As he rounded the corner, he bumped smack into a group of rowdy GIs.
“Hey! Why aren’t you in uniform?” one of them asked in a slurred voice.
Another one of them stuck his chest out and saluted Mason, causing the others to crumple into laughter. As they propped themselves against each other and moved on, Mason thought he heard them say something about a white feather.
He opened his mouth, about to defend himself. Then changed his mind. What’s the use? he thought. They obviously had been drinking, and for all he knew, they were shipping out tomorrow. He couldn’t blame them. He watched them stagger down the street, singing some song and laughing uproariously, already forgetting about him.
Mason shoved his hands in his pockets and continued on his way home, trying to ignore the feeling of guilt they had stirred. And yet the sting was there. He felt himself becoming all bad-tempered again, and began to defend himself to himself. He was helping where he could, wasn’t he? Purchasing War Bonds through his payroll deduction, filling in as air raid warden and spotter for the men in his building, helping out with his kids’ drives and collections, and most importantly, volunteering at the veterans’ hospital every Tuesday evening after work – writing letters for the soldiers, bringing them books or reading to them, listening to them, encouraging them.
He just about had himself convinced that he was doing enough, when he thought of some of the individual wounded men he had tended: Carlton, with no legs; Smitty, who jumped at the slightest sound; Big Al, who was struggling with Braille. He let out a deep sigh of inadequacy. It could never be enough. Nothing he could ever do would be enough. How could it be – when they lay there maimed, blind, disfigured, shattered inside? Their lives would never be the same.
He plodded up the stairs to his apartment, and stomped off the snow from his boots. When he opened the door to his apartment, he saw that Alice, Helen, and Claudia were on their way out. Again. Dressed for some party or dance. They flitted around Edith, clamoring to see the ring they had spotted on her finger. She was trying to put them off, but nevertheless appeared amused at their enthusiasm. Seeing the dark expression on his face, the younger sisters grabbed their coats and left hurriedly.
Mason had sincerely determined not to berate Edith anymore, but a ring?! He had to say something.
“Edith,” he said firmly. “I think this has gone far enough.”
“And I don’t think it’s any of your business.” She turned her back on him and reached for her coat.
“I won’t stand and watch while my sister is made a fool of.” He didn’t believe anyone could make a fool of Edith, but he thought that appealing to her pride was the one way to make her see reason.
“I wasn’t aware that you had such a low opinion of me. But, however you feel, the way I choose to live my life is no concern of yours.” Standing in front of the hall tree mirror, she wound her white scarf around her neck.
“Edith. Wake up! You know he’ll leave you for the first pretty actress that comes along. And I don’t want to be around you when that happens. I know how you’ll react.” The expression on her face in the mirror made him wish he had chosen different words.
“I don’t blame you,” he said more gently. “I’m sure he’s charming, and that it’s tempting to want some of the excitement his profession brings, but – ”
Edith whipped around, her eyes afire.
“Stop, Robert! Before you dig yourself in too deep. You’ve repeatedly insulted a man you don’t know, haven’t even had the decency to meet – ” she put up her hand when he tried to speak – “but I thought you knew me. You speak as if I’m no better than a senseless schoolgirl, enamored of the stage.”
“I didn’t mean that. You know what I mean.”
“I know that I’ve tried to please you, tried to hold the family together! There were things I wanted to do, opportunities I wanted to seek.” With each assertion she pressed her hand on her chest. “You have your career, a family of your own. Did you never think that I might want that for myself? Did you never think that I want more out of life?”
“Edith, listen to reason – ”
“No!” she cried. “I’ve been reasonable for too long and it has dulled me!” Her hands trembled as she buttoned her coat.
Mason had never seen her so upset, and backpedaled as best he could. “I’ve never stopped you. You’ve always done what you wanted to do.”
“How can you say that?” Her face took on a pleading sadness as she turned to him again. “There were things I wanted to do. I had planned and saved for a trip to Europe. But no, the time wasn’t right, you said. I wanted to spend a week by the ocean, but again you spoke against it.”
“But you always wanted to go alone. I couldn’t let you go without any protection.”
“I needed to be alone – I needed that, to heal. I knew what I needed, you didn’t. The only word you knew was Wait.”
“I just wanted you to wait until you were stronger.”
“I’m as strong as I ever will be! And I’m not waiting anymore! I want life – I want to feel again. To live again!” She was shaking now, her anguished words mixing with her tears.
“Edith,” he said, surprised at her passion.
“Enough! I’ve had enough! I’ll find a place of my own, or move in with Desmond.”
Mason didn’t believe her threat. “You won’t leave us.”
Edith fixed him with a wry smile. “Why? You think no one else would want a cripple?” She grabbed her hat and left.
That last word, hurled at him with such bitterness, hurt him more than she could know. Mason moved to the living room and watched her through the window. She held onto the railing as she climbed down the stairs – the limp that none of them ever alluded to, breaking his heart.
*
Edith never cried in front of people, and she was furious that she had shown such weakness in front of Robert. She impatiently dabbed at her eyes and lifted her chin. She was through with living according to someone else’s will. There was always something more that was wanted or needed or expected from her. She had been foolish. Here she was, in love, really in love for the first time in her life. And she had hesitated when Desmond proposed. She was a fool. But no longer.
She walked to the theater where Desmond was helping out with the rehearsal for the show he was to have been a part of. She tried to leave the argument behind her, but her brother’s words had lodged inside, their barbs stuck deep. Did he really see her as helpless and hopeless, with no future but as a spinster? Was life to hold nothing more for her than that?
Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore the thought that was most wounding her. His words about Desmond had struck the deepest blow: “He’ll leave you for the first pretty actress that comes along.” A pretty actress without a limp is what he meant. She hated her brother for stirring the doubt that had lain dormant in her mind. She believed in Desmond’s love, in his integrity, in his gentle nature that wouldn’t willingly hurt others. And yet. Even a doubt spun of airy imagining can turn into a stubborn, poisonous thorn.
Edith entered the dark theater quietly, not wanting anyone to see her until she had composed herself. She took a row in the far back. There was little heat in the theater and so she kept on her coat and hat and gloves, hugging herself against the chill. Cold and dispirited, she watched the actors on the stage – Desmond reading the lines, the others already off script.
But Desmond had been watching for her, and now, shielding his eyes against the lights, he raised his head in greeting.
Her heart swelled at the tiny gesture. Love would heal her; Desmond would heal her. She was sure of it. She wanted his love to take away the pain of her brother’s words – words that still coursed through her veins with tiny thorns, lashing her from inside.
Her mouth softened as she observed him reading his lines. Before she met Desmond, she thought she had been content with her life. There had been a nagging emptiness, but she assumed everyone had such a feeling – for al
l the dreams that still cried out to be fulfilled, all the dreams that had been shelved. She was no different from everyone else. But as their relationship developed over the months, she found that her dreams were being answered by his smile, his warm eyes, his loving caresses. The future that had once been a dim somewhere else, now shone large and bright, inviting her in a welcoming gesture: Come! it beckoned. A glittering time of happiness awaits you.
Edith closed her eyes in gratitude, and then filled her gaze with Desmond. This man, up there on stage, moving under the bright lights, had pulled back the veil, and shown her how beautiful life could be.
She watched him perform, exaggerating his gestures for the farce. There he was, her Desmond – graceful, strong, illuminated – there, where he belonged, bathed in the glow of stage lights. He was at home up there – just as she was comfortable here. In the shadows, an observer. Perhaps he was right, she smiled. They did complement each other. Complete each other.
The angry trembling in her slowly subsided. She had made up her mind that she would spend the night with Desmond. She would no longer care what anyone else thought, except him.
She heard the lobby door open and close, and a burst of light briefly flooded the aisle as the curtain next to her parted and then closed. There stood a beautiful young woman, stylishly dressed in a shimmery gold coat and hat. Unaware of Edith, she watched the actors, smiling, clutching her collar to her chin. When the scene ended, she clapped her hands. “Bravo!” she cried, and then ran down the aisle and up the stairs to the stage.
A flurry of greetings and hugs surrounded her. A fellow actress, no doubt. Wide arms and a big embrace from Desmond. “Valerie!” He was happy to see her. Edith had never seen him so happy.
When the man at the piano broke into a playful tune, Desmond and the actress began to dance, hands linked – then Desmond dipped her backwards, and – a kiss? Some number they had apparently performed together, many times. Then laughter, applause, cheers from the others. The beautiful actress, naturally dynamic and fascinating in her moves, held them all rapt.
Edith’s chest began to rise and fall deeper and faster, and a shivering coldness crawled over her. She waited for Desmond to remember that she was there. To perhaps introduce her to the actress and explain away the obvious.
But the beautiful woman was now recounting some story, using her hands, sweeping her arms wide in a dramatic fashion, holding them all spellbound. Then at the conclusion of her tale, she clapped her hands together and tossed her head back in laughter, causing the others to howl with merriment. Desmond also found her amusing, enchanting. The woman linked her arm with Desmond’s as they strolled around the stage. He placed a hand over hers, and listened attentively. Enamored.
Edith sat invisible, her lips pressed tight together, but still trembling, as she watched the scene that her brother had just so cruelly predicted.
From a silent place inside her, from their place, Edith called out to him – willing him to look her way. “Desmond!” her heart cried out. Her heart cracking, fracturing, splintering as the cry went unanswered.
Up there on stage a story was playing out, a couple deep in conversation, a couple who looked so right together. And she, Edith, was merely an audience member, silently watching the scene. The young woman commanded attention without even trying. She tossed off her hat and coat onto the stage couch. The stage lights favored her, played with her, catching on her golden hair, reflecting off the shimmer of her silk dress that swirled with each step. Graceful, lovely. Beauty inhabited the stage.
Edith realized how dull she was in comparison. To all the women he was forever surrounded by. Why should she be surprised at what she was seeing? The only thing to surprise her was that she had been so naïve – that she had foolishly begun to mistake the dream for reality. She hardened herself, and took one last look at the stage. At the handsome couple. At Desmond. And then she quietly left the theater.
As she walked through the falling snow, she pushed the image of Desmond and the woman out of her mind. And focused on Robert. At that moment, she was angrier at her brother than she had ever been before. She couldn’t face him. She couldn’t let him know that he had been right. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the cold, sharp air that lashed at her lungs.
She spent the next several hours stopping by apartment buildings and boarding houses, searching for a room. It was good to be back, to be awake again. Good to close the door to that fairy future and once more move among the solid gray shapes of the present workaday world. It was good to have known a pretty dream – and good to have wakened from it. She was back on firm ground.
After knocking on countless doors, and speaking with numerous people, she realized, with a sinking heart, that there was nothing to be found. All apartments were full to capacity. Unless she wanted to cram into a room full of young, cheerful, chatty women, which she couldn’t bear. Her threat had been empty. Again, as Robert had predicted.
She would swallow her pride and go home. At least she had her own room there, a room where she could be as alone as she wanted.
The black night pressed down on her, reminding her that it was late. She was exhausted and her leg was hurting, throbbing with each step – deep stabs reminding her of past sorrows, unkind twists of fate. She shook off those old remembrances and turned the ache into an ally, into something that would help to steady her on the long, low road ahead.
She made her way back home, climbed the steps to the apartment, and closed the door behind her, awash with weariness and the heavy burden of defeat.
Chapter 11
*
Lillian set a bowl of parmesan cheese on the table, and then stirred the pasta boiling on the stove. She inhaled the aroma of the spaghetti sauce and garlic bread and glanced up at the clock. Charles would be home soon, and would be there for Christmas week. Nothing would mar their last days together before his leaving. Except that tonight they would have to tell the boys about his departure. They would get it over with, and then do their best to make it a happy Christmas.
Her eyes traveled over the kitchen and living room – everything appeared festive, cozy, and welcoming. The table was set, and dinner was ready. The living room was softly lit by the single lamp behind the couch and the glow of the multi-colored lights of the Christmas tree. The tinsel and ornaments reflecting the lights added a touch of sparkle.
The boys sat in front of the tree, also awaiting Charles’s arrival. Predictably, Tommy was wearing his old red sweater, and Gabriel wore a pale blue vest over his shirt. She was curious to know if they would like the new sweaters she had purchased, in shades of green, and brown, and white.
Tommy sat curled up on the couch, tapping a pencil on a tablet as he worked on his Christmas list. Gabriel hummed along with “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” from the radio as he crawled around the floor, rearranging the wrapped presents that lay under the tree.
“Gabe,” said Tommy. “We have to start our Christmas shopping. How about we start with The Red String Curio Store tomorrow?”
“Okey dokey. Are we going to get you-know-what, for you-know-who?” he said, pointing his head towards the kitchen, where Lillian was draining the spaghetti. “Those cards?” he whispered in answer to Tommy’s puzzled face.
Just then the door opened, and Charles came in, all smiles. The boys immediately noticed the long box in his arms.
Gabriel ran over to him. “Hi, Dad! What’s in the box?”
“Hello, son!”
Tommy got off the couch and walked over to him.
Charles mussed his hair. “Hi, Tommy. What are you two boys up to?” he asked, as he took off his coat and hat.
“Just making our Christmas lists,” said Tommy.
Charles noticed the presents all spread out. “You’re not peeking, are you?”
“No,” both boys laughed.
Charles handed the box to Tommy. “It’s kind of heavy. Why don’t you put it under the tree? We’ll open it after dinner.”
“What is it?�
�� asked Gabriel. “Is it for me too, or just Tommy?”
“It’s an early Christmas present. For all of us.”
Charles went to the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Lillian. “It’s good to be home!” He noticed the carefully set table with a green and red checked holiday tablecloth, and a platter of gingerbread and a pudding sitting on the counter. “That must have depleted your rationing book,” he said, still holding her tightly.
“Almost,” said Lillian, sinking into his embrace. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
Gabriel was right at his side again, unable to suppress his curiosity over the box. “Can you tell us what it is?”
“After dinner,” said Lillian. “We’ll have dessert and open our first Christmas present. Come, sit down.”
Over dinner Charles and Lillian kept exchanging glances, in acknowledgment that Tommy seemed himself again. He and Gabriel recounted their success with the salvage drive, and their plans for the holiday, starting with some Christmas shopping the next day.
“Can I have some more, Mom?” asked Gabriel, holding up his plate.
Lillian smiled to see her boys eating with such appetites. Tommy was already on his second helping.
“It kind of feels like Christmas this year,” said Gabriel, “and it kind of doesn’t. Cause of the war. Can I have some more milk, too?”
“Yeah,” said Tommy. “It feels too dark, for one thing. Christmas should be bright.”
“Well, the dim-out isn’t making our home any darker,” said Lillian, refilling both their glasses. “Just look at all our lights and decorations. And our beautiful tree.”
“You know,” said Charles, taking another helping of pasta, “there’s an advantage to having a darker sky.”
Both boys waited for him to say what it was.
“Like what?” Gabriel finally asked.
“You can see the stars better,” explained Charles. “The next few nights are supposed to be clear. That means we’ll be able to see the Geminids meteor shower a lot better.”
Christmastime 1942 Page 11
