Kate sat on the bed and took Ursula’s hand. “You have to be strong. He needs to know that you’ll be fine. That’s the only gift that you can give him.”
Ursula wiped away her tears.
“Write him a letter. Tell him how you feel. He’ll take those words with him.”
Ursula slowly nodded and the grief finally lessened in her face.
“We’ll hope for the best,” said Kate. “We’ll hope that he’ll still be here into the spring. I’ve been looking into sponsorship for him. And I’ve written to Charles to see if there’s anything he can do when he returns home. Have hope, Ursula. And stay strong for him and Frankie.”
Ursula straightened and raised her chin. “I will.” She squeezed her mother’s hand.
Kate rose to her feet. “That’s my girl. I’ve never known you to be weak. Now eat your dinner. And then write your letter. And we’re going to make a nice Christmas dinner for him and Gustav. I’ll arrange it with Otto. We’ll turn on the Christmas tree lights and give them a meal to remember. How about that?”
Ursula took a deep breath and blew out the last of her sadness. “Yes. We’ll give them a real Christmas dinner. I’ll show him how strong I can be.”
Kate did her best to sound cheerful. “We have a lot to be thankful for this Christmas. The war is over. Eugene is home and in love! We’ll be meeting Edna soon. And Jimmy and Paul should both be stateside by now. It will be our first Christmas as a family in a long time. And then we’ll start preparing for Jimmy and Gladys’s wedding in January!”
A tentative smile came to Ursula’s lips, though her words were full of sorrow. “It will be a wonderful Christmas.”
Kate’s smile slowly deepened. “And you and I will be there for each other. We’re strong, you and I, and we can bear a lot.” Kate turned at the door and looked back, her heart melting at the sad loveliness of her daughter.
Ursula took out pen and paper to write her letter. She checked on Frankie and smiled down at him. “Your papa will come back.” She leaned over and kissed their sleeping baby. “And we will be here waiting for him.”
Chapter 17
Lillian walked home from her meeting with Mrs. Huntington brimming with happiness. Rather, she expected to be brimming with happiness and waited for the surge to hit her. After all, the five-book adventure series, covers and illustrations, was hers. She couldn’t wait to step into the world described in the books – adventure, mystery, fantasy – all from the perspective of a young boy. It would be months of living in and exploring a world of wonder.
She looked around her, trying to coax the happiness into being. Christmas was everywhere, happiness was everywhere, and Charles would be home soon. Wouldn’t he? She tried to ignore the dread growing inside her.
Something was not right. She should have heard from him by now. He was in London where he could send a letter or a telegram. What had happened to him? Why wasn’t he contacting her? Was he ill again and didn’t want to worry her? She had sent a Christmas card to Red and hoped to hear back from him soon. Maybe he could shed some light –
So deep in thought was she, that as she rounded the corner of her block, she stumbled into a mother and her two children.
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking.”
Lillian lifted her head, determined not to entertain any dark thoughts. She was sure to hear from Charles any day. Instead, she imagined him coming home from work and greeting him with an embrace. Dinner would be ready, she would have spent all day on her drawings, and could look forward to a relaxing evening together. Or perhaps they would go out to dinner, or all go out as a family to –
She came to a halt. There was Gabriel, with Billy, coming up from the basement stairs of the brownstone where Mrs. Kuntzman lived – and there was an unmistakable furtive manner to their behavior.
Lillian crossed the street. When the boys turned, there she was, arms crossed. Their faces filled with surprise – and guilt. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.
“Oh, hi, Mom. We were just working on something.”
“Care to tell me what?”
Gabriel looked up at the clouds, considering how to answer.
Lillian turned to Billy. He zipped his lips and threw away an imaginary key.
Her eyes widened at his audacity. “All right. What’s going on?” She looked from Gabriel to Billy.
“I cannot tell a lie!” Billy announced with a smile. “So, I won’t say anything!” and he ran off, clearly enjoying himself.
Infuriated, she was just about to demand an answer from Gabriel when Tommy and Mickey came out of the basement. They also had guilt all over their faces.
“Well! Are you two in on this?”
Tommy snapped his head to Gabriel. “You told her?”
“No!”
“Told me what?” Lillian demanded.
Mickey took a few slow steps backwards, hoping to leave unnoticed. “I better check on Billy,” he said, hurrying away.
From inside her apartment, Mrs. Kuntzman had seen the exchange. She knocked on the window and waved them inside.
Lillian fixed Tommy and Gabriel with her sternest eye. “When we get home, you’re both going to give me an answer!” She climbed the steps and walked into the vestibule.
Tommy whispered to Gabriel. “We can’t wait. We have to tell her.”
“You’re right. It’s not going as planned.” Gabriel screwed up his mouth in thought, then he grabbed Tommy’s arm. “Listen. You stall. I’ll get Henry to help me take the rocker home.”
Mrs. Kuntzman pulled Lillian inside and gave the boys a wink. “Come inside, come inside. Charlotte was an angel, all day.”
“Inside, boys,” Lillian said, trying to conceal her anger.
While Lillian gathered Charlotte in her arms, Tommy whispered something to Henry and Mrs. Kuntzman. They nodded, and Henry made a small motion with his head to Gabriel.
“Come into kitchen,” said Mrs. Kuntzman. “You must try my… I make new kind of cookie. Come taste.”
“I should get Charlotte home, and – ”
“Come, come.” Mrs. Kuntzman showed her into the kitchen. “I make butter cookies. Last week, but still fresh.”
Tommy followed them into the kitchen. “They’re really good, Mom. Try one.”
Lillian looked at the plate of two cookies. She sat down and tasted a cookie, while Mrs. Kuntzman gave a detailed description of the apple tart she made with Amy and Tommy, and how carefully they had fanned out the apple slices.
Lillian smiled, and stood to leave.
But Mrs. Kuntzman held her arm. “Tommy said you meet with your artist boss?”
“Mrs. Huntington. Yes. I’ll be working on a book series. A children’s fantasy.”
“That’s great news, Mom!” Tommy cried. “I knew you’d get it.”
Mrs. Kuntzman clasped her hands. “This calls for a toast!” She went to her cupboard. “Now, what do I have? Hmm. How about a glass of kirsch to celebrate? Brandy made with cherries. Now, where did I put it?” She moved around a few dishes in her cupboard. “It must be here somewhere…”
“Thank you, Mrs. Kuntzman, but I must be going.” Lillian walked to the living room, looking for Gabriel, and felt her temper rise again. “Now where’s Gabriel?”
Mrs. Kuntzman followed her, smiling sweetly. “He helps Henry with something.”
Lillian gave a huff of exasperation. “Get your coat, Tommy.”
Mrs. Kuntzman went to the window and glanced out. “Such a big help, both Tommy and Gabriel. Ah! Did I ever show pictures of my hometown?” She moved to the bookshelf and began pulling out a large album.
“Perhaps another time. I really must be getting home.”
Tommy took a long time putting on his coat and wrestling the baby carriage out the door, causing Lillian’s impatience to mount.
“Goodbye, Charlotte.” Mrs. Kuntzman kissed her again and tucked the blanket around her, and then rearranged it. She stood in the doorway, looking down the street.<
br />
Just then Billy called out from half a block away, his hands cupped around his mouth. “The coast is clear!” and he ran up the stairs to his brownstone.
“What was that all about?” Lillian asked Tommy.
He shrugged. “You know how Billy is…”
“I know you boys are up to something. And you’re going to tell me what it is. Gabriel is hiding something, I can tell.”
In her heart she knew that Gabriel wouldn’t do anything wrong, but he was maddeningly unpredictable. Just when she thought things had settled down, there was always some new mystery to untangle. Ahead of her, she saw Henry coming towards them. Alone.
“And now there’s Henry!” she said, walking up to him. “I thought Gabriel was with you!”
“He was. Giving me a hand with something.” He looked down at his shoes and smiled. “A fine boy. Fine boys you have.” He patted Tommy’s arm.
“Well – where is he?”
“Gabriel? He’s at home.”
Lillian pressed her lips together in exasperation. “Thank you, Henry.” She picked up her pace until they reached their brownstone. She lifted Charlotte into her arms while Tommy maneuvered the carriage inside. Then he collapsed it and parked it beneath the stairs.
“Wait for me!” Tommy called, hurrying after her. He rushed past her on the second landing, opened the door to their apartment, and peeked inside.
“All set!” said Gabriel.
Lillian had had enough, and she pushed the door open. “What is going – ”
There was Gabriel smiling widely. The Christmas tree lights cast the room in a merry glow, and Christmas music played from the radio. In the middle of the living room stood a beautiful, carved wooden rocking chair with a red ribbon tied around its back.
Gabriel stood next to it, sweeping open his arm in presentation. “Happy early Christmas! Sorry about lying by omission but we wanted it to be a surprise.”
Tommy moved to the other side of the rocker. “Merry Christmas, Mom! Give it a try.”
Lillian stood with her mouth open, looking from the chair to Tommy and Gabriel, and back to the gleaming rocking chair. Then she surprised them both by bursting into tears. Charlotte also began to cry, whimpering softly. Lillian sat in the chair and gently rocked, holding Charlotte close.
Gabriel shot a troubled look to Tommy. “We thought it would make you happy. We weren’t trying to cause trouble or make you sad.”
Tommy placed his hand on the back of the rocker. “Sorry if we worried you, Mom.”
Lillian put her hand on his. “I have the best sons in the whole world. I’m not angry, I’m so happy.” She kissed Charlotte and pulled Gabriel to her and kissed him, and then did the same to Tommy. “I love you both so much. Charles will be so proud of you.” She tried to smile but her pent-up tears poured forth. “I just don’t know why I haven’t heard from him. It’s not like him. He would have gotten word to me if he could. I’m so afraid he’s sick again or – ”
“Dad’s fine, Mom,” said Gabriel. “We got his telegram that he arrived in London, didn’t we? He’s on his way home.”
“He’s probably half way across the Atlantic Ocean by now,” added Tommy. “Everything’s all jammed up with everyone coming back. He’ll be home any day now. You’ll see.”
Lillian wiped away her tears and forced a smile. “I’m sure you’re right. He’ll be home very soon and we’ll all be together.” She stood and only now really examined the chair. “Oh, how beautiful!” She touched the red bow and ran her hand across the carved back.
“Amy tied the ribbon,” said Tommy.
“Tommy and I did the sanding and staining and polishing. With some help from Mr. G and Henry. And Mickey and Billy.”
“So, this is what you’ve all been up to!” Lillian said laughing. “And I like to think of myself as an observant person! I completely missed it.” She sat back down in the chair, nestled Charlotte against her, and began to rock. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Charles what a surprise you gave me. My darling boys!”
Tommy and Gabriel stood, each with a hand on the back of the rocking chair, filling her in on the details of how they had thought of various gifts, how they had decided on the rocker, and how they had kept it in Mrs. Kuntzman’s basement until it was ready.
“It all makes sense now,” said Lillian, smiling at the sweet subterfuge of them all.
Gabriel peeked down at Charlotte and spoke in a low voice. “Look! It works. Just like you said it would, Mom. Charlotte’s sound asleep.”
*
When Red placed an envelope on his aide’s desk to be mailed, he spotted the telegram he wrote to Lillian informing her of Charles’s flight. “Barkley! This was supposed to go out days ago!”
The young man jumped up from his desk, his eyes wide, staring at the note. He smacked his head.
“So sorry, sir. I completely forgot! I don’t know how that happened, sir. Shall I still send it?”
Red placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder and smiled. “Please. This is one telegram that will bring happiness.”
“Yes sir, sir,” he said with a salute. “On the double, sir.” He grabbed his jacket and cap and ran out of the room.
When word had come through confirming the flight, there had been no time for Charles to do anything but write a hasty note. Red promised he would send it via telegram, notifying Lillian of his plans.
Charles had pulled a thick envelope from his jacket. “I was just about to mail it. A letter to Lillian I’ve been writing for over a month.” He tucked it back inside his jacket and broke into a smile. “I guess I can hand deliver it now.”
Red counted the days since Charles had left – the telegram would most likely arrive late. He gave a deep sigh and finished straightening up his desk. The sounds of the office were diminishing, fewer typewriters clanked away, the coming and going of messengers had lessened, the telephones rang only occasionally now. Red rubbed his eyes and went to the window, leaning against the ledge.
He watched the world outside, people shopping, going about their business. Down the street in front of the shops, people stepped off the late afternoon bus from London. Visiting for the holidays, perhaps. Or come to visit some of the patients, or –
His heart stopped. A woman stepped down from the bus, looked around her, and continued down the sidewalk. A woman so like Izzy. Nobody – nobody in the world moved like Izzy. Brisk, with a purpose. That was her walk, the way she carried herself – even the hair color under the hat was hers. A second bus came from the other direction, blocking his view – when it passed, the woman was gone.
Red dashed out of the office and grabbed the railing as he sped down three flights of stairs taking them two at a time. He ran out of the building and down the block, looking to the left and right. He should have been able to see the woman. Had she stepped into a shop? A hotel? He walked up and down the street, looking in the windows, checking both sides of the street. There was no woman.
Was he dreaming again? It was getting worse – but this time was so real. He had felt a rush in his veins, a prickling in his skin, a physical thrill of recognition. But the mirage had vanished. He squeezed his eyes shut. Would it always be so?
Deflated, depressed, he stood indecisive. Should he put in a few more hours? Go home? Get something to eat? The vision had stirred up the pain he tried so hard to ignore.
He hoped a walk along the river would steady him.
The day was already fading. Shafts of sunlight struck the water, reflecting the ripples from the swimming ducks. He walked to his bench. The horizon was shot with gold, outlining thick clouds of purple with a shimmery rim.
He looked at the bare trees lining the small river. He smiled as two children ran ahead of their mother and crossed the arched bridge. The mother called out to them to wait for her. From the other direction, a woman crossed the footbridge. She stood in the middle and placed her hands on the stone wall.
Again, the deep ache stirred inside Red. He squinted towards th
e bridge. It was the same figure as before, he was sure. In a green coat and hat. With that way of moving. Tall and graceful, so sure of herself, that was it. But that was all it was.
He turned away, refusing to believe in a shade of hair, a particular gait, a burst of laughter from someone else. He took out the picture of Izzy, solid and real. Such love of life in her face. Such love for him.
His lips moved into a smile, an involuntary response, mixing memory into the vision – but he couldn’t, wouldn’t, give in to hallucinations that fueled his desperate longing. He narrowed his eyes against the setting sun. He realized that the woman was walking towards him. Or was he dreaming?
Red pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. He looked again. His heartbeat began to quicken in response to that old beloved image. As the figure came closer, his heart pounded. This was madness, he told himself. The sun was in his eyes and he turned his head aside. He saw it was a real woman, and he felt doubly foolish – was it more foolish to mistake a dream for a person, or a person for a dream?
As the figure approached, he told himself to get a grip – it must be someone with a question about one of the patients. Surely. For it couldn’t be, it wasn’t possible – and he no longer believed in the impossible. The setting sun cast a halo around the woman’s auburn hair.
The figure was slowing her steps as she moved in front of him.
Red froze, afraid to move lest the sweet vision disappear.
Then the woman took another step forward, blocking out the sun.
There she stood. Tears burned in his eyes on seeing the beautiful face – either he had completely lost his mind, or – or –
Izzy smiled down at him, and the look in his eyes answered all her questions. She softly spoke.
“Hello, Red.”
Chapter 18
Another snowfall blanketed the farm, creating a soft white world. The bright morning sun caused the icicles hanging from the roof to drip slowly, and the snow glittered as if sprinkled with diamond dust. The farmhouse kitchen, always warm and welcoming, became even more inviting with the scents of bread baking in the oven and freshly made coffee. Ursula brought the coffee pot to Kate and Eugene and filled their cups.
Christmastime 1945 Page 19
