna and Sister Stoltz were staring at Brother Stoltz. “You can’t do this,” Sister Stoltz whispered.
“I did it. I pretended I was an old Jewish man, hobbled and bent, and Peter was my helper.”
Peter grinned. “No one even looked at us,” Peter said. “It was easy. I wasn’t frightened.”
Anna was proud of her father. She could see, however, that Sister Stoltz was afraid. “Please, never again,” she said.
But Brother Stoltz didn’t promise. And his spirits were clearly raised. There was no Christmas tree this year, no candles, and Christmas dinner was simple, but the Stoltzes sang together, and they read the story of Christ’s birth.
Anna kept thinking of the Christmas two years before when Elder Thomas and Elder Mecham had been with them, and Anna had been so young and yet so flirtatious with poor Alex. She understood how wrong she had been, but she also remembered the way he had looked at her. It was one of her favorite memories.
“I wonder what Elder Thomas is doing today?” Peter said. “I wish he could visit us.”
Brother Stoltz nodded, and Sister Stoltz said, “Yes. That would be nice.” She glanced at her daughter, gave her a tiny nod. “Let’s sing now,” she said. “What shall we sing?”
“O, Du Fröhliche,” Anna said. It was a song of joy: “Oh, you joyous; oh, you blessed; oh, you mercy-bringing Christmas time.” It was also Alex’s favorite Christmas hymn.
***
Alex promised to come over to the house early on Christmas morning, but Beverly and LaRue were put out when he didn’t get there until 6:30. The minute he opened the front door, the girls bounded down the stairs and ran to the tree. Bobbi came down soon after in a terrycloth bathrobe, her hair wrapped in a scarf. Mom had to go upstairs and roust Gene out of bed. But once he found his way onto the stairs, he picked up speed and hurried to see what gifts he had.
Alex stood and watched all this until Mom said, “Aren’t you going to see what Santa brought you?”
“Did he leave my stuff over here?” he asked. “I thought he’d missed me.”
“Don’t put on an act,” LaRue said. “Me and Bev know about Santa.”
Dad had been up for a while, but he was still wearing pajamas and slippers and the wool robe Mom had given him for Christmas the year before. “Now listen, girls,” he said with only a slight smile, “Santa brought those things, and if you don’t think so, turn them back in.”
“Never mind. We believe,” LaRue shouted, and she giggled. She was cradling a doll in her arms. “This is the one I wanted,” she said. “It wets its diapers.”
“Well, now, only Santa would bring something like that. If I were buying, I’d get you both pretty red Sunday coats.”
Both girls jumped to their feet immediately. “What?” Beverly said. “Where are they?”
“Never mind.”
But it was too late for that. Mom had to tell them to open the two large boxes under the tree, and then the girls had to try on the coats—and kiss their dad.
Alex looked through the shirts and ties and stockings that Mom and Dad had gotten for him, and then he sat on the couch and watched everything happen. During the fall Alex had almost lived at the plant. He had spent his time solving problems and worrying about deadlines. But the quality of their products had been first rate. Manufacturers were now offering the little company contracts without requiring bids. Everyone was talking about the boom that was coming in 1941, with all the dollars being pumped into defense, and Alex was right in the middle of it all. There was a certain excitement in that, and most of his days were so intense that he hardly had time to think whether he liked what he was doing. But today was Christmas, and Alex had awakened with Anna on his mind—and a sense that his life was sadly lacking in the things that mattered to him.
He wondered whether she was all right. He watched the papers to see whether bombs had dropped on Frankfurt, and so far he hadn’t read of any. But it had to come in time.
“Alex?”
“Yes.”
It was Bobbi. She was holding out a package. “This is for you,” she said. “From me. But it’s not what you need.”
“What do I need?”
“A woman. You need to get married.”
Mom said, “You should talk, Bobbi.”
“I don’t a need a woman,” Bobbi said. The girls giggled.
Mom sighed. “Last Christmas I thought a lot of things would be settled by now. You and Phil were engaged, and Alex was back with us, safe. Wally was in college. It felt so good. I just had no idea so many things would change this year.”
“Have you heard anything from Wally lately?” Alex asked—to change the subject a little.
“We finally got a letter a couple of days ago—after about a month of not hearing anything. He said he’d sent a package, and he was sorry he’d sent it so late. You know Wally.”
“How is he doing?”
“All right, I think. His letter was awfully short and full of jokes. But I got the feeling he was homesick. He said he wished he could be home for Christmas.”
Bobbi laughed. “He wouldn’t even mind our Christmas meeting, I’d bet.” She patted her father’s knee.
“I just wonder how he’s doing,” Dad said. “He hasn’t said one word about church. Brother Spendlove had a son in the Philippines, and he said there’s not much chance of attending Mormon meetings.”
“I’m just glad he’s a long way from Europe,” Alex said. “Even if we get into the war, I doubt he’d get shipped all the way over there.”
“If you’re so concerned about staying out of the war, you shouldn’t have voted for Roosevelt,” Dad said.
Alex decided not to argue the point—not on Christmas. He and his dad had gotten in some rather tense disagreements about politics this fall. Roosevelt had won a third term in office, which was irritating enough to President Thomas, but worse, he had carried Utah easily. And Herbert Maw, a Democrat, had taken the governor’s house, defeating Henry D. Moyle in the Primaries. Brother Moyle was a Latter-day Saint—and another Democrat.
“I wonder what Wally is doing today?” Mom wondered aloud. “Do you think he’ll get a special dinner?”
“I’m sure he will,” Alex said. “But I hope he’s homesick. On my first Christmas away, I think I finally realized how much my home meant to me.”
“Sing that German Christmas song for us,” LaRue said.
“Stille Nacht?”
“No. The other one. The happy one.”
“O, Du Fröhliche?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Not right now. Maybe during our meeting.” But Alex didn’t want to sing. He looked over at Bobbi, who smiled and gave him a little nod, as if to say, “I think I know what you’re feeling.”
The family had been together the night before, and Alex and Bobbi had found a few minutes alone in the kitchen to talk. Alex had asked her whether she was still in touch with David. “We still write,” she had said. “He’s been my friend these past two years. I can’t seem to give that up.”
>
“If nothing is going to come of this, maybe it would be better to stop writing and end the pain.”
“I know. That’s what I keep telling myself.”
“But you can’t bring yourself to do it. Right?”
She nodded.
“I’m going to end my pain this year—or at least ease it.”
“How?”
“If I have to commandeer a British bomber and land in Frankfurt, somehow I’m going to talk to Anna.”
“And what will you say to her?”
“I’m going to ask her to marry me—and promise to wait for her, no matter how long this stupid war lasts.”
***
Wally was sitting in a bar in Manila. He didn’t drink beer very often—and he actually didn’t like it—but he drank one or maybe two, now and then. The excuse he used was that sometimes it was the only cold drink he could get.
Earlier, the Twentieth Pursuit Squadron, the fighter unit Wally was with, had eaten a huge Christmas feast, and now, in the late afternoon, as the heat was subsiding a little, Wally and a few friends had taken a taxi into the city and were relaxing a little. It was an odd Christmas, entirely different from his experiences at home, and he was feeling rather strange.
Wally could never have imagined a better life than the one he had had since leaving Salt Lake. He had been homesick as the train had pulled away from the valley, and he hadn’t loved basic training at Hamilton Field in Southern California. But air corps training was light compared to what the grunts in the infantry had to put up with, and when Wally had volunteered for a unit heading to the Philippines, his training had been cut short.
From that time on, he had been living a dream. The transport ship was a commercial ocean liner. It was crowded in the beginning, but most of the troops got off in Honolulu, and only Wally’s squadron continued. Every lowly private bunked in a state room. The food was great, the service embarrassing, and the soldiers spent their days swimming or lounging like vacationers. Wally learned to play blackjack the hard way, losing most of his cash. But he needed no money, and he was glad to learn his lesson early. He made up his mind not to play cards again.