Christmastime 1943
Page 17
She looked around at the passengers, and saw signs of the season: a Christmas tree brooch pinned on a lapel, wrapped presents peeking out of a bag, a tin of some freshly baked treat resting on a lap – everyone traveling to be with their loved ones for the holidays.
Here and there, groups of servicemen sat in animated conversation. Others sat individually, looking out the windows, lost in thought. A few slept.
From a group of GIs across the aisle, came laughter and the sounds of playful bantering. Tommy leaned forward and turned his head to listen to them.
“The Navy’s got you all beat, hands down,” said one.
“You’re all wet,” said another, waving away the assertion. “The Army’s the only place for a real soldier – ”
“You’re right,” interrupted a third. “As long as you’re talking about the Army Air Forces,” he insisted, setting them off arguing again.
One of them leaned over and pointed at Tommy. “Let’s let the kid decide.”
The others nodded in agreement. “So kid, when it comes your time to sign up, which branch of the service are you going to choose? Land, sea, or air?”
Lillian pretended to be searching for something in her purse, but was waiting to hear how Tommy would answer. She was sure he would go on about how he wanted be a fighter pilot, making one of the men happy.
She was surprised that Tommy seemed somewhat reluctant to respond.
When the men pushed for an answer, assuring him there would be no hard feelings, Tommy cracked his knuckles and spoke softly.
“Well – I used to think I wanted to be a sailor. Then I thought I’d be a pilot. But lately, I’ve been thinking, and, well, I’ve kind of decided that I want to be a doctor – you know, like a field medic or something.”
Lillian’s heart gave a little clench at his answer and she felt her eyes tear up again. She wanted to hold Tommy tightly and tell him how much she loved him.
The men across the aisle were silent for a moment. Then the one who had first spoken, smiled and nodded. “You’re all right, kid.”
Tommy’s answer seemed to take the wind out of their argument, and the men sat silent for a while. Then one of them leaned over and spoke in low tones to the others: “So, three sailors go into a bar . . .”
Tommy leaned back in his seat and gazed out the window again. Soon a lone harmonica sounded from the back of the car, barely audible over the rhythmic chugging of the train. He leaned his head against the window for a while, and then as weariness overtook him, he gave into it and rested his head on Lillian’s shoulder.
At the next stop he sat up, and then stretched out and put his head on her lap, bending his knees to fit on the seat. Lillian covered him with the lap blanket she brought, and soon he was in a deep sleep.
Lillian caressed Tommy’s hair and looked out the window at the dark countryside, a few lights showing now and then from a house, a farm. It felt strange not to have Gabriel with them, and Charles, so far away.
She thought of how the whole past year was one of fragmentation, despair, fear, and loneliness. She tried to envision Charles, thousands of miles away, alone in the darkness, and her heart ached for him.
She opened her purse and pulled out the last letter from him. Though she knew the words by heart, she held the letter in her hands to better feel his presence: The tide is slowly turning and we will win this awful war, though at what cost we don’t yet know. Then she skipped to the words that she needed to read now:
Some nights at sea, under an ink black sky, I begin to despair at the human darkness that envelopes the world. Then I think of you, and seek out a faint star, and I am reminded that there is always hope. Though we can never know what lies ahead, I imagine hope as a tiny flame that we cup protectively in our hands, whose light pushes into the darkness and shows us where to place our feet. Hope is a brave little foray into the future, taken with the belief in goodness and happiness.
Then she read his closing words: We will be together soon, my love. Holding you tightly, Charles.
Neither the world at war, nor the cold dark sea, nor months of separation could keep their hearts apart, could dim the bright flame of hope. Lillian settled deeper into her seat, and imagined holding a small candle in her hand, tipping it over to touch the flame in Charles’s hand, and then allowing the flame to grow.
And before her lay the vision of her dearest hope: The war was over. Charles was home safe. They were all together again as a family. A fire burned brightly in the fireplace, the mantel was hung with stockings, a Christmas tree sparkled with lights and ornaments. She and Charles sat together, hands linked and eyes filled with love as they watched Tommy and Gabriel sitting next to the tree.
Then, encouraged by Charles’s words of hope, she raised the candle a little higher, and peered a bit farther into the future – and had to smile. For there was a darling little girl sitting between Tommy and Gabriel, the three children laughing merrily. It might be impossible, it might be wishful thinking, but that is what she saw as the Christmas night train pushed on into the darkness.
About the Author
Linda Mahkovec writes about the search for beauty and meaning, and the awe and delight on finding it. Most of her stories are set in the places she has lived and loved: small town Illinois, the San Francisco Bay Area, Seattle, and New York City. She has a PhD in English, specializing in Victorian Literature.
If you would like to learn more about Linda visit her at her website. You can reach her on Facebook or Twitter.