Christmastime 1940

by Linda Mahkovec

  Drooms and Lillian gazed at one another before they left. Lillian was filled with a happiness she hadn’t known in a long time; Drooms felt as if some heavy, stiff garment had finally fallen from him, and he was now light and mobile.

  Lillian called after them as she closed the door: “You two mind Charles, now!”

  Drooms froze and stared back at the closed door, his mouth open in surprise. She used the very words. Why did she have to say that? He felt his heart beating high in his chest, and he felt all prickly with dread as he recalled those exact words from his mother, calling after him – the last time he ever saw her happy: “You two mind Charles, now!” And the twins, Sarah and Sam, holding his hands as they left for the woods to find their tree.

  Drooms stood rooted to the floor, stunned to find himself in the same scenario, the very situation he had so carefully avoided all these years. Here he was again, in charge of two little lives. What had he been thinking? He knew not to open himself up like this. He knew, and yet he had let it happen. A dark foreboding spread through him, crowding out the buoyant feelings of just a moment ago. He didn’t want to go on, but the boys pulled on his arms.

  Gabriel led the way down the stairs.

  “C’mon, Mr. Drooms!”

  “Hurry, Mr. Drooms, the library’s gonna close!” said Tommy.

  Drooms tried to shake off the feeling, telling himself that he was overreacting. He followed the boys down the stairs, but images from the past began to bubble up.

  When Tommy opened the vestibule door, Drooms saw that it was snowing softly. He took firm hold of the boys’ hands. “I want you to hold my hand tightly when we’re outside. It might be slippery.”

  Tommy thought he was a little old for this, but he didn’t care, as long as they were outside. While they walked the boys chatted non-stop about snow forts and presents and Santa.

  But Drooms became increasingly distracted as memories began to string themselves together from that day in 1907. Tommy and Gabriel had the same bubbly excitement that the twins had on setting out to find their Christmas tree. The snow that day glistened in the sun from a sky that was pure, innocent blue. The scent of wood fire from the nearby farms added a hint of warmth to the cold, clear air. Once again, he heard the crunching of his boots as he traipsed through the snow, could feel the tiny resistance of the newly crusted snow as his boot broke through with each step. It was a perfect winter day.

  “Look Charlie, the snow is full of sparkles,” said Sarah, as she let the glittering snow fall through her fingers.

  Sam had scooped up a bunch of snow and tossed it into the air. Then he threw a handful at Sarah, “Have some sparkles!”

  She chased him down and threw handfuls of snow at him. They were like playful puppies, throwing snow and giggling as they tumbled over each other.

  Drooms tried to stop the memories, push them back, away from him. He tried to focus on what Tommy and Gabriel were saying, but when they passed The Red String Curio Store, the boys stopped and stared at the window display.

  The day was conspiring against him, for there in the window was a set of women’s hair combs, so like the ones he had bought that Christmas for his sweetheart, Rachel. He had wrapped them in green print paper. Under the combs he had placed a poem for her – “sweet face, hair like lace, eyes of blue, heart so true” – his imperfect attempt to tell her how he felt about her.

  Tommy and Gabriel broke free and ran to the window on the other side to look at the toys displayed for Christmas.

  The longer Drooms gazed at the hair combs, the fresher that day in 1907 became. His body dizzily flooded with memory, his vision swirled and swerved and once again Rachel was before him, with her brother Caleb. They were just turning into their farm lane and stopped to talk.

  “We’re gonna find our tree!” Sam hollered out to them.

  Sarah held up her red ribbon to show to Rachel. “And I’m going to tie this around it so Charlie can find it again.”

  Caleb smiled at the twins. “We got our tree yesterday. Out behind the pond.”

  “Oh, it’s beautiful Charlie,” said Rachel. “Why don’t you come by and see it? You can help trim it.”

  “Yeah, Charlie, stop on by,” Caleb said as he started down the lane.

  The twins giggled and ran past Rachel and Charlie.

  Rachel’s cheeks were rosy from the cold, her eyes smiling with merriment. She kept turning her head to keep her long hair from blowing in her face. Then she burst into that laughter of hers as she watched Sam and Sarah leapfrog and tumble in the snow as they ran down the path into the woods.

  Rachel took a step towards Charlie and twisted her shoulders from side to side, suddenly bashful. “Come by the house, Charlie. We made that spice bread you like so much. Mother calls it ‘Charlie’s bread.’”

  “Well, I can’t pass up that, can I? Besides, I have something for you – for under the tree.”

  “You do? For me? Oh, give me a hint.”

  Charlie smiled, and looking at her long dark tresses, he moved a strand of hair that had blown across her face.

  Rachel’s eyes grew bright as she guessed that the gift was something for her hair.

  Charlie glanced up and down the path, and not seeing Caleb or the twins, he took her hand and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Rachel smiled and took his other hand. For a few brief seconds, life surrounded them in its sweetness: Charlie imagined them walking hand in hand through the woods, visiting each other’s farms, bringing each other little tokens of affection, and someday courting. The late afternoon sun cast a golden aura around Rachel’s hair and Charlie knew he had made the right decision in the red enameled combs. It was a moment of perfection. Time stood still. And he was utterly happy.

  Until that moment was shattered by screams.

  “Charlie!!” a terrified scream. Was it Sarah or Sam?

  “Charlie! Charlie!” came cries of desperation. “Help us!”

  Charlie’s legs buckled beneath him. “Get Caleb!” he yelled to Rachel as he tore down the path.

  His stomach twisted and lurched. He ran and followed the screams, calling out, “Sam! Sarah!”

  His legs were not moving fast enough.

  “Charlie!! Help!” The screams were coming from near the pond. “Charlie!!”

  Fear flooded his face and he ran down the path, thinking No, no, no.

  The tree branches lashed his face and every root and rock rose up from the path and caused him to trip and stumble, losing precious seconds. Almost to the pond. He would get there in time.

  Then the cries stopped. A terrifying silence. His own screams became louder and more frantic, as if his voice were a rope that could reach them, help them to hold on. “Sam!! Sarah!!”

  Through the bare trees he saw that the twins had gone out on the frozen pond. They stood terrified with their arms held out as the ice was cracking, giving way beneath them.

  Then, in desperation, they lurched towards each other and clung together tightly, causing the ice to give way, just as Charlie reached the pond.

  In horror he watched as they fell through, grabbing at the ice and each other.

  “Hold on! Hold on!” He started to run out on the ice, but Caleb now ran up, and held him back.

  The rest was always a blur – where the branch had come from that he used to shimmy out to the hole in the ice; frantically grasping at an empty sleeve, an arm, a floating boot, a hand; crying for them to hold on, as he too began to fall through. Then, reaching and grasping and finally clenching his hands on each of their coats – his arms straining, trying and trying, but unable to lift them, the coats weighted with icy water. His mind told him to let go of one to save the other, but his hands would not obey. He couldn’t abandon either of them to the lone, dark cold beneath the ice. He would not let go. He would go down with them, but he would not let go. He heard his voice, calling to them, begging them to hold on. On the ice, next to his face, his eyes fixed on the green mitten that lay on the snow, the curve of the little h
and shape, so green against the white.

  It seemed like years before Rachel and a farm hand arrived with the ladder; years before they were finally able to pull the little bodies out; years before they could pry his fingers loose from the coats, and stop his screaming.

  Across the street from The Red String Curio Store, the neighbor boy Billy spotted Gabriel and hollered out to him.

  “Hey, Gabriel! Look what I got!”

  Gabriel spun around and gasped at the puppy Billy held up. Then both boys ran towards each other, just as a car rounded the corner and sped towards them. Billy and Gabriel both screamed out.

  Tommy ran towards the screeching car, waving his arms, shouting, “Stop! Gabriel!”

  The air suddenly filled with screams.

  Drooms’s face scrunched in perplexity as he stared at the combs in the window. He heard the children’s screams. But they were not the voices of Sarah and Sam.

  Drooms turned from the shop window, his stomach rolling. Gabriel was running into the street, in front of an oncoming car. Everyone was screaming.

  He saw the car brake and skid. He heard choking sounds coming from his own mouth. He would get there in time, and yet he couldn’t move; he was rooted to that icy pond, frozen, his words, his breath, nothing responding to his will. There was the same pounding heart, the same desperation of thought, willing it not to be true, willing to get there in time.

  And yet he could not move. Everything rushed past him, the people running, the screams and voices swirling around him, car doors opening and slamming. He stood helpless between two worlds.

  In horror, he saw Gabriel lying in the snow near the front bumper.

  Drooms shook his head, no, no. It couldn’t be.

  Again. It had happened again. Again, his fault.

  He couldn’t breathe or blink or move his mind. He just stood there, slack-jawed, staring at the little body in the snow. He would have to carry it home again. He would have to face those screams from his mother and sister again when they saw what he carried in his arms, in Caleb’s arms.

  He saw Tommy running, then bending over his brother, a look of terror on his young face. Tommy knelt next to Gabriel, talking to him.

  Drooms thought he was still crumpled at the pond, but another part of him was now kneeling next to Gabriel, though he didn’t remember running across the snow and bending down. Drooms lifted Gabriel in his arms. This body was not icy cold, this body moved, and its eyes were weeping. Not dead? Not dead?

  Drooms tried to pry apart the pond from the street. Tried to make sense of what was happening. He heard his own voice reaching him as if from far away. A man’s voice, not a boy’s. “Gabriel! Gabriel! Are you hurt?”

  Gabriel softly cried. When he saw the crowd of people staring at him, he buried his face into Drooms’s chest.

  Tommy rubbed Gabriel’s arm. “You’re all right, Gabe. C’mon. You’re okay.” He turned to Drooms, as if to comfort him. “He just fell. He didn’t get hit. I saw it. He’s okay.”

  All around them, people were arguing, asking questions. Billy’s father, the driver of the car, frightened passers-by. Drooms let their voices blur as he gently stood with Gabriel, holding him close, looking at his face, and then holding him close again.

  The driver stood in the snow, clearly shaken, but seeing that Gabriel and Billy were all right, he yelled at Billy’s father. “What, are your trying to give me a heart attack? Can’t you watch your kids?!”

  “You shouldn’t be driving so fast! You almost hit them!”

  The driver waved his words away, pushed through the onlookers, and drove off.

  Drooms didn’t fully trust what he saw. It seemed that Gabriel was all right, had not been hit. Or was he imagining it? Was he willing it to be true? Part of him still held the body of little Sam in his arms. He looked down again at Gabriel, half expecting him to be cold and blue. But Gabriel was alive.

  Drooms turned to Tommy, he trusted Tommy. Tommy was speaking to Gabriel, and Gabriel was listening to him, nodding. Tommy must be right. Drooms looked again from Tommy to Gabriel and back to Tommy. Gabriel was alive. He had not been hurt.

  Billy, still cradling the puppy, was lifted up by his father. They crossed over to Gabriel, who had his arms linked around Drooms’s neck.

  “You okay, Gabriel?” asked Billy’s father. “Billy, what the heck were you thinking?!” He patted Gabriel, “You okay, Gabe?” then back to Billy, “You know better than that. What have I told you a hundred times?”

  “Stop-look-and-listen, but Daddy I wanted Gabriel to see my new puppy.”

  His father held Billy tight and kept kissing his head and apologizing to Drooms. “I knew I shouldn’t have gotten the dog. Jeez, I’m so sorry. I never know what he’s going to do. I swear he’s shaving years off my life. You sure you’re all right, Gabe? C’mon, Billy. Let’s go home.”

  Drooms couldn’t stop shaking; his whole body vibrated as if shivering from extreme cold, and yet he was drenched in sweat. With awkward, jarring movements and trembling hands, he smoothed Gabriel’s hair and kissed his warm forehead.

  “C’mon Gabe, you’re okay,” Tommy said, taking charge. “He’s okay, Mr. Drooms. Billy always does stuff like that. You have to be more careful, Gabriel. C’mon, when we get home you can play with my Lincoln Logs.”

  As they set out for home, Tommy’s words eventually took away Gabriel’s fear. Gabriel wriggled down from Drooms’s arms and wedged himself between Drooms and Tommy, holding their hands.

  Drooms walked silently, staring straight ahead. He forced himself to be alert, to be on this sidewalk, in this city, now. He heard every word Tommy and Gabriel spoke.

  And yet the long suppressed memories pushed their way up, forcing Drooms to look at them: there he was, standing at the burial, cruel flurries stinging his eyes. His mother’s sobs ripping out his heart. His sister Kate, with her swollen, quivering face trying so hard to be strong. The black procession back to the farmhouse.

  He had not cried that day,nor any day since. He remained alone at the graves, immobile, frozen, leaving only when darkness began to fall. Then, just beside the barn, like a little sign from the grave, their tiny rabbit lay outside his pen, barely moving in the snow. He placed it inside his jacket, determined to keep it alive. But failing, once again failing them.

  The next day he had walked into town, to the grain and feed store, to the back counter. Under the deer head and the stuffed beaver and bobcat, he pulled out the tiny dead rabbit, and handed it to the taxidermist.

  Happiness can hinge on a minute, he thought, on a second’s miscalculated choice. On the desire to spend one more moment with your sweetheart, to see her smile at your words, to catch the sunlight in her hair. One tiny slip, and everything could change forever.

  *

  They arrived at Lillian’s apartment, Tommy and Gabriel talking over one another as they recounted what happened.

  Lillian lay Gabriel on the couch, covered him with the afghan, and kept smoothing back his hair. She looked from Tommy to Gabriel as she tried to piece together what had happened.

  Drooms never took his eyes off Gabriel, except once, when he glanced at Lillian and saw the anguish on her face, her head in her hands. He imagined the gratitude she must feel at the near escape from another family tragedy.

  Gabriel kicked off the cover saying he was hot, and sat up. Drooms saw that the boys were laughing, talking. They had all been spared.

  He quietly left, dimly aware of a voice calling after him, “Mr. Drooms? Charles!”

  He walked down the stairs and out of the building, wanting to be far, far away.

  Lillian was surprised by Drooms’s reaction. Did he think she blamed him? She knew only too well how quickly things could happen with the boys. Between the two of them there had been broken bones, stitches, a chipped tooth, nose bleeds…

  “Mom, the car didn’t hit him,” said Tommy. “I saw it. It was all Billy’s fault.”

  She wrapped her arms around Gabriel and kissed him
. “You could have been hurt.”

  “No he wouldn’t,” said Tommy. “Gabriel knows better than to run out in the street, don’t you Gabe?”

  “Yeah, Mommy, I know better than that. I just wanted to see the puppy.”

  “How about some hot chocolate, Mom?” Tommy asked.

  She smiled at his attempt to shift her focus. His tender protectiveness, the fright of the near accident, the flight of Drooms, brought her close to tears.

  Gabriel’s enthusiasm snapped her into action. “And some cookies? Can we, Mommy? It’s a cozy day.”

  Lillian nodded and went to the kitchen to prepare their treat. She set a plate of cookies on the coffee table, glanced at the clock, and then turned on the radio.

  “Look what time it is, boys. You’re just in time for your show.”

  From the radio they heard, “Jack Armstrong – The Aaaaaaaaaall American Boy.” The boys snuggled together under the afghan, and munched and sipped as they listened to the sounds of a typhoon bashing a ship in a far-off sea. Tommy laughed at Gabriel’s wide-eyed expressions.

  Lillian started to prepare dinner. She washed and chopped the vegetables, alternating between feelings of relief that Gabriel was all right, anger that Drooms had left like that, and sadness at the look on his face. He just wasn’t used to children, she thought. She could understand how he would be shaken, but she didn’t like that she was now worried about him, too.

  She made a fire for the boys and let them eat their dinners in front of it, their plates on the coffee table.

  “This is just like camping,” said Gabriel. “Hey! Can we sleep in front of our campfire tonight?”

  “Not tonight, Honey. I want you to get a good sleep. Maybe in a few days. Then we’ll even roast marshmallows. How about that?”

  “Can we go to camp this summer?” asked Tommy.

  “Yeah, can we go to camp?” echoed Gabriel.

  Lillian sighed. Always ten steps ahead of me, she thought, always racing into the future.

  “We’ll see.” She ran her hands through Gabriel’s hair, checking for any bumps or swelling, but he appeared to be fine.

  While the boys listened to their radio shows, she washed the dishes, and thought about Drooms. Periodically she looked out the window for him, but saw only the falling snow under the streetlights.