Jessica felt that she had intruded and was in the way.
Clem walked up to the porch. “Sure. I just wanted to say hello and give you this. I bought it in New York City on my way back home. Had a few hours. I know how you like music.”
“Why, thank you, Clement. That’s very thoughtful.” Her face and posture softened, and she took a deep breath. “Come by tomorrow for lunch, why don’t you?”
Clem nodded. “That’d be real nice. See you tomorrow, then.”
Mrs. Fletcher gave him a smile, and a curt nod to Jessica, and went inside.
Jessica twisted her hands in her coat pocket. “Sorry, Clem. I shouldn’t have come. I don’t think she likes me. I used to pick her flowers when I was little. I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me.”
Clem smiled. “I don’t think she approves of pretty girls in general. You know the girls were always after Martin. Or rather, he was always after them. I guess she knew that one day one of them would take him away from her. She never counted on it being the war.”
Jessica hadn’t heard a word. She was smiling widely, her eyes full of hope. “You think I’m pretty, Clem?”
He gave a side glance to her and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Don’t be daft.”
She tucked her chin at the odd word. “Daft?”
He gave a chuckle at the word he had used. “That’s what Nigel always said – fella I was in hospital with.”
Jessica waited to hear more, her eyes bright with curiosity.
“He was from Manchester. Legs blown off, his right hand mangled. The nurses would come in all cheery and ask him how he was feeling – and that would be his answer.”
He pointed his head to Mrs. Fletcher’s house. “Sometimes anger is what gets people through a tough time.”
Jessica glanced back at the house, then over at Clem. “Did it help Nigel?”
He shook his head. “He didn’t make it.”
They walked in silence a few moments, then Jessica searched his face. “Why were you in the hospital, Clem? Were you hurt?”
He hunched his shoulders together and looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Of course, not. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence. When they stepped inside the American Legion Hall, Jessica turned to him. “Can I get you something from the refreshment table? Something to warm you up?”
“Thanks, no. I promised Donny a matinee show. Some Western he wants to see.”
Jessica waited, hoping he might invite her to go along. But he simply said goodbye and walked away from her.
She took off her coat and stood next to Ursula at the table. She picked up a cookie and bit into it.
“Are you all right?” Ursula asked, placing her hand on Jessica. “Did something happen?”
“No. Nothing happened. But you know what I think? I think there are a lot of sad people out there. More than you would ever know.”
Ursula gave a soft smile. “I think you’re right. We never know what’s inside other people, or what sorrow they have. All the more reason to be gentle with them.”
Jessica finished the cookie, deep in thought. Then she brushed the crumbs from her hands. “Let’s go find Eugene. The cafe will be packed if we don’t get there soon. Then we can do the grocery shopping.”
Chapter 13
Henry and Dusty sat at a low table near the counter at The Red String Curio Store playing a game of checkers. Near the back entrance, with the door wide open, Mr. G coached Gabriel on touching up the rocker with oak stain. Billy sat on the floor next to Gabriel, pointing out places that needed a little more color. He was on his belly now, looking underneath the rungs.
“The underside looks pretty good.”
Mr. G nodded approvingly. “Remember, a deft touch is all you need.” He carefully inspected the chair. “We’ll let it dry. Then I’d say it’s ready for a light coat of oil.”
“We’ll bring it to Mrs. Kuntzman’s basement for that,” said Gabriel. “We want it close at hand, so we can carry it over at any time. Henry’s going to help us.”
“Excellent plan. A little oil, a deep polishing, and it will gleam like new. Finish up here, boys, then come up front and we’ll cut into the tarte aux pommes from Mademoiselle Amy. She’s slicing it up now. We’re her official tasters.”
Billy jumped to his feet and dusted off his clothes.
The little bell rang at the door and voices were raised in greeting. “I believe Tommy and Mickey have arrived,” said Mr. G, hurrying away to greet them.
Tommy and Mickey came into the shop and gathered around the game of checkers. “Hi, Henry. Is Amy here?” Tommy asked brightly, looking around.
“Hello, Tommy, Mickey,” Henry answered. “She’s in the office dishing out the apple tart for us all to taste.” He smiled as he made a jump, causing Dusty to sit up and frown.
Tommy peeked into the open office. Amy’s back was to him as she placed slices of tart on an assortment of small floral plates. He motioned to Mr. G that he wanted to make a payment on the locket, and they walked to the counter. Mickey seated himself next to Dusty and Henry, studying their checker moves.
Mr. G whispered to Tommy. “I must say, you’ve chosen the ideal gift for Amy. Perhaps you can place a small photograph of yourself in it,” he added with a wink.
“If she wants.” Tommy shrugged but couldn’t hide his smile. “You know Mr. G, this is going to be the best Christmas ever. The war’s over. Dad’s on his way home. Everybody is happy.”
“You’re right, Tommy. Parades, homecomings, celebrations everywhere you look. This might be our most extraordinary Christmas in living memory.” He closed the register draw with a clang. “We’ll have our own little celebration – right now. I’ll play some Christmas music on the phonograph, we’ll all sample your French project, and we’ll raise a glass of – ” He rubbed his chin as he considered what to offer the group. His finger shot up. “Tea, of course! Let me go and boil the water.”
The little bell rang again, and they looked up. “And here’s Junior! Greetings! Good timing, Junior. We’re about to taste Tommy and Amy’s French project – tarte aux pommes. Have a seat. Have a seat.”
Junior eased himself into a deep wing-backed chair, leaned his cane against it, and gently rubbed his hands, his knees.
Mr. G motioned to Tommy. “Why don’t you gather Gabriel and Billy for our celebration. They’re in the back finishing up with the staining. And a fine job they’ve done.”
Tommy slapped Mickey on the back. “Let’s go see how they’re doing.” He poked his head into the office. “Hey, Amy. Mr. G is going to make tea to go with our tart. I’ll be right back to help.” He noticed that she nodded but didn’t say anything.
He and Mickey made their way through the maze, coming across shoppers poring over old books, turning over objects, and inspecting items on the various shelves.
Tommy smiled when he saw the rocking chair. “It’s looking real good, Gabriel.”
“A deft coat of oil is all it needs, once this dries,” said Gabriel.
Tommy nodded. “Right. We’ll take it to Mrs. Kuntzman’s and finish working on it until Christmas.”
“And when you’re ready to deliver it, I’ll come to stand guard,” added Billy, “and help with the doors. I’m good at that kind of thing.”
Gabriel stood and brushed at his pants. “And I’ll stay home and make sure Mom doesn’t run to the store or anything.”
“Come on,” said Mickey. “Let’s go taste the tart-o-whatever.”
Billy jumped up and closed the back door, causing a gust of wind to blow in. “Much better. It’s freezing out there.”
Gabriel sneezed, instinctively holding the staining cloth to his face.
Billy’s eyes widened and he pointed at Gabriel, laughing. “Your nose!” he cried, barely able to get the words out. Tommy and Mickey looked back and laughed at the dark streaks on his face.
“Oops!” Gabriel
said, trying to rub at it with the other end of the cloth.
“S – stop, Gabriel!” Tommy said, bent over with laughter. “You’re making it worse.”
Mickey found another rag and made a few wipes at Gabriel’s face. “I think you’re going to need soap. Maybe a little sandpaper!”
Gabriel lifted his shirt and continued to wipe at his nose as the four boys wound their way back to the front counter. They pulled up an assortment of chairs and footstools and gathered around the checker game.
While Gabriel chatted with Dusty, Tommy helped Amy and Mr. G with the tart and teacups. When they were all gathered around with a cup of tea and a plate of dessert, Mr. G raised his teacup. “To the resounding success of Amy and Tommy’s tarte aux pommes! And to the best Christmas ever!”
“Hear, hear!” said Junior.
Billy and Gabriel bit into the dessert and widened their eyes in delight. Low hums and sounds of enjoyment came from all the tasters.
Tommy kept trying to catch Amy’s eye, but she busied herself with going back and forth to the small kitchen in the office, bringing a sugar bowl and a small creamer to the counter.
Henry admired the fanned-out slices of apples on the tart. “A little work of art. I promised Martha – Mrs. Kuntzman, that is – that I’d bring her a slice.”
“We already set aside a piece for her,” said Tommy. “It was her idea after all. She guided us through every step of the way.”
“Heavenly,” Dusty pronounced, taking another bite.
“Indeed, divine!” added Henry.
Junior slowly savored another forkful. “Amy, this tastes as if it’s been baked in the celestial bakeries.”
Amy smiled at their comments but remained uncharacteristically quiet.
“Well done!” said Mr. G. “I foresee high marks on your project!”
Tommy beamed at Amy as he enjoyed another bite.
“Double jump!” Dusty cried out in triumph. “I finally got you, Mr. H!”
Henry leaned forward and looked at the board. “So you did, so you did,” he said, more interested in taking another bite of his apple tart.
“Ah,” said Dusty, leaning back in his chair. “The sweetness of triumph! How about two out of three?”
Henry finished his slice and gave a firm nod. “You’re on, sir, you’re on.”
Mr. G jumped up to help a customer who had finally decided on a music box, Mickey went to get more hot water for his tea, and Billy and Gabriel scooted closer to the checker board.
Amy looked up from her tea and spoke almost in a whisper to Tommy. “I – I have to go home.”
“Already?” Tommy realized that he hadn’t heard her laugh once. She brought her cup and plate to the little sink in the office.
“Can you walk with me, Tommy?” She slipped on her coat, leaving her long hair tucked inside.
“Sure.” He finished his tea on the way to the kitchen, and pulled on his coat. “Everyone sure liked our tarte aux pommes. Wait until our class tastes it. We’ll have to slice it into tiny slivers. Or maybe we can make two tarts.”
When Amy started to pull her hair from inside her coat, Tommy helped her. He gathered her tresses gently in his hands. “Your hair’s so long. And soft.” He placed it down her back, and almost jumped when he saw tears in her eyes. “Amy!”
Tommy called out to Gabriel over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you at home, Gabe. Don’t be late!” He waved to Mickey who had raised his head from the game, and then walked out of the store with Amy.
A few minutes later, Mr. G returned and looked around. “Our group appears smaller.”
“Tommy had to walk Amy home,” said Gabriel, finishing his dessert. He carried a few empty plates into the kitchen.
Junior finished his tea and announced, “Game two goes to Henry Hankel!”
“Henry Hankel,” said Mr. G. “Nice alliterative ring to it.”
Dusty rubbed his hands together and scraped the last bit of tart from his plate. “And now. The tie-breaker.” He and Henry set up their pieces.
Mr. G hooked his thumbs around his suspenders, rocked on his heels and, seeing only a few customers browsing, turned to Billy and Gabriel. “How about word, gentlemen?”
Billy’s head popped up. “Can I find it?”
“Of course.”
Billy stood behind the unabridged dictionary, covered his eyes with one hand, and opened the book. “I’ll try the beginning this time.”
Mr. G took a seat in the cane rocker and lifted his teacup. “Nothing more enjoyable than a cup of tea in the late afternoon,” he said, musing aloud. “With friends. At Christmastime.” He took another sip and smiled out at his friends, his shop.
“Ready?” said Billy, landing on a word.
“Go ahead, Billy,” said Gabriel, sitting on a footstool. He folded his arms on his knees and listened.
Billy pronounced a word and read the definition. “Without angels. Not having angels.”
Gabriel raised his head and wrinkled his forehead in thought. “Huh. Not sure what that even means.”
Mr. G also looked up. “Leave it to Master Billy to find such an unusual word.” He rubbed his chin and cast his eyes to the ceiling. “Without angels. Without angels. Curious concept.”
Henry moved a checker piece and screwed up his face. “As opposed to with angels?”
Dusty turned his head to the left, then the right. “Without angels…”
“What say you, Dusty?” asked Henry, following Dusty’s move and then moving another piece. “You’re the scholar here.”
“I’m not so sure that Mr. G isn’t more the scholar than I.”
Billy and Gabriel exchanged the same look, puzzling out who was the real scholar.
Dusty leaned back in his chair. “To be without angels. Now, is that in opposition to having angels? A sort of attitude or position taken against the concept?”
Junior chimed in. “How would that work, anyway? I’m trying to imagine a world, any world, without angels. Not sure I like it.” He massaged his knees again.
Billy looked up from the page. “What would we put at the top of our Christmas tree?” He tapped his cheek a few times. “I guess we could use a star. Or Santa.”
“I like the world better with angels,” Gabriel decided.
Dusty made another move. “I have to agree with you, Gabriel.” He steepled his fingertips together. “What would the works of Raphael or Tintoretto or Michelangelo be without angels? A great loss for us all.”
Junior nodded. “The great masters have painted angels for centuries – perhaps beginning with the cherubs and Cupid in Greek mythology.”
“Indeed,” said Dusty. “Until the Renaissance artists depicted muscular, more masculine, angels. Before that, angels were rather ethereal and feminine.”
Mr. G remained silent, pondering. “I can’t make much sense out of the word. Billy, read the word and definition again, this time include the etymology. Knowing the root might aid our comprehension.”
Billy found the word again and began to read: “Agonic. Without – ” He put his face close to the page. “Whoops!” he cried and let out a snort of laughter. “I read it wrong.”
Gabriel jumped up beside him and read the definition: “Agonic. Without – ” and he also began to laugh. “It says, ‘without angles,’ not angels! It’s a mathematical term.”
Mickey playfully swatted Billy. “You goofball. Putting us all on the wrong track.”
Junior’s bushy eyebrows furrowed. “We just wasted a good ten minutes on a complete and utter misconception?”
“And a double-jump wins the match!” cried Henry.
Dusty leaned forward in exasperation. “I protest! My mind was on that – that – devilish concept about angels!”
Gabriel noticed that Junior was wincing and rubbing his hands and knees. “Can I get you more tea?”
Junior shook his head. “It’s going to rain, Gabriel. I can feel it in my bones. He cocked his head and examined his hands, trying to flex the t
wisted fingers. “No. I’d say snow is on the way. Lots of it.”
“Let me get you a dram, Junior,” said Mr. G, jumping to his feet. “To help dull the pain.”
“I won’t say no to that. Much obliged.”
Mr. G came back with a small etched glass of amber liquor and handed it to Junior. A customer called out for Mr. G from the back of the shop. “Coming!” he replied. “I must tend to business,” he said to the group, and disappeared into the labyrinth.
A cuckoo clock chimed, and Billy ran to see the bird emerging from the clock. “Holy mackerel! Mickey – we’re late!”
“That clock’s not right, remember?” said Mickey. “But we better get going.”
Billy smacked his forehead. “I keep forgetting. Coming with us, Gabriel?”
“Sure.” Gabriel grabbed his coat, hollered out his goodbyes, and left with Mickey and Billy.
At the apartment, Lillian had just put Charlotte down for a nap. She finished setting the table, looking out the window now and again. “I don’t believe it – late again! Both of them!”
She grew increasingly angry the later it got. Had she made the wrong decision in allowing the boys to work? Perhaps they were both too young?
Gabriel suddenly rushed in through the door. “I’m home!”
“You’re late again, Gabriel!”
“I am?” he asked, looking at the clock.
She took a closer look at him. “What’s on your nose?” She lifted his hands. “And all over your hands?”
“Oh. That.” He dashed to the bathroom and was soon soaping up his hands and rubbing at his nose. “Billy and I were working on something,” he hollered, hoping she wouldn’t press him.
Lillian came and stood by the door. “What exactly were you working on?”
Gabriel hesitated a moment too long.
“What are you two up to? And where’s Tommy?”
“I thought he was here.” Gabriel examined his face in the mirror and rubbed at his face.
She crossed her arms. “I thought we agreed – no more secrets!”
He dried his face with a towel. “This isn’t a secret. It’s something else. What’s for dinner? I’m starved!”
Christmastime 1945 Page 14
