Christmastime 1943

by Linda Mahkovec

  And yet it wasn’t reluctance she saw in him, but something more hesitant. He was sitting on the stool all wrong. It flashed on Ursula that he didn’t know how to milk a cow, and a smile of triumph spread across her face. Finally, she had the evidence she had been searching for.

  She stepped out into the farmyard, pleased with herself. “Ed!” she hollered. “Come here! Come take a look at our prisoner.”

  Kate glanced up, angered by the tone of command in Ursula’s voice, and by the interruption. Ed needed to have the list before he left so that he could get the supplies in town first thing in the morning. And here was Ursula, ready to slow them down with her petty concerns.

  Kate and Ed walked over to the barn.

  Ursula pointed to Friedrich. “He’s not the farmer he claims to be. He’s been lying. He can’t even milk a cow!” She crossed her arms in justification.

  Ed looked over at the POW. Friedrich sat on the milk stool and appeared to be humiliated. Ed scratched his head. “Now, Ursula, maybe he didn’t have to milk cows on his farm.”

  She dropped her arms. “Why are you defending him? Every farmer knows how to milk a cow. He’s not – ”

  Kate’s temper flared. She had had enough. She picked up another pail and shoved it into Ursula’s hands. “Then show him how to do it and stop wasting our time!”

  Kate and Ed walked back towards the porch, leaving Ursula wide-eyed and speechless.

  Ursula hoped that Friedrich hadn’t understood what happened. She snatched up another stool and dropped it next to his, muttering in indignation.

  “I don’t believe it! I have to show a despicable Nazi how to milk a cow.” She sat down and gave a brusque demonstration, and then gestured for him to do it.

  He hesitated a moment, and then made an awkward attempt, but to no avail.

  She shook her head impatiently. “Watch. Like this.” Again, she showed him.

  And again he pulled and squeezed with no result.

  “No, like this!” She took his hands, intending to show him once more.

  His body reacted with a jolt when her fingers slipped over his.

  They both froze and looked down at their linked hands. Ursula felt the heat from his hands course through her, up her arms, her chest, and she closed her eyes.

  Then she raised her eyes to him. His gaze pierced her, reaching deep inside, just as it had the first time she saw him. Her breathing became shallow, and she slowly pulled her hands away, aware that they were trembling.

  “I hate you,” she whispered in a voice that strained to sound angry. “Do you understand? I hate everything about you.” Her eyes softly scanned his mouth, his eyes. “Your voice. Your name. Your face.”

  His gaze held hers, but it was now tinged with pain.

  She continued in a tremulous voice. “I hate you – and all Nazis. You’re responsible for the death of my brother. Do you understand?”

  Her tone said everything. He slowly nodded, though the expression in his eyes didn’t change.

  She felt herself slipping, as if whatever had been exchanged through the bus window two months ago now sat between them, strong and unavoidable. Then she stood abruptly, knocking over the milk pail, and stormed out of the barn.

  She walked up to Ed, who was just heading towards the barn.

  “I can’t do it, Ed. I just can’t do it.” She shook her head, and ran up the porch stairs.

  Otto had just come out of the granary with Gustav and Karl and saw that Ursula was upset. He motioned for Gustav to switch places with Friedrich, and hurried over.

  “Sorry, Ed. I don’t know how that happened. I can’t allow any mixing. Well,” he said, scratching his cheek, “lunch is different, I suppose. But they’d have my head if they knew I let a prisoner alone with a young girl. I wasn’t thinking. I should have had Gustav do the milking. He’s a farmer through and through.”

  Gustav finished up with the milking just as the truck arrived to take the prisoners back to camp. Ursula watched them from the kitchen window, gathering that the others were having a laugh at Friedrich for not knowing how to milk a cow.

  When the truck was out of sight, she went outside to find Ed. There he was, sitting on the porch step, reading over the list he and Kate had made. She sat down next to him.

  She waited for him to say something, but he remained silent.

  “I’m sorry, Ed. I was rude to you.”

  She looked at him, but his eyes were scanning the farmyard, the fields, the line of trees along the creek, all hushed and still at the end of day.

  “I love this time of day,” he said.

  Ursula softened and smiled. She, too, loved the fading of day, just before evening. A light dusting of snow lay on the corn stubble, making long soft rows of gold and white. The light outside the barn grew yellower in the deepening dusk and added a touch of warmth to the cold evening.

  “You know,” said Ed, “life is simpler when you plow around the stump.”

  Ursula’s eyebrows pinched together. “I know that. And I’m trying to avoid him – them.”

  “You’re tryin’ too hard.”

  Ursula considered his words and wondered if it were true.

  After a few minutes, Ed patted her arm. “I know how you feel, but they’re good workers. That one, he may not know how to milk a cow, but he’s gettin’ things done. That’s what he’s here for.”

  “I know. It’s just that – It seems so wrong. They’re Nazis.”

  “Well, he’s German. That’s true enough. But everyone should be given a fair chance. That’s what you’d want if the tables were turned. If one of your brothers was taken prisoner.”

  That Ed was not taking her side, as he usually did, made her realize that he was probably right.

  “I’m sorry, Ed. I don’t know why I’m having such a hard time with this.”

  “All that matters is that we keep the farm working. That’s all that matters to your mother. And your brothers. All the rest – is just stuff.”

  Ursula looked at him and smiled sadly, comforted by his tender words.

  He stood stiffly, took off his hat, and swatted his leg with it. “Just stuff.” His tanned, leathery face broke into a smile. Then he put his hat back on, and went inside to say goodnight.

  Chapter 7

  *

  Mrs. Kinney called to say that the Boy Scouts meeting for the evening had been cancelled. And since Mrs. Kuntzman’s daughter was visiting for a few days, Lillian decided to bring Tommy and Gabriel with her to the hospital as helpers.

  She went back and forth between the bedroom and living room, wondering how she could change her lesson plan to include the boys. She hunted the bookshelves for a book on action drawing, but couldn’t find it anywhere. Perhaps she would bring her oil crayons and improvise a lesson on color, and let the boys help pass supplies around.

  “Mom,” said Gabriel, “can I bring my explorer kit when we go to Aunt Annette’s?”

  Lillian looked up in alarm, ready to say “absolutely not!” Then she envisioned Gabriel lost in the snowy woods where a compass might be of use to him. But did he really know how to use one?

  “Don’t worry, Mom. I promise I won’t go exploring by myself. Only if Uncle Bernie comes with me.”

  Lillian stuffed the oil crayons into a bag. “We’ll talk about packing later. Go and get dressed. Are you ready, Tommy?”

  Tommy nodded and plopped down on the couch. “I hope Uncle Bernie lets me shoot his gun.” He looked up at Lillian, gauging her mood.

  “I want a gun for Christmas,” he said.

  “You are not getting a gun,” she replied.

  “Why not? Uncle Bernie lets Danny shoot his rifle.”

  “That’s different. He’s teaching him how to shoot rabbits and quail.”

  “Can I shoot when we go up there? I’m old enough.”

  Lillian sighed. “We’ll see.”

  “I want a sled,” said Gabriel. “A big one for that hill behind the orchard.”

  “All I
want,” said Tommy, “is to practice shooting so when I’m old enough I can be a sharp-shooter and shoot Germans.” He raised an imaginary rifle, looked through the sight, and shot at Gabriel.

  “Bang! Got him.”

  Gabriel grabbed his chest, spun around in agonized circles, and dramatically fell to the floor.

  Lillian cast a glance at Tommy. “I’ve told you before, Tommy, I don’t like all that talk about killing.”

  “I’m only killing Germans, Mom.”

  “And you can’t talk about all Germans in one breath,” she added.

  “Yeah,” said Gabriel. “Look at Mrs. Kuntzman. She’s German, and she’s just like having a real grandmother.”

  “But we know her. That’s different,” said Tommy.

  Lillian stuffed a few extra materials into her bag for the class. “And don’t forget your own heritage, Tommy.”

  His imaginary gun crumpled into dust. “What do you mean?”

  “You have German blood in you. Quite a bit, actually. Along with some Irish and English, and a little French.”

  “How much?” Tommy asked, concerned.

  “Well, your father’s maternal grandmother came from Cologne, and his father was mostly German. And there’s German on both sides of my family. If you add it all up – at least half, more likely three quarters.”

  Tommy stood with his mouth open. “You mean – I’m German?!”

  Lillian smiled and ruffled his hair. “Well, no more than you’re English or Irish or French.”

  Tommy stared down at his shoes, wondering what it all meant.

  Gabriel raised his arm to Tommy. “Heil Hitler!”

  Tommy swatted down his arm. “Knock it off, Gabriel. If I’m part German, then so are you.”

  “I’m American,” said Gabriel.

  “That’s right,” laughed Lillian. “Most Americans have their roots in other places, but once you’ve been here a while you become American.” She looked at the boys. “Go comb your hair, Gabriel. You’re due for a haircut.”

  Tommy sat on the couch, cracking his knuckles. “Do you think we still have relatives there?”

  “I’m sure we do, somewhere,” said Lillian, packing up her supplies.

  “But Mom – they could be with the Gestapo. Or SS.” He looked back at the floor, and started popping the knuckles on his other hand.

  A loud knock at the door caused Tommy to jump.

  Lillian exchanged a glance with him. “Who could that be?” She set her bag down and opened the door.

  There stood her neighbor, Mrs. Wilson, from down the street, holding a tin of tea.

  “Hello, Mrs. Wilson. What a nice surprise!” Lillian immediately noticed the blue cap that sat atop her graying curls, a decided change from her usual head scarf.

  “Evening! I was just getting a few things for dinner at the store, and Mrs. Mancetti said this tea just came in for you. I told her I’d bring it over to you.”

  “Why, thank you, but there was no need to trouble yourself, I could have – ”

  “I insisted. The truth is I wanted an excuse to stop by. I wanted you to be one of the first to know.”

  Mrs. Wilson saw Tommy on the couch and leaned around. “Hello, Tommy! Well, what do you think?” She pulled the cap down rakishly over one eye.

  Tommy got up and went to the door. “Hi, Mrs. Wilson. Nice cap.”

  Lillian peered closer and tried to make out the letters on the cap.

  Mrs. Wilson cast her eyes up at the brim and adjusted it a little higher on her head. “I’ve taken a job with the City. I’m going to be a train conductor! Well, a subway train conductor.”

  Lillian stood open-mouthed. “Why, that’s wonderful!” Mrs. Wilson was always busy with volunteer work, but Lillian had never known her to work at a real job – a paying job. It seemed right that she was finally being compensated.

  “Harry wasn’t too thrilled about it at first, but all the women are working. I have to do my part.” She leaned in and whispered. “Course when I told him the salary I’d be making, he changed his tune.”

  Lillian laughed. “When do you start?”

  “I start training on Monday. Well, I just wanted to let you know. Better hurry home and get dinner ready for Harry.” She started down the steps, and then turned around. “Who knows – maybe I’ll work my way up to a real train conductor. All aboard!” she called, pulling down an imaginary whistle cord. Then she waved goodbye and continued down the stairs.

  Lillian said goodnight and closed the door. “Imagine that! Mrs. Wilson working as a subway train conductor.” She ruffled Tommy’s hair again. “Go tell Gabriel to hurry – we need to leave.”

  In the bathroom, Gabriel dampened his hair, a sparkle of mischief in his eye. He smiled in the mirror, parted his hair on the far left, and combed it smooth over his forehead. Then he placed the short black comb under his nose to look like a moustache, and tried his best to look severe.

  Tommy went to the bathroom to get Gabriel. “Come on, Gabe, we’re – ” He stopped mid-sentence. There was Gabriel – a small version of Hitler.

  Gabriel clicked his heels together. “Cousin Adolph here.”

  Tommy pulled the comb down. “I said knock it off, Gabriel. It’s not funny.”

  Gabriel grabbed his comb back and began imitating Tommy, biting his nails in terror. “Vhat you mean – I’m German?”

  Tommy snatched the comb and pushed Gabriel, who shoved him back and grabbed at the comb. They were soon rolling in the hallway, throwing punches. Tommy quickly gained the upper hand and pinned Gabriel down.

  “Ow!” laughed Gabriel. “Get off me.”

  Lillian was pulling on her coat when she heard the commotion. “Tommy, Gabriel! Stop that right now!”

  Gabriel tried to twist out of the hold, and winced at the punch that landed on his arm. “Ow, that hurt! See what a mean Nazi bully you are?”

  Tommy’s fist froze in mid-air. He slowly rolled off Gabriel.

  Lillian put her hands on her hips. “That’s enough! Come on, we’re going to be late.”

  Gabriel sat up, shaking his head. “We’re American, you dope. Why are you making such a big deal about it?”

  “Come on, boys. Put your coats on. How many times do I have to tell you, Tommy, fighting is not the answer to everything. It’s turning into a habit with you.”

  Tommy angrily pulled on his coat, and they left the apartment in a hurry.

  Gabriel quickly forgot the tussle as he ran down the stairs ahead of them. He waited at the entry. “I wish Dad was coming with us for Christmas. Do you think he’ll be home in time, Mom? I bet he’s going to surprise us with a visit while we’re up at the orchard. Then he can help us find a tree and chop it down and bring it – ”

  “No, Gabriel.” Lillian had wanted to wait before she told the boys, but decided that now was perhaps the best time, with the distraction of going to the hospital. “I finally had a letter today – actually three letters arrived all at once. I’ll read them to you when we get back home.” She had to wait a moment to make sure her voice was steady. “He said he won’t be home any time soon. Not for the next few months anyway.”

  “You mean he’s going to miss Christmas?” asked Gabriel.

  Tommy tried to read her face. “Are you sure, Mom?”

  She put her arms around their shoulders as they walked to the bus stop. “Yes, I’m sure. He wrote that he hopes we go to Annette and Bernie’s for Christmas and to have some hot spiced cider for him. And to write to him about all the things we do there.”

  Tommy saw the sadness in her face, and in Gabriel’s. “Like sledding, Gabe. I’ll take you down the big hill this time. Last time we were there you were too little, remember?”

  Gabriel smiled up at Tommy. “And we’ll go ice skating.”

  “And roast chestnuts, and drink hot chocolate,” said Tommy.

  “With whipped cream!” Gabriel said, holding up his finger as if not to forget the important part. “Aunt Annette always makes whipped cream.�
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  They climbed onto the bus, and while the boys talked about building snow forts and making a bonfire by the pond and playing with Danny and their cousins, Lillian stared out the window.

  Charles’s letter had brought her happiness that he was alive and well, but the certainty that he wouldn’t be home for months struck her like a blow. Who knew how long it would be before she was in his arms again? The war was raging on, the Allies were gaining the upper hand, but would it last? Did the Germans have a secret weapon as rumored? Would the recent victories turn into defeats? Would Charles come home at all?

  She put her hand over her mouth, and then sat up straight. He would come home. And she would be there waiting for him.

  *

  The number of Lillian’s students had increased with each class, and she had agreed to give lessons two nights a week and on Saturday afternoons – at least for the month of December when the need for keeping spirits up was greater. Lillian was pleased to find that a few of the newer students had experience with drawing and were able to help out the other students.

  Tommy and Gabriel had fast become favorites of the class. This was the third time Lillian had brought them, and she found that having them there added to the merriment of the group. Tommy clearly enjoyed the company of the men and liked to hear their humorous stories, and Gabriel felt important in his role as helper. Lillian found that, for the most part, the men were respectful and watched their language when the boys were around.

  Tonight Lillian insisted that, rather than depict her, as she had allowed in the earlier sessions, the soldiers sketch each other, so that she could freely move about the room. Some of the men began to grumble about drawing each other.

  Sergeant Remling threw his pencil down after trying to draw Memphis, a cheerful lanky fellow with buck teeth. “How am I ever supposed to learn how to draw a woman if I don’t practice on one?”

  Lillian looked up at the unexpected outburst. “Well, the principles are the same and – ”

  “Yeah,” shouted the young man called Rossi. “How we supposed to draw our mothers and sisters if we only have these ugly mugs to practice on?”

  Bushwick, the man he was sketching, joined in. “Yeah, his sister’s none too beautiful to behold as it is, and if he makes her any uglier . . .” He shook his head in horror.