Christmas Once Again

by Jina Bacarr

  He has no idea what I’m thinking. ‘I came here often when I was a boy with my French nanny, Aline.’ He tosses another rock into the river. ‘She had a big hearty laugh and blue, doll-like eyes. She was hardworking and loyal, and I never saw her without a fresh yellow flower pinned to her black and white uniform.’

  He smiles.

  ‘We’d spend time here during the summer when my mother filled Wrightwood House with her snooty friends from the Philadelphia Mainline. Timothy got shipped off to summer camp, but I liked it here. I fished in the river and built rafts and sailed my boat and drew while Aline told me stories about her life in France. How she followed her father and brothers skipping over russet tile rooftops in Paris, going from house to house with a ladder, long black brush, and sack for collecting soot. Her father was a chimney sweep, but he wanted something better for his little girl.

  ‘Aline found work as a ladies’ maid for a countess who encouraged her love of books. She showed me pictures of buildings in Old Paris with sloping roofs and medieval gables. Ancient gateways that led to thieves’ dens. Stately mansions with courtyards and bubbling fountains that ran red during the Revolution with the blood of aristocrats.

  ‘Hearing her speak about the grand market of Les Halles and the majestic white beauty of Sacré Coeur set me on a course to explore the need in me to design and build. That’s when I became interested in architecture, a foolish notion according to my father. Aline never discouraged me. She became a fierce protector of my work and hid my drawings from him here in the house.’

  He becomes quiet and I see a pleasant memory wash over him, then a smirk on his lips. ‘I dreamed of redesigning this old place and living here when I finished architecture school. Aline encouraged me to study in France, insisting we speak nothing but French when I was growing up. Because of her, I easily adapted to the French way of life when I traveled there with my father.’

  I’ve never heard a more fascinating story.

  ‘I never forgot Aline and her laugh,’ he goes on. ‘I played hide-and-seek with her, running through the house and sneaking into the tiny secret room where Washington’s men hid their weapons and writings of independence from the British. That’s where she hid my drawings.’ He holds my hand. ‘Those were the best days of my life until I met you, Jelly Girl, and you introduced me to your cherry jam.’ He nuzzles his face into my hair. ‘Now I can’t get enough of it.’

  ‘What happened to Aline?’ I ask, snuggling up close to him. It doesn’t get any better than this.

  ‘When I went off to boarding school, she went back to Paris to nurse her father when he became ill. An incurable disease from inhaling the smoke and tar from cleaning chimneys.’

  ‘She never married?’

  He shakes his head. ‘The boy she loved died in the trenches of Verdun. I’d see her take out his picture from her missal and kiss it goodnight.’

  ‘Oh.’

  I can’t hold back the mistiness settling on my cheeks. How my soul aches for this remarkable woman who reared the boy with such a fine hand. I wish I could tell her how wonderful a man he is. I also want to tell her I understand the pain as only another woman can. Losing the man she loves. I think about what Jeff was like as a little boy, the lonely hours he spent here because his mother didn’t want him around. My heart bleeds.

  A light drizzle dampens the earth around us, soaking up the past while I weigh my options for the future. Jeff is in a melancholy mood, the weight of the world on his shoulders. This is not the time to tell him about the letter. I still have time to convince him he’s in danger. I have a better chance of him believing me after he gets the telephone call that his orders are changed and he gets called up sooner to report to Washington.

  My fears that he slept through my plea last night are confirmed a heartbeat later when Jeff takes my hand in his, his voice deep and gravelly as he says, ‘The next time we come here, Jelly Girl, we’ll be married.’

  I pray that’s true.

  22

  Pop is livid with anger when I sneak in through the back kitchen door, chewing on his pipe, pacing up and down, demanding to know where I was all night. With the servicemen looking for a good time, he says, anything can happen. Ma calms him down with a few well-placed words and then turns and gives me a look that says, Don’t say a word.

  ‘Kate spent the night at the rectory with the reverend’s wife.’ Ma leads him over to the kitchen table and eases him down into a chair. She slides an empty saucer in front of him so he can dump out the burnt tobacco from his pipe. A classic move from Ma. This is her territory, so he doesn’t protest. ‘The poor woman needed company,’ she continues, ‘what with her emotions spilling over and everybody going home afterwards and her all alone.’ She stares straight at me through clenched teeth. ‘Right, Kate?’

  ‘Yeah, Ma. Mildred needed someone to talk to.’

  Ma plays her role with the skill of any Broadway actress, fiddling with the stray hair getting into her eyes, wringing her hands on her apron. ‘Kate told me where she was going, but when we got home, I was so tired it slipped my mind.’ Ma shoots me a hard look. There’s no question in her eyes, only disapproval. She doesn’t have to ask if I was out with Jeff, she knows.

  After our talk, she also knows I’m not her little girl and whatever her personal thoughts are on the matter, she has no choice but to accept my decision to spend the night with the man I love. She can’t change it, so she does what Ma does best. Keep the family intact, no matter what she has to do. Even if it means telling Pop a fib. Something I never saw her do in my whole life. Ma is as straight up as a Sunday sermon. Whatever she says, you never doubt her.

  Her piece said, she cajoles Pop into having an early breakfast before Sunday church services. Then, like she does for Junior when he needs pepping up, she serves him something special. Pancakes with apple butter. Hot coffee. A little cream she traded jam for from the milkman. Then she sits down and reads the latest war news to him before they get ready for church.

  I hustle upstairs to change before Lucy and Junior come down to breakfast. Ma closed my bedroom door, so they don’t know I didn’t come home last night. She was up waiting for me when Pop came down to check on her and I barged through the door. The sight of me disheveled and my gown stained with dirt told the story. His daughter was out all night. No wonder Pop was fit to be tied. I’ve hurt both of them, and it isn’t a good feeling.

  I want to thank Ma for what she did when I come back down dressed for church. She won’t look at me and there’s no mistaking that pain in her eyes. There’s no undoing what I did. I debate whether or not to try to explain to her later. That I tried to tell Jeff about the letter, but we fell asleep and nothing happened between us. I pray she comes around and believes me.

  Lucy has no idea what’s going on when she pops down for breakfast, neither does Junior. She babbles on and on about how many soldiers, sailors, and Marines she danced with last night.

  ‘Twenty, maybe twenty-five,’ she says, helping herself to pancakes. ‘All tall, dark, and handsome.’

  Junior has a different opinion. ‘There weren’t any girls left to dance with, what with them servicemen taking them all.’

  ‘You’re too young for girls,’ Lucy says with her mouth full.

  ‘I’m a year younger than you are.’

  ‘Girls mature faster.’

  ‘Now, children, please.’ Ma tosses down the newspaper, startling everyone. ‘Let’s have a quiet breakfast. We’re all very tired this morning.’ She rubs her eyes and she won’t look at me. Tears wet her cheeks. It’s the worst moment of my trip back through time. I’ll never forget it. My selfish actions hit me hard when I see how deeply I’ve hurt Ma. Her tears are a sign of both anger and relief I came home safe. That I don’t doubt, but it doesn’t change anything. I broke a cardinal rule in her eyes. Good girls don’t spend the night with a man. Still, she knows I’ll soon be gone and my instincts tell me she views that, in a strange way, as akin to losing a child.

 
We don’t speak much after Ma’s outburst. The rest of the family does their best to help her out, though I don’t think Lucy and Junior grasp her sadness. Pop does. I see him eyeing me. He has something on his mind, but I can tell he’s holding it in.

  Ma’s had enough to upset her for now, his eyes say.

  My heart skips later that morning after church services when Mildred thanks me for helping her. Pop is within earshot and smiles. Luckily for me, he has no idea she’s referring to our conversation before the tree lighting ceremony – for which I say a special prayer of gratitude.

  Then Mildred pulls me aside and whispers her concern in my ear about the Rushbrooke family pew being empty. Not even the help came to church today, which is unusual. I wonder about that, too, since Mrs Rushbrooke always attends church, if only to show off a new hat or spread the latest gossip. Then Mildred tells me she heard the news about Jeff and me eloping.

  ‘I’m so excited for you, Kate, you’ll make a beautiful bride.’ She adds that Jeff asked her to pick me up tomorrow morning. Monday. Early.

  I take a step backward in my mind. ‘He did?’ I let go with a shiver, my shoulders shaking. This is a good thing, right? Back then, I rushed to the station because Jeff didn’t show up like we planned and I was scared like crazy I’d miss the train. I ran into Mildred by chance. Now I’ve set my compass – and hers – on a new course.

  ‘Yes. Jeff said his mother was in a fit earlier about something to do with a call from Washington. He paid me a visit to ask for my help so nothing goes wrong with your elopement plans.’ She squeezes my hand and can’t stop smiling at me. I can’t be more pleased at having her as a co-conspirator, but I also can’t forget the flat tire we had on the way to the train station the morning Jeff and I planned to elope.

  I ask, ‘Are your tires okay?’

  She nods. ‘I had them checked at the gas station since I’ll be doing a lot of driving with Christmas visits coming up. I appreciate your ma making sure I have apple cinnamon preserves to give to the families. Believe me, the sweet helps with the pain.’ Her smile takes on a more determined look, her mouth tight. ‘I have more Gold Star families to visit this Christmas than last.’

  More to come before our boys come home. Next Christmas, too.

  I can’t tell her that. I’ve already brought home enough sadness for one day.

  ‘You did it, Katie Marie Arden, didn’t you?’

  Ma slams down the bread dough on the wooden board and begins kneading it like it’s made out of shoe leather. She wipes the sweat off her brow, but she refuses to look up at me. Tuesday is her regular bread making day, so for her to drag out the flour and yeast and her precious sugar means she needs to find comfort. She finds it in making bread.

  I freeze. I raided the icebox for a glass of homemade berry juice when I found her in the kitchen. I don’t try to escape. I’m no angel with invisible wings. I expect she won’t let me go without a talking to. I deserve it.

  ‘Ma, I—’ I start to explain. She’ll have none of it.

  ‘You spent the night together before you were man and wife, hoping I’d bless you.’ She pounds the bread dough harder to make her point. ‘It goes against everything I hold dear. Against the teachings I learned my whole life.’

  ‘I’m not a child, Ma. You’ll find out in a few years I do well for myself in the city, working my way up to editor. It’s lonely at the top when you have no one. I longed for years to be at Jeff’s side. For him to hold me in his arms, kiss me without the fear of prying eyes, embarrassing moments. Would you deny me that happiness? To spend one night with him? I swear to you nothing happened. Jeff kissed me, nothing else.’

  ‘I’m trying to understand, but I can’t.’ She puts the dough in a big round bowl and covers it with a piece of cheesecloth to let it prove. Then she breaks down, her shoulders shaking. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘I need you, Ma. Listen to me, please,’ I plead. ‘Think what you will of me, but don’t turn your back on your other daughter, the one waiting in the shadows. I’ll be gone soon, back to my own time. I feel it in my bones. Please don’t shut out my younger self when she returns. Give her all the love you can because she’s going to need it.’

  ‘Even if you save Jeff,’ she says, finally looking at me, ‘how do you know he’ll marry you?’

  ‘I don’t, Ma,’ I say honestly, ‘but I’m willing to take that chance.’

  ‘You must love that boy.’

  ‘I do.’

  Her eyes brighten into a blue-green shade I recognize, the joy in them I often see when she has her brood fed and content. ‘All I want is for you to be happy.’

  ‘I am, Ma. Whatever happens, I’ve had this time with Jeff. That’s all a woman could ever ask for.’

  ‘I see the world changing around me so fast.’ Ma wipes the flour off her hands onto her apron. ‘Lucy flirting with every soldier who comes through here, Junior getting into fights. Pop coming out of his shell and getting excited about the war news.’ She takes my hand in hers and holds it tight. ‘Look at my Katie, all grown up. Yes, I understand. You are a woman.’ Then she stops talking. Like she’s coming to terms with this new world she finds herself in. We sit for a long time and don’t speak. We don’t have to.

  We found peace between us in our time.

  Sunday continues to be a strange day after church and my talk with Ma, the air so still not even the sound of a motorcar rumbling down the street grates on my ears. No neighbors chatting, kids playing. Like everyone is nestled in their home, getting ready for another wartime Christmas. Mothers and fathers add a blue star to the flag hanging over the fireplace, meaning their boy or girl is in the service. The only present they want is a letter from them, along with the hope they’ll be home for next Christmas.

  After a rocky start to the day earlier, Pop asks me to play checkers with him.

  ‘Your move, Kate,’ Pop says. Most folks play cards during the war, but my father is a hands-on worker with a fine mechanical mind. He likes to tinker with his tools. So no one is more surprised than I when he sits down and dusts off the checkerboard, though I sense his mind is elsewhere.

  ‘You sure you don’t want to change your last move?’ I’m curious where this will lead.

  ‘Nope. Some things never change. Like your Ma. She’s made my coffee and toast the same way every morning for more than twenty years. Black with a squirt of milk, and two perfect patties of butter on my toast.’ He chews on the end of his pipe. ‘Since the war started, she still gives me two patties of butter every morning. She gives me her ration. If I say something, it will hurt her feelings. I’d rather swim downriver with a mean possum on my tail than do that.’

  ‘Me, too, Pop.’ I jump over three of his pieces. He never blinks.

  ‘Sometimes things got to change.’

  ‘Yes, Pop?’

  ‘Starting tomorrow, I’m having one patty of butter with my toast.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because this war has set me to thinking that by not saying what’s giving me an itch up my overalls, I’m hurting the ones I love.’

  ‘Ma would never think that, Pop.’

  ‘It’s not your ma I’m talking about, Katie Marie.’ He looks straight at me, his pipe in his mouth. ‘It’s you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘I know what you done for me. How you stood up to Mrs Rushbrooke, giving her a taste of her own fancy talk and not letting her run your old pop out of a job. You don’t have to worry about me. Your ma explained to me you ain’t a little girl no more. You found a good man who loves you. I’ve been mighty blind not to see it myself. Then again, I ain’t your ma. If she says so, then it’s right. You go after Mr Jeffrey if he’s the man for you.

  ‘He is. Oh, Pop, I love him so much.’

  ‘Your ma told me, and she ain’t never said nothing that weren’t true. So I’m not keeping quiet no more. I imagine the boy will be called up soon and leaving for training, so you don’t have much time. You marry that boy if that’s what you’re after.’r />
  ‘It is, Pop,’ I say, exhaling. ‘It’s more complicated than that.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to tell me anything you shouldn’t. Your ma and I love you and we’ll stand behind you.’ His eyes hold me, real concern in them. ‘I’ll give it an extra prayer next Sunday to keep Mr Jeffrey safe. He’s a good man.’

  ‘You’re the best, Pop.’ I fling my arms around him and hug him. I feel the shift in energy in the air as the hour grows late. Ma spoke to him after our chat because we never have this talk back then and it warms me through and through. I’m glad we did. It will make it easier for him to help Junior when he comes home from the war.

  ‘Now, where is my pipe tobacco?’ he says, wiping the checkerboard clean with his last play, jumping over my remaining pieces. I grin. Pop poured out his heart to me and it closed up an emptiness in him he never come to grips with before. So ends our Sunday talk.

  I kiss him on the cheek and put the checkerboard away on the end table next to the radio. As I stack up the red and black chips in two neat piles, I watch my father’s expression deepen to a look I saw only once before. On December seventh. A determined look to go forward, accept what he couldn’t change on that Sunday afternoon when we gathered around the mahogany box in the front room and found out we were attacked at Pearl Harbor. A day when we bowed our heads and joined hands, each of us saying a prayer that we win the war.

  Now he’s losing his little girl and he’s worried about her losing the man she loves. I want to comfort him, tell him my plan, but I can’t. My father opened up to me, but he has a blind spot. Him looking into the future is like looking into the sun… he can’t see what’s coming, only what’s behind him. So I keep quiet. The end of the war seems so far off. I wish I could be here to see his face when they announce the defeat of Nazi Germany, and later the surrender of Japan. At least our talk made him more willing to share his emotions.