Christmastime 1942
A Love Story
Linda Mahkovec
Other Books by Linda Mahkovec
The Dreams of Youth
Seven Tales of Love
The Garden House
The Christmastime Series
Christmastime 1940: A Love Story
Christmastime 1941: A Love Story
Christmastime 1943: A Love Story
Christmastime 1942: A Love Story
Text copyright © 2014 Linda Mahkovec
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This e-book is a work of fiction. While specific characters in this novel are historical figures and certain events did occur, this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
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ISBN-10: 1-946229-15-6
ISBN-13: 978-1-946229-15-1
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To my sisters, Nancy and Kathy.
Many thanks.
Chapter 1
*
New York City throbbed with a war-time rhythm. Its harbor bustled with ships, barges, and tug boats coming and going, its docks crowded day and night, rain or shine, with cranes lifting, hoisted cargo swinging, gangplanks teeming. Whistle blasts and cries from the stevedores competed with the banging and squealing and clanking of chains and machinery.
Overcrowded trains shrieked into Grand Central and Penn Station, bringing thousands upon thousands of young men from all over the country, many of them their first time ever leaving home. They poured off the trains with their gear confidently slung over their shoulders, faces eager and resolute. Most sported a cheerful camaraderie, though others appeared disoriented from the whirlwind months of boot camp, training, orders to deploy, and hasty goodbyes. The trains unloaded their goods, sounded their whistles, and headed out to pick up more readied men.
A steady stream of young people threaded the city at all hours – soldiers and sailors on leave, girls rushing to jobs that needed to be filled, many of them in trades that had been closed to them a short year ago. Traffic was thicker, subways more crowded, restaurants and bars fuller, and lines longer for Broadway shows and the latest movies.
The war involved everyone. People saved their grease and metal and rubber, adjusted to the shortages and rationing, rented out spare rooms to help ease the housing shortage, and bought twenty-five dollar War Bonds and twenty-five cent War Stamps.
Volunteer spotters scanned the skies for enemy planes, and air raid wardens took charge of shelters and made sure lights were out during drills. Coast Guard Sand Pounders patrolled the beaches, and Navy binoculars swept the waters for the dreaded German U-boats.
Bolstering the city’s war efforts was the ever-vigilant citizen – ear cocked to detect a foreign accent, a sidelong glance at someone asking too many questions or plying a GI with too many drinks. Tension and suspicion walked step in step with excitement and determination.
The very air of the city crackled with urgency, exhilaration, and daring. Swing and boogie-woogie music spilled out of cafes and nightclubs, dance floors vibrated with the jitterbug and lindy. Life was heightened, charged with the sense that time was short. Affairs and passions must be played out on leave, or before shipping out.
No one knew who would win the war, when and if bombs would drop on their city, what horrors lay ahead. All they knew was that they had today, this minute, now – to live. And live, they did. There was money to be made and hearts to be won, ships to be built and love to be found. Promises were made, hasty marriages performed, and “Uncle Sam honeymoons” enjoyed to the full – all forays into the future, for to plan for the future was to believe that there would be one.
Wartime and Christmastime linked hands, their presence coloring the city. Military white, olive drab, and navy mixed with holiday red and green. Beneath streetlights festooned with garlands of holly and pine, gathered groups of sailors and marines. Booths selling War Bonds stood next to rows of Christmas trees for sale. Soldiers purchased hot dogs and pretzels alongside holiday shoppers buying roasted chestnuts.
Women made the most of their ration books, saving and trading stamps, in order to buy ingredients for a memorable Christmas meal – perhaps the last with their sons or husbands for a long time.
In the Art Department of Rockwell Publishing, Lillian Drooms mentally went over her shopping list. She had made her careful purchases during the week and now eagerly awaited the weekend. The casserole was ready to be popped in the oven for tonight’s dinner – the first meal with her husband, Charles, in over a month. And she had all the ingredients for tomorrow’s special dinner for Gino, the young merchant seaman who rented a room on the second floor, and who loved nothing more than a home-cooked meal and –
Flour! Lillian suddenly remembered, slapping her forehead. How could she forget? She would need it for tomorrow’s breakfast. Waffles, with Annette’s apricot jam, cherry preserves, and maple syrup – like a breath of fresh air, straight from the orchard.
Lillian sighed to think that she had to forego her summer visit to her sister’s home upstate. She had so wanted to let Tommy and Gabriel run wild through the orchard, and play with their cousins. She had so looked forward to some time with Annette – helping her with the canning and jam making, sitting out on the porch in the evenings, catching up and trading advice, just like they did as girls. But the war had changed all her plans.
Another glance at the clock. She would quickly stop by Mancetti’s and pick up some flour – and some oranges for the boys, if they were available. Then she would go home, slip on her green silk blouse, and wear the pearl necklace that Charles had bought her on their honeymoon. She could scarcely believe that almost a year had passed since their marriage, a year of being a family. A year of being with Charles.
She would have the casserole in the oven and the Christmas tree lit when he walked through the door tonight. He would be surprised that they had managed the tree on their own. Though trees were expensive this year, with so few men available to cut them down, she had splurged on a thick Douglas fir, and had decorated it with Tommy and Gabriel. At eleven and eight years old, the boys were still young enough to enjoy the magic of Christmas. And it was going to be a wonderful Christmas, in spite of the war – she would make sure of that.
She waited for the minute hand of the clock to make its final sweep, pushing the hour hand to five. Then she cleared her desk, said a quick goodbye to her co-workers, slipped on her hat and coat, and hurried out the door.
Posted next to the elevator was the Art Department’s reminder for the war-themed poster contest – the deadline was fast approaching. Lillian frowned briefly, wishing she didn’t have to participate, and then shifted her thoughts back to the weekend. December was here now, and this weekend would mark the beginning of the Christmas season for her, with the tree up, the dinner for Gino – and Charles home. Her heart beat in anticipation at seeing him again. A month apart felt like an eternity. She stood straighter and fluffed out her hair – then laughed at herself, happy
that no one witnessed her primping for her husband who was still hours away.
Three floors down, in the main office of Rockwell Publishing, her friend, Izzy Briggs, also quick-stepped it to the elevator, where she used the opportunity to apply a fresh coat of cherry red lipstick, the brass trim around the doors serving as a mirror. She smacked her lips twice and tried out a smile, just before the doors opened.
In the lobby, the two women emerged from different elevators and bumped into each other in their rush to leave.
“Izzy!” cried Lillian. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“It’s Friday. The Stage Door Canteen beckons,” Izzy said with a mischievous wink. “And you?”
“Charles comes home tonight!” Lillian said, with more enthusiasm than she intended to show.
As they wove through the bustling lobby, full of employees equally eager to begin their weekend, Izzy smiled at the excitement Lillian could never suppress when it came to Charles.
“Any plans?” Izzy called over her shoulder as she pushed through the revolving door.
Lillian followed her out into the wintry air and raised her voice to be heard above the blaring horns and accelerating buses. “We’re having an early Christmas dinner for Gino tomorrow. He ships out on Sunday and will be at sea for the holidays.”
“Jeez, so soon? It seems like just last week he was plucked out of the Atlantic. The kid has nerve.”
Lillian nodded, not wanting to think about the close calls Gino had experienced in the past year.
“I want to give him a special sending off. You know he doesn’t have much family, and he’s always kind of been on his own.” A warm maternal smile appeared on her lips. “It’s funny how much he reminds me of Tommy – or maybe it’s just that the boys are so taken with him. He’s their real-life hero. Especially for Tommy. Gino is the closest thing to an older brother he has ever known. There are several servicemen renting rooms in our building, but none like Gino.”
“Well, that’s something good to come out of this crazy housing shortage – though three roommates in my small flat are three too many, if you ask me,” said Izzy. “But Betty has some swell dresses – that just happen to fit me.”
Izzy planted herself in front of a department store window where a red print dress caught her eye. “Speaking of dresses, look at that! Perfect for a spin around the dance floor. Gee, I hope it’s still there on Monday.”
A handsome officer stood next to them, tapping his watch. He turned to Lillian. “Excuse me, ma’am. My watch seems to have stopped. Do you have the time?” He gave his watch another tap.
“And the inclination,” murmured Izzy.
His head snapped up, taken aback by the suggestive words.
Lillian blushed and glanced at her watch. “It’s 5:15.”
“Thank you,” he said, looking mildly confused and then hurrying away.
Lillian leaned on Izzy’s arm. “Izzy!” she whispered. “He thought I said that!”
“I know,” Izzy said with a laugh. “He looked startled at his good luck. Well, what have we here?”
She stopped in front of a War Bonds booth on the corner, and scanned the list of Hollywood and Broadway stars that would be making brief appearances over the holidays to promote the bonds.
A couple of Broadway actresses were making sales, helped out by two young soldiers manning one side of the booth. One of the GIs emitted a long up-and-down whistle. “Hey, Gorgeous!” he hollered, eyeing Izzy.
Izzy placed her hand on her chest and looked around, as if he must be speaking to someone else.
“Who, me?” she asked, blinking.
“Yeah, you. Interested in helping out ole Uncle Sam? How ‘bout a bond – or at least a coupla stamps?” He elbowed his buddy and pushed back his cap, seeing that Izzy was responding to his charms and opening her purse.
“I’m already signed up through payroll. But,” she added with a coy smile, “how can I possibly say no?” She reached into her purse and took out a dollar. “For God and Country,” she said. She allowed his fingers to close over her hand as she offered the bill.
“Say,” said the GI, emboldened by his success. “I’m off in an hour.” He let his eyes travel up and down Izzy, his action and words at odds with his boyish face – as if he had seen the come-on in a movie and was trying it out. “Howzabout you and me goin’ out for a cuppa coffee – or somethin’?”
Izzy jutted out her hip and placed her hand there, banishing any pretense of shyness. “I can get my own coffee, soldier.” Then leaning towards him, she added, “but I might take you up on the – or somethin’.”
The GI stood tongue-tied, as if trying to remember what came next.
Izzy burst out laughing. “Just kidding, Sweetheart. But you need to work on your manners.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am,” said the GI, his face flushing an innocent pink.
Izzy patted his hand good-naturedly and walked off, waving her stamps. “Keep up the good work, boys!”
She ran to catch up with Lillian, who had hurried away to hide her amusement.
“Poor boy!” laughed Lillian. “You made him blush.”
“Which just shows he had no business talking that way,” Izzy said, tucking the stamps into her purse.
Lillian tilted her head, studying Izzy, as if seeing another side to her. Izzy had been heart-broken when her longtime beau, Red, married someone else. It had taken her months to spring back to life. But now here she was, apparently enjoying her life without him. “You really are getting to be quite fresh, Izzy.”
“It’s all these gorgeous young men running around. Good thing for me that I’m too old for most of them. Well – here’s where I turn off. Time to hand out milk and sandwiches, and dance with the soldiers.”
“Say hello to Edith for me, if she’s there tonight.”
“The mystery woman,” Izzy said with an air of romance.
“The mystery woman?”
“That’s what some of the girls call her. She has that far-off look about her – not that she’s unfriendly. She’s quick to smile.” Izzy glanced up at the sky, thinking of how to describe Edith. “No, it’s more like she lives in some world of her own. She keeps to herself for the most part – when she’s not with her beau or dancing, that is.”
Lillian looked up suddenly. “Edith?! With a beau? And dancing? Surely not. She’s a confirmed spinster – in spite of her great beauty.” Lillian lowered her voice. “And she’s painfully shy about her limp.”
“Not the Edith I know!” laughed Izzy. “See you, Lilly. Give my regards to Charles.” She started to cross the busy avenue, but spun around to add – “tell Gino I’ll save him a dance when he gets back!” She waved goodbye, and was soon lost in the throbbing Manhattan crowd that was making its way up and down the dimmed-out Times Square.
Izzy must be mistaken about Edith, thought Lillian. She would have to ask Charles. And with that thought, she quickened her step, and hurried home to await his arrival.
*
At Drooms and Mason Accounting, Mason said goodnight to the employees leaving for the day. He observed his sister, Edith, as she adjusted her hat in the mirror above the credenza. And anyone who knew him well, such as Mrs. Sullivan, who was just pulling on her sturdy snow boots, could see the worry in his eyes.
“Plans for the weekend, Mrs. Murphy?” he asked, and then caught himself. “Sorry. Mrs. Sullivan. You’d think after six months I would remember.” Mason had worked with the sixty-one year old office manager for so long, that he still had a hard time adjusting to her recently changed marital status.
“I make the same mistake myself,” Mrs. Sullivan chuckled. “Dinner tonight with Brendan. And we’re off tomorrow to Boston to visit the family.” She knew that Mason was well aware of her plans, and that it was Edith he wanted to question.
“And where are you off to, Edith?” he tried to ask casually, ruffling through a stack of papers on his desk.
Edith raised her chin to button her coa
t in the mirror, and gave the slightest shake of her head. “Where I’m off to every Tuesday and Friday evening.” She opened her purse, took out a tube of lipstick, and smoothed a rich shade of red over her lips, and then rolled her lips together to even out the color. She then shook out a lacy white scarf from her coat pocket and wrapped it around her neck.
Mason frowned. “No need to get all dolled up to serve sandwiches,” he said, wincing at the petty petulance in his voice.
Edith raised her eyebrows at him in the mirror. “Really, Robert, you’re starting to sound like an old schoolmarm.”
Mrs. Sullivan was used to the mild sparring between brother and sister, and smiled indulgently at Edith.
“Oh for goodness’ sake, Mr. Mason, a little lipstick never hurt anyone,” she said, positioning herself in front of the mirror and opening up her own tube of lipstick. She raised her eyebrows and dabbed on a bit of rose, well aware that the effect of color on her lips was quite another thing from the crimson shaping Edith’s mouth.
Edith gave a burst of laughter at the playfulness of Mrs. Sullivan, her mentor and ally.
“I see I’m outnumbered,” Mason said good-humoredly. “As usual.” He stood to say goodnight as both women pulled on their gloves and made a few final adjustments in the mirror. He intended to leave it at that, but at the last minute he couldn’t refrain from asking – “you won’t be out late, will you, Edith?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Robert!” said Edith, opening the office door to leave.
He was about to defend himself, when Mrs. Sullivan added – “Really, Mr. Mason. I was out and about at a much younger age than Edith. And that was forty years ago.” The worry in his eyes prompted her to give a quick squeeze to his arm. “Have a lovely weekend. Give my regards to Susan.”
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