Christmastime 1942

by Linda Mahkovec

  “Well, all you can do is make the best of it.” She pressed the elevator button. “It’s going to be a hard Christmas for a lot of people.”

  “I know. I’m so grateful that we’ll at least have Christmas together. Our first one, you know, as a family.”

  Just then, the elevator doors opened and Rockwell stepped out. He took Izzy by the elbow.

  “Miss Briggs, I want you to organize a meeting for next week. I’ll announce the winners of the poster contest then. Make it a kind of” – he waved his arms, searching for what to call it – “a Christmas party. Hang some decorations. Order some snacks or something.”

  Lillian almost smiled at Rockwell, pleased at any bit of news that took her mind off the war. Every now and then she saw a different side to him that surprised her.

  “A Christmas party?!” asked Izzy. “Why, Mr. Rockwell, whatever has got into you? Are you feeling quite well?”

  “Don’t be smart. Just do as I say.” He spun around to Lillian. “Mrs. Drooms, I understand you’re the last to submit a painting. You do understand that this is more than a contest for prizes. You artists always think the world revolves around you. It’s an assignment, and I expect you to fulfill it!”

  Lillian watched him walk off, and gave an ironic smile. “Just when I’m beginning to like him, he does something that makes me go back to disliking him. It drives me crazy.”

  “That’s because you’re not around him enough. When you see him every day, as I do, you can only dislike the man,” laughed Izzy.

  *

  Lillian stopped by the babysitter’s to pick up the boys after work and was alarmed to discover that Tommy was not there. Apparently he had left school and went home on his own.

  “I call him two times, and I just call again,” said Mrs. Kuntzman. “He says he’s fine. Not to worry about him. Mrs. Wilson went to him. Just to make sure.”

  All kinds of thoughts ran through Lillian’s mind. Was Tommy sick? Was it the news about Gino? He had never done anything like this before. She looked to Gabriel for some sort of explanation.

  He hunched his shoulders and put up his hands in ignorance. “He left school after lunch, Mom. I thought he was coming here.”

  “Well, hurry up – go get your shoes and coat.”

  “I call him first time when I see Gabriel alone,” said Mrs. Kuntzman. “I tell him to come here, that I take care of him, but he says no.” She went to the kitchen and came back with a jar of soup placed in a basket. “So I make him chicken soup. With dumplings.” She patted her remedy for everything.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Kuntzman,” said Lillian, taking the basket. “I think it’s the news of Gino. It hit Tommy especially hard.”

  “Ach!” she said waving her hand. “This terrible war! So sad. War takes all our best young men.”

  Lillian suddenly remembered that Mrs. Kuntzman had lost her son in the Great War. “Oh, I’m sorry – you of all people understand the loss.”

  Mrs. Kuntzman lowered her head for a moment, softly nodding. But when she looked up her face was full of strength, as if she had briefly drunk from some deep, refreshing well.

  “Tell Tommy that Gino is still alive in here,” Mrs. Kuntzman said, pressing her gnarled, arthritic hand to her chest.

  Lillian looked at the knobby hand against the flour-dusted red apron, the smiling eyes and nearly white hair, and felt a rush of affection for this woman who had become like a grandmother to Tommy and Gabriel – watching over them before and after school, baking treats for them, praising their schoolwork, offering words of comfort.

  “And the soup will help,” Mrs. Kuntzman added. “Love in a jar. I don’t want our Tommy sad.”

  “I’ll tell him. Thank you.”

  “Bye, bye, Gabriel. You take some soup, too. Make you strong!” The elderly babysitter made fists of strength, and then patted him on the head. Then she leaned over and whispered in his ear: “I put cake in there, too. For dessert.”

  Just as Lillian was opening the vestibule door to leave, Mrs. Wilson came in. She untied her scarf and patted Lillian’s arm. “Tommy’s fine,” she said. “I took the liberty of looking in on him. I was visiting Mrs. Kuntzman when Gabriel arrived alone. Sad times, sad times.” She put her hands on her knees so that her face was level with Gabriel’s. “All ready for Santa?” she asked loudly, and pinched his cheek. Without waiting for an answer, she whispered to Lillian. “Tommy’ll be fine. Time heals all wounds, they say. Well, I’ll let you be on your way.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wilson,” said Lillian. “Thank you for looking in on him.” Though both women assured her that Tommy was fine, Lillian wouldn’t be convinced until she saw him for herself.

  She hurried home with Gabriel, and ran up the two flights of stairs to their apartment.

  “Tommy?” she said, opening the door. There he was, stretched out on the couch. She pulled off her gloves and felt his forehead. “What’s wrong, Sweetheart? Do you feel sick?”

  Tommy lifted his shoulders and then dropped them. “I did. I’m okay now.” He sat up on the couch and put a pillow on his lap.

  “Why didn’t the school nurse call me?”

  Tommy twisted his mouth. “I didn’t go to her. I just came home.”

  “Tommy. Why didn’t you call me, or go to Mrs. Kuntzman’s? You know that’s the plan.”

  “I know.” He kept his eyes on the pillow.

  Lillian had never seen Tommy looking quite so lost. She put her arm around him and smoothed back his hair. It broke her heart to see him so sad.

  “Did you eat lunch? Are you hungry?” She set the basket on the kitchen table, and then took off her coat and hat. “Mrs. Kuntzman made some chicken soup for you. I’ll heat it up.”

  Gabriel rummaged around the basket and called out from the kitchen. “And she gave us some cake, too. Chocolate!”

  Tommy raised himself up, ambled into the kitchen, and slid into his seat at the table. He put his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands.

  Lillian soon had the table set with bowls of soup and a loaf of fresh bread.

  “You know,” said Lillian, buttering a slice of bread for Tommy, “Mrs. Kuntzman is very sad about Gino. She lost her son in the last war. He was her only son. She said to tell you that Gino will always live in here.” She patted her chest, just as Mrs. Kuntzman had done.

  Tommy blew on his soup, and nodded as if he already knew that.

  “I think she missed you. She’s gotten used to seeing you and Gabriel every day.” She noticed that while Gabriel had already dug into his food, Tommy still showed little interest in his.

  Tommy gave a half grin, and stirred his soup around.

  Gabriel looked up from his soup. “Mickey and Billy asked if we’re going on the scrap drive tonight.”

  Lillian watched Tommy, hoping he would agree to go.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “My stomach still feels kind of funny.”

  “Mommy, can I still go even if Tommy doesn’t?”

  “I think it’s best if you stay here. Make sure you’re both not coming down with something.” Lillian went along with the stomach sickness, knowing that Tommy’s ailment fell into that vague but powerful category known as heartache.

  She was relieved when Tommy finally ate his dinner. He seemed to perk up a little bit afterwards, helping Gabriel to find a show on the radio, and listening to it with apparent interest.

  But the next morning he said he didn’t feel good again, and didn’t want to go to school.

  Gabriel put his hand on his arm. “It’s because you’re sad about Gino.”

  “That’s not it,” Tommy said, pushing away Gabriel’s hand. “My stomach hurts.”

  Lillian put her arm around Tommy. “That’s okay, Sweetheart. You can stay home. I’ll stay here with you.”

  “You don’t have to, Mom. I’m old enough to be here by myself.”

  “I know that, but I want to make sure it doesn’t get any worse. Why don’t you go back to bed for a little bit
?” she asked, walking him back to his room. “Sometimes a good sleep sets everything to right.”

  Tommy nodded, and crawled into bed.

  Lillian called in to work to say she wouldn’t be in. Then she walked into the bedroom, and caressed Tommy’s hair. “I’ll walk Gabriel to Mrs. Kuntzman’s, then I’ll be right back.”

  Lillian let Tommy sleep all morning. She tried to work on her drawing for the contest but had no heart for it. She woke him for lunch, and set him up on the couch. Again, he seemed fine and read his books, dozing off now and then.

  In the afternoon, she sat next to him with her sketch pad and made a few strokes. “Gabriel wrote letters to Anna Mae and to Gino’s grandparents. Charles said it made them very happy. They told Charles they were grateful that Gino had gotten to know us as a family – and that he finally had gotten the little brothers he always wanted. Isn’t that nice to know? Do you think you’d like to write and tell them how important Gino was to you?”

  Tommy let his gaze drift away from his book, thinking about it, but didn’t respond.

  “You know,” she continued, “just because someone dies doesn’t mean they’re gone from your life.”

  This time he looked up at her, waiting for more.

  But she realized she didn’t have a ready answer. It was more like a feeling she had always had. She set her sketch pad down, and thought about the people she had lost in her life, and what she had done to remain close to them. She still felt the presence of her mother every day, in a thousand little ways.

  “There are ways you can still feel them with you, things you can still do for them. Ways you can honor them.”

  Tommy gave it some thought, and then went back to his book.

  Lillian knew that Tommy sometimes kept things inside, considering ideas, storing away thoughts until the right time came to examine them. For now, it would be best to keep him busy.

  She put her sketch pad away, stood up to stretch, and then clasped her hands together. “How about we make a special dinner tonight? Surprise Gabriel.”

  A little glimmer of light appeared in his eyes, and she knew she was on the right track.

  “Will you help me?”

  Tommy nodded, and closed his book.

  Lillian sat next to him. “What do you think we should make?”

  Tommy appeared more animated as he considered Gabriel’s favorite meals. A small smile formed on his lips. “Fried chicken and mashed potatoes?”

  “Mmm. And there’s more of Mrs. Kuntzman’s cake for dessert,” Lillian added.

  Tommy sat up. “He’s gonna love it.”

  “Then we better get busy!”

  She found a station on the radio with Christmas music, and for the next hour and a half she and Tommy peeled potatoes, scraped carrots, and prepared dinner. She let him roll the chicken in flour, and she placed it in the frying pan. By the end of the afternoon, they had a large platter of fried chicken and a pan of mashed potatoes with melted butter on top.

  It all looked and smelled so delicious that Lillian lifted a drumstick, bit into it, and sighed in enjoyment.

  Tommy turned around with his mouth open. “Mom!”

  “Just wanted to make sure it tasted all right,” she said smiling, and handed it over to him. “You better check, too.”

  Tommy took his time enjoying it, and nodded. “Just right.” He looked over at the mashed potatoes and raised his eyebrows.

  Lillian nodded. “We better make sure.” She lifted the lid and gave Tommy a spoon.

  After a few spoonfuls each, they decided the mashed potatoes were perfect. Lillian replaced the lid, and then covered the platter of chicken and set it in the oven to keep warm. She looked up at the clock.

  “Just in time! Won’t Gabriel be surprised? Do you want to come with me to pick him up?”

  “Yeah,” said Tommy. “Let’s bring Mrs. Kuntzman some chicken. She always gives us food.”

  Lillian gave Tommy a hug, and sensed that he was beginning to emerge from his darkness.

  As they neared the brownstone on the corner, they saw Mrs. Wilson, who lived two floors above the babysitter, coming out of the building.

  “Well, what a coincidence!” she said. “Mrs. Kuntzman and I were just talking about you, Tommy. Come! We have something to show you.” She turned around, marched back up the stairs, and opened the vestibule door. She waited for Tommy and Lillian to come up the stairs, and then knocked on Mrs. Kuntzman’s door.

  Mrs. Kuntzman came out, followed by Gabriel, and clapped her hands. “Hello, Tommy. Ah! My chicken soup makes you better.”

  “Look what they made, Tommy!” cried Gabriel.

  Mrs. Wilson positioned herself next to a large box in the hallway. “Its permanent place for as long as you’re collecting salvage,” she said.

  Tommy walked over and looked at the box. The words For Gino were written above a blue star that was edged in a gold border.

  Tommy touched the star and smiled up at Mrs. Wilson, and then at Mrs. Kuntzman.

  “We had a little disagreement over the color of the star,” said Mrs. Wilson. “I insisted that it must be gold, seeing that Gino gave his life for his country.”

  “But I say it must be blue, because Gino is still here with us,” said Mrs. Kuntzman tapping her heart.

  “So, they made it both,” said Gabriel, opening his arms in explanation.

  “This is swell,” said Tommy, still rubbing his hand over the box.

  Mrs. Wilson straightened and put her hands on her hips. “And I’ll make sure that the materials are collected properly.” She gestured with her head to the floor above and whispered, “I already had to blow the whistle on Mr. Redmond. I caught him adding an unflattened tin can. He won’t be making that mistake twice. Mark my words.”

  Tommy laughed, his eyes taking in the star again. “This is really swell. Gino would be happy.”

  “Well,” said Mrs. Wilson, with her hands on her hips. “We must all soldier on. Which reminds me. The spotters are awaiting their supplies. Sandwiches.” She whipped out her scarf from her coat pocket and tied it firmly under her chin. “I need to make a quick trip to Mancetti’s. Ta-ta!” And with a brisk wave, she was out the door.

  Gabriel sniffed the air, and looked wide-eyed at the basket in Lillian’s hand. “I smell fried chicken.”

  “For Mrs. Kuntzman,” said Tommy, taking the basket and handing it to her. “Mom and I made it. Just now. And there’s some mashed potatoes and carrots, too.”

  “How nice! Thank you, Tommy.” She peeked under the cloth and raised her eyebrows. “Ah! It looks delicious!”

  Tommy saw Gabriel’s fallen face, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Gabe. There’s plenty left for you.”

  “Then come on! Let’s go!” Gabriel cried, and opened the door. “Bye, Mrs. Kuntzman!” he called out over his shoulder.

  *

  Lillian kept Christmas music on throughout dinner and was happy to see that Tommy enjoyed the dinner as much as Gabriel. He was more talkative, and listened to Gabriel’s news about school.

  “Billy’s making a tin foil ball out of gum wrappers,” said Gabriel, “and it’s already as big as a baseball. He said when it’s the size of a grapefruit he’ll give it to us for the drive. And Amy asked about you.”

  Tommy blinked a couple of times. “What did she say?”

  “She said she hopes you’re feeling better and that her Mom has a stack of papers for us. And Mickey said the diner was saving tin cans for us. But that we have to flatten them ourselves.”

  Lillian cleared the table and placed Mrs. Kuntzman’s chocolate cake in front of the boys. When they were in the middle of eating the cake, Gabriel suddenly put his fork down, got up, and went to the cupboard. He pulled out his Hopalong Cassidy lunchbox, and with a bang, set it firmly in front of Tommy.

  Tommy looked at the lunchbox, then up at Gabriel. “What?”

  “For our drive,” said Gabriel. He sat back in his seat and scraped up the last bite of cake.
>
  “Thought you didn’t want to give it up.”

  “That was before.” Gabriel took a swig of milk, and wiped his mouth. “Now I do.”

  Tommy fixed his eyes on the table, and finished his cake in silence. After a few moments, he asked, “Mom, can we go on our salvage drive tonight?”

  Lillian glanced at the clock and nodded. “You better hurry.”

  Chapter 10

  *

  Mason decided to walk home from work, as he often did when he needed some time to clear his mind. He didn’t like the way he had handled himself with Edith. They had always been close, and lately he felt as though he was reprimanding her too much, finding fault. Was he turning into a crotchety old man? What had she called him – a schoolmarm? That’s certainly not how he saw himself.

  He liked to think he was a man of reason and compassion. Yet he felt that he was losing control of the family he had spent his whole life keeping together, after his father died. It was true they didn’t need him anymore, not like they used to. In part, he was happy about it. He knew that his sisters would make their way in the world; they were all educated, confident, spirited.

  But he was afraid the family was fragmenting and that everything was spinning out of control. There was too much talk about handsome soldiers, and dances, and chorus lines, and going off to join the Red Cross or WAVES, or something that would enable them to do their part – admirable, but worrisome. Who would look after them in far-flung corners of the globe? Even his eleven-year-old daughter said she was going to enlist when she was older! The world had turned upside down too quickly for him.

  He looked up at the apartment buildings along the street. Every time he walked home he noticed new service stars hanging in the windows. It seemed that a blue star hung in every apartment, sometimes with several stars on the same banner. When he passed a gold star, he felt a sinking feeling inside, and hoped that a sad face would not appear in the window. The loss and sorrow the families must feel was unimaginable.