Christmastime 1940: A Love Story

by AGNES IRENE

  Lillian looked for any sign of sarcasm in his question but didn’t detect any. “Yes, he is. Thank you for asking.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Well, Good night,” he said, without his usual predatory manner.

  As they walked to the elevator, Izzy said, “He’s clearly interested in you, Lilly.”

  Lillian shook her head and pressed the button for the elevator. She assumed he was just trying a different tactic.

  “Don’t discount him,” said Izzy. “He could be your ticket to the Art Department. And he’s not as bad as he first seems. You know how some people put up a fake front to scare people away.”

  “Yes, I do know and I don’t like it. How is anyone supposed to know what someone is really like? Why can’t people just say what they mean?”

  Izzy was surprised at the warmth of Lillian’s response. “He’s actually kind of nice. In the ten years I’ve worked for him I haven’t heard of him do anything too bad. Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway.”

  “I don’t like the way he makes me feel – the way he looks at me.”

  “Oh, that’s just a stupid habit that comes with being handsome and powerful.”

  Lillian shook her head. “No. He’s not a comfortable person. There has to be some engaging quality, something you’re drawn to, that pulls you in–”

  “Sounds like you have someone in mind.”

  “No, I’m just saying…I don’t know what I’m saying. I think I’m just tired.” She waved her hand to brush away the tangled thoughts in her mind. “The boys have been asking when we can get a tree. I think I’ll stop by the tree lot on my way home and see what they have. See you tomorrow, Izzy.”

  Lillian made her way down the busy sidewalk, thinking how lucky she was to have Mrs. Kuntzman as a babysitter. She could take her time getting home tonight. She didn’t feel like taking the bus. Her mind felt jumbled, unfocused. Not happy. That was no way to be this time of year, she told herself. She would walk along Central Park and try to get her thoughts in order, muster up some holiday cheer. It might help to restore her sense of self. Usually it was the tiny things that lifted her up when she was down – the glow of the first lamplight in the dusk, the smell of wood fire in the air. She looked at the park with its snow-covered paths, heard the soft clopping of the occasional horse-drawn carriage, saw the lights of the city sparkling through the bare trees – and waited for that surge of pleasure. But tonight the beauty of the park did not touch her. Tonight it just looked cold and empty.

  When she arrived at the neighborhood Christmas tree lot she saw that it was busy with couples and families carefully selecting the perfect tree, deciding between the wreaths and garlands, and lining up at the hot cider booth. The scent of cinnamon and pine filled the air, colored lights hung around the periphery of the lot, and strains of Christmas music came from the corner where a group of street musicians played, adding to the festive atmosphere. It was just the kind of place she would normally have delighted in.

  She walked from tree to tree, considering the different shapes and colors. She stood in front of a sage colored spruce and felt its prickly branches through her gloves, then moved to a row of shimmery deep green pines. She took off her gloves and touched the long, soft needles; she leaned in, deeply inhaling the pungent fragrance. She could imagine one of these trees in her apartment near the couch, with the fire crackling, the boys sitting in front of it discussing what Santa might bring. She would come back for one of these, bring the boys, get them some cider. It would put them all in the holiday spirit.

  For now she would get a wreath with red ribbon and give it to Mrs. Kuntzman. As Lillian held up different sizes, she saw Mr. Drooms coming down the sidewalk. She took a quick breath and moved back among the trees, not wanting to be seen. But as she observed him, walking along the snowy sidewalk with his steady, heavy tread, his head and broad shoulders bent down, she realized that he was deep inside his own world and would not notice her. As he approached and passed, she wondered what darkness filled his mind. No, she thought. There was nothing they could do for each other. Nothing. She watched him until he crossed at the corner and she could no longer see him. Then she paid for the wreath and went to pick up her boys.

  Lillian climbed the steps to the babysitter’s and knocked at the door. When it opened, Lillian held up the wreath. “For you. I thought you might like it for your window or door.”

  Mrs. Kuntzman smiled and graciously accepted the wreath, taking deep breaths of the fragrant pine and saying, “Ahh,” after each one. “Like the forest back in old country, when I was a little girl. Thank you, Mrs. Hapsey. I put this in the window to make the house cheerful.”

  Lillian caught a different tone in Mrs. Kuntzman’s voice and observed her closely. The babysitter was smiling as usual, but Lillian saw a hint of sadness in her eyes. Lillian had never seen her like this before and worried that the boys had acted up. As Tommy and Gabriel ran to gather their boots and coats, Lillian asked, “Have the boys been giving you a hard time?”

  “Ach, no, no. They bring me happiness.” She made a vague gesture to the outside world. “It’s those others. Last week they throw a tomato at window, today an egg.”

  “That’s terrible!” said Lillian. “I can’t believe people can be so–”

  “Why they do this to me? I been here long time. My son fought and died in the Great War. My only son. What more they want from me?”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  The sadness on Lillian’s face prompted Mrs. Kuntzman to pat her hand and say softly, “This is what happen with war. This happen with last war, too. I don’t tell Tommy or Gabriel. They will find out soon enough how the world is.” She mustered up a smile. “For now, we keep them happy.”

  Lillian nodded and pressed her hand. “Please call me if there’s anything I can do.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hapsey.” She was still smiling and holding the wreath as Lillian and the boys left.

  Before going to bed, Lillian checked on her boys, as she did every night. But tonight the words from Mrs. Kuntzman echoed in her mind: “They find out soon enough…For now, we keep them happy.” Lillian gazed down at her sleeping sons. The light from the street softly highlighted their cheeks, their foreheads. She bent over them and watched the soft rise and fall of their chests, their innocent sleep. Here they were, safe in their beds. No war as yet, no sickness; they were excited about Christmas, the snow, life. Yes, she thought, as she kissed their foreheads, these are the beautiful hours. She vowed to do whatever she could to give her boys strong roots and happy memories that they could always carry with them near their hearts – should they ever need them for company in some faraway snowy trench.

  Chapter 7

  On Saturday Lillian and her boys passed Drooms in the doorway as he was coming home and they were leaving to go out.

  “We got our Christmas tree!” Gabriel said to him, too excited to note Lillian’s eagerness to keep moving.

  “Just now – and we carried it home by ourselves,” added Tommy.

  Drooms smiled at the boys, and then turned to Lillian. “You should have asked. I could have helped you.”

  Lillian interpreted the gentle expression in his eyes as the poor-widow-with-children look of pity. “Thank you. We managed all right.”

  “Yeah,” said Tommy. “It wasn’t that heavy. We’re going to get popcorn and cranberries to string.”

  “Want to help?” asked Gabriel.

  Lillian didn’t want to intrude on Drooms any further. She wasn’t sure which part of him she was more afraid of evoking – his unpredictable irritable side, or that heartbreaking vulnerable one.

  “Mr. Drooms is busy, boys,” she said, giving him a graceful way out. But when Drooms appeared to hesitate, she added, “Of course you’re welcome to stop by.” He seemed to be gauging her face, trying to know if she meant it or not, so she added, “You could join us for a bite to eat if you like.” She found herself warming to the idea of having him over. It might be a g
ood way for them to get past the tension that always seemed to surface between them.

  “And see our tree,” said Gabriel.

  “And help decorate it,” added Tommy.

  Lillian laughed at their enthusiasm and turned to Drooms for his response. But he now appeared preoccupied and looked away. “Thank you, but I have some things to do tonight.”

  Lillian’s temper flared and she felt her face flush. “Mr. Drooms leads a very busy life. He doesn’t have time for tree trimming and visiting. Come on, boys.” She left without saying goodbye.

  Drooms was taken aback by her abruptness. He watched them as they walked down the steps.

  Gabriel smiled and waved. “Bye, Mr. Drooms!”

  Tommy called back from the sidewalk. “You don’t know what you’re missing. It’s lasagna tonight!”

  Lillian was angry with herself for inviting him so impulsively, and then losing her temper. She didn’t want him to think that it mattered to her what he did. Yet she felt disappointed by his response. She had briefly imagined an enjoyable evening of simple holiday cheer. Now she dreaded that he might have mistaken her invitation, perhaps he even thought she was setting her cap at him. She groaned and promised herself, once again, to ignore her neighbor from now on.

  Drooms stared after Lillian as she walked out of sight. He wasn’t quite sure what had just happened. Surely she didn’t really want him to stop by? She was just a warm, neighborly sort of person, kind to everyone.

  He went upstairs and attempted to organize his papers, but couldn’t seem to focus. After a few hours of fruitless activity, he decided to go to the diner. When he passed Lillian’s door, he had half a notion to knock, knowing of course, that he never would.

  He sat at his usual booth at the diner, opened the menu that he knew by heart, and began to read it. The thought, the possibility that perhaps Lillian had been sincere in her invitation, struck him like a blow. What if she had really meant it? She certainly appeared offended when he declined. He tried to imagine himself sitting at the same table as her. What would they have to talk about? He felt both shaky and warm, almost happy at the thought.

  He quickly dismissed such foolery, looked again at the menu and saw that he had been staring at the dessert page. He opened to the specials, but once again his thoughts drifted, and he imagined Lillian in her apartment. Was she clearing the dishes by now, trimming the tree? Was she thinking of him? His gaze fell beyond the menu and into the dark wood of the empty booth. Never one for music, he was surprised to find himself lost in the simple lyrics of “Maybe.” Maybe, you’ll think of me. When you are all alone. He set his menu down and let the rest of the world fall away as he listened to the words, wondering at the desperate stirring in his heart.

  The waitress came and asked him if he wanted the meatloaf special. When he didn’t answer she smiled. “You like the Ink Spots, sir?”

  Drooms frowned at being caught in a personal moment. “When did you start playing music here?”

  She looked around perplexed. “You mean the radio? We always have it on.”

  He glanced down at the menu. “It must be on louder tonight or something. I’ll have the special.” He slipped the menu back in its stand and continued to frown as he tried not to listen to the song.

  He ate his dinner, stopping to look up now and then at the lights and traffic and pedestrians outside. Everyone in a hurry to go somewhere. After dinner, he sipped his coffee and opened the newspaper that he had brought with him. When he realized he was reading the same page over and over again, he asked for the check, and left.

  Lillian and the boys sat at the kitchen table, which was strewn with strings of popcorn and cranberries. Gabriel hummed along with the Christmas music from the radio as he attempted to make a red and green paper chain, and Tommy decorated his snowflakes with bits of foil and sparkles from the crafts box.

  Lillian quietly mended a blouse. She was thinking of other Christmases, and how Tom had always been in charge of putting up the tree. She should have paid more attention. After he was gone, his buddies from the firehouse had always delivered a tree and set it up for her. This year she had declined their help, saying she only had room for a small tree and that she and the boys could manage it by themselves. She didn’t want to bother them any more. She no longer lived close to them, and they all had families of their own.

  She lifted her eyes from her sewing to gaze over at the mess in the living room. Near the couch a large box sat open, revealing Christmas decorations. Strings of lights were stretched out on the floor. The six-foot tall Christmas tree lay on its side near a stand, pine needles all over the rug.

  Lillian shook her head and shifted her attention to the boys. Tommy was carefully picking out just the right bits of foiled paper and sparkles and gluing them on the largest snowflake, and Gabriel was brushing some paste on the end of a red strip of paper, his tongue in the corner of his mouth in concentration.

  Gabriel pressed together the ends of the loop, waiting for the paste to hold. “Hey, I know. While the paste is drying, let’s see if we can name the reindeers.”

  Tommy sneered without looking up. “Don’t be a dope, Gabe.”

  “Tommy!” said Lillian. “What have I told you about talking like that?”

  “But Mom,” Tommy said, “that would only take ten seconds. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donder, Blixen. Five seconds. His paste is going to take at least a minute.”

  Lillian tried to sound stern. “That’s beside the point. I don’t want you calling names.”

  Gabriel gave a snort under his breath. “You forgot Rudolph.”

  “He’s not really one of the reindeers,” said Tommy.

  “Yes, he is,” said Gabriel.

  “No. He’s not.”

  “He is so. Right, Mommy?”

  “Come on, boys. Enough of that. Finish up your projects. We’re going to need your decorations.” Lillian made a few more stitches. “This is our first Christmas in our new home – we have to make it look especially nice.”

  “I like our old home better,” said Tommy.

  “You just haven’t given this place a chance yet, that’s all,” said Lillian.

  “Can’t we go back,” he said, “just for a visit?” His tone had changed. He sounded like a little boy again, with a touch of sadness in his eyes.

  “Yeah,” said Gabriel. “Let’s go back and see everybody. And then come back here. I like it here.”

  Lillian smiled. “We will. After the holidays we’ll take a trip. See all our old friends. How about that?”

  Tommy shrugged and continued gluing bits of foil on his star.

  “And now, a green one,” said Gabriel. He carefully brushed paste on one end and pressed the ends together. He rested his chin on his hand as he waited, and watched what Tommy was doing.

  “I’m going to put sparkles on both sides of this one,” said Tommy.

  Lillian leaned over to look more closely at Tommy’s progress. “Oh, how beautiful you’ve made it! All shiny and sparkling!”

  Tommy held up the snowflake by the string and blew on it to make it twirl. He nodded in approval and set it back down. “Just a few more pieces and then it will be completely covered.”

  Lillian then switched her attention to Gabriel’s project. “And look how long Gabriel’s paper chain is. Very nice! Our new home is going to be so festive for Christmas!” Gabriel looked down at the paper chain and smiled at his accomplishment.

  She thought of all the Christmases they had spent together and how quickly they had gone by. Then, as if picking up on her thoughts, Gabriel suddenly looked up.

  “Mommy, will you tell me a Christmas memory?” he asked. Tommy was busy with his snowflake, but Lillian could see that he was listening.

  Lillian put her sewing down and tried to remember the details of the stories she had made up, before repeating them. Every now and then the boys caught her on some discrepancy and weren’t satisfied until she told it exactly the way they remembered.
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  “There are so many. Let’s see. When you were a little baby your daddy would carry you to the Christmas tree and show you the lights and all the ornaments. And you would reach out your little hands to them. Especially the glass Santa. He was red and carried a green tree.”

  Gabriel delighted in hearing the tale. “That’s cuz I liked that one, Mommy.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  Gabriel looked at her expectantly, waiting for more.

  “And one Christmas, maybe you were two or three, I couldn’t find you. I searched everywhere. Then I went into the living room – and there you were, fast asleep under the Christmas tree, with that same little Santa ornament in your hand.

  “Yeah, I remember that. But Daddy wasn’t there, then, was he. He was in heaven, right?”

  Lillian picked up her sewing. “That’s right.”

  Gabriel glued another link and pressed it together. “Is that where Santa is?”

  “No, Honey, Santa lives at the North Pole. You know that.”

  “I know.” He thought about this for a moment, and then asked in a tentative voice, “But do you think he ever goes there?”

  Both boys listened for her response.

  She looked from Tommy to Gabriel. “Well,” she said, setting her sewing down and considering how to answer. “I think he does at Christmastime.”

  Gabriel smiled. He then stretched out his paper chain across the table. “Finished!”

  “That’s beautiful, Gabriel!” Lillian leaned over and admired the uneven chain.

  Tommy took some string and tied his glittery snowflake to the window latch. Down below he saw Drooms returning home. “Hey, there’s Mr. Drooms.”

  Gabriel jumped up and knocked on the window and called out loudly through the glass. “Hi, Mr. Drooms!”

  Lillian also went to the window and peered down. There he was with his hands thrust in his pockets, walking through the snow. Gabriel knocked on the window again.