Later that evening, Annette had gotten out an old atlas, and she and Lillian searched for the location of the attack, and where the islands were in relation to the United States. They traced their fingers from the red nation of Japan, over the blue Pacific, to the sprinkle of pink islands called Hawaii, a US territory. It all seemed so far away, so unreal. But now there was talk that the Japanese empire might soon bomb San Francisco, Seattle, San Diego. And that the Germans would use the distraction to attack simultaneously from the East. They were trapped, like sitting ducks, unprepared, shocked, futilely flapping their wings in outrage.
Lillian had not wanted to leave Annette’s. She wanted to stay up there where she thought they would be safer, until it was known what was really happening. Rumors and reports flooded the airwaves and newspapers about attacks off California, bombers spotted coming from Germany, submarines prowling both coasts. Lillian was afraid of returning to the city. She briefly considered leaving the boys with Annette, the way the people of London had sent their children to the north of England to be safe from The Blitz.
But neither Charles nor Lillian wanted to be separated from Tommy and Gabriel, or from each other. They had decided to go back, and face the war from home. They would have to return sooner or later. And they might not be able to get back if they waited too long – the trains might be restricted to military use.
Now, two days later, Lillian looked out the train window at the familiar landscape of her youth. The fallow fields, ribbed with snow; the houses with firewood stacked against them; the gardens with a few scraggly plants still staked. Everything looked so small and defenseless. She felt an overwhelming protectiveness for all these simple, ordinary things. The world had changed. The trucks that passed them, the gray sky, the glimpses of the Hudson – all were now imbued with another feeling. A darkness was coalescing, rising from the land, from the people. Fear. She saw it in the eyes of passengers who passed her, heard it in the worried tones from the seats behind them.
All leaves and furloughs were canceled, and the train was crowded with both military and civilian passengers. Several servicemen, most of them smoking, gathered in groups, and talked with an exaggerated show of bravado, threatening to show the Japs and Jerrys who was who.
Lillian gazed at the young men and thought, Will these slender boys be our saviors? These lads with the easy smiles and soft cheeks? She tried to envision them as they said their goodbyes. How could their mothers bear it? Tears started to her eyes, and she had the desire to do something for them – give them words of encouragement, or hand out apples and preserves, or press their hands in comfort. She wanted to treat them as she would her sons, with love and tenderness – but these soldiers had to be men now. Boyhood was forever behind them. Soon they would hold guns, grenades. Soon they would be shot at, injured, and perhaps killed. She imagined smoke, mud, barbed wire, water-filled trenches, hatred in an enemy eye. One young soldier sat gazing out the window, an unlit cigarette drooping from his fingers. Was he seeing his mother? Or his sweetheart? Or perhaps a vision of home, his family gathered around the dining table? Would he ever come back? Her eyes traveled from him, to Tommy, who was also staring out the window. Not many years separated them in age; in seven or eight years, it could be Tommy sitting there in uniform.
Many of the passengers gathered in groups and discussed the attack, speculating on what would happen next, where the Germans and Japs would strike. Gossip and fear combined with memories of the Great War. She heard the words blackouts, enlistments, food shortages, treachery, espionage.
Lillian raised her head and briefly scanned the passengers. As she looked up and down the aisle, she suddenly had the thought – what if there are spies among us, listening? She saw a man who appeared to be sleeping – what about him? Or her – an older woman who was clearly eavesdropping on the couple behind her. Then Lillian noticed that a woman was looking directly at her with the same wary expression, sizing her up as perhaps a spy or traitor. The world had been turned up-side-down. Anger and hatred were already taking root. She saw it in the faces of other passengers, heard it in snippets of conversation. God help her, felt it in her own breast.
A heavy weariness began to overtake her. None of them had slept much the last two nights. She glanced over at Charles and the boys. Fatigue seemed to be affecting them all. Charles lay with his head back, his eyes closed. Gabriel had dozed off, the comic book still in his hands. Tommy sat in a daze, staring out at nothing – he would soon be asleep. Her darling boys. She would have to remember that they would be frightened, but might not know how to express it.
Lillian closed her eyes, and let herself be lulled by the gentle rocking of the train and the long sad pull of the train whistle, allowed these familiar things to lead her into the sweetness of sleep.
After what seemed like just a few minutes, she became aware of Charles speaking to the boys in low tones, of Gabriel asking Charles for the lunch hamper. She opened her eyes to see Charles lifting down the basket.
“Finally, you’re awake!” said Tommy. “We’re starving!”
“It’s well past lunch,” said Charles. “Thought we’d see what you and Annette packed for us.”
Lillian sat up. “I must have dozed off.” She looked out the window and rubbed her neck. She saw that Charles had draped his coat over her.
“You slept for almost two hours, Mom,” said Tommy. “Look,” he said, pointing out the window.
Lillian saw that the river had widened. She squeezed Charles’s hand and smiled at Tommy and Gabriel. “I’m hungry too. We’ll have a picnic lunch – along the Hudson!” She handed out sandwiches and apples, smiling at the boys’ hearty appetite. When they were finished, Gabriel rummaged around in the hamper, and finding Annette’s toffee, he passed it around.
Gabriel took a crunchy bite, and then held up the toffee in front of him. “Mommy, is this free?”
“Of course, it’s free,” she laughed. “Your Aunt Annette made it for us. Why?”
“Just wondering,” answered Gabriel.
Tommy and Gabriel seemed to have forgotten that the country was at war. They sat with their faces close to the window, pointing out sights along the Hudson: tug boats and barges, a sail boat, two men fishing from the shore, a soaring bird of prey.
Lillian shifted her gaze to Charles. When something was bothering him, he tended to become quiet, and look away into the distance.
“What are you thinking about, Charles?”
He put on a cheerful face, obviously not wanting to burden her with whatever had been on his mind, she thought. Or perhaps he didn’t want to worry the boys.
“Oh, just wondering how Mrs. Murphy is managing,” he said. “I’ve never left her on her own before. Of course, Mason is there, but with three staff members enlisted, the office has been more of a challenge to manage. And now with war declared, I’ll have to anticipate a further reduction in staff.”
“Why don’t you consider expanding the roles of the women, and hiring some? That’s what’s happening at the publishing house. Women are doing more reporting, more writing. I told you about Izzy – she’s pretty much the floor manager now. She even got a raise. She’s taking on more and more of Mr. Weeble’s duties, now that he’s been moved to Marketing and Advertising. Izzy loves it. She gets there early, leaves late.”
Lillian briefly imagined her friend Izzy bustling around the office – seemingly happy, but with an ever-present anxiety underlying all her actions. Ever since Red joined the RAF; no, ever since he postponed their wedding. Izzy was not quite sure what his intentions were. And now he lay wounded somewhere in England.
In a flash, Lillian remembered Charles’s earlier words to the boys about their next visit to Annette’s: “maybe in the summer.” She suddenly realized that it hadn’t been a slip; he was too careful with his words to make such a mistake. Was he considering postponing their wedding?
She studied his face as she spoke, watching for any sign that might confirm her hunch. “Izzy loves her j
ob, but I think she stays busy to keep from worrying about Red.”
“How is he doing? Any word?”
“He’s healing, though it seems to be taking a long time. Izzy worries about him constantly. She so regrets that they didn’t marry before he left. That was their plan, you know. But seeing his buddy return home all shot up changed his mind.”
Charles nodded, but remained quiet.
“Izzy thinks he’s not telling her everything.”
“Maybe he’s trying to protect her,” said Charles, looking away.
“Honesty is always best,” Lillian said, somewhat defensively. Without stating it, the conversation had shifted to being about them. In her heart, she feared that he had already changed his mind.
They sat in silence for a few moments. Then Charles spoke decisively. “I think Red made the right decision, in postponing the wedding.”
Lillian’s stomach sank at his words. “No, he didn’t. Not for Izzy. Not for them as a couple.”
She waited for him to respond, but he just gazed out the window.
“Charles, you’re not thinking of changing our plans.” There was no reaction from him. “Are you?”
“No. But I think we’re going to have to push the date back,” he said. “Until we know what’s up ahead.”
“We never know what’s up ahead.”
Charles took a deep breath, and spoke quietly. “War has just been declared with Japan. War with Germany is sure to follow. Let’s wait and see how things develop.”
Lillian sat back in her seat, upset at his words. She tried to envision their marriage taking place at some unknown date in the future. But she couldn’t readjust her thoughts so quickly. It was too late to change their minds now. She already saw herself as his wife. He was already her husband. Countless times she had imagined greeting him as he walked in the door every night after work, sitting down together for dinner, waking up beside him, being with him some part of every day. And now that dream seemed to have crumbled into dust.
On Charles’s lap lay the folded newspaper. In thick black letters Lillian saw the word War. She glanced out the window at the darkening day. The world was no longer her own.
Chapter 3
*
Lillian kept Tommy and Gabriel home from school the following day, ready to take cover if an air raid siren was sounded. She roused them early to get dressed, and then let them go back to bed with their clothes on. Next to the door, stood an emergency bag with food and extra clothing. She had stayed up late packing and repacking it, trying to decide what was most urgent. In the middle of the night, she had gotten up and added gloves to the bag. She remembered reading about the bombing of London and how everything was hot to the touch. Lillian now sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, making a list of things to buy. She thought about Tommy and Gabriel’s soft little hands, and added to her list: First Aid Ointment. Gauze. Iodine.
When they arrived at Grand Central the previous evening, they were surrounded by the chaos of scrambling crowds, everyone trying to get home as quickly as possible. Earlier in the day, there had been reports that a squadron of enemy planes was headed for Long Island, and the whole city was in a panic. Apparently the reports were based on a false tip that had turned into frightening rumors and quickly spread. Though no bombers had materialized, Lillian was still fearful of letting the boys out of her sight.
Her neighbor, Mrs. Wilson, had stopped by earlier to announce that her apartment building basement, three doors down from Lillian’s brownstone, would be used as the main air raid shelter for their block. Mrs. Wilson had signed up as air raid warden, and was busy preparing and stocking the basement. Lillian was grateful for her efforts, not least because the boys’ babysitter, Mrs. Kuntzman, lived in the same brownstone. There was some degree of comfort in knowing that, at least immediately before and after school, the boys would be as close as possible to the shelter. On the radio, she heard that schools would be kept open and locked down if there were more air raids. The thought of being separated from her boys, of not being there to help them, terrified her more than anything.
As the afternoon wore on, Tommy and Gabriel grew fussy and argumentative. A whole day of being cooped up was beginning to take its toll on them. It was now late afternoon, and Lillian was trying to coax one more drill out of them.
“Come on, boys,” she said. “Just one more time, and then you can play.”
Tommy groaned and stayed put on the couch. Gabriel walked over to the door and slumped against the wall.
They had already made three trips down to Mrs. Wilson’s shelter. On the first two trips they brought an old blanket, an extra flashlight, a few canned vegetables, and some comic books. The last time was a dry run for a real air raid, and Lillian had made them run as quickly as possible. But the novelty had worn off, and the boys were now bored with the drill.
“One more for today,” said Lillian. “Come on, Tommy. Ready?”
Tommy slid off the couch, rolled his eyes, and ambled to the door.
“Okay,” said Lillian, waiting until she had Tommy’s full attention. She took a deep breath and held it for a moment, looking from Tommy to Gabriel. “Go!” and they all ran down the stairs, out the door, down the sidewalk, and into the air raid shelter.
In the basement, an overhead light hung from the ceiling, illuminating the center of the open space. Mrs. Wilson was arranging some rolled bandages into a large first aid box. She spun around on hearing the boys running down the stairs, and clapped her hands.
“Bravo! Well done, Tommy! Very good, Gabriel! I’d say we’re all set.”
“Nobody else had to stay home,” grumbled Tommy.
“Yeah, Billy went to school,” added Gabriel.
“It’s hard to know what to do,” Lillian said to Mrs. Wilson. “I thought it best to keep them home.”
Mrs. Wilson closed the lid of the first aid box. “Well, all we can do is be prepared. I suppose the children will be just as safe at school as in their homes. Perhaps even safer,” she added as an afterthought.
Lillian nodded, understanding that a bombed school would be responded to as quickly as possible.
“After all,” continued Mrs. Wilson, “this will likely go on for quite some time. Mark my words.” She took Lillian’s arm and whispered, “I think it’s best to let them go to school tomorrow. Keep things as normal as possible for them.”
“I suppose so,” sighed Lillian. “I’ll let Mrs. Kuntzman know that we’ve returned early.” Lillian started to go up the basement steps, and then turned around. “I’m glad you’re taking charge with this, Mrs. Wilson. It makes me feel safer.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Wilson, putting her fists on her hips and looking around at what she had accomplished in a mere twenty-four hours, “I do like getting things done. Go on ahead. I’ll be right up. I need to have a word with Mrs. Kuntzman, myself.”
On hearing the voices of the neighborhood children returning from school, Tommy and Gabriel had dashed up the basement stairs, and were now gathered around them, listening to what they missed out on at school.
“Tommy,” Lillian called out to him. “You and Gabriel stay here while I call on Mrs. Kuntzman, okay? You’ll stay put?”
Tommy turned to her and mouthed silently, “Yes!”
She knew that expression; Tommy was embarrassed in front of his friends. She could hear his argument: first he had to stay home from school, and now she was treating him like a baby.
Lillian left the boys with their friends, and walked up the brownstone steps to Mrs. Kuntzman’s.
The elderly babysitter answered the knock at her door wearing a bright green calico apron with a trace of flour on both her apron and her cheek.
“Hello, Mrs. Hapsey! Ach, you returned early from your journey?”
“We thought it best to come back while we could. If it’s all right, I’ll drop the boys off tomorrow and Friday.”
“Yes, of course! Only a few days and already I miss Tommy and Gabriel,” she laughed.
“Oh, dear,” she said, suddenly remembering. “On Friday my daughter will come to take me shopping, so in afternoon I won’t be here for the boys.”
“That’s all right. I’ll arrange to take a half-day. Unless you’d rather have the whole day. I could switch with one of the girls –”
“No, no. I look forward to my breakfasts with Tommy and Gabriel. Friday morning is fine.”
Just then, Mrs. Wilson opened the vestibule door, and Lillian was surprised when Mrs. Kuntzman made a quick duck into her apartment.
“There’s no escaping me, Mrs. Kuntzman,” called out Mrs. Wilson. She then addressed Lillian. “Now, Mrs. Hapsey, perhaps you can talk some sense into Mrs. Kuntzman. I’ve told her repeatedly that if there is another air raid siren, she must come down to the basement with the rest of us.”
Mrs. Kuntzman stepped back out into the hall, and smiled sweetly, but spoke firmly. “And I say, if Tommy and Gabriel are here with me, then I come down.”
“But you must come down, in any case,” insisted Mrs. Wilson. “As air raid warden, it’s my responsibility to make sure that you do.”
Mrs. Kuntzman batted down the idea with her hand. “No one want me there with my German accent. I come down with Tommy and Gabriel. Is final.” She folded her flour-dusted hands in front of her, and again smiled sweetly.
Both women looked to Lillian as the arbitrator who would surely take their side.
“Well,” said Lillian, facing Mrs. Kuntzman, “I’m sure everyone will want you to be safe with them –”
“Ha!” said Mrs. Kuntzman. “You don’t know that man on third floor.”
“You leave Mr. Redmond to me,” said Mrs. Wilson. “If he has his way, he won’t have me there either.”
“I live on first floor,” continued Mrs. Kuntzman. “Close enough to basement.”
Christmastime 1941 Page 3
