Christmastime 1942

by Linda Mahkovec

  “I’m finished, Mom,” said Gabriel, scooting back his chair.

  Lillian nodded that he could be excused from the table.

  “Hey,” said Gabriel, turning to Charles, “I made something for you at school. A pine cone Christmas tree. For your Navy office. Want to see it?”

  “Sure! Let’s take a look.” Charles followed Gabriel into the living room, and sat down on the couch while Gabriel reached for the pine cone tree on the bookcase.

  Lillian started to clear the table and shot Tommy a withering look. “Go wash up. Go on.”

  Tommy reluctantly got up from the table, wishing he could start the morning all over again. He slapped the wall as he went down the hallway, wondering why he always said things he didn’t mean.

  From the kitchen, Lillian could hear Gabriel explaining how first his class went to the park and gathered pine cones, and then they carried them back to make the trees, gluing cotton on them to look like snow.

  She left the dishes in the sink and went into the living room. There was Charles listening attentively to Gabriel, turning the lopsided tree around in his hand in admiration.

  Charles set the tree on the coffee table. “You’ve done a fine job, Gabriel. I’m going to place this right next to our family photograph on my desk. Where everyone can see it.”

  Gabriel beamed, puffed up by the words of praise and love.

  “Okay, Gabe,” said Lillian. “You, too. Go wash up.”

  She and Charles laughed as Gabriel, for no apparent reason, galloped away into his room, making a clicking sound as he spurred on his imaginary horse.

  Charles put his hands on his knees in preparation to stand, but remained seated, as if some counterweight prevented him from rising.

  Lillian noticed the gesture, and placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Charles. That was rude of Tommy. I don’t know where he gets things.”

  Charles shook his head lightly, indicating that it was of no concern, and rose to his feet.

  But Lillian knew him well enough to know that the words, or Tommy’s tone, rather, had stung him.

  “He doesn’t talk about it,” she said, “but sometimes I think he’s afraid of what’s happening with the war, what it means. He came home from school the other day and said that the father of one of his friends had been killed. And that he didn’t know what to say to him. Sometimes he seems kind of lost.”

  Charles took in her words as he slipped on his coat. “It’s easy to forget that the children feel the effects of war, too. In ways that we can’t imagine. I didn’t mean to take it out on him.” He put his scarf on and buttoned his coat over it. “It’s just that – the reports are so dire.”

  Lillian saw the worry in his face and wondered how she had missed it earlier. “Charles, do you think we’re in danger of being invaded? Of losing the war?”

  It took him a while to respond. “It’s hard to say. They have the upper hand now – but we’re doing our best to change that. It’s a race against time, really. We have the manpower, the resources, the resolve. It all depends if we can build our ships and planes fast enough. Thank God, Hitler overstepped himself with Russia. That should buy us some time.”

  “Oh my God, Charles,” Lillian said, putting her arms around him. “It’s all so terrible. I wish so badly you were here with us.”

  He stiffened and pulled back somewhat.

  Lillian immediately regretted her words, and lifted her face to him. “I guess I sounded like Tommy just then. Maybe that’s where he gets it. I just – I miss you.”

  “We’re luckier than most.”

  “I know we are,” said Lillian, again seeing the weariness in his eyes. She shook off her gloom and gave a bright smile. “Will you be long at the office?”

  “Mid-afternoon or so. Mason is coming in for a few hours. It’s been a challenge for him. For all of them. With so many of the staff gone. Thank God we hired Edith and some of the others when we did. She’s taken over the management of accounts, allowing Mrs. Sullivan to go back to her regular work. It was getting to be a bit much for her.”

  “Speaking of Edith,” said Lillian, clutching at the change of subject, “Izzy told me something interesting yesterday. You know she sees Edith now and then at the Stage Door Canteen, and she said that Edith has quite changed.”

  Charles smiled. “That was Mrs. Sullivan’s doing. I’m glad it’s worked out. I guess Edith stays in the background, fixing sandwiches, helping out with the decorations.”

  “No, Izzy said she dances with the servicemen – can you believe it? And that she’s walking out with someone.”

  “Edith?” Charles considered this, and then shook his head. “I think Izzy must be mistaken. Edith is a bit of an old maid, I’m afraid – nose to the grindstone. Though I haven’t seen her in months. I suppose it’s possible.” He briefly reconsidered it, and again shook his head. “No. I think Izzy must have someone else in mind.”

  He kissed Lillian goodbye and wrapped his arms around her in a loose embrace. “Anything you want me to bring home?”

  “Some sherry or port would be nice, for later. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a fire, and sit in front of it as we used to?” Though she held him in her arms, she felt that some part of him was absent, was somewhere else.

  “I’ll see what I can find.” Charles looked down at her sweet, hopeful face, and reluctantly left the apartment.

  He was grateful that she was still holding on to the way things used to be. The future was uncertain, and he felt that while he was away, she was here protecting the life they had created for themselves. He wanted their old ways to survive for as long as possible.

  Though he hated to be away from her, he believed in the work he was doing with the Navy, and didn’t mind the long hours. In fact, he was eager to get back. The technology he was involved with was sure to help, if it could be perfected soon enough. He had heard of radar in the 20s – but it had remained largely theoretical. The British were far ahead with the technology, though Hitler also had knowledge of it. Charles wished there was more he could do. He was busy visiting campuses and recruiting the best minds; exciting, promising work was being done at MIT, Purdue, and elsewhere.

  The only thought that gave him a stab of sorrow was that sooner or later he would have to leave Lillian, and return to some of the same places he had been to in the first war, in order to observe certain findings aboard ship. But he had faith that the technology could potentially turn the tide. And the sooner the war was over, the sooner he could finally be a husband to Lillian, and a father to the boys.

  He rode the subway deep in thought about his family. He kept thinking of Tommy. Poor kid needed a father around. No wonder he took to Gino. Charles grew increasingly upset with himself. Home for less than a day and already he had snapped at Tommy twice. He had so wanted to give them all a different life. A place of their own. Family trips and time together. He wanted Lillian to give up her job and stay home – though that was a point of contention between them. His brow furrowed as he realized that after nearly a year of being married, she was still a mystery to him. Was it some shortcoming in himself? He had hoped that by becoming a family, she and the boys would feel safer, happier, more secure in general. Sometimes he wondered if he was making things worse for them all.

  Across from him, a couple of fresh-faced young soldiers were trying to convince a group of girls to join them for a night on the town. Not more than boys. They were someone’s sons and brothers. He felt a strengthening of resolve. As much as he wished he could be home with Lillian and the boys, even more, he wanted the shipping lanes to be safe. Too many ships were being lost – too many lives.

  He knew that part of this morning’s tension, on his part, stemmed from the mention of Murmansk. Every time he thought of the summer’s disastrous convoy PQ17 he was filled with anger and sadness. Thirty-five ships, and only eleven had made it to Murmansk. The rest were sunk. He envisioned the North Atlantic as a cold, watery graveyard for sailors, the ocean bottom littered
with ghost ships. A graveyard robbed of any peace by the flitting dark shadows of the U-boats above. Stealthy, silent. Like glutted, smirking vultures circling over the abandoned carcasses on which they had lately sated their revolting appetite.

  His jaw clenched as he thought of the term the Germans used to refer to their U-boat success: The Happy Time. Those cursed wolf packs. Hundreds of Allied ships sunk in a single year, many of them merchant ships. Adventuresome boys like Gino, who never had war in mind when they signed up with the Merchant Marines. Charles winced in pain at the staggering loss of lives.

  He walked to the office, oblivious of the world around him. Still thinking of the troubles in the North Atlantic, he was surprised to find that the lights were already on when he walked into the office.

  “Good morning, sir!” said a cheerful Mrs. Sullivan.

  Her smiling face and brisk demeanor dispelled the dark thoughts, and pulled Charles up from the black underwaters of the North Atlantic, and into the sunlight and air.

  “Mrs. Sullivan! What are you doing here – on a Saturday?” he said, clasping her hand, delighted to see her.

  “Welcome home, sir. I thought I’d come in for a few hours, in case you and Mr. Mason should need me.”

  “Splendid! You look well. And how is Brendan?”

  “Behaving like a man half his age!” said Mrs. Sullivan, as if criticizing her husband, but her voice brimmed with pride. “Busy at the shipyard, and squeezing in a few nights a week to play Santa at the department store.”

  Charles draped his coat over a chair and set his hat on a nearby desk. He felt buoyed by her energy and enthusiasm and, for the second time that morning, realized how much he missed his old life. He glanced around the office, at the business he had started almost twenty-five years ago. After the last war.

  “How are things faring here?” he asked, determined to embrace the happiness offered by others, and reciprocate as best he could. “Running smoothly, I understand.”

  “Yes, indeed. Mr. Mason and I have everything under control. In large part, thanks to Edith. I really think she could run the whole show,” she added with a chuckle.

  The door opened and Mason walked in, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

  “Good morning, Mr. Mason!” said Mrs. Sullivan. “We were just talking about you.”

  “All good, I’m sure. Well, I thought I’d be the first to arrive. Hello, sir,” he said, shaking hands with Charles. “Good to see you again.”

  Mason hung up his hat and coat, and rubbed his hands together. “I’m afraid it’s going to remain cold in the office, what with the fuel rationing. Virtually no heat on the weekends – and winter has now begun in earnest.”

  Charles waved the concern away, and decided to send them both home as soon as he could.

  Mrs. Sullivan buttoned the long gray cardigan she now kept in the office, and then clasped her hands as if she just had a wonderful idea.

  “Now! How about a nice pot of coffee to warm us up and get us through the morning?” Gratified by the cheerful responses from both men, she hurried off to plug in the electric percolator.

  “Mrs. Sullivan was just singing the praises of Edith.”

  Mason tried to hide the pride he felt that his sister had worked out better than anyone could have expected. “Under the tutelage of Mrs. Sullivan she has done surprisingly well.”

  “And how are you doing, Mason? How’s your wife and the rest of your family?”

  “Very well, thank you. The children are excited about Christmas. My mother and sisters are out at all hours, busy with war work and volunteering. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them so charged up.”

  Charles smiled, envisioning Mason’s vivacious mother and sisters running circles around Mason.

  “Lillian told me that Edith is enjoying her work at the Stage Door Canteen. I knew Mrs. Sullivan had encouraged her to volunteer there, but I honestly didn’t think she would take to it.” Charles noticed an uncharacteristic tightness form around Mason’s mouth.

  “Yes,” said Mason. “Apparently, she quite enjoys the excitement of the Stage Door. She seems to have boundless energy these days.”

  “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not so sure. She’s never home anymore. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s her life. But I understand she’s been seeing an actor.” He raised his head and acknowledged Charles’s surprise. “I thought she had more sense. There have been several eligible men interested in her – in spite of – well...” Mason shook his head in disbelief. “Actors are an unreliable lot, at best. Here today, gone tomorrow. She met him there at the Canteen. A fellow volunteer.”

  “Well, that says something commendable about him, doesn’t it?”

  “She’s setting herself up for disappointment and heartache,” said Mason, a look of anxiety in his eyes. “I don’t want that to happen.”

  “No, I understand how you feel. But Edith has a good head on her shoulders. I’m sure she’ll act sensibly, move on to more solid ground.”

  Mrs. Sullivan’s humming and clicking of spoons and cups caused Mason to lower his voice. “Don’t let her hear,” he said, gesturing towards the pantry. “She’s quite taken Edith’s side in this whole thing. Thinks Edith can do no wrong. Much as I love my sister, I do think Mrs. Sullivan gives her too much credit. I know Edith better that she does, after all. For all Edith’s confidence here at the office, I’m afraid when it comes to men she’s quite naïve.”

  Mason studied the floor, following some internal dialogue. “True, she’s capable, reliable. But there’s another side to her – more, I don’t know how to describe it – dreamy.” He nodded, as if he had hit upon the right word, and a faint smile softened his face. “She used to write poetry, and took dance classes, wanted to travel, had all sorts of dreams and ambitions.”

  “You mean before – ” Charles felt somewhat uncomfortable talking about Edith’s personal life.

  “Before the polio,” said Mason, sensing that Charles was reluctant to say it. “It hit her in her early twenties and all her dreams came to an end. Though perhaps that had less to do with the illness, and more to do with – ” He stopped mid-sentence, and hesitated before finishing his thought. “She had her heart broken.” He looked down, and whatever memory crossed his mind strengthened his resolve.

  “No,” he repeated. “I can’t let some fool of a man do that to her again.”

  Mrs. Sullivan’s arrival prevented any further discussion of the matter. She stepped briskly out of the pantry and set a tray on the side credenza.

  “Here we go, then,” she said, arranging the coffee pot, mugs, and a plate of biscuits. She was the only one to know that the biscuits, coffee, and sugar were happily purchased with her own ration coupons.

  Chapter 3

  *

  After being pestered all afternoon, Lillian finally gave in to Tommy and Gabriel and let them go downstairs to visit Gino before dinner.

  Tommy now sat at the foot of the bed, flipping through Gino’s postcard collection, while Gino packed his duffel bag.

  Gabriel stood on a chair, looking at the wall map with red pins marking the places Gino had sailed to. Gabriel let his finger journey from port to port, reading off some of the names as he moved from one side of the map to the other.

  “Bombay, Cape Town, Rio de Janeiro, Hong Kong, Shanghai. Wow, Gino! You’ve been everywhere.” When he reached the edge of the map, he leaned in closer to puzzle over a word, and then put his fists on his sides. “Huh! I didn’t know there was a Fic Ocean.”

  Tommy got up to see what nonsense Gabriel was talking, and on seeing it, howled with laughter, rolling back onto the bed.

  Gabriel looked from Tommy and back to the map. “What? It says Fic Ocean, right here.”

  Gino rumpled Gabriel’s hair. “You goofball. That’s the other half of this,” he said, pointing to the far right side of the map. “Paci-”

  Gabriel raised his eyebrows as he read the other half of the word. �
�Ohhh!” he laughed, realizing his mistake.

  Gino took out a few small items from his top drawer, and placed them into a bag, while giving Tommy some last minute advice.

  “So Tommy, how’s she gonna know you’re interested if you don’t tell her? Or at least show her?”

  Tommy winced. “But – what if she laughs? I hardly know her.”

  Gino was quiet for a few moments, then he suddenly snapped his fingers. “Hey, how about something with school? Maybe you could study together.”

  Tommy’s face scrunched up in doubt. “I haven’t even really talked to her yet.”

  “Or how about asking her to help with your scrap drive?”

  Again Tommy frowned at the suggestion and shook his head. “The girls have their own teams. She’s doing a book drive. Besides,” he said, rolling back on the bed in defeat, “we’re doing terrible. I thought – well, I was hoping that maybe if we won the prize, then she might – you know, kind of notice me. And maybe then I could – say something.”

  “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,” said Gino, putting one foot on the chair and folding his arms over his knee. “You got it all backwards.”

  Tommy and Gabriel recognized this position as Gino’s story stance, and that he was about to launch into a tale. Tommy sat up, and Gabriel jumped off the chair and onto the bed next to Tommy.

  Gino waited for them to get settled and rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “You’re what – eleven now?”

  “Almost twelve,” said Tommy.

  “That’s old enough.”

  “I’m eight,” offered Gabriel.

  Gino considered this and gave a slow nod. “A little information won’t hurt you, either.”

  Gabriel brightened at being thought old enough for Gino’s advice.

  “You like this girl, right? This Amy?”

  “Yeah,” answered Tommy, beginning to twist the button on his shirt. “I mean – she seems nice. I don’t really know.”

  “She’s real pretty,” said Gabriel. “And real smart. She wears glasses and red socks. And she always says hi to me.”