by Dean Hughes
“This world is a scary place right now,” Dad said. “Russia has always talked so high and mighty about the glories of communism, and now that gangster Stalin is trying to take over Finland, as if he can’t stand to see Hitler have all the fun.”
“Look what Japan has done, too,” Alex said. “They think they have a right to lead all of Asia, whether Asia wants to be led or not.”
Wally had heard these kinds of conversations too many times before. He ate quickly, and then he said, “Dad, I have a present I want to take to Lorraine. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
“No, Wally. Don’t run off. I want to hold our Christmas meeting as soon as possible.”
Dad was at the head of the table. Wally leaned forward and looked around Gene. “Come on. You’ll all still be sitting here at the table for at least that long.”
“Dad,” Bobbi said, “Phil is coming over to get me. I’m going to run up to his house for a while.”
“When?”
She hesitated, chewed, and then took a quick drink of milk. “Soon, I think. Maybe Wally could take off while I’m gone. I won’t stay very long.”
“No. Let’s hold our meeting right now—or you’ll all be running this way and that and we’ll never get around to it. If Phil comes along, he can join us.”
“Al,” Mom said, “I’ve got a turkey in the oven, and I’ve got to get the rolls mixed so they’ll have time to rise.”
“That’s fine,” Dad said. “But let’s meet first. It won’t take long.”
“I’ll tell you what, Dad,” Wally said. “I can give your Christmas talk—quick. I know it by heart. We all do.”
Wally laughed, but no one else did, and Wally saw Bobbi duck her head. Dad was staring at Wally, but he didn’t look angry; he looked hurt. That was not at all what Wally had wanted. “Hey, I’m just kidding,” he said. “It wouldn’t be Christmas if you didn’t give your talk.”
Everyone was silent—and tense. And Wally didn’t want that. He had really only meant to tease.
But then Alex stepped in. “Wally, when I was in Germany, I would have given anything to be here for that little meeting we always have. There’s nothing better in the world than to hear Dad read the Christmas story.”
“I know. I like that, too. I was just joking.” He looked at Dad. “I’m sorry. Really.”
And that was that, but Alex had said the right thing, as always. And Dad, obviously still ruffled by Wally’s comment, said very little at the meeting. He asked Alex to tell about Christmas in Germany. Alex picked up on Dad’s usual theme and explained how simple a German Christmas was, with lots of family togetherness and only modest gifts. Wally thought of asking whether jolly ol’ Hitler also played St. Nicholas for the children, but he decided he’d better keep his mouth shut.
After the meeting, Wally did drive to Lorraine’s to drop off his present, but she was about to leave for her grandparents’ home, and Wally only saw her for a couple of minutes. So Wally drove out to the Nakashimas’ and gave the boys each a little rubber football. He liked being around Mat and Sharon, and they always made him welcome, but they were busy, so he didn’t stay long there either.
When Wally got home, he found his dad in the living room.
“Dad, I’m sorry about this morning,” he said. “You all took me too seriously.”
Dad looked at Wally for a time, and then he said, “Wally, I do preach too much. I know that.”
“That’s what fathers do. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Well, anyway, let’s not worry about it.” Wally heard the change in his dad’s voice—the congenial tone that seemed to say, “Why don’t we just tolerate each other?”
“Dad, I really am sorry. I’m going to try to . . .” What he had thought to say was that he was planning to do his best at college. But the instant the idea came to his mind, he knew he couldn’t make any such promise. The truth was, he hadn’t done at all well fall term. “Anyway, I’m sorry I caused some bad feelings—you know, on Christmas and everything.”
“Let’s just make the rest of the day as nice as we can.”
“Okay.” Wally turned and walked upstairs, but he felt as distant from his dad as ever. The strange thing was, both Wally and Dad actually were trying to smooth things out between them. Wally had felt that for months. But there seemed to be no going back. They had both said too much the day Wally had quit the track team, and neither one could forget it.
***
That afternoon, when dinner was over and the house was still full of family, Bobbi pulled Alex into the kitchen and said, “Grab your coat. Let’s get out of here for a while.”
“Where are we going?”
“Just for a walk. I can’t stand the chaos any longer.” She hurried upstairs and got her coat and hat, and she met Alex at the front door. They slipped out before anyone could ask them where they were going.
Outside, Alex took a long breath. He liked the briskness in the air. As usual, smoke was hanging over the valley, but the eastern sky, above the mountains, was bright and blue. He pulled his gloves from his coat pockets and put them on. “So how’s everything going?” he asked. “How’s college?”
“All right.” A puff of steam escaped with her words. “Dad thinks I ought to change my major, but I love my lit classes.”
“What does Dad think you ought to study?”
“He wants me to go to nursing school at the hospital.”
Alex laughed. “Once you get married, I guess it doesn’t matter much what you studied in college.”
“You sound like Phil.”
“Why? What does he say?”
“He doesn’t think I need to graduate. He gave me a cedar chest for my Christmas present. He just wants me to fill that up with pretty little things, and then I’m all set. But I want to finish school. I’ve even thought about getting my master’s degree—or a doctorate—and teaching literature at a college.”
Alex laughed again. “Oh, Bobbi, you never do think like anyone else.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m thinking like you. You want to be a history professor.”
“Sure. But I’m a man. You’re going to be changing diapers and wiping runny noses before long. And let’s hope, for Phil’s sake, you can learn how to cook.”
“Alex, what is it with Mormon men? You all think alike.”
“Don’t other men think that way?”
“Not all of them.”
“Like who?”
“Never mind.” Either Bobbi’s cheeks were turning red from the cold, or she was blushing. Alex wasn’t sure what that was all about.
Bobbi waved to Sister MacFarland, who was sprinkling rock salt from a little paper bag on her front walk. She had on a huge gray sweater that hung to her knees. She was a widow, but the sweater looked like something she had knitted for her husband. “Hello, you two,” she shouted in her high-pitched voice. “I’ve got family coming over. I don’t want them to fall on the ice.”
Bobbi yelled to her, “You be careful. Don’t fall down yourself.”
Bobbi knew all the neighbors, and she kept track of them. She was like Mom. Alex could picture Bobbi as a good mother and housewife, even if she pretended otherwise.
“I can’t believe all the hours you’re putting in at work,” Bobbi told Alex. “I guess you are your father’s son after all.”
“Hey, I work hard just to carry my share of the load, but the thought of being in that place all my life makes me shudder.”
“So what are you going to do?” She pulled her stocking cap down over her ears.
“I don’t know. Dad’s working me into a real trap.” The two had come to a corner, and Bobbi was about to cross the street, but Alex said, “We’d better just walk around the block. Mom and Dad are going to wonder where we’ve gone.”
“What do you mean by a trap?”
“Well . . . this is all very hush-hush for right now, so don’t say anything, but Dad knows this guy named Henry Rosen. He owns a machine
shop that went broke during the depression. But now millions of dollars are pumping into companies that manufacture armaments. Rosen wants to re-tool the shop and start bidding on jobs to build parts—you know, go after subcontracts for big companies. There are supposed to be all kinds of opportunities.”
“But what does Dad have to do with it?”
“Henry doesn’t have enough money—or good enough credit—to get the operation going.”
“I see where this is heading. Dad will keep the dealership going, and you’ll see to his interests with the new company.”
“Exactly. Except it’s worse than that. He wants me to be a full partner. He doesn’t think this Rosen guy is much of a manager, so he wants me to be in charge.”
“He’s got a lot of trust in you, Alex.”
“I guess so. And frankly, I’m surprised by that.”
Alex saw some kids at the corner. They had new sleds but little snow to work with. They were taking short rides on a strip of ice along the side of the street. He thought of winter days when he had been a kid in this neighborhood. He and his friends had belly-flopped onto their Flexible Flyers and glided forever off these hills. Now the neighborhood was packed with houses, and most of the good runs were gone.
“Did you ever ride sleds up in Parley’s Ravine?” he asked Bobbi. “Up by the prison, above Thirteenth East?”
“Of course. That’s where everyone went.”
“In the summers, I spent all my time up in that ravine. We’d hike all day. Catch snakes and horned toads. And then we’d skinny-dip in Canyon Creek to cool off.”
“I even did that,” Bobbi said, and she laughed. “Except the girls wore their underwear.”
“We played war a lot,” Alex said. “We’d have battles all day sometimes. Plan out our attacks—kill each other off a hundred times. “Bam! I got you. You’re dead.”
“Except guys would always say, ‘No. You missed.’”
Alex laughed. “That’s right. You played a lot with the boys, didn’t you?”
“Yup. Maybe that’s my problem. I should have been home baking cookies.”
Alex was thinking about those war games. The bad guys had always been Germans—a holdover from the World War. And Germans had been nasty-looking guys who deserved whatever they got. “Bobbi, if I get in on this deal that Dad is talking about, I’ll spend my days building weapons. That’s not something I want to devote my life to.”
“No. I wouldn’t like that either.”
The two turned the corner and were heading east, up a little hill. Alex looked at Mount Olympus, the mountain he had longed to see the whole time he had been in Germany. Now, with the snow on the rocky peak and with the blue sky for a background, it was magnificent. Sometimes he wished there were a way to keep the world out—so he could hide behind these mountains and let other nations fight their
battles.
“The thing is, these weapons will be used against Germany, and I promised the members I would never be their enemy. This thing makes me feel like I am.”
Bobbi slowed and turned toward Alex. “You’re also thinking about Anna, aren’t you?”
Alex had been careful when he had spoken of Anna, but he had told Bobbi more than he had told anyone else. “Of course I think of her—and her family.”
“You’re in love with Anna, aren’t you, Alex?”
Alex kept walking. He finally found the voice to say, “Bobbi, I was a missionary. I didn’t say anything to her—not directly.”
“I saw that picture of her. She’s beautiful.”
“Actually, that’s not a great picture. She’s much prettier than that. Bobbi, she’s so beautiful it hurts to look at her.”
“Wow.”
“But it’s not just that. She had that experience—the one I told you about—and it softened her. She’s been close to God and back, and it’s touched everything about her.”
“Oh, Alex,” Bobbi said, “I hope you two will end up together someday.” She reached up and patted his shoulder.
“Bobbi, I’m going to tell you something I haven’t told anyone else.”
“Oh, good.” Bobbi laughed.
Her face was flushed, and Alex was reminded of how she had looked as a kid, bundled up, out in the cold all winter. She had never liked to be inside. “On the ship, coming home, I was out under the stars one night, and I prayed that I would be allowed to see Anna again. I got this powerful sensation that God had heard me and answered—that it would happen.”
“Then it will happen.”
“I keep hoping the war won’t last long, and I can get over there before too long.”
“I guess there’s no way to go there now.”
“Not that I know of.” Alex exhaled, and the steam blew around his face.
“Do you know if she’s getting your letters?”
“No, I don’t. And I’ve gotten no mail from her. But that doesn’t mean she’s not trying. We promised to write each other.”
“Alex, you’ve got to reach her somehow.”
“I know. I think about it all the time.”
For a time no one said anything, and they came to the final turn and walked back down the hill. “I know this is hard, but I still envy you,” Bobbi said as they reached the house.
“Why?” Alex asked. He stopped and tucked his hands into his coat pockets.
“You know why. Because you have your answer.”
A few days later, Alex was returning to the dealership after lunch. When he entered through the side door of the showroom, he noticed two of the salesmen in the back corner. One was sitting at his desk, and the other had pulled up a chair nearby. Both were smoking cigarettes. President Thomas hated that, but he had a hard time finding salesmen who didn’t smoke.
Alex had a tendency to stay in his office and shuffle paper, but he knew he had to get better acquainted with the employees, so he walked back to the men. “Hello, Sherm. Owen,” he said. “Not much going on?”
“Deader than a doornail,” Sherm said. He was a slick-looking man with a thin mustache and smoothed-back hair. “But it’s always slow during the holidays.”
“Yeah. I guess that would be the case.” Alex couldn’t think of anything else to say, but he glanced at the desk and noticed the Tribune open to the sports page. He saw a big picture of Joe DiMaggio. “What’s Joltin’ Joe up to this time of year?” he asked.
Owen was wearing a white shirt but no coat. He hooked his suspenders with his thumbs and stretched them out a little, and he smiled, showing a broken front tooth. “He made twenty-five thousand bucks last year. But he says that won’t be good enough next season; he wants thirty.”
Alex let out a little whistle. “Thirty thousand dollars?”
“Yeah. Can you believe that? And he’s just a kid. Gehrig gets thirty-five—Hank Greenberg more than that. Plus they get a few grand more for saying they drive this car or that, or they smoke a certain cigarette. Somethin’ ain’t right about it. Too many guys are knocking their brains out to make two or three thousand a year.”
“What about Joe Louis?” Alex asked. “What does he get for a fight?”
“Even more. He must be the richest nigger who ever lived.”
Sherm laughed. “I doubt it,” he said. “His manager probably keeps him in fried chicken and watermelon and takes the money for himself.”
Alex was uncomfortable with that kind of talk. He thought of the things Brother Stoltz had said about the attitude toward Negroes in America. But he didn’t comment, and just then Sherm said, “Hey, kid, you’d better get to work. Here comes your dad and your grandpa.”
Alex turned and looked. “Grandma too,” he said. They were all walking into the showroom through the front doors. Alex was glad for an excuse to get away from the salesmen. He waved to his grandparents and then walked toward them.
“Alex, my love,” Grandma Thomas shouted from some distance away, her voice resounding in the spacious room. She held both arms wide as Alex walked to her, and then she gave him
a big hug.
“Good to see you, Alex,” Grandpa Thomas said. He shook Alex’s hand. Grandpa was clearly the prototype for President Thomas. He was a big man with the same shadow of a beard, the same dark eyes. But President Thomas’s hair remained black, and Grandpa’s hair was now mostly white. He was also rather thin after having had surgery in the fall.
“Entertain your grandmother for a minute, will you, Alex?” Dad said. “Dad and I need to take care of a couple of things.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Grandpa said. “I don’t usually let a car salesman get me into his office.”
“I’ll choose a new car for us,” Grandma said. “You go set up an easy payment schedule.”
Dad and Grandpa both laughed and walked away, and Alex looked toward Grandma Thomas. “Have you seen the new Hudsons, ma’am?” he asked.
“No. Let’s look.” Grandma walked to one of the cars and then gave the back tire a little kick. “Isn’t that how you test these things?” she asked.
“Not with those pointy shoes,” Alex told her, and she laughed. Grandma always chose rather sensational clothes—exotic hats and brightly colored dresses. Today she had on her full-length chinchilla coat that she had worn every winter for as long as Alex could remember.
“So do you know what your dad and your grandfather are up to?” she asked. She opened the door to the Hudson and sat down in the front seat.
“No, I don’t.”
“They’re cooking up a deal that could make you a rich man. I guess you know something about that by now.”
“Yes, but I didn’t know Grandpa was in on it.”
“Your dad was afraid to lose all his own money, so he decided to speculate with some of ours.” She laughed, but then she said, “Actually, Grandpa’s pretty excited about the idea.”
“I wish I were.”
Grandma Thomas looked up. “Are you serious?”
“Well . . . yes.”
“Alex, I think you can make a lot of money on this deal.”
“I’ve never been that interested in money,” Alex said. He shrugged apologetically.
Grandma got out of the car slowly, and she stood in front of Alex, closer than was comfortable. “Alex, let me tell you something. I’ve tried poor, and I’ve tried rich. And rich is better. Trust me on that.”
