Over the Mistletoe
by Jennifer Robins
Published by Astraea Press
www.astraeapress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
OVER THE MISTLETOE
Copyright © 2012 JENNIFER ROBINS
ISBN 978-1-62135-091-0
Cover Art Designed by For the Muse Designs
To all the wonderful grandparents who tell tales of the great depression and how it affected them—how they fell in love regardless of the difficult times in our country’s history.
Chapter One
December 1939 Cleveland, Ohio
Daintily patterned snowflakes fluttered in front of the large display window at Maybees department store on the square. Little children pushed their faces up against the glass to observe the wonderful yearly holiday spectacle. Large layers of white cotton bedded the many toys and plush mannequins of elves bobbing up and down. The toys hovered over the train that ran across the layout and around the back to reappear again on the other side. A large Santa in the rear bounced up and down in laughter.
Ho ho ho, Rachael thought as she stood on her tiptoes to see over the many young heads in front of her. A tall man with a little boy on his shoulders stepped in front of her. She had to move to the right to get a better look.
She pulled the collar of her coat up around her neck and chin and held it there to block the cold air from her face. Now worn and thin from age, the garment had seen better days. It was of no concern to Rachael; most everyone else had either old clothes or hand-me-downs. The depression was making it impossible for many to afford new wardrobes or anything new for that matter. Jobs were scarce, leaving many without the necessary means to support their families or themselves. Rachael, on the other hand was one of the lucky ones. She had a part-time job at the farmers' market in town, where she worked three days a week at various jobs. It not only paid a few dollars but it provided some food items she didn’t have to pay for. The market also supplied many of the churches with leftover foods for their soup kitchens. With little means for refrigeration, the ice melted much too fast. They would rather see the food go to the people who needed it most, especially the children and elderly.
While she worked at the market, her father spent days on the road construction projects the government put in place through the Works Project Administration, known as WPA. As a husband and father, Andrew Taylor made sure his family was taken care of despite the hard times.
The crowd in front of the window began to dwindle as the light from the sun lowered in the western sky and clouds hovered overhead. The streetcar would soon be arriving and it was time for Rachel to go home. She stepped away from the departing viewers and walked to the stop sign where the streetcar would stop.
In her hurry, she collided with a young man who seemed to have moved right out in front of her. “Excuse me,” she said as she tried to go past him. She looked up into his blue eyes and was about to say something when he interrupted her.
“I couldn’t help watching you back there. You had a wonderful, happy face when you viewed that display. I always liked what they did in the window too.” His brown curly hair stuck out from his knitted hat. It was pulled tightly over his head and framed his square face. His five-o’clock shadow brought out the masculine line of his jaw. "Will you be getting on the next streetcar?”
“Yes, I will be. I need to get home before dinner. My folks will be waiting for me.”
He stepped aside for her to pass but kept up with her as they walked along. “I’ll be taking the same car,” he told her.
The clang clang of the streetcar bell signaled the arrival of her ride. It had started to snow. Rachael brought her coat collar up around her chin and blinked when the snow hit her eyes. Soon it was coming down much harder and large flakes rapidly covered the sidewalks and roads.
Hopefully, the snow and wind wouldn’t detach the electrical wires above and halt traffic.
With the screeching of the streetcar’s wheels coming to a stop, everyone huddled on the corner hurried from the curb to get into the car and out of the elements, Rachael and her admirer right with them. He took her arm and helped her up the metal steps. Passengers dropped their coins into the box next to the conductor while they piled in, then moved on to the seats behind him. The car filled up quickly with only a few seats left in the rear.
Rachael made her way back to find one unoccupied seat. Before she could settle in it, an older woman slipped by her and took the seat without hesitation. Her companion took her by the arm and led her to the other side, where a gentleman stood and let her have his place. The streetcar began to move, passing the area where groups of people had set up camps that people had started referring to as Shantytowns or Hoover Towns. Separate units were covered with slabs of wood, old burlap, or cardboard to house those who had no other means of shelter. Smoke from a tall metal drum swirled up into the growing night and dissipated high above as it reached for the sky.
“There ya’ go.” He assisted her in settling in the offered seat. “By the way, my name is Stanley but everyone calls me Stan. I hope you don’t mind me talking to you like this.” He pulled the cap from his head, letting his curly locks fall loose around his face as he squatted down in the aisle beside of her. His eyes now in line with hers, he apparently waited for a response.
“No, I don’t mind.” She scooted back and let her hands drop to her lap. “My name is Rachael and everyone calls me . . . Rachael.” Blushing, she let out a little giggle and laced her fingers together in a nervous hand hold. The woman next to her glanced over at Stan and gave him a shattering look of disapproval then turned her head and stared out the window.
“Do you have far to go?” he asked.
“About three stops from here, at West Baker Street.”
“I think that’s right where I’ll be getting off too. Maybe I can see you to your door. Is it a ways from the stop?” he asked as he continued to squat beside of her.
The bell on the top of the car sounded, sending the alert of an upcoming stop, and the conductor shouted out the location. The car slowed and came to a complete standstill. When the doors opened, a rush of cold air swept in, hitting the passengers huddled in the aisles.
Once the ones who had exited were safely out, the doors closed, and with a jerk, the car started forward again.
Stan resumed his position, crouching in front of Rachael. He let his eyes drift to her hands. She got the idea he might be looking for a wedding ring. He looked up at her and smiled. He seemed to want to know everything about her, but all he asked was, “Do you come downtown often?”
She leaned over to speak to him with more privacy. “Yes, I work at the market three or four days a week. Do you come down often?”
“I deliver newspapers to the stores. It doesn’t pay much but I’m just happy I have a job. There were over two hundred people applying for it when I went to see about it and I got it over all of the others. I think it was because I showed interest in the news business. I only work the two days a week when the Herald comes out.”
A little shy to ask, Rachael stammered through her next question. “Do you live in this area?”
“Not exactly, but close enough to see you to your door with no problem. That is, if it’s all right with you.” He reached for
her hand, but she drew it up closer in her lap away from him.
The snow flying past the window to her left had her wondering how cold it would be walking to her house about a block away from where she’d be let off. She glanced over at Stan’s lightweight jacket and felt bad he’d be escorting her in the winter storm brewing outside. The jacket didn’t appear to be very warm.
When the streetcar came to the next stop, many of the passengers exited through the back doors while others moved up front where it was a little warmer. Rachael stood to let the older woman next to her out, then slid in to take her place by the window. The next stop would be hers but she wanted to allow Stan to sit the rest of the way. He took the seat next to her.
He seemed to be interested in learning more about her and he kept on talking. “Have you lived here long?”
“All my life. I was born here,” she said as she turned toward him.
He made her feel something she was not used to...tingles down her spine, a warming in her stomach and an indescribable need she had never experienced before.
Slightly embarrassed by her feelings, she turned back to the window and stared out at the snow and the sights rushing by as they traveled toward her destination.
The conductor’s voice came loud and clear. “West Baker Street.” She heard the bell of the streetcar ring and the screeching of the wheels on the rails.
Stan rose and let her out and followed her to the door, holding fast to the poles as he made his way to the front. He then stood behind her ready to help her off.
The jolt of the car coming to a stop almost threw her backward into his arms, but she held on to the pole by the door to prevent contact with him. The door opened, letting in the brisk cold of the wintery storm.
Going around her, Stan reached up for her hand and helped her down the two steps to the street. Once she exited the streetcar, her worn boots sank into the snow. The cracks of age had taken a toll on the soles, but they still kept her feet dry and somewhat warm. With his arm in hers, they stepped quickly to the curb and up to the snow-covered sidewalk.
****
Stan felt the cold on the bottoms of his feet. He hoped the cardboard he’d lined his shoes with to cover the hole in the sole would keep them from getting too wet. He wanted to have enough money to afford another pair of shoes or maybe a cheap pair of boots, but after his half of rent payment and food for the month, there was nothing left but two bucks that had to last until the next paycheck.
Happy he had found work instead of riding the rails from town to town like so many other young men and women were forced to do, looking for work, he was satisfied with what he had for now. The long lasting depression had to come to an end soon, so he thought, or so he hoped.
With the wind blowing snow in every direction, the two of them ventured down the street walking side by side with Stan holding tight to Rachael’s arm, his hat pulled down over his head to cover his ears and part of his cheeks.
“I guess we’ll have snow for Christmas,” he yelled over to her.
Holding her coat collar up to her face, she nodded and trudged on through the snow.
Her house, a colonial, had a large front porch with a glider. The glider, secured by chains to the ceiling, swung back and forth with the wind, moving as though someone was riding on it. A soft light shone through the colorful stained glass door, its warm glow spreading across the porch and lit the way to the entrance. Five steps took them up to the tall roof overhead.
Rachael hurried to the door while Stan stayed behind her. He glanced around the front of the house and marveled at how well kept the home appeared to be.
“What a nice place,” he commented.
“Yes, my father bought this house when my parents got married. He had an inheritance of enough money to be able to afford it. My grandfather had a thriving tool and die business that no longer exists. He died before the depression hit, and my father, who wanted to keep the company going, had no choice but to close it down. At least we still have the house.”
She turned around to face him. “I wish I could invite you in, but my parents would be upset over the fact I let a stranger walk me home. But, if you like, maybe some time in the future I can have you over to meet them.” She hesitated, and cleared her throat. “I guess, what I mean is…”
He raised a finger to her lips. “I know what you mean and I would love to see you again. How about lunch tomorrow on the square downtown? Are you working tomorrow?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. I take it you will be also. Is twelve-thirty all right with you?”
“Right by the skating rink across from Maybees, by the little shelter they built for sitting. I hope that won’t be too cold for you. We can always go inside one of the buildings.”
“Only if you let me pack us a lunch.”
“It’s a deal. You better get inside before you catch your death of cold. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Rachael.” He turned and went down the stairs, then turned around to wait for her to get inside before going on his way, which meant walking several blocks to his apartment in the flurry of heavy snow and wind. He pulled his jacket up around his neck and started down the street.
He paid little attention to the weather as he hurried along thinking of Rachael, a girl who took his breath away with her outstanding beauty. When he had seen her at the display window with a glow of holiday spirit in her eyes, he’d known he had to get to know her.
Chapter Two
All evening Rachael could think of nothing else but Stan and her date for lunch with him the next day. After dinner with her parents, she retired to her room to choose what to wear and take inventory of what funds she had left from the pay she’d received two days ago. She opened her pocket book and took out her little change purse. It didn’t feel very heavy. When she opened it and turned it out on her bed, she saw she had all of fifty-two cents left until payday next week. She’d already bought eggs for eighteen cents and a loaf of white bread for eight cents. She could make egg sandwiches with a little of her mother’s homemade catsup and a slice of the cheese they still had from the previous week’s groceries. There had been nothing left over to bring home from the market for the past week, so what she had in the house was going to have to do. She couldn’t spend any of what was in her purse because she would need it for transportation and coffee at work.
The chill in the air brought her to the dresser where she pulled out one of her flannel nightgowns and a pair of warm socks.
It wasn’t Saturday, so she would have to wash at the sink with the smelly red soap, instead of soaking in a nice hot tub. Heating water took a lot of gas and her parents tried to keep the budget of their household expenses at a sensible level. Oh, how she wished the depression would end and everyone could go back to work and live better, but there was nothing in the forecast for anything good coming along soon.
Her wardrobe was another issue. She hadn’t bought a new outfit for a couple of years and that was only a dress from the Salvation Army ─ forty-five cents. Never mind all that, she thought as she opened her closet door.
The little cotton blue dress seemed to jump out at her as being the right one for sure. When she looked at it, she thought of Stan’s deep blue eyes. She took it down from the hanger and walked to the mirror over her dresser. Holding it up to her body, she admired the way it looked and was convinced it was the right one.
The flurry of snow outside her bedroom window caught her attention. If this keeps up, I may not even get out of this house by tomorrow. She clucked her tongue and went back to the closet to hang the dress up. Tomorrow was important to her. It was a date with a handsome guy and she didn’t want anything to spoil it. Like most young girls at the age of nineteen, Rachael dreamed of a romance and a grand wedding some day. Finding the right life partner was what she worried about, but she was not about to pass up an opportunity to date a seemingly nice person like Stan, even if she didn’t know much about him…yet.
Excitement flowed through her as she undress
ed and readied for bed. The clanking noise coming from the basement told Rachel that her father was loading the furnace with coal for the night. When the cold weather set in, all he would talk about was converting to oil, which also was not in the budget. How often she watched him come up those basement stairs with black hands and a sober look on his face, and go to the kitchen sink to wash up before doing anything else.
At least they were better off than some in the town. They had food and a roof over their heads which was not the case with so many unfortunate others.
Rachael had a high school education and wanted to go on to college but that would have to wait. Not many young women went on to higher learning but this was another one of her dreams. She wanted to become a teacher.
In her long flannel nightgown, she went downstairs to say good night to her parents, who sat in the living room listening to the radio. Her mother sat with her knitting needles clicking, busy at work constructing a sweater for her in her favorite color, blue. She laid the knitted wool piece down in her lap when she saw Rachael coming down the stairs. “I see you’re ready for bed. It’s a little early but I’m sure you’re tired after working today. Come give Momma a kiss.”
“Yes, I’m pretty tired, all right, and I want to get up early tomorrow. I’m going to pack a lunch for me and a friend so I need a little extra time. I hope this snow stops before morning or I’ll never get downtown if the streetcars stop running.” She walked over to her mother and bent down to give her cheek a kiss.
Her father looked over at her from the overstuffed chair he loved so much.
Rachel glanced back at him and laughed. “Don’t worry; I’ll give you a goodnight kiss too.” She wondered when she would ever grow out of the need for her parents. She figured she was getting too old to have to kiss her parents goodnight all the time, but so what, she thought. Smiling she strolled over to her father.
Andrew was a loving man who did everything in his power to keep his little family well taken care of. A little gray around the temples and slightly overweight, he still was a handsome man.
Jennifer Robins Page 1
