by Jina Bacarr
Tonight I follow a different path. I join the family in the short walk across town, lifting up my chin, head high as Lucy and I lead the way. Under my red coat, I’m wearing my favorite holiday long gown: a crushed sapphire blue velvet, very sophisticated with red and blue and silver sequins adorning the wide shoulders. Tight belt at the waist with a sequined buckle. Ma looks right smart in her favorite blue and plum paisley (the first time I’ve seen her not wearing an apron since I’ve been back), while earlier Lucy balked at wearing my old pink taffeta prom dress with angel sleeves. She insisted she looked like she was sixteen. I pointed out she was sixteen and that she’d grow up to be a lovely woman. A wary look crossed her face at my prediction but she forgot about it when I chatted on about how pretty she looked when I removed the chunky fake flowers at her waist. Next, I pulled down the cap sleeves so they were off-the-shoulder and she smiled. An instant makeover that makes her look at least eighteen.
Chatting with familiar faces I haven’t seen for years, I pray I don’t say something I shouldn’t. This is what I missed back then. The last Christmas before my heart was broken. I believe with my whole being I can fix it. Since the moment I arrived here on the train dressed in my favorite red coat and deep blue silk hat, I’ve been possessed by one thing: save Jeff from certain death. It scares the heck out of me and thrills me at the same time.
Still, I have to be on my toes. I already changed a few things, like posing for the Miss Christmas Wrap poster, but I can’t let anything stop me from meeting up with Jeff at the train station on Monday morning. Bright and early.
I step back and take a breath. Till then, I don’t want to miss out on any opportunity to be near him. I see my man standing near the tall fir tree, watching me, his broad shoulders filling out a long topcoat, his strong figure drawing my eyes. I can’t help but imagine cuddling up against his chest as Mildred greets me with her beautiful smile and kind words. Wearing a long jersey gown the color of aqua mist, the sweetheart neckline peeking out of her honey-colored, camel hair coat with three big buttons, she looks very much the reverend’s wife. Confident and feminine.
‘So glad you came, Kate.’ She glances over her shoulder at Jeff. He winks at her and she laughs. She whispers to me she enjoys being privy to our secret. My heart skips when a tall Army chaplain approaches her. When he moves into the light streaming from the community center, I see it isn’t Reverend Summers. Mildred introduces him to me. ‘I want you to meet Captain Danvers. Captain, meet the charming Kate Arden.’
‘Captain.’ I acknowledge the man of God with a thankful smile for these brave men who risk their lives in combat zones. Many die giving comfort to the wounded, often in the line of fire. What’s he doing here?
‘You look familiar, Miss Arden.’ He gives me a big smile and a long stare. ‘Have we met?’
Did we meet back then? This is the first time someone knows me and I don’t remember them. That’s strange. Unsettling. Then I see the mischievous grin on Mildred’s face.
‘He saw the poster with you sitting on the Christmas box,’ Mildred says without batting an eye. ‘You’re a pinup girl.’
‘You have the poster?’ I gulp.
‘Freddie Baker brought a print by the rectory and asked me to hang it up on the bulletin board. The captain was with him and we got to talking about what’s happening over there and well, you’ll see.’ She pokes me in the ribs. ‘Think how you’ll brighten up Sunday prayer service. Why, half the town will save every scrap of paper.’
‘You mean the male half.’ Then it hits me. ‘What if Mrs Rushbrooke sees it?’ I try to take this in. Patriotic or not, I have the feeling the woman will use it against me.
‘She wouldn’t dare put up a stink and make the mill look bad.’ She leads me away from the chaplain greeting folks with his friendly smile and finds a quiet spot behind the tall tree. She takes a moment to compose herself. A furrowing of her brow makes me think she has something else on her mind. ‘Kate, you know how deeply I care about our work here, the reverend’s and mine.’
Since we were talking about a certain society woman, an awful thought invades my brain and I don’t hold back. ‘Don’t tell me Mrs Rushbrooke is poking her nose in God’s work, too?’ I wouldn’t put it past her.
She smiles. ‘No, nothing like that. Something has come up that has me a bit befuddled about my duties here.’
‘Like what?’
‘What would you think if I left Posey Creek, Kate?’ she whispers low enough so no one can hear her.
‘Leave?’ I ask, not understanding. ‘Why?’
Mildred is a woman I look up to and admire. I can’t imagine this town without her. Or the reverend. Watching this elegant couple is a beautiful thing. I remember seeing them together, her laying her hand over her husband’s and looking at him like he was her universe. How well I understood that.
‘I’ll explain later,’ she insists, watching the crowd. Loud chatter catches her attention. They’re getting restless. ‘Do you think the town will feel more comfortable with a real pastor living in the rectory during this war and not a pastor’s wife?’ She lets go with a deep sigh. ‘No telling when the reverend will return.’ I know he suffered mentally and physically during the war, losing forty pounds, his body broken, but not his spirit. Mildred told me he owed that to his training in the ring. I can’t let her lose hope; I need to encourage her to stay strong and confident in her role till he comes home. But even angels have their moments and this was one of them.
‘Replace you, Mildred?’ I shake my head. ‘With all the work you do for everyone? Picking up children from school, working at the canteen at the train station, visiting the sick, not to mention giving a fine Sunday sermon when we don’t have a visiting reverend from the circuit.’
‘I never thought of it that way,’ she says with that funny smile of hers. ‘I wonder if the others think the same way.’
‘I often hear Ma and her lady friends talk about how lucky the reverend is to have you here in his place while he’s gone.’ I don’t have a chance to find out more because there’s a shift in the wind. A northerly gust coming down from the hill that’s no evening breeze. With her foxtails flying over her shoulder, Mrs Rushbrooke rushes over to Mildred, demanding to be introduced to the captain. Her husband is home with a cold, she says, fawning over the good-looking Army chaplain, and she needs an escort.
I sneak away before she catches me in her crosshairs. Besides, I feel a rumbling under my feet, which makes me wonder if I’ve done something to change things again. I have no idea. I take heart from knowing I made the right decision to come here tonight.
I stare up at the first burst of stars and a half moon providing a backdrop to this evening and make a wish the heavenly messengers must have memorized by now. Then I take my place with Ma and Pop. Lucy and I link arms, and Junior stands next to Pop. He has bruising from that black eye, but I swear he stands taller than before. I see Jeff over by the big fir with two soldiers next to him, ready to help him turn on the generator so the Christmas tree lights go on. I don’t see Timothy anywhere, which doesn’t surprise me.
Mildred stands at the podium, the choir from St Mary Cecilia’s orphanage behind her along with the high school choral group, their numbers sparse since several boys enlisted and are serving overseas.
I lock eyes with Jeff, the first of several times since we gathered here at dusk. Townspeople and servicemen and women. Soldiers home on furlough, others returning with wounded bodies. What a moment it is.
‘When I first met the reverend in high school, he was a senior and already had a flock following him,’ Mildred says, smiling. ‘Every girl in the freshman class. Including me.’
Everyone laughs.
‘We drifted apart after he graduated and it wasn’t till years later our paths crossed again. It took hard work and dedication for him to find his way, but this lamb never lost faith in him and will happily follow him to the ends of the earth. You all know my husband as a good, kind man with a strong heart an
d not afraid to get his hands dirty. Especially when it comes to doing our Creator’s work.’ She pauses, her words catching in her throat.
No one moves or makes a sound.
She clears her throat. ‘He has a new flock now. A platoon of Marines caught up in the fierce fighting somewhere in the South Pacific. From what Reverend Summers tells me, the men haven’t lost their Christmas spirit. They picked up used tin cans tossed out from the mess tents and then cut long strips of tin to make tree ornaments.’ She points out several twisted strips hanging on the tree. With the shiny side out, they look like icicles. ‘I decided to go one step further and use the tin cans I planned to donate to salvage to make a silver star.’
She holds up a wavy star made from tin and glances over the crowd. ‘In honor of every man and woman from Posey Creek in the service, I want to place this star at the top of our Christmas tree.’
We get misty-eyed as Jeff helps her use a short ladder to fasten the star at the top of the great fir and then he turns on the lights. Blinking lights deepening in reds, blues, yellows, and greens as the sun sets and twilight waves her magic wand to make them glimmer.
‘I wish I had a tin star for each of our boys and girls serving overseas,’ Mildred continues, ‘but I like to think of this star as the guiding star that brings them home. To help make my wish come true, after the holiday we’ll donate the tin ornaments for metal to make the planes, tanks, ships, and weapons to bring this conflict to a peaceful end. Let’s bow our hearts for a moment of prayer.’
I bow my head, deeply moved by her heartfelt sermon. The woman is an extraordinary female for her time. She helped the reverend climb back up the hill from hell to a normal life not once but twice, first when he lost his soul in the ring and then later after the war. I’m so proud of her as she leads us in prayer. When the last ‘Amen’ is heard from the crowd, she grabs the sides of the podium and takes a moment to look at each and every face. As if she’s searching for an answer to a question on her mind.
‘I have some exciting news.’ Hopeful gasps. War news about our boys and girls? ‘Captain Danvers has asked me if I’m willing to volunteer as a chaplain’s assistant and go overseas.’ Murmurs from the crowd, asking questions she quickly answers. A fine night mist settles on folks’ faces, or are those tears? Mine included. Posey Creek will never be the same without her. I don’t remember her mentioning this back then. I pray for a Christmas miracle to keep her here.
I stand on the sidelines away from the crowd and watch the unexpected reaction erupt. Neighbor whispering to neighbor, nodding their heads, coming to terms with what she said. Then again, maybe not. I hear people in the crowd call out:
‘We need you here, Mildred.’
‘The reverend speaks to us through you, Mrs Summers.’
‘You’re our guiding light while Reverend Summers is gone. Please stay.’
‘I’m deeply touched by your faith in me,’ she says, her voice catching. ‘Thank you. Your heartfelt words have convinced me to stay in Posey Creek. God bless you all and Merry Christmas!’
The high school choir bursts into song, singing traditional Christmas hymns with everyone joining in on ‘Silent Night’. I raise my voice in song, scarcely believing such a lovely moment can come out of this war. How every soul here, wrapped up in harmony and a fine winter chill, is united with their neighbors in coming together tonight to honor our boys and girls fighting overseas.
Unfortunately that moment of moment of peace and goodwill doesn’t last. Not by a long shot.
After the Yuletide tree lighting ceremony is over, I keep my eye on Jeff. He’s watching me, both of us letting down our guard. He has eyes only for me. I ignore Lucy pulling on my coat sleeve.
‘Mrs Rushbrooke is scowling at you, Kate,’ Lucy whispers, dragging me away. I feel her shaking as if she senses this woman is a demon closing in on me and she’s trying to protect me.
‘She knows when she’s beaten,’ I say with confidence, even if I don’t believe it. I don’t trust the woman, never will. I doubt she heard one word of Mildred’s moving tribute to our servicemen and women. I won’t let her ruin a beautiful ceremony, the Christmas tree lights twinkling like tiny stars, as if each light is a prayer sent overseas from a special family member.
I smile again at Jeff, edging nearer to him and closing the distance between us. Lucy lets me go, knowing she can’t stop me, but I can’t blame her for trying to help.
I suck in my breath, knowing Jeff and I have to be cautious as everyone breaks up into small groups before crowding into the community center for the dance. God help us, if anyone else catches hold of the wild attraction between us every time we get close to each other. Our emotions are so raw when our fingers touch in passing, I swear an electric current goes straight through me. I whisper, ‘Merry Christmas, darling,’ hoping no one hears me, then, as if on cue, Mildred switches off the lights on the big fir tree. Government rules dictate no outside lights after dusk.
Inside the center, we find a Christmas Wonderland. Soldiers, sailors, Marines, everywhere. Laughing, flirting, letting go for a few hours like they’re kids again in Santa’s village. Hard to believe we’re in the middle of a war. Garlands of tinsel and sprigs of holly hang across the rafters. Big band music plays over the PA system and low lighting casts a romantic hue over the dancefloor. The Victory Booth shimmers with the green tinsel Helen and I hung over it, while the glow of the holiday lights strung up around the wooden frame melts hearts and opens wallets.
Especially with Helen manning the booth. She’s already engaged two sailors into buying War Bonds. She looks happier, her lipstick bolder. She’s wearing one of her mother’s – Nadine’s – designs. A backless, black rayon crepe gown with a peplum short in front and hanging down to the floor in back. She’s definitely making a statement. Good for her. I wonder when she’s leaving town. I’ll miss her.
I check my red coat in the cloakroom and look around for Jeff. After our brief encounter I lost him. Ma and Pop join their neighbors – including Ma’s lady friends, Mrs Bloom and Mrs Sims – for a potluck supper in the backrooms, leaving the jitterbugging to the younger people. Date loaf cake, chicken salad, pickles, cookies, popcorn balls for the kids. Ma made hors d’oeuvres, both sweet and tangy. Holiday cherry jam as well as cheese with olives and pimentos served on crisp crackers.
I give a silent thank-you when Mrs Canton ignores me and heads for the food table. Maisie and the girls from her hair salon chat up Mildred’s mother, making the woman laugh for the first time since I’ve known her. Even fussy Mrs Widget can’t complain when Ma presents her with a jar of cherry jam.
There’s Mr Clayborn in a deep conversation with two young sailors, drinking punch and hanging on to their every word. The young men keep eyeing the girls flitting by with cups of coffee and plates of cookies. My heart goes out to my boss, keen on gleaning news about the war in the Pacific so he can feel closer to his son. I wonder if he’s said yes to Jeff’s offer to take over running the mill. I get my answer when he waves to me and gives me the ‘V for Victory’ sign. I smile. The mill is in good hands now.
Behind me, I hear my sister’s laughter. She’s hanging onto a Marine, while an Army lieutenant tosses a nickel into the air to decide who will dance with her first. The Marine wins.
I peer over the crowd of military uniforms and party dresses, but I don’t see Jeff. Where did he go? Instead of watching everyone else, I should pay more attention to the advancing army on my rear. My heart quickens when I hear a familiar twang.
‘You were seen speaking to my son after the ceremony, Miss Arden,’ Mrs Rushbrooke can’t wait to comment, sniffing.
Spying on me again?
‘It’s a free country, Mrs Rushbrooke,’ I say with confidence. I spin around and look her straight in the eye. I’m not afraid of her. ‘Isn’t that what we’re fighting for?’
She ignores me. ‘You always were a precocious child when you came with your mother up to Wrightwood House. Now you merely annoy me.’ She smi
les like a Cheshire cat wearing a pillbox hat. ‘Not for long. Good evening, Miss Arden.’
Then she’s off. Swishing her foxtails around her like it’s her own tail.
I try to settle down, but can’t. She thinks she won. The idea drops into the pit of my stomach like a rock. I hate the feeling, that in spite of the good I feel here tonight, someone like her wields such misery. She irritates me. There’s something sinister in that smile that sets my nerves on edge, yet I feel secure the woman left for the night, her message delivered. She isn’t the type to hide in dark corners and snarl at her prey. She’d rather do her dirty work out in the open. She said her piece to me like she rehearsed it, using the right words to make me anxious. That the stakes are raised in this scenario and she dealt me the losing hand.
I can’t allow that. I mull over her words, trying to figure out what she’s up to as I make the rounds of everyone at the dance, wishing them a wonderful holiday. I linger at the punch table, scooping up the tasty fruit drink with the long silver ladle, while at the same time I try to find Jeff. I look so hard, I feel lightheaded. Nerves. I have to guard against letting myself get so wrapped up in living every second I have left here, in case I get careless and do something stupid to lose him.
Especially when I see Mrs Widget following me around. No doubt she eavesdropped on every word. To hear Jeff’s mother tell it, I’m a shameless hussy chasing after him. I don’t want to give my neighbor anything to chat about, so I remain off to the side. A flood of warmth hits me when I locate him, surrounded by ladies from the factory vying for a dance with him. He beams when he sees me. I swish my long velvet skirt around in a circle, as if inviting him into my secret world. I don’t dare move as I watch him mouth the words, ‘Meet me outside.’
I nod. As I start for the back-door exit, I feel Mrs Widget’s curious eyes staring at us, waiting to see if he follows me. I freeze when I feel a hand slip around my waist and a jazzy baritone whisper in my ear, ‘How about that dance you promised me, Miss Arden?’
