“No,” said one of the other artists, reading the print. “Not a contest. They’re asking for volunteers.” She ran her finger under the description, reading out key phrases: “‘teach drawing and painting at hospitals and USO locations . . . make sketches of the servicemen to send home to their loved ones.’”
Lillian turned to Izzy. “I could do that.” She leaned forward to read the various locations. “Look – this hospital is not so far away. I would like to help out with the wounded. I could go on one of the nights that Tommy and Gabriel have Boy Scouts.”
Izzy gave a firm nod. “It would be good for you to get out.”
Lillian shot her a quick look, wondering if that was the motive behind Izzy’s encouragement.
“And,” Izzy quickly added, “you’d be helping out our men.”
Izzy was forever trying to get Lillian to go out – to the dances, the shows, to get dressed up and have some fun. But Lillian always turned her down, saying that she had work to do, or just that she wanted to be home with her boys.
Lillian crossed her arms, considering the logistics. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Kuntzman. See if she could watch the boys after Scouts. Tommy won’t be happy about it. He insists he’s too old to have a babysitter. But Gabriel’s too young to be without supervision.”
“What is he, eight?”
“Nine! And Tommy’s almost thirteen. Once in a while I let them go straight home from school rather than stopping by Mrs. Kuntzman’s. A sort of trial run without a babysitter. But they’re often out on weeknights with the Boy Scouts doing scrap drives, delivering posters and leaflets, planning Christmas activities. Maybe I can arrange to volunteer on the same nights.”
“Of course you can! I’d join myself, but between my late nights here, the Stage Door Canteen, the USO drives and” – she stopped to pat her hair – “my social life, my nights are booked. Besides, I can’t even draw a straight line.”
Lillian liked the idea of helping the GIs on an individual basis. She’d been knitting caps and scarves for the sailors on the North Sea, and periodically she went with her neighbor, Mrs. Wilson, to help out at the Red Cross center, rolling bandages and boxing up care packages for the holidays. But this would be different. There was something more personal about this that appealed to her.
She turned to Izzy. “Where do I sign up?”
“That’s the spirit!” Izzy said. “I have a sign-up sheet at my desk. Stop by at noon, then let’s go out for a bite.”
Before Lillian could agree, a young secretary stepped out of the elevator and ran up to Izzy.
“Miss Briggs! Come quick!” she said, breathlessly. “Mr. Rockwell has been looking for you everywhere. He wants the guest list for the dinner event on Thursday.”
Izzy raised her eyebrows at Lillian. “We better make it 12:30.”
Lillian nodded and watched as Izzy followed the young woman back to the elevator.
*
They entered their favorite café, not far from the office, and waited for a table to open.
“Good Lord,” whispered Izzy, eyeing the white-haired waitress briskly clearing the table by the counter. “She looks like my grandmother. Even older, I’d say.”
Lillian had noticed that the waitresses were getting older and older, though they seemed to have as much energy as the younger ones. She assumed the younger women were taking the higher paying jobs that were fast becoming available.
They slid into a booth, glanced at the menu, and quickly placed their orders. Then Izzy began talking about Archie, recounting how they had first met at a USO dance, how their romance had slowly blossomed, and that she was counting the hours until his arrival.
“I can’t explain it, Lilly, but he’s different from the other guys I’ve dated. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something about it just feels right.” Then she shook out her napkin with a snap of authority. “And I am not going to let work interfere with our time together.”
“No, you must spend any time you can with him,” Lillian said. “Furloughs are too brief as they are.”
“And now I have to attend the event on Thursday, as well as the gala on Saturday! But I told Rockwell – don’t even think about asking me to stay late or give up my weekends for the next two weeks.”
“He’s become completely dependent on you, Izzy. I don’t know what he would do without you.”
“It didn’t matter before, but now that Archie will be here I plan to leave at five o’clock on the dot,” she said, tapping her finger on the table for emphasis. “I explained that to Rockwell, but I don’t think he heard a word I said.”
“I’m sure he’ll understand,” said Lillian, making room for the waitress to set down their plates.
“Rockwell – understand? Ha!” Izzy frowned at her anemic looking sandwich and picked it up. “I keep hoping he’ll be drafted. He’s not too old. Some time in the South Pacific would be good for him. Give him a little color.” She bit into her sandwich and waved the image of Rockwell away.
“We only have two weeks together but we’re going to make the most of it. I’ve got tickets to Oklahoma! and the Christmas Show at Rockefeller Center. I have every night all planned out.”
Lillian smiled at Izzy’s enthusiasm and her contagious zest for life. Izzy had endless energy and no matter what befell her, she took it on with gutsy determination.
“But here I am, going on and on about me. What about you? How about this Artists for Victory campaign? How do you see yourself participating?”
“I’ve been thinking about it all morning. I’ll go to the orientation of course, but I’ve already got some ideas. I’m going to put together a few lesson plans, for different levels of experience.”
As she explained what she had in mind, Lillian found herself growing more and more interested about this new turn of events.
They hurried back to the office, filled with excitement about the coming weeks. Lillian took a moment to look again at the Artists for Victory poster, happy that she was going to be a part of it.
She was just taking off her coat, when she noticed the envelope on her desk. Her heart contracted. Like everyone, she lived in fear of the dreaded telegram. But on opening the envelope, she saw that it was a message from the boys’ school. Again. Her mouth tightened in anger as she read the note. Gabriel had not returned to school after lunch.
Though she felt less alarm than the first time she received such a message, her heart still quickened with worry. She let out a huff of exasperation. “Gabriel! What am I going to do with you?” She put her coat back on and grabbed her purse.
She could have understood if he wanted to play hooky with his best friend, Billy, with some purpose or adventure in mind. But no, Gabriel just liked to wander off on his own – at nine years old! For the third time this school year, she had to tell her boss that she had a family matter she must attend to.
Chapter 2
*
Evening was settling in over the farmyard, and the outside activity that had enlivened the day, had moved into the farmhouse kitchen. Ed, the old farmhand, stood on the back porch, hesitant. He heard raised voices – female voices – and decided to wait a bit before delivering his news. He gazed out over the fields of corn stubble at the magnificent sunset. Bold streaks of orange and purple spanned the sky, edged with a rippling shimmer of pink. Beautiful and strong – just like the women inside the farmhouse, he thought with a shake of his head.
He’d worked on the farm for – what was it, now – must be over fifteen years, ever since he left the Water Works in town. Never thought he’d stay for so long. But after Kate’s husband died – now there was a good man – he felt he had to lend a helping hand. Then just as he was about to retire for a second time, the war broke out, and one by one, Kate’s sons left, leaving her alone with her two daughters. So he decided to stay on, and see them through the war.
Though if truth be told, he loved farm work. He’d grown up on a farm and was happy to spend some of his last years back in the c
ountry, closely connected to the earth. He loved the seasons, loved that first touch of green that dotted the fields in spring, the lush cornfields of summer, the sense of satisfaction at harvest time. He even loved the winter when the wide gray skies rested over the barren fields.
Glancing back at the kitchen door, he thought how he loved them all – Kate and her sons and daughters. He was fond of each and every one of them, but he couldn’t help the soft spot he had for Ursula. Even as a curly-topped child, she had a way of winning people over with her wide-eyed wonder and her demand for answers – “But why? How? What would happen if…?”
He chuckled, remembering how she used to ride around with him on the tractor, how he helped her learn to ride a bike, how she and little Francy used to hold hands as they jumped from the hayloft. And how, after her father died, she had transferred much of the affection for her father onto him.
How quickly the years had passed. Now here she was, almost eighteen years old, and more headstrong than ever. Yet sweet as a summer day. A hard worker, and capable, yet he often caught her staring out at the sunsets, or wondering at the beauty of snow drifts, or listening to a strain of music on the radio with a hand pressed to her chest. There was a poet inside her, he often thought – though he doubted it would have the chance to come out now. If only she could have gone on to school, like she wanted. Well, there’s still time, he thought. He gave another shake of his head at the memory of the little girl who used to romp around the farm. Ursula. Here she was, seventeen – a breathtaking beauty in overalls.
Now Jessica, he thought, giving a little nod. She had more chance for overall, everyday happiness. Was more practical, down to earth, did not set her expectations up there with the moon. And was dang pretty. But Ursula…
Ed rubbed his whiskers, and his tanned wrinkled face scrunched in worry. She had that kind of dark beauty that troubled the heart. He took off his hat, inspected the rim, and readjusted it on his head. Well, they’re still young. It’ll all work out, somehow – it always does.
He cocked his head and listened; all seemed quiet now. He went back to the door and raised his hand to give a soft rap. More loud voices. Nope. They never lasted long, these female storms, but best to wait, all the same. Though he loved them all, he had learned long ago to stay out of their arguments.
He walked to the edge of the porch and watched as the fire slowly left the sky and the streaks of orange settled into soft shades of pink. He looked out over the farmyard – all blue and gray in the growing dusk, except for the yellow light over the entrance to the barn and the light that poured from the farmhouse windows. His favorite time of day; it never failed to disappoint.
Kate turned up the burner on the stove and stirred the stew. She had been against getting a new stove, but her sons had surprised her with this one two years ago. Thank God they hadn’t listened to her; with restrictions on metal there were no new appliances to be had now. If it weren’t for her sons she would still be cooking on the old wood-burning stove. She tasted the stew, and added a pinch of salt, trying her best to ignore the stomping and pacing of her elder daughter.
Jessica, still in her school dress, carefully folded the calico napkins as she set the table. She raised her eyes now and then to observe the exchange between her sister and mother.
Ursula plopped down in a chair in her overalls, arms crossed, an angry fire burning in her eyes. The only adornment she allowed herself these days – and in Kate’s eyes, evidence of her contrariness – were the amethyst drop earrings her family had given her after she was accepted into the women’s college downstate. She wore them every day as a reminder that she would go to college. Some day. And though Ursula wouldn’t admit it, she was just as hungry for a bit of beauty as was Jessica – perhaps even more so. In the middle of milking the cows, or feeding the chickens, or hauling firewood into the house, she would lightly touch the earrings – as a reminder of her dreams.
“I’m afraid it’s the only way,” said Kate, with more calm in her voice than in her heart.
“Over my dead body! I won’t hear of it, Mother.”
Kate was determined not to lose her temper. “And just how are we supposed to run the farm? Have you thought of that? When spring comes, what are we to do? Lose the farm because of your stubbornness?”
“Stubbornness?!” Ursula jumped to her feet. “How can you say that? It would be disloyal to Francis to have some hateful German here in his place. I just can’t do it. I won’t do it!”
That tone of voice was the wrong one to use with Kate, who spun around, her face revealing a more fully-formed version of fire and determination than her daughter’s. “This is not your farm. It belongs to the family, and you’ll do what is right for us all. Your father broke his back making a go of this farm, and I will not lose it now!”
Ursula knew when she was in a losing battle. Her mother was always able to out-argue her, so she instinctively shifted to a different tactic. The goddess-of-vengeance attitude was softened with a pleading tone. “We have Ed, and we can hire high school boys for the summer. Until then, we can do the work ourselves. We’ll manage.”
“You and Jessica have been working too much as it is.” Kate raised her hand at Ursula’s protest. “I know, you can do more, and trust me, you’re going to have to. But I can’t have Jessica missing any more school. It’s a wonder she hasn’t fallen behind.”
That argument quieted Ursula. She felt bad that Jessica’s school time had been cut into over the past few months. “But now that the harvest is over – ”
“No, Ursula. There’s only so much that three women and one farmhand can do. Many of the farmers are using POWs. Are forced to do it. The Bloomfields have already started using them. There’s more and more pressure to produce, to feed the troops. Have you thought about that? Your brothers need the food that farms like ours produce.”
“And we have to help the poor British,” said Jessica. She picked up her cat, Cotton, and began stroking her. “And the Russians. They’re starving.”
“Because the Germans are sinking our supply ships! That’s my point,” Ursula said, quickly reverting to her original position. “They’re monsters! You’ve read the papers, heard the reports. They throw innocent people into horrible camps. They strafe the refugees, shoot down our paratroopers. The Nazis are despicable cowards! Nothing is too low for them. The last thing we need is one of them on our farm, on the pretext of helping with food production!”
“One? I’m hoping for several.” Kate sliced the bread and then set it on the table, along with a slab of butter.
Ursula let out a groan of disbelief and sat down heavily in her chair.
Jessica gauged her sister’s anger and tentatively added, “Shirley said her parents are happy with their POWs. They didn’t see any other way to – ”
“Well, Shirley hasn’t lost a brother to the Nazis!” said Ursula.
Kate squeezed her eyes shut, and then gave the corn a brisk stir. She lifted the pan and emptied it into a bowl. “If any one of us got sick, then what? No. I can’t risk it.” She looked at the table, then out the window at the darkening night, seeing possible disaster everywhere. “The fences must be mended. The ditches need to be drained. The barn’s falling apart. And come spring, how can we manage the planting with Paul gone?”
“What if they poison the well, or kill us in our sleep?” asked Ursula.
“They’ll be taken back to camp at end of day, as you well know.”
“Camp?! It’s hardly a camp. It’s the Friedman’s dairy farm that they’ve converted.”
“It’s a branch camp. They use whatever facility they can find. We’re lucky to have one close by. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to get the help we need.”
Jessica tried to find neutral ground. “Ed said they used Friedman’s Dairy in the Great War, as an induction center.”
“For our men,” countered Ursula. “Not to house a bunch of Nazi animals – ”
“That’s enough,” said Kate. “It’s settled
. I’ve already put in a request.”
A sullen silence followed. Jessica looked from her mother to her sister, wondering who would break first. They were equally stubborn, as far as she could tell.
Ursula’s face twisted in despair. “Can you at least make sure they’re Italian? Or even Japanese? I just can’t stomach a Kraut.”
“Shirley’s dad said they don’t allow the Japs to work,” said Jessica.
“And no wonder! And the Germans are just as treacherous. At least request Italians.”
Kate gave Ursula a look of reproach. “In case you haven’t heard, Italy has surrendered. Is now with the Allies. We don’t know what that will mean for the status of their POWs.” She began to ladle the stew into three earthenware bowls. “Besides, I’ll take whoever I can get.”
“I wish Paul hadn’t left,” Jessica said wistfully, setting Cotton down.
“I’d enlist if they’d take me,” said Ursula. “I’d love nothing better than to – to take on a few Nazis.”
Kate smiled inside at Ursula’s choice of words. She had expected her to say shoot or kill. For all Ursula’s bluster, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything stronger than take on.
Jessica ignored her sister’s remark. “He could have stayed to help us run the farm. Who’s going to help me gather berries? Who will help me with my honeybee project for the fair? I just know I could win the blue ribbon for my honey. If Shirley Bloomfield gets first place again for her peach preserves, I’ll scream!”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” asked Kate. “We stand to lose the farm, and you’re worried about the 4H?” She shook her head and rinsed the ladle under the tap.
“Paul is doing his duty,” said Ursula. “He’s doing his duty to Francis. He’d already tried to enlist twice before but they wouldn’t take – ” She stopped when Kate spun around.
“What?! And you didn’t tell me? I could have stopped him! What’s wrong with you? Keeping secrets. Furious at the world. Letting that chip on your shoulder poison your life.” Kate slapped her hand on the counter, taking the girls by surprise. “We all lost! Francis was my son!” she said, clenching her fist and hitting her chest. “And I’ve lost him.”
Christmastime 1943 Page 2
