A Time for Giving

by Jean Little

  When she had gone, I tried to fish it out, but I couldn’t quite reach down far enough. I won’t tattle, but I hope someone gets it before Mum misses it. She likes that necklace a lot.

  Friday, December 4, 1942, after school

  We are having a Christmas concert at school. Our class is singing “The Campbells Are Coming” and Sam’s class is singing “Do You Ken John Peel?” They are very English songs. The school choir is doing “Land of Hope and Glory.” Sam and I knew them before we came here. At least it is better than having to sing “There’ll Always Be an England,” the way we had to when we first came here. We did get sick of it.

  I think we should sing “The Maple Leaf Forever” and maybe “Alouette.”

  Mum got me a dress that has a plaid top, to wear for the song about the Campbells. It is serge and a bit scratchy, but it does look Scottish.

  I feel tired tonight and not in a writing mood. I feel sort of sick, too, but I hope I’m not, not this close to the concert.

  Saturday, December 5, 1942

  Here’s some real news for you, diary.

  When I woke up this morning, I felt as though I really was sick, but I didn’t tell because Pixie was coming over this morning. She arrived just after lunch, but she was not her usual self. I was trying to figure out what was making her so grumpy, when she burst out crying. I went to push her hair back and before I even looked at her forehead, I could feel she was burning hot. She moaned out something about her eyes hurting.

  So I called Mum and she felt Pixie’s forehead and looked worried. She sat down and lifted Pixie up onto her lap. Then she unbuttoned her blouse and said, “Oh, no!”

  I ran to look and Pixie had grown all blotchy. Her eyes were red and the blotches were all over her chest and even inside her mouth. There were a couple hidden under her bangs. She has the red measles!

  Mum telephoned Pixie’s aunt. She said she had wondered about Pixie’s spots because her older boy had measles. Mum looked furious, although she didn’t let it sound in her voice. She thought P. was going to infect Sam and me, but Sam had the red measles back home in England, and the Twiss children have all had them.

  Not me, though. And I was hot, too, and feeling sicker every minute.

  While Mum was busy with Pixie, I went into the bathroom and looked at my chest and there were spots. They aren’t as bad as Pixie’s. I went and had a drink of water and waited a few minutes while Mum was talking to Pixie’s aunt. Then I checked again just to make sure. The spots were there and I was pretty sure there were a few new ones.

  I was on my way to show Mum when I heard her wail, “If only Jane doesn’t get them.”

  I almost hid in our bedroom, but I had to tell. I unbuttoned my top buttons and went and stood in front of her and waited. It took her a moment to notice. When she did, she buried her face in her hands and moaned. Then she grabbed me and gave me a big hug.

  “Oh, Jane, my poor darling,” she said. “To bed with you. I suppose this means we’ll keep Pixie here too. Her aunt was hinting that she wanted me to offer. I didn’t because of you, Jane. But that poor woman has those two rapscallion boys to look after.”

  So, diary, I have the red measles and we won’t be going to Toronto after all. Our house has a quarantine sign on the door. Aunt Carrie will bring my repaired doll home when she’s fixed, and we’ll visit The Doll Hospital the next time Pixie sends a doll flying.

  Oh, I do feel sick. My eyes see everything through a blurry fog, and they hurt when I try to read. I am having trouble writing in this journal too. Mum says it won’t last. I am so hot and miserable. I am giving up keeping this journal until I’m well again.

  Friday, December 11, 1942

  I’m feeling much better. Pixie is a lot sicker than I am. They have called the doctor to come three times. She keeps crying out and what she says doesn’t make sense. Mum sits by her bed and wipes her forehead with a cold cloth and gets her to sip ginger ale. I am not exactly jealous, but I do feel a tiny bit neglected.

  Dad read to me tonight. I got to choose, so I picked the one about Bre’r Rabbit because it always makes him laugh. But it didn’t tonight. He hardly ever laughs these days. He didn’t even quite finish it. He said he was sorry and kissed me goodnight and went downstairs. I am sure it has something to do with George. I wish I knew how to make Dad happy.

  Goodbye for now.

  Tuesday, December 15, 1942

  I am well enough to start writing in you again, diary. I have to tell what has happened.

  I woke up last night because I heard somebody tiptoe past my bedroom door. Then I heard Mum telling the person to hush. And she sounded as though she was having a hard time to keep from bursting out laughing, or maybe crying.

  I got up and crept out into the hall. They didn’t see me. But I saw them.

  It was George who was making her laugh. This morning I found out that George is home on leave! He walked in and surprised them.

  Last night, I scuttled back to bed. I don’t know George very well except from hearing stories about him. I’ll write more tomorrow.

  I feel way better now that George is home and everyone will cheer up.

  Pixie is still sick, although I don’t think she is in danger of dying any longer.

  I heard Mum tell Robbie’s mother that they had been afraid for her when her temperature went up to 105 degrees.

  Thursday, December 17, 1942

  George has not been discharged from the Navy, even though he was wounded. He’s going back to work in an office now instead of on a ship. He is home on leave, and the Twiss family is overjoyed to have him back in Canada.

  He is extremely thin and he looks terribly tired. Eleanor and Charlotte keep teasing him and trying to cheer him up, and he smiles at them, but the smiles don’t reach his eyes. He hardly talks. He made Mum laugh that first night, but I have not heard him laugh since. Christmas is coming, though. Surely everyone will be joyful at Christmas.

  He keeps his bad hand hidden in his pocket all the time and never speaks about it. He only uses his good hand, never the wounded one. He gets Mum to cut up his food before we sit down to eat.

  I can’t talk to him about any of this. George is nice, but it is as though he is speaking to us from behind a glass wall.

  Just one more week till Christmas.

  Friday, December 18, 1942

  Last night I was in bed but not asleep yet when I got to thinking about Grandpa. He is jolly and good at making jokes. He has what my mum calls a “rollicking laugh.” He also has one eye that turns in all the time, but it doesn’t bother him at all. He was born that way.

  When we were staying with them in Coventry, before we came to Canada, a lady visitor asked him, all of a sudden, “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable if you wore dark glasses? Then nobody would see your eye.”

  She made me angry saying this, but Grandpa just laughed one of his big laughs.

  “You mean you’d be more comfortable, Dinah,” he said. “My crossed eye doesn’t bother me one bit.”

  She went red and started stuttering and then everybody was laughing. But I think that is how George should be about his hand. I can’t explain what I mean, but Grandpa forgets how his eye looks until somebody says something, and then he turns it into a joke.

  Of course, Grandpa wasn’t wounded. Maybe that makes a difference. It would be harder to laugh about a wound.

  I loved it when that lady went red. Grandpa was right about her being the uncomfortable one.

  I miss him. I like the Twisses, but I do sometimes long to be with my own family back in England. Sam does too. We don’t talk about it in front of Pixie, because she was so little when we left England that we think she is forgetting.

  Sunday, December 20, 1942

  I know some more facts now and I understand things better. Charlotte explained. George had to have his hand amputated. He has a metal hook instead of a hand. He got an infection that wouldn’t heal, and then something called gangrene, and they had to cut his hand off.
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  I remember reading about gangrene in a book about Florence Nightingale.

  No wonder he keeps it hidden away and is so sad.

  Monday, December 21, 1942

  Pixie has cheered up even though she is not all well. My rash has long gone and I can see clearly again. What a relief!

  Mum says having George at home will make Christmas a day to celebrate in a way we haven’t since before the war. He smiles at her. But it is such a tired smile, not a bit joyful. I can’t watch or I get a lump in my throat.

  Tuesday, December 22, 1942

  Dear Diary, just wait until you hear what happened last night! Pixie and I worked a miracle. Really.

  She had gone up to bed and I thought she was sleeping. So I tiptoed when I went up so I would not wake her. I heard George’s voice saying, “It’s time you went to sleep, chicken.”

  I peeked through the door, which was slightly ajar, and I saw George sitting in Mum’s big rocking chair with Pixie curled up on his lap.

  I was starting to creep away when I heard her ask to see his hook.

  I was horrified because I knew she must have upset him. He didn’t answer. I strained my ears, but nobody spoke. So I stayed still and waited.

  Then Pixie gave a joyful squeak. “Oh, George, that is super!” she said. “It feels so strong. Like Captain Hook’s in Peter Pan. Does it bend?”

  George laughed at her. It was a croaky laugh, but still a laugh.

  Then she burst out, “You have to show Jane. I’ll get her.”

  I was about to run away fast when George said, “No, Pixie. Jane wouldn’t like seeing it. You don’t mind because you’re a child, but it would make Jane sick to have to look at it.”

  Well, I knew that was wrong. He shouldn’t be thinking that. I would not be sick. So I marched straight into the room. And I said, “Jane does want to see it. Jane has been wanting to look at it ever since she found out you had it.”

  He was dumbfounded. But he had not had time to hide it. I moved fast and took a giant step. Then I reached out and grabbed hold of his hook.

  And then, Diary, I was inspired. I told George I thought he could do Pixie a big favour. I explained how I’d seen her playing with Mum’s necklace when it slipped out of her hand and went into the heat register, and she couldn’t get it out. And that when she wasn’t around, I tried to get it, but I couldn’t, either. “But you could do it, George. Your hook could reach.”

  For a minute I thought he was not even going to try. Then Pixie leaped off his knee, shrieking with delight.

  “Oh, please, George,” she begged. And she caught up his hand, the real one, and pulled him over to the register.

  He had not said a word, but he went down on his knees, slid his hook through the grating, hooked the chain and slowly fished up the necklace. He almost lost it once, but managed to catch it again. Then he held it out, dangling on the hook, so Pixie could take it.

  Good old Pixie scooped the chain off his hook and went dancing around the room singing.

  George and I looked at each other and grinned.

  Then Mum came in and there was his hook, out where we could all see it. He almost shoved it out of sight, but then he didn’t

  “Look!” Pixie shouted. “He’s got the best hook in the world! And he rescued your necklace.”

  Since then, George has come back from wherever he was hiding himself along with his hook. He is going to take us to see The Mark of Zorro during the holidays.

  And tonight when Sam was standing on the stepladder trying to put the star onto the top of the tree and the ladder started to teeter, George jumped to steady it and he used both his hand and his hook — cool as a cucumber. (Well, a cucumber wouldn’t be able to help, but George was so matter-of-fact. He didn’t seem to notice.)

  And I know, because I saw them, that Eleanor has got me figure skates like the kind Barbara Ann Scott wears, and I bet she’ll teach me to do figure eights and other fancy twirls the way she does herself.

  Dad met me in the hall when I was going to bed and he kissed me on top of my head.

  “Well done, Jane,” he said.

  “What did I do?” I asked him. I really wasn’t sure what he meant.

  “You healed my boy,” he said, very softly.

  Ever since he said it, I keep smiling like that Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland. Because you know what, Diary? It’s not just George that Pixie and I helped. It’s Dad. He keeps smiling now too. Just like the rest of us.

  The only survivor of her family, Rose was forced first into the Warsaw Ghetto and then into hiding in the forests and countryside of Poland. She has begun to settle into her fourth home since immigrating to Winnipeg after World War II, and is becoming closer to her friend, Susan. Susan’s parents, Eva and David, are welcoming, as are Susan’s four brothers. But making the transition to a safe place is not always simple.

  The Light and the Dark

  Sunday, November 14, 1948

  This is not at all what I thought would happen!

  Now what do I do?

  Let me start at the beginning, as the last few days have been so hectic. And, dear diary, I also want to say an official “hello!” I have put away my other diary forever, but discovered I missed writing. When I mentioned that to Susan, well, suddenly you, dear diary, appeared out of nowhere on my bedside table. I knew right away you came from Eva, and when I thanked her she didn’t deny it.

  While I was in such a grateful mood Eva sprang something on both me and Susan. She told us we should try out for the Christmas pageant at school. This surprised me for two reasons. Firstly, we are Jewish. Why would she want us to participate in a Christmas pageant? Secondly, Eva has never demanded anything of me, anything at all, so why this?

  I asked her. That must have been last Wednesday. Eva explained to me that both Susan and I need to try to make more friends. She said she was happy we had found each other, but that now we needed to expand! Well, of course I have my friends from the old country here — the other orphans — and I see them every Sunday. In fact, I just returned from seeing Oskar and Jakub and the rest of them at the downtown YMHA. As usual, we swam, played ping-pong, talked and caught up on the week. Actually, I think this was really about Susan making more friends, not me. But since we are now inseparable, I can understand why I was included.

  The auditions were set for last Thursday. Susan and I talked about it and we agreed to go ahead because Susan assured me we would never get chosen anyway, and we had nothing to lose — and at least her mother would be happy that we tried.

  We went into the auditorium together. There were lots of girls there and we were all given a seat on the folding chairs set up in rows, and then we were called up one by one to read from the script. We each read the part of Mary. Mr. Snider told us that based on our reading, we would be assigned different roles, like townspeople or sheep or something. Each of us had to sing. Susan had the entire group almost in tears when she sang “Silent Night.”

  I did too, but for a different reason! I could see the other students wincing as I sang, and some couldn’t stop themselves from giggling. For once I didn’t blame them.

  When it was over I told Susan that she would definitely get a role in the choir, and then I forgot about it all. Until Friday, that is, when everyone who auditioned was called to the auditorium again and Mr. Snider announced right off the bat that I would be playing the part of Jesus’s mother, Mary! I thought I would faint dead away! Oh, and Susan was to be the lead singer in the choir! I should have said no to being Mary right then, but I was so shocked!

  That night at Shabbos dinner Susan told the family what had happened. They were all so excited and congratulated me. When four big strong loud boys heft you on their shoulders in the middle of dinner, it is quite the experience! After that I didn’t feel I could tell them that I felt strange about being in a Christian play. They didn’t seem to think it was strange at all, but I suppose they grew up with Christmas pageants and have always taken part in them.


  After dinner that night we played charades and Saturday we went to synagogue and then in the afternoon to a movie, The Best Years of Our Lives, and of course I was busy all day today, so Susan and I didn’t get to talk about it until after supper tonight.

  I asked her if it isn’t somehow against our religion.

  She shrugged. “It’s just a tradition. A Christmas concert is an important event, and maybe Jewish people feel more accepted when they are in it than if we all refused to participate.”

  “I asked Oskar,” I said. “He says I shouldn’t be afraid to say no if it makes me feel funny.” I thought about it for a minute. “The truth is, your whole family is so excited, Eva especially, I don’t want to let them down.”

  Susan sighed and then admitted that she felt exactly the same as I did, but that she couldn’t — for the life of her — think of a good enough reason to say no.

  Monday, November 15, 1948

  There is a new royal baby. It is all anyone is talking about, although David said it was silly in comparison to Prime Minister Mackenzie King stepping down after so long as PM, and a new prime minister, Louis St. Laurent, taking his place. Eva said the royal baby was much more interesting to everyone, and I think she is right. We’re waiting to hear what he will be named. At school it was all the talk, because he will be the future king.

  We had our first pageant rehearsal today during Math class! This is a benefit I didn’t see. Most rehearsals will be in school hours, so we get to miss class. I suppose that might also have been a consideration when the teachers chose the students. I am well ahead of my class now in most subjects — unlike when I first arrived — and have even caught up in Math. And I suppose my accent must be pretty much gone or they certainly would not have given me the part.