Christmas Once Again

by Jina Bacarr

  Cool perspiration breaks out over my upper lip. Oh, God, what have I done by coming back here?

  ‘Then I did what Pop would want me to do,’ Junior continues, fired up. He slams his fist into the palm of his hand. ‘I laid him out on the pavement and then went after his friend. He chickened out and ran, so I dragged the creep to his feet and—’ He stops and glares at me, his eyes searching. ‘It ain’t true, is it? What they said?’

  What do you tell a fifteen year old boy who looks up to his sister?

  ‘I – I, uh…’

  ‘I don’t believe it, Kate. Not you and that slimy Timothy Rushbrooke.’

  ‘Timothy?’

  ‘The jerk said he was boasting down at the pool hall you went out with him. Talk is any girl who goes out with him is easy.’

  I want to laugh, but my kid brother won’t understand my sudden mirth. Instead, I grab his hands and hold them in mine. They’re cold, but they warm as I speak to him in a calm, clear voice. I tell him I’ve never gone out with Timothy, but I’m seeing Jeff and it’s serious between us. Is that okay with him? I can’t believe the light shining in his eyes, even if one is droopy.

  ‘Jeez, Kate, that’s swell. Pops says Mr Jeffrey is the greatest.’

  Then Junior grabs me around the waist and hugs me, a first from a kid brother who never shows his emotions around me or anybody, who is too inward to reveal what’s bothering him. Tonight he has come out of the woods and fought back the demons that cloud his mind.

  For me and himself. That’s a good thing.

  ‘Mm… kiss me again, Jeff.’

  I close my eyes and lean against the rough bark of the big ole cherry tree and wait for his lips to meet mine. It doesn’t happen. Jeff has something on his mind, but what? Instead of the blistering hot kisses I can’t get enough of, my lips sting with the chill of a night so deep and dark my mouth turns blue. I shiver.

  Not every scene, every moment on my journey back is perfect – far from it – but my time with Jeff is sacrosanct. I forge new memories with him every time we’re together that are warm and sweet, like the sun-kissed cherries we savored as kids. The flavor ripens to the best of delights and I want more. Tonight is no exception. Still, he says nothing.

  We met under the cherry tree after I had dinner with the family. A talkative affair with everyone doing their part to assure Junior we stand behind him. Ma made sure he had extra apple butter with his bread. Not as sweet as before the war, but it’s her way of coddling him, knowing it reminds him of how he stirred the apple butter kettle for her when he was growing up. He was chattier than usual and it makes me wonder if I’ll see a different Frank Junior when I return back to my own time.

  I don’t think about that now. I yearn in this young woman’s body for my love’s touch, my female instinct fine-tuned by time and experience. Something is in the air. It isn’t good.

  With a thumping heart, I open my eyes. ‘What’s wrong, Jeff?’

  ‘I don’t know how to say this, Kate, but—’

  His expression is troubled. I see a longing in his eyes. He wants to kiss me but doesn’t. Why?

  ‘But what?’ I lean against the tree, its uneven bark digging into my shoulder. Pricking my mind as well as my flesh. I refuse to panic. I thought everything is falling into place. Tomorrow night is the dance, then Sunday at home with the family. On Monday morning, off to the train station to play out that painful scene and the end of my journey. I honestly believe that afterward, I’ll find my way back to my own time. It’s a strong feeling I have, like when you think you’ve been somewhere before and you’re walking through the motions.

  Then a new fear replaces that thought. What if his mother gets to him beforehand and Jeff doesn’t want to marry me after all?

  A serious faced young man looks me straight on, trying to get the words out and shaking his head. ‘I can’t go to training school, Kate. I can’t become a bomber pilot.’

  I choke. That’s the last thing I expect to hear.

  ‘You passed the exams. You’ll be called up soon.’

  ‘You don’t know the power my father wields in Washington. He’ll fix it so they take me off the list.’ He smirks. ‘God knows my mother will be thrilled. She can run the pants off any senator if she puts her mind to it.’

  ‘Why? What’s changed?’

  He takes several moments to think about what he wants to say, staring at me as if he’s not sure I understand. I flap my hands against my arms to keep warm, feeling my insides churning, a subtle shift in my world making me nervous. I have mixed feelings of elation and confusion.

  Is this my undoing? Or my salvation?

  ‘It’s simple mathematics, Kate. I can’t leave the mill and run off to play flyboy.’ The tone of his voice resonates with roiling anger and pent-up frustration. ‘My father isn’t feeling well and I can’t trust the everyday factory production in Timothy’s hands. He’s irresponsible and in more trouble than I thought. He owes money to a numbers syndicate and there’s talk he’s involved in other dealings that if they ever come out, will tarnish the Rushbrooke name.’

  I keep quiet and listen while he expounds further on how bad things will get at the mill if his father falters and Timothy takes over. I don’t tell him about Junior getting into a fight because some boys spread rumors about me going out with Timothy. I don’t want to fuel the fire any more. I don’t need to. Jeff is on a rant, exposing his soul to me with such fire and passion, I can’t stop him.

  ‘We’ll lose our government contracts and have to lay people off. We won’t do our part to win this war.’ Something in the way he says it triggers an emotional understanding in me I wouldn’t have picked up back then, making me uncomfortable. The words tumble off the tip of his tongue with a harshness that assaults my ears. ‘I can’t go. We’ll be bankrupt in six months.’

  I understand. While he’s doing his part overseas, he’ll lose everything he cares about back home.

  ‘I know the responsibility of running the mill is tremendous, that you won’t have time for us, but I’ll wait for you, Jeff,’ I say softly. ‘No matter how long it takes.’

  Even twelve years. Yes, twelve long years. I’m not giving you up now.

  ‘Without you, Jelly Girl, I have nothing.’ He kisses me, not with a hot passion, but something deeper, more meaningful and that touches me. He needs me, and the tremor I feel go through his body when he holds me tight tells me he’s torn between staying here and going off to war. It’s up to me to make that decision for him.

  I’m glad a dark cloud passes over the waning moon so Jeff can’t see the spark in my eyes. It will take a lot of maneuvering to bend time to my will. If Jeff stays here in Posey Creek, that letter won’t exist. Everything will be the way it should be. Won’t it?

  We’ll be married and living in the house on the river. We’ll have children and lovely picnics in the summer and tree decorating fun at Christmas. My heart skips. I hold in my hand the power to change everything, everything. A selfish move, at best, but if I go along with his idea to stay here and then marry him, he’ll be miserable and hate me for it. I can’t take away from him what he was meant to do. Help the French Résistance win this war.

  Swallowing hard, I hate myself for thinking of my own needs and desires that don’t amount to a hill of anything in this war. True, I gloried in the idea for a moment, but I never felt such strong emotion tearing me up inside when I tell him what’s on my mind.

  ‘Mr Clayborn can take over running the mill, Jeff,’ I say in very quiet tones. ‘He knows every facet of the operation and he’s a good, honest man.’ I pause, let my words sink in. ‘Pop thinks the world of him,’ I conclude as a final testimony to his qualifications.

  He perks up. ‘Would he want the job?’

  ‘I work for the man. Believe me, he’ll jump at the chance to keep the mill in tiptop shape. Go on, ask him, please.’

  ‘You’re smart, clever, and did I mention beautiful?’ he says, his lips brushing mine. ‘You’re going to make som
e man a wonderful wife, Jelly Girl.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ I tease him. ‘You got anybody in mind?’

  ‘Yeah… this fellow who’s about to kiss you.’

  I put my heart and soul into that kiss even though I’ve given up the sure chance of having my man by my side and making those lonely years go away. My trip back through time just got a whole lot stranger. I can’t forget what that letter said:

  What we did that night stopped the Nazi flow of men, arms, and tanks into Southern France for months. Helped the Allies with the invasion yet to come. Jeff forged so deep into the underground, cavorting with the Vichy, I forgot he wasn’t French. He became one of them so he could get the information we needed. Without him, it never would have happened.

  Yes, he has to pull off that mission. Is it asking too much to want him back with me afterward?

  Jeff doesn’t say much after kissing me, but the expression in his eyes indicates the wheels in his brain are working overtime, making plans to keep the mill at full production. The promise he made to marry me fills the silence between us. I don’t have to ask him if he’s changed his mind about us eloping because I have no doubt he’d have said something if he did. We hold hands as he walks me back toward the house, not caring if Mrs Widget sees us. The woman never sleeps, her eyes on the alert for anything suspicious. It’s the war, you know.

  After a quick squeeze to my waist with his big strong hands, he’s off. I stand there for a while, thinking. Time, I discover, can be very cunning and capricious. It doesn’t run in a straight line like everyone believes. You can bend and shape it with a word, a deed. That doesn’t make it the right thing to do. In the end, I have no choice. I’m driven to do the honorable thing, what makes Jeff happy and help win the war. If the forces that brought me here think they can push me around, tempt me to go against the grain, they’re wrong. They can’t. I feel compelled to follow what’s right. If I want to save the man I love, I must listen to my heart.

  Ma left the porch light on, so I have no doubt Mrs Widget is watching. I turn and wave to her. A window slams across the street. I smile to myself, then walk inside the house. The quiet calms me, but the stirrings in me make me tense. Only two days remain until that morning when Jeff will leave on the train and I’ll never see him again. That’s all I have left. Two days. I’ve laid the groundwork and very soon now, I’ll have to leave.

  I start up the stairs when I hear the soft creaking of a rocking chair. Then I hear the strike of a match and a candle flickers on. Ma. Her wise eyes turn toward me. She’s waiting for me. She’s staring, questioning, hurting. She clears her throat.

  ‘It’s time we have a talk, Kate.’

  My mother was born in a time when ladies cinched themselves into special corsets at bedtime and a married woman never wore her hair down. She knew no other man than Pop, never wanted to, and her children are God’s bounty to her. She cherishes each of us like we’re ripe berries about to be picked, but not until the earth fills us with its nourishment. The sun warms our souls. The wind sets our sail. Make us ready for the world. In Ma’s eyes, I’m not ready.

  ‘You’re too young to get married, Kate.’

  I swallow hard, the fervor inside me squeezing my feelings up tight into a ball. I can’t unravel. Not now. No telling how long my mother has been watching me, her quick mind putting things together about Jeff and me. Though why she’s bringing this up tonight, I don’t know. It sends curious shivers through me that shake my confidence. But no matter what she’s got on her mind, I won’t back down.

  ‘I’m nineteen, Ma.’

  Going on thirty-two.

  ‘No matter, child, I don’t see why you need to run away and get married. Wait until you have a fine blessing from the reverend when he comes home from the war.’ She rocks back and forth, taking her time with what she has to say. ‘There’s no more beautiful bride than you, Katie Marie, and your dear old Pop will be so disappointed if he can’t walk you down the aisle.’

  In the light of a single candle, I see my mother’s face, the pleading, wistfulness, hope. It makes me feel guilty, fosters my fear she’s suffered in silence, worrying about my involvement with Jeff. I can’t lie to her. ‘How long have you known Jeff and I are going to elope?’

  Her eyes twinkle. ‘I didn’t… until now.’

  ‘You’re a sly old fox, Ma.’

  She chuckles. ‘I have to be where you children are concerned.’ She rocks back and forth in her chair, twining fuzzy strands around a red ball of yarn. If she isn’t cooking or cleaning or mending, she’s rolling yarn. Usually with a cup of hot tea beside her. Tonight her cup is empty. Like her heart will be if I leave home and get married. ‘I have my hands filled with Lucy and Junior. I never thought I’d have to worry about you.’

  ‘You don’t, Ma. After Jeff and I are married, I’ll be here every day to help you, I promise.’

  She laughs. ‘Somehow I can’t see my daughter living at Wrightwood House and putting up with that chatterbox, Mrs Rushbrooke.’

  I look at her, surprised. Ma never says anything bad about anyone. This is more telling than her staying up to wait for me, especially since she’s always first in line at the butcher shop on Saturday at 7 a. m. with her ration books neat and folded. Yes, she’s very upset.

  I sit down on the tweed ottoman frayed at the corners from us kids jumping on it so much. A suitable place to have this conversation, putting me at her feet. Like when I was a little girl and I sat cross-legged while she read fairy tales to me.

  Now she eyes me with suspicion, and then hands me the ball of yarn to hold for her. Yes, this is going to be a long talk. It’s time she knows everything. I take a deep breath and begin to speak. Of Christmas, lost love, and trains.

  By the time the candle burns down to the wick, Ma knows as much of my story that I feel comfortable telling her. By the sheer intensity of her silence, the rigid manner she sits in her stilled rocker, I have no doubt my wild tale stole the breath from her. Like she’s suspended in space and doesn’t know where to land.

  Before she knew my story or after.

  Whether or not she believes me, she’ll never be the same. I don’t regret my decision. After holding it in for so long, my heart jumps with joy sharing it with someone. Ma above all. That as crazy as it sounds, I came back here to save Jeff.

  ‘I wouldn’t be here if Lucy didn’t beg me to come home for Christmas and I got on the train to come back to Posey Creek.’ I’m grateful for the darkness covering us like a fuzzy blanket. The truth comes more easily in the dark. Nothing to stop me from unburdening my soul, like I’m floating between different times. I hear her gasp when I tell her about the letter.

  ‘Have you shown it to Jeff?’ she wants to know.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t believe you?’

  ‘He will, Ma. You always tell me God has a plan for us. Well, His plan for me is to save Jeff.’

  ‘I pray you’re right, child.’

  ‘Ma…’

  ‘Yes?’ she says, her voice calm though I swear she’s breathing harder. I imagine how difficult this is for her to take in.

  ‘Don’t be scared if I’m gone on Monday morning when you get up to pack Pop’s lunchbox.’ She tends to the day’s chores long before the birds flutter around her windowsill, looking for their morning crumbs.

  ‘You made plans to meet Jeff… to elope?’

  ‘Yes, it’s all set, Ma, but it won’t happen. I promise you. I can’t explain why, I’ve already said too much. I have a feeling that when the girl in the red coat comes home, her eyes red and swollen from crying, it won’t be the girl sitting with you now.’

  A long silence. I hear the Dutch clock ticking, reminding us that time doesn’t stop, but has a way of going on and we will, too.

  ‘Your Irish grandma was a storyteller, Kate.’ I hear the crack in her voice, that uncertainty, she’s found herself in a situation she doesn’t understand. She’s used to protecting her brood from the devil himself if
she has to. For the first time, she can’t. ‘I’d sit with her by the fireplace here in this house and listen to her tales of selkies and fairies and elves.’ She pauses a beat. ‘I believed her and I believe you.’

  ‘You do, Ma?’

  ‘Yes. Now go to bed, Katie, my child. Know in your heart your ma is praying for you.’ She squeezes my hand. ‘Don’t worry, when your other self returns from the train station on Monday, I’ll be here to comfort her. As God is my witness, I’ll never say a word to her about our talk.’

  She never does.

  19

  Whatever else happens to me on this sentimental journey through time, I will never forget the Christmas tree lighting ceremony outside the Posey Creek community center.

  From where I stand, I see the townsfolk gathered around the big fir tree rising up like a symbol of peace and freedom, their faces shining with anticipation. Some arriving on foot, others using precious gas rations to make the trek into town from neighboring farms. I feel the wonder of the holiday season in their hearts, inhale the scent of the fresh tree wafting through the air filling our lungs. Sweet and comforting like memories past.

  Saturday night and the air is crisp and cold like many December nights during the war. Tonight, it’s as if time stands still. Everybody feels it. That we’re all united in coming together to remember the good in man and that good endures even in times of war. A chance to let go of the everyday stress of ration books, shortages, and waiting for telegrams we pray never come. It’s the hope for peace that unites us.

  I have no qualms about being here tonight. I came back to save Jeff and this is my chance to tell him about the letter, to change the future. I didn’t go to the ceremony back then. I stayed home primping and fussing with my hair, my dress, while everyone else was here. There was no one to spy on me since I had the house to myself. I showed up later to attend the holiday dance.