A Moment Forever

by Cat Gardiner

  Disappointed, her smile disappeared quickly, feeling a bucket of ice water attempting to douse her desire to impress him, and make him hers. “Hmm, too bad. I’ll miss getting to know you further.”

  “I’ll miss lots of things, too.”

  Her spirits continued to feel dashed by his pensive expression. “Lots of things? Like your family? Your home … where is your home?”

  “I live in quiet, tame, and well behaved Park Slope. We moved there when I was just a boy. Before that, we lived near my father’s business on the Bowery.”

  “And, what does your father do?”

  “He’s not a shoeshine in Grand Central Terminal if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  He took a swig from his soda, and she noticed the way he watched her reaction. She didn’t miss his implication, causing her to blush in embarrassment.

  “I … um …”

  Lizzy bit her lip, and he chuckled. “Don’t worry, Lizzy, I know you were just teasing John’s sister, and I’m just teasing you. My father works at the DeVries Diamond House in the new diamond district on 47th Street. So you see, I’m actually glad you didn’t know on Memorial Day. You might have told Miss Robertsen the truth, then my holiday would surely have been ruined.”

  “Diamonds? Ooo, how glamorous!”

  “Not really, but you can understand why someone like her would see that as an opportunity.”

  “Oh yes, Greta would have sunk her claws into you for sure. She’s quite the gold-digger even with all her money. I only said what I did poolside to dissuade her. I was being a good hostess.” She laughed, noting Will’s expression. Obviously, he saw through her cheeky transparency.

  “Is your father a manager at the diamond house?”

  “Dad actually owns the business and runs the American branch while my Aunt Estella and grandfather ran the European branch from, well … up until about two years ago … Amsterdam. They’re both in France now where my aunt has lived off and on for years.” Will’s voice trailed slightly and a shroud of darkness came over his countenance. “They live in Paris now.”

  “That’s right, you did say you were French.”

  “Of French ancestry on my paternal side, but like you and your family, I’m American. My mother was born in the Netherlands, and she emigrated just prior to the outbreak of the First World War. My aunt, who never married, remained in Europe with my grandparents and focused on developing the European market.

  “So your mother is Dutch?”

  “Yes. Hardly speaking English, she taught herself from the newspaper and then became a citizen. She married my father before he left for the war in 1917.”

  “That sounds romantic, brave, and determined. Have you ever visited your mother’s homeland?”

  “I did, and I loved it. As a family, we traveled to both Holland and France in ’34, touring some but mainly visiting with relatives. It was the first time she had been home since her arrival in America.”

  “How exciting! I enjoyed Paris but wouldn’t want to go back. One day, I hope to travel to the places I have yet to see. Share them and experience them for the first time with someone special, someone who wouldn’t mind taking Kitty so she, too, can see the world.”

  “It’s a different Paris now than what it was before the war. Perhaps, things will set right once America joins the Allies fighting in Europe. Like you, I always desired to see Italy …Venice and Florence. Perhaps, afterwards, your visit to Rome will be possible.”

  “Yeah … after the war.”

  Lizzy reached across the soda bottles resting between them and played with the silver wings above his breast pocket. She was about to say something clever, probably flirtatious about seeing Rome with him, but was distracted by the crowd reaction to Roy Rogers and Trigger trotting by the promenade’s entrance. After a minute, their attention was drawn to two passing, well-dressed women. One held the other in support as they walked by the gardens back toward Fifth Avenue.

  The parade elicited various emotions, ranging from sadness and fear to determination, and for just about everyone, the war hit close to home. Lizzy had come to learn this, having reflected upon it only days earlier.

  The woman sobbed something about how she missed her husband and how the baby would never know him. Lizzy couldn’t help feeling choked up by the stranger’s pain, feeling as though she wasn’t a stranger at all because they were “all in it together.” Her eyes pooled with sympathetic tears, and her hand stilled upon the pilot’s wings with a strange tingling sense of foreboding.

  The slight lip tremble accompanying the tears welling was the confirmation Will needed. The unchecked droplets filling her eyes showed the sensitive woman she hid behind this bold personality of hers. Sympathy for another, rather than apathy, indifference or worse—prejudice—was all he needed to see to know and believe that she could never share her father or sister’s hateful views.

  He surprised himself when his hand automatically clasped her clinging fingers, enclosing them within his grasp. He couldn’t help his burgeoning admiration, as his strong fingers smoothed into gentle caresses. Gone was her flirtatious party girl persona, and in her place sat an uncharacteristically shy and demure woman who watched as the man she brazenly pursued held onto her hand, stroking her palm.

  She blushed.

  “Will you write to me, Lizzy? Will you tell me all about yourself and life in the city and on the Island?”

  She nodded, suddenly finding herself speechless, vowing to herself that she would tell him everything, share all of herself within every letter. Whatever he needed and wanted, she would give to him in every word, prayer, thought, and deed. There was no doubt in her mind—she was undeniably crazy about this flyboy, wishing to never part from him again.

  Will entwined his fingers with hers. “Will you send me your brilliant effervescence written with this delicate hand of yours?”

  So happy and unable to conceal that vibrant spirit of hers, she beamed, now convinced of his interest. “I thought you’d never ask, and if you write back to me, I may be so inclined to pen you a few sonnets. Some say it is the food of love.”

  “Let your words be the poetry and the rest will fall into place if it’s destined to be.”

  ~~*~~

  Foolhardy. Dangerous. Illogical. These were the three reasons why a thinking man of 21 about to depart for war objected to romance. Then again, when Will formed that opinion, he had yet to meet Elizabeth with that intoxicating smile and mischievous laugh of hers.

  From the first moment she ran him off the road in her Lincoln Zephyr, the battle had ensued within him, knocking him for a loop. Then, with the introduction of those smirking, cherry-bomb lips and the green sparkle in her fine eyes, he was completely captivated. That was two weeks ago, and try as he might he couldn’t fight her allure. He was a goner, officially doll dizzy, for only one doll.

  Now, walking in the darkness toward Central Park with its dimmed lights, he held her hand in his tight grasp. The parade’s torchlight procession was just about to begin as ragged rows of glowing amber lit the entrance to the park and Fifth Avenue. She looked over at him, beaming with her excitement that reached down into his soul, shaking it to life. There were three new words that any thinking man would declare following a day spent with the most fascinating woman he had ever met. Be. My. Girl.

  “This is so exciting, Will! I’m so happy to be a part of it with you.”

  She nearly skipped from her newfound patriotic enthusiasm as he led her toward the carousel, causing him to smile like the wacky, love-struck fool he had become in the short span of four hours. The calliope music grew louder above the growing din of processioners filling the pathway.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

  “I love surprises!”

  He didn’t. Well, not usually. But meeting her had bolted him from the blue, and darn if he didn’t love the way it made him feel.

  When they reached the amusement ride, she sq
uealed, and he laughed along with her. “Have you ever been on it?” he asked.

  “Never! It’s positively lulu.”

  They stood hand-in-hand, alternating shy glances of unspoken burgeoning emotion with childlike awe of the painted horses rising up and down, circling round and round without destination. Every time Lizzy gazed up at him, he noted how the reflection of hundreds of bulbs from the merry-go-round sparkled in her eyes, and he felt a slight flutter in his heart. The carousel may have illuminated the park but it was her own effervescence that lit her countenance from within.

  Children’s laughter combined with the music in a delightful symphony, mixing with the intoxicating scent of the fragrance she wore. Sublime. It was all so perfect and felt so unreal as he stood proudly attired in his military dress uniform.

  “C’mon, let’s go for a ride, Pistol,” the spontaneous pet nickname unexpectedly emerging from his mouth.

  The aged attendant stood with hands on hips surveying the carousel with a keen eye. Will observed how he turned away a few other GIs and their girls who had gathered from the parade. The words, “Sorry, boys. This is the last run for the night. Gotta shut her down,” pricked his ears with disappointment, and he did the most impulsive thing he’d done in years.

  He whispered into Lizzy’s ear, “Follow me,” tugging her hand.

  Her hurried footsteps followed on his heels. “Oh, Ducky are you going to do what I think you’re going to do?”

  “Ducky?”

  “Your new nickname. Ducky as in shincracker. Now, are you being a naughty flyboy, sneaking us onto the carousel? I’m so proud of you! It may seem that you’re not a fuddy duddy after all.”

  “What can I say? You’re a bad influence on me.”

  “I won’t say I told you so.”

  Yes, you did and I do believe you’re right. You’re exactly what I need.

  They reached the wood barricade on the far side away from the attendant’s view, and, with an impromptu lift, Will scooped her up into his arms, causing her to break into a fit of laughter.

  “Shush… he’ll catch us.”

  He placed her on the other side then hopped over in a swift move that made her guffaw. There was no time to puff his chest in pride of his dexterity. He grabbed her hand with a chuckle at their monkey business, and together they jumped onto the circling carousel.

  Watching her choose her mount enchanted him. It was as though each one had some special singular appeal. First, she’d touch the mane then move onto another, feeling the braided pole. It was obvious how the colors attracted her, like her own vibrant personality attracted him. Unlike other girls, she didn’t acknowledge her reflection in the large mirrors that formed the decorative center panels. Instead, she admired the whimsical beauty of each horse. She chose a stallion and grinned like a schoolgirl. Lizzy’s blithe spirit warmed his heart and captured his mind, transporting him to a place where war and prejudice didn’t exist.

  Coming to stand beside her, his arms slid around her slender shape as she rose up and down, her delicate hand encircling the metal pole. His fingers delighted in the curve of her waist and the soft feel of her dress. “Lizzy?”

  Biting the corner of her lip, she gazed into his eyes. He felt the heated flush to his cheeks, uncontrollably mirroring her coy blush. The ride’s calliope music cast a magical spell that prompted a memory to be forged, one he was sure would carry him through war. His heart raced in a nervous staccato.

  “May I kiss you?”

  Her smile bowled him over. It reached her eyes and his heart.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she said.

  Tentatively, his mouth inched toward hers, and he closed his eyes. Soft, warm lips met with a delicate pucker, growing deeper in sweet innocence, both unwilling to part in their discovery of the first promptings of love. He’d never tasted anything as incredible and delicious as her lips.

  “Hey you two! What are you doing on there?” the attendant yelled, jolting them from the most glorious four seconds of their young lives.

  They laughed and then so did he, waving at them with a dismissing hand.

  “Ah, love,” the man said. “I remember it well.”

  ~~*~~

  Ten

  You Are My Sunshine

  June 16, 1942

  With preparations and his packing well in hand, Will’s attention this morning centered on how much he loved breakfast spent with his mother and how much he would miss it. That tender thought moved quickly to how Louie loved his morning eggs and would have to keep a stiff upper lip when eating those powdered ones aboard the transport ship.

  Sitting, clutching a hot cup of coffee at the table in the center of their homey kitchen, his mother stood at the stove behind him. Will supposed the Martel kitchen looked similar to most family kitchens and wondered if the Renners ever ate in theirs. Probably not. The kitchens in those ritzy mansions were reserved for staff, and the family most likely wouldn’t share breakfast together in what he supposed was a lavish dining room that could seat forty or more.

  His fingers traced the red and white rooster and hen salt and pepper shakers and he smiled, thinking how the Renners probably used crystal or silver at every meal. His mother loved roosters and the theme seemed to have taken over her kitchen with a cheerful invasion of red gingham and rural Americana motifs. One would assume Delft and windmills would be her choice of knick-knacks, but no, his mother was All-American. Like his father, he didn’t care about the kitchen decoration. It was a place where she spent a lot of time, and the décor represented her happy demeanor. He couldn’t help but speculate with sardonic humor how the Renners most likely decorated with Goebel figurines. Add another b and it surely summed up the patriarch’s purified version of “All American.”

  Even the weekly newspaper, Hadoar, spread out before Will offered yet another example of the difference between his and Lizzy’s worlds. Who would have ever thought he’d pursue a society dame and in four hours be on his second—much anticipated—date with the dangerous temptation.

  “I am sorry there is no sugar for your coffee.” Anna apologized to her younger son, her native accent still inherent in every word and phrase as she fried the eggs for their version of a traditional Dutch breakfast. “It is ration’s fault. It is Hitler’s fault, not your mouder’s.”

  “It’s okay, Mom. I can do without it.” Fried eggs and freshly percolated coffee combined with the baking currant buns made the kitchen smell delicious. He’d rather the sugar for the buns than the coffee.

  When the bread popped up from the shiny Sunbeam World’s Fair toaster, Will rose to help his mother. He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed the side of her head for no reason except that he loved her and the unusual melancholy tone in her voice alerted him to her need for affection.

  She leaned her head on him for a brief moment, continuing to watch the eggs before covering them to steam.

  “What will I do without you and your gentleness and your brother and his humor?” She sighed heavily. “What is a mouder to do?”

  “Pray I suppose—stay busy. We both had only been back for a few weeks. You’ll go back to your old routine, right?”

  “My lonely routine.”

  “Maybe you can go with Dad to the shop. I bet he’d love to have you, and I know he could use the help since he has his hands full fighting off the government’s attempt to grab industrial diamonds from the syndicate.”

  “I have thought to go back, but so many years have passed. I do not like change at my age.”

  “Change is here whether we like it or not, but there is a lot of good change, Mom. Women are working in every position a man vacates when he goes off to fight.”

  “I do not know. This new location on 47th Street brings the orthodox, refugee Hasidim to do business in the district. They do not allow or associate with women at work. I would be looked upon as an outcast and the business will suffer for it.”

  Will kissed his mother’s head again then chuckled. “Well, then
it’s a good thing you’re not Hasidic and that everyone believes that DeVries Diamond House is owned by a Christian, isn’t it? Stop looking for excuses to resist change. Another war forced change upon the DeVrieses and you rose to the occasion, coming to New Amsterdam. You can do it again.”

  She placed a slice of cheese followed by the egg upon the toast, handing the dish to her son. “That was by choice. My home was neutral during the first war. Hitler has given us no choice now. Your tante and grootvader have no options, no choices either now thanks to that Vichy government in France. They never should have left Amsterdam.”

  So that was at the heart of her feeling so glum. “No, it’s good they left. Things are escalating in the Netherlands. Besides, Aunt Estella had no choice. Your sister was very wise to travel from Paris to get Grandfather and clean out all of DVDH’s diamonds and assets before the Nazis seized the bourses in Amsterdam. The diamonds and money have been in safekeeping these last two years in New York, and Grandfather and she have been safer in Paris than Holland.”

  “But, they are not safe. I know this and so do you, there is growing intolerance by that new collaborating government.”

  Will could tell by the tone in her voice that there were things she wasn’t saying, which was so contrary to her usual frankness. He furrowed his brow. “Have you received a letter from Paris?”

  “Not from Estella but from the House’s courier. He writes in Dutch. Your grootvader is very ill. They could not leave for Spain or Switzerland even if they wanted to. Money or diamonds cannot buy their way to safety when he is so frail.”

  Will sat, his heart sinking into the chair with him. His mother was right, of course, but he would not feed her fears. Silence was better than lying and certainly better than agreeing with her in this instance. Only days before he had read of even more restrictions on Jews, and not just on the foreign-born ones residing in France. The article spoke of the mandatory wearing of the yellow, six-pointed star, causing Will to become consumed with concerns for his closest remaining family in Europe.